With the Connaught Rangers (2024)

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CHAPTER I.
THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS.

MY FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE REGIMENT—TOBY WHITE—THE CASTLEGUARD—CHANGES IN IRELAND—DONNYBROOK FAIR—HALF-A-CROWN’S WORTHOF FIGHTING—ORDERED TO MALTA—AFFAIRS IN SYRIA—IRISHMEN ANDSCOTCHMEN—TRANSPORTS—A CRUEL JOKE—AMUsem*nTS AT MALTA—CRUISETO CANDIA AND GREECE—AN OLD COLONEL’S OPINION OF ROME ANDITS RUINS—DEPOT AT PAISLEY—FIRING A SALUTE AT DUMBARTONCASTLE—MARCH FROM STIRLING TO ABERDEEN—ILLUSTRIOUS TOM AND THEBLOTTING BOOKS—REMINISCENCES.

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CHAPTER I.

In the year 1839 I entered the Army as ensign in the 88th RegimentConnaught Rangers, which was then quartered in Dublin; and a merrylife it was. What with drill and parties, hunting and field-days, theofficers of the old regiment were always occupied. There were severalpacks of hounds within easy distance of Richmond Barracks; but the WardUnion was the one most patronised by my brothers-in-arms. The manœuvresin the Phœnix Park were not much varied. I remember one day, when,my captain being absent, I was in command of the company in which Iwas ensign. The old colour-sergeant took the greatest care of me. Weadvanced in line, and so sure was the non-commissioned officer of whatthe manœuvre would be that he whispered to me: ‘When ye get to thatblack thing on the ground, ye must give[4] the words, “Form fours to theright; right wheel;”’ which, I think, was the form in those days. Theblack thing was a crow, which flew away before we got up to it. But, bymy friend the colour-sergeant’s help, I gave the proper word, and weretired in time to let the cavalry through. Week after week passed, andthe same manœuvres were executed.

Old Toby White was town-major then, and his portrait, often repeated,appeared on the walls of the Castle Guard. I always tried to be sub. onthe Castle Guard, for it was a pleasant lounge during the day, and inthe evening a good dinner was served free of expense, while at night asupper of grilled bones, etc., was always ready for those who had beenat the theatre, and who looked in on their way home.

Everything is changed in Ireland now-a-days. The spirit of fun seemsto have vanished, and a sombre gloom appears to overshadow everything.There was always a comical side to all the proceedings of our Irishfriends, even when the affair was serious, or assumed an air ofimportance.

I remember going to Donnybrook fair—now[5] a thing of the past—withtwo brother officers, Bayley and Dawson. When we arrived all wasquite decorous. We observed many tents, in which the country peoplewere apparently enjoying themselves peaceably, but, unfortunately,an urchin—a Dublin street Arab—came up to us, and said, ‘Give mehalf-a-crown, captin, and I’ll show ye the finest sport ye eversaw.’ So we tossed him the money, and off he went. He crept up neara tent, where we saw him ‘feeling for a head,’ and, having found one‘convanient’ belonging to some man inside, perhaps asleep, he took thestick in his hand, and hit the head as hard as he could. The effect waswonderful. All started up with such vehemence that the tent came downat once, and everyone began to fight with his neighbour. The clatter ofsticks was incessant, and the uproar soon extended to the whole fair.Then the peelers rushed in, and were swayed from one side to the otherby the contending parties. We left the scene of battle while the strifewas still raging,—many a cracked crown being the consequence of thatmiserable half-crown.

After being quartered for some time in Dublin,[6] we were ordered toCork, there to await embarkation to Malta. In the year 1840, affairs inSyria looked very warlike, and we fully expected to be ordered on tothe seat of war, but the bombardment of St. Jean D’Acre by our Fleet,under Sir R. Stopford, together with the other successful operations,put off for some years a great war.

The 42nd Royal Highlanders were quartered at Cork when we werethere, and a great friendship existed between the two regiments. Theconsumption of whiskey—to cement this friendly feeling—among the menof the two corps was enormous. Sometimes a Highlander and a ConnaughtRanger might be seen climbing the steep hill on whose summit theinfantry barracks are situated; both having proved the genuinenessof their friendship by deep potations, and both in their way showingvarious indications of their respective nationalities. Sandy appearedquiet, grave, and canny, while Paddy was excited and noisy; waving astick in the air, and challenging everyone to ‘tread on the tail of hiscoat.’

When they arrived at the barrack-gate, the Scotchman pulled himselftogether, and, solemnly[7] fixing his eyes on a distant point, marchedsteadily past the sentry to his barrack-room, while the Irishman,howling defiance to all about him, staggered right into the middle ofthe guard and was lodged most probably in a cell for the night.

At length the transport Conway was reported to be ready toreceive the head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers, and we wenton board. Very different from what they are now were the vesselsemployed for the conveyance of troops; the comfort and luxury offloating palaces like the Crocodile and the Jumna werethen unknown, and a ship that was considered almost unsafe to conveymerchandise was regarded as quite good enough to carry one of HerMajesty’s regiments.

A curious scene the deck of our old East India-man presented when wegot on board. Confusion seemed the order of the day; geese, ducks, andfowls filling the air with their peculiar cries. It was difficult toget along the decks, so crowded were they with friends of the soldiers,consisting of weeping women and disconsolate children.

Somehow or other every stranger was cleared[8] out in the course oftime, and we put to sea. We had a very rough time of it in the Bay ofBiscay, for it blew a fierce gale from the S.W., and not only couldwe make no way against the storm, but we were driven quite out ofour course. These discomforts were not much thought of by my youngbrothers-in-arms, but must have been trying to the older officers onboard. One veteran attached to our regiment passed a fearful time. Hehad never been to sea before, having served always in a cavalry corps,and the extent of his voyages had been from England to Ireland and backagain; he was an old man now, and he and his wife had a very miserableappearance. Whenever he came into the cabin he looked the picture ofwoe, but I fear he got no sympathy from us youngsters. Once when thestorm was at its worst, and the waves broke clean over the ship, thegreen water washing in at the cuddy door, ‘Oh!’ exclaimed the poor oldman, ‘why do we not go into a harbour? Can we not get a steamer to towus in?’ This proved an unfortunate remark to make in the presence of alot of careless young jokers.

‘A first-rate idea,’ said one of them. ‘Let[9] us get up a subscriptionfor a steamer to pull us out of this tre-men-duous sea.’ No sooner saidthan done. We got a sheet of paper and wrote the following heading:‘It is proposed to get a steamer to tow us out of the Bay of Biscay.Officers wishing to subscribe towards a fund to pay the expense of thesaid steamer are requested to sign their names.’ We all wrote down theamount we were willing to give, some putting down five pounds, otherstwo pounds; but the poor old man, who was considered by us to be ratherfond of his money, surprised us all by putting down his name for twentypounds. The paper was stuck up in the cabin, but the old captain of thetransport baffled our project, and let the cat out of the bag by askingthe ancient warrior, ‘How the dickens are ye to get at the steamer?’ Ido not think we were ever forgiven for our rather cruel joke.

On our arrival at Malta we were hospitably entertained by the regimentsquartered there. The season was a very gay one, as our magnificentsailing fleet almost filled the many harbours, and dinners and balls,regattas and races, became the order of the day. The race-course wasa very[10] primitive affair, being a hard road called Pieta; but greatwas the excitement of these sporting events when the ‘Wandering Boy,’belonging to Captain Horsford of the Rifle Brigade, won the Ladies’Whip, and Major Shirley’s (88th regiment) ‘Monops’ came in first forsome other favourite stakes.

I shall pass over the three years I belonged to the Malta garrison,during which time I went a cruise to Candia and Greece. The lateAdmiral of the Fleet, Sir Houston Stewart, was then captain of theBenbow, in which I went as guest of the present Admiral SirJohn Hay, then a mate. A more delightful time no man ever had, for theBenbow was celebrated for its hospitality, and all the officerswere kindness itself. To recall these pleasant hours is the mostagreeable exercise of an old soldier’s memory, but the old ship is nowa hulk. Her captain rests in his honoured grave, and the jolly youngBenbows of that merry time have become admirals and captains,and are all scattered to the four winds. I had often intended visitingNaples and Rome, but somehow the journey never came off, the remarksmade by an old colonel having probably had some effect in preventing[11]me from undertaking the journey. When he was asked if he enjoyed hisvisit to Rome, he always got very angry, an anger which increasedto fury if one mentioned any of the ruins. ‘Ah, bah!’ he wouldexclaim, ‘the Colay-sayem, is it?—the greatest absurdity that everstepped—just a parcel of ould stones!’

In 1843 I left Malta, and, after a few months’ leave, I was orderedto join the dépôt of the 88th, quartered at Paisley. The dépôt of aregiment in those days was a miniature battalion, consisting of fourcompanies, under command of a major. We were particularly fortunatein our commanding officer, who always was kind and considerate toeveryone. We also had a good band—a privilege which a dépôt wasallowed to enjoy at that time.

Very soon after joining at Paisley, I was sent on detachment toDumbarton Castle. My party consisted of a sergeant, a corporal, andtwenty men. When at Paisley, I was provided with a servant—a statelyold soldier named Thomas Pillsworth, but better known afterwards as‘Illustrious Tom.’ His wife, one of the fattest women I ever saw,became my housekeeper at Dumbarton.[12] The rock of Dumbarton is a lonelyspot, and to a young fellow of twenty-one was regular banishment. Fora day or two I sat on the top of the rock and moaned over my sad fate,but very soon all became changed, for I was most kindly received bythe families in the county, and I look back to the period of my beingquartered in Dumbarton Castle as a most agreeable reminiscence. WhenI was there, I was known as ‘the governor of the castle.’ My commandconsisted of a master gunner, six old artillerymen, and my detachment.The castle was armed with seven guns.

The Queen’s birthday was announced in general orders, and, as usual,the notice was given that every fort in Scotland should fire a saluteof twenty-one guns. There existed among the papers in the office amemorandum from the Adjutant-General in Scotland that the guns atDumbarton Castle were not to be fired, but on this occasion the saiddocument could not be found, so I sent for the old master gunner,who informed me that the guns had not been used since the death of HisMajesty George IV. But I overcame his scruples by writing an order[13]that a royal salute was to be fired next day. The six patriarchalartillerymen were full of zeal, and we managed in this wise: Thedetachment of Connaught Rangers was formed up on the top of the rock;the seven old guns were first fired by the ancient gunners, and thenmy men fired a feu-de-joie. This gave time for the venerableartillerymen to load again, and to repeat the fire, an operation whichI am thankful to say was effected without any accident, till thetwenty-one rounds had been expended.

After giving three hearty cheers for Her Majesty, I dismissed mymen to their dinners, and the ancient warriors marched off to theirquarters very pleased with their performance. But the authoritiesdid not approve of our loyalty; for I received a reprimand, and anorder to pay for the powder expended. Colonel Thorndike, R.A., (lateGeneral Thorndike) came to my assistance in this dilemma, and, throughhis influence, I think I was not called upon to pay anything. As,fortunately, I had blown up nobody, I did not grieve much over theofficial blowing up, as it was earned in a good cause—loyalty to HerMajesty the Queen.

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As the dépôt of the 88th were ordered to proceed from Paisley toAberdeen, I ceased to be Governor of Dumbarton Castle. We went by trainto Stirling, and began there a most enjoyable march. We were receivedeverywhere with open arms, no troops having been along that road sincethe time of the Peninsular War. The men were not allowed to pay a pennyat their billets, and the officers were most kindly welcomed by thehospitable families on whom they were quartered. It was amusing to hearthe men giving an account of their adventures as we marched from oneplace to another.

One day I heard two of them remarking on the fate of a sergeant who hadbeen reduced to the ranks for drunkenness.

‘It’s sorry I am for Sergeant —— to be broke by court-martial,’ saidone.

‘Bedad,’ replied the other, ‘serve him right. He thought he could getdrunk, like an officer!’

Aberdeen in the year 1844 was a most charming quarter. There wasno railway at that period to carry people away to London, or evenEdinburgh, and many of the county families came in for the balls at theAssembly Rooms,[15] and were very kind in asking the officers of the 88thto stay in their houses in the county. One of my brother officers had aservant named Casey, who had been quartered at Corfu with the regiment,and was able to play the guitar, and sing Italian airs, the words ofwhich could scarcely be said to belong to any particular language.There was a good theatre at Aberdeen, and Casey was asked to singbetween the acts of some play that was having a run. The whole town wasplacarded with notices that ‘a distinguished amateur would sing the“Prayer in Norma.”’ We officers were greatly interested in this event,and all of us gave Casey different articles of dress, so that he mightappear in proper form before the Aberdeen audience. The curtain drewup, and our hero came forward, and sang very well; but, alas, someone had given him whisky before going on the stage, a beverage whichnaturally took effect on his Irish nature, and instead of retiringgracefully after the conclusion of his song, to our intense disgust,he gave a sort of a screech, and began to dance an Irish jig with thegreatest energy. The effect was wonderful, and the gods were delighted.At[16] length the curtain fell, but the noise behind it intimated only tooplainly that poor Casey was being taken off to the guard-room, where hepassed the night in his borrowed plumes.

I had returned on one occasion to the barracks after a tour of visitsin the county to many most agreeable houses. Rather dejected, I waswatching Illustrious Tom unpacking my portmanteau. At first I did nottake much notice, but very soon my attention was drawn to my servant’sperformances. First he placed a blotting-book on the table, thenhe took out another from my portmanteau, and put it on my chest ofdrawers, and then he placed another somewhere else, and so on, till atlast he could find no more vacant resting-places, and he stood in themiddle of the room, bearing some resemblance to a sapient owl, with ablotting-book held in his claws.

‘What are you doing, Tom, with all these blotting-books?’ I atlength exclaimed.

‘Sure,’ said the Illustrious, ‘I thought ye would be plased. I tuck thedifferent books from the bed-rooms in which yer honour slept. They lookwell here, and they’ll nivir miss them there.’

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As I received his intimation with shouts of laughter and volleys ofabuse, Tom drew himself up to attention, faced about, and marched outof my room. My time was fully occupied for several days in finding outto whom the different blotting-books belonged.

A sudden order came for us to leave Scotland and proceed to Ireland. Weembarked at Aberdeen in a steamer, and, after a good passage, arrivedat Granton, where we landed, and marched through Edinburgh, and thenceby train to Glasgow, in which town we were delayed a few days, and thenwe were taken over to Ireland. While in Glasgow we were made honorarymembers of the 92nd Highlanders’ mess, and at the end of our stay,when we asked for our bills, were told that we were the guests of theregiment.

What a pleasant reminiscence is that of Irish quarters in old times!Everyone was kind and hospitable to the officers of the Army, fromthe squire in his ancient castle, to the squireen in his more modesthouse, the property of the latter being often so limited in extent thatyou could sit on the lodge gate and kick the front door open. We werewelcome even to the dwellers in cottages,[18] who, when I entered theirlowly cabins, would shout, ‘Come in, captin; ye’re welcome, sorr;’ and,if I did stumble over something in the dark, what did it matter when Iwas re-assured by the voice of my host saying, ‘Niver mind, yer honor,it’s only a schlip of a pig?’ and truly the repeated grunt, grunt,which followed showed that I had disturbed somewhat unceremoniously theslumbers of that valuable animal, which was fed on the lavings,and, when fattened up, ‘sowld to pay the rint.’ Then the ‘quality’were always glad to welcome a young, merry officer, and in the eveningone of the ‘boys,’ who could ‘play the fiddle first-rate,’ was calledin to show his talent, and dance after dance made the night seem tooshort. What a pleasant time to look back to! Poor old Ireland, with itsfearful murders of men and women, and slaying of hounds and cattle,is wofully changed, and I fear the officers of regiments quarteredthere now do not receive such kindness as I did from high and low. Isuppose there was something in the air in those days that made us allso light-hearted, for not a day passed that there was not some fun,[19]and most of the venturesome acts in which we indulged were done for thepure love of sport.

One evening, at Birr, a match, a sort of steeple-chase, was madebetween two of my brother officers. The night was pitch-dark, and theywere to be mounted on their own horses, and to be led into a fieldabout half a mile from the barracks. They were to get over the wall aswell as they could, and the first of them who arrived mounted at themess-room door was to be the winner. They got on their nags and weretaken off to the starting-post, where they were invisible to us. Wecould only hear the word ‘Off!’ given by the starter. The difficultywas to get over the wall in the dark. One of the riders had a servant,a private in the Rangers, who, of course, was delighted with thesport. We were astounded to hear the voice of this man exclaiming,‘Ride at me, Mr. John, ride at me, sorr!’ and all of a sudden a flashburst forth for a moment, and ‘Mr. John’ made for the light, got overthe fence, and rode in triumphant as winner. Pat Casey, his servant,having made a ‘slap in the[20] wall,’ had then cleverly lit a whole box oflucifers at the place, and thereby enabled his master to get out of thefield and come in conqueror.

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CHAPTER II.
IN THE WEST INDIES.

TRALEE—A VENTURESOME FEAT—OLD PATE—AN IRISH CORNET—PADDYOYSTERS—ORDERED TO BARBADOES—GRENADA—CAPTAIN ASTLEY’SCREOLE—ST. GEORGES—LAND-CRAB CATCHING—TURTLE TURNING—AJIGGER TOE—RECOLLECTIONS OF TRINIDAD—HALIFAX, NOVASCOTIA—BURNING OF THE BARRACKS—LOBSTER-SPEARING—PRESENT OF ABEAR—SMUGGLING BRUIN ON BOARD—OUR PET IN THE ZOO.

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CHAPTER II.

We were quartered for some time at Tralee, a place I shall everremember with the kindliest feelings for its inhabitants, whose greathospitality was only equalled by their love of good honest sport. Onone occasion, when the seniors of the mess were not present, a deal ofgood-natured chaff had gone on after dinner in the mess-room, wheresome of the members of the Chute hounds had assembled as guests.

The subject on the tapis was the capabilities of a mare I possessed,which I considered one of the best fencers I ever saw. If you hurriedher at her fences she was sure to give you a fall, but leave her aloneand nothing in the shape of high banks, for which the country roundTralee was famous, would stop her. The chaff went on, and at length Isaid,

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‘I am quite sure the mare would jump this table if asked to do so.’

As many voices proclaimed the impossibility of such a feat, I desiredthe mess-waiter to tell my groom to saddle the mare and bring her intothe mess-room. In a short time the noise of her feet was heard, and assoon as she entered the room, Bayley, a brother officer, jumped up andvaulted on her back. I copy the following narrative from the NewSporting Magazine, 1850, page 353.

‘Dining at the mess of the “Indomitable Rangers” on the evening of thevery last run, I there witnessed an exploit performed which I believehas never been equalled, and I do think never will be excelled. Thecloth having been drawn, social converse replaced the cool formality,which is, by some mischance or other, almost the invariable attendantupon dinner-parties; and as might be expected amongst a party where allwere sportsmen, and on the evening of a hunting day when a good fox hadshown much sport, the topic chosen was the various particulars of therun, and the mode in which each hunter had done its work.

‘“I saw you kiss your mother earth twice,[25] Maxwell,” remarked a brotherofficer; “believe me, that mare of yours is not just the thing,” andhere from all sides followed many good-humoured criticisms upon thejumping qualities of my friend’s prad, to which he (highly delightedat having such an opportunity afforded him “for a lark,”) lustilyprotested the mare should practically reply by then and there poppingover the mess-table. The groom being immediately summoned, received insilence, and, as may be imagined, with staring amazement, his master’sorder “to saddle the mare and bring her in.” Many of those presenttried to stay the proceedings, but it was now too late; a wilfulman, strong in the justice of his cause, would have his way, and incame them mare accordingly, much to the consternation of the companyassembled, who heard her tramp, tramp, up the boarded passage, knockingout of it the sound of at least a troop of heavy horse.

‘Mounted by Mr. Bayley, amidst the glare of wax lights and a blazingcoal fire, she actually jumped across the mess-table (a good four feetand a half) without laying an iron on it, and, landing safe on theother side, stood gentle and[26] quiet as a lamb upon the floor, underwhich (as though to increase the hazard of the deed) lay a wine-cellarof from ten to twelve feet deep.’

I remember with great satisfaction that there was not a single bet onthe event, and that the mare acquitted herself in the most gallant way,shaking her head and clearing her nostrils, quite pleased after havingdone what was required of her in the well-lighted mess-room.

The quotation from the Sporting Magazine was written and signedby one who, besides being the most pleasant of companions, was afirst-rate sportsman. If ‘Old Pate’ should happen to read these storiesof a time long past, I am sure he will recall with pleasure the daysgone by.

There was a distinguished cavalry regiment quartered in Ireland duringthe time our dépôt was wandering about the country. A young cornetjoined, who, I believe, was a very good fellow, but so very Irish thathis brother officers would not allow him to go out to any parties inthe county. Mrs. ——, a very clever woman, was the wife of a gentlemanwho was proprietor of a large estate near the town where our hero’s[27]regiment was stationed. Having previously met the young dragoon, andbeing delighted with his Milesian remarks, she sent him a pressinginvitation to a picnic which she intended giving. After a great deal oftrouble he received permission to go, but on the sole condition that hewas not to speak a single word the whole time he was there. So off hestarted, bound by his promise to act the mute.

The scene of the picnic was near a lake, and Mrs. —— managed thatthe young soldier should accompany a very pretty and amusing girl fora walk before luncheon. Having been told by her hostess that Mr. ——was a most agreeable Irishman, she was very much surprised that, inanswer to all her remarks, he only said, ‘Ho, ha!’ the monotony ofwhich reply terribly bored her. As they came near the lake, however,and were turning a corner, a great swan flew along the water withsuch a startling noise that it took our poor cornet by surprise, and,forgetting that he was to act the mute, he exclaimed, ‘Holy Biddy, lookat the goose!’ I believe he was never allowed to go to any partiesagain.

In by-gone days valuable horses were often[28] picked up in unexpectedways. My father, who was a captain in the 23rd Dragoons when onlysixteen years old, was a wonderfully good judge of a horse. Once, whenquartered in Ireland, he saw a man seated on a kish of oysters on theback of a good-looking animal.

‘Paddy, will ye sell your horse?’ exclaimed my father.

‘Bedad I will,’ was the reply.

‘How much will ye take?’ was the next question.

After scratching his head for some time, the man mentioned a price,which my father agreed to give him. The bargain seemed to be coming toan end, when the Irishman said,

‘Och, tear-an-ages, I forgot the oysters!’ which difficulty was met bythe would-be purchaser declaring,

‘I’ll buy you, your horse, and your oysters.’

Whether the man was kept I do not know, but the horse and the oystersbecame my father’s property, and most probably a merry supper-partydisposed of the latter to commemorate the event. The new purchasewas named ‘Paddy Oysters,’ and an acquisition he proved, for he[29] wonseveral plates in Ireland, and was well known everywhere. My fatherbecame major of the 23rd Dragoons, and then raised a battalion of theCameronians, 26th Regiment, hoping to get the lieutenant-colonelcyof a cavalry regiment, as he had always served in that branch of theservice; but the Duke of York told him he must command the corpshe had raised, a high honour to him, and he went out to Spain aslieutenant-colonel of the 26th Cameronians, which formed part of theforce under Sir John Moore, a personal friend of his own. So my fatherwent to the wars, and took Paddy Oysters as his charger. At the battleof Corunna his left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, and he washurried off on board a transport, where the wounded limb was taken outat the socket. Alas! poor Paddy Oysters! The order was given that allhorses were to be shot to prevent them falling into the hands of theFrench; so the gallant charger was condemned to die. The colonel’sgroom would allow no one to touch his master’s faithful steed. Althoughthe enemy was approaching, and no doubt there was a good deal of hurryand excitement, he waited for orders, which were given, and PaddyOysters[30] fell dead on the beach. These particulars were given me by myfather as well as by my uncle, who was present at the time.

A soldier’s life is one of continual change. I suppose, among its manycharms, that of uncertainty is one of the greatest. We were quarteredat Tralee, and in the full enjoyment of all the sport and hospitalitywhich are the distinguishing features of that most charming quarter. Iwell remember one evening; we had had a first-rate run with the Chutefox-hounds, and it was late before I got back to my quarters. My roomlooked very comfortable, Illustrious Tom having made a fine fire ofturf and coal mixed. Everything seemed so pleasant, and I daresay thethought entered my mind what a jolly season was before me. There weresome letters on the table. One official-looking document I left tothe last, believing it referred to some court-martial duty. However,at length I opened it and found a note from my commanding officer,regretting that he was obliged to forward the enclosed to me; whichwas an order from the Horse Guards for Captain Maxwell to proceed tojoin the head-quarters of the 88th Connaught[31] Rangers at Barbadoes,West Indies. So my Irish campaign was over, and I had to say farewellto Tralee and all its charms, and to leave behind me not only mybrothers-in-arms, but, among other treasures, Illustrious Tom and hisfat wife.

The steamer started from Southampton. We touched at Madeira, and, aftera prosperous passage, cast anchor at Barbadoes.

The head-quarters of the Connaught Rangers were ordered to Trinidad,four companies under my command to the Island of Grenada, and anotherdetachment under Captain Bayley to St. Vincent. The 88th had sufferedfearfully from that awful disease, yellow fever. Our much belovedColonel Ormsby Phibbs had fallen a victim to it, and many men had losttheir lives. Yellow Jack left us the moment we sailed from Barbadoes,and during the two years I was quartered at Grenada we had no hospitalto speak of, and only one man died, a poor man who fell a victim tonew rum. We got up a race meeting, open to all the islands in theWest Indies. Captain Astley, 66th Regiment, brought a horse down fromBarbadoes named Creole, and won everything with it. He was a very[32]nice fellow, and we were all glad at his success, as it showed muchsporting spirit to bring a horse to run at such a distance from wherehis regiment was quartered. The stakes he had won were all in dollars,and the bag he had to carry away was so large that Captain Astley askedme, as secretary and treasurer, to have the money sent to him throughthe Colonial Bank at Grenada. We said farewell to this gallant officeron board the steamer which was to take him back to Barbadoes. He wasin great spirits, and apparently in excellent health. But, alas! thereturn steamer from Barbadoes, in a very few days, brought a letterfrom the paymaster of the 66th Regiment, telling the sad story thatAstley was dead; yellow fever having carried him off.

Among the fair places of the earth there is none fairer than the Islandof Grenada. The Carenage and town of St. Georges are situated at thefoot of high hills covered with trees. The road winds up a greenavenue, and gradually ascends to Fort Mathew, where four companies ofthe Rangers were quartered. What a view there was from the verandahof my rooms! The[33] town of St. Georges appeared to consist of toybuildings, half encircling the harbour, and, far beyond, miles andmiles of sea. In the day time everything was bright and lively: thebalmy trade winds blew fresh and perfumed; the night, when every treeand bush was lit up by sparkling fireflies, appeared calm and peaceful;rare flowers seemed to grow uncared for—flowers which at home wouldhave been highly valued and carefully tended. Fruit is plentiful, andpine-apples are very fine; a brilliant purple blossom, resembling thesingle bell of the hyacinth, opens from each of the diamond-shapeddivisions of the fruit itself, which when young is of the same richhue, surrounded by a crest of pink-corded leaves, and protected allround by others much larger and broader, with saw-like edges and spikedpoints. The pine-apple, as it ripens, loses its beautiful and freshappearance; the purple changes to pale strawberry, and the leavesbecome green. It is placed in ice, and sliced; and there cannot beanything more delicious than this juicy fruit when the sun is high andthe trade wind has failed.

It would take pages to describe the various[34] dishes a gourmet mightrevel in at Grenada; turtle in every way, pepper-pot, and land-crabs.I can only recommend those who have large yachts to go to the WestIndies for a cruise. Land-crab catching was a very picturesque scene.These creatures, which live in holes near the sea, are strangelyugly. At night we used to sally forth, attended by crowds of nigg*rs,and proceed to an inlet from the sea, on the shore of which themanchineel-trees grow. If you take refuge from the rain underneath theshade of these treacherous shrubs, your face and hands become blisteredall over. The ground is full of holes where the land-crabs dwell.Fascinated by the torch-light (which each native carries), they comeout, and are seized by the expert watcher. These crabs are supposed tobe foul feeders, and when caught they are placed in barrels, and fedon meal for many days before they are cooked for the table. Anotherexciting sport was turtle turning. The natives would watch a turtlecoming out of the water to lay her eggs, and, before she got back tothe sea, would intercept her, and turn her over on her back, in whichposition a turtle is quite helpless. Having marked[35] the spot where theeggs were deposited, they went there, and generally found an enormousquantity. These eggs when boiled have a skin like parchment. Onebecomes in time quite clever at opening them. The way a West Indiangourmet eats them was always a wonder to me, though I became prettyexpert at it after some practice.

My brother officer, Lee Steere, and myself were greatly interested inthe race-meeting before mentioned. Both of us had horses to run, andwe had to train them ourselves; so we discovered an old house nearthe race-course—which we called Jockey Lodge—and there we came andlived occasionally before the races. The house was very old, and thewooden flooring quite out of repair. I was attacked in it by somevery disagreeable symptoms. I suppose I had walked on the floor in mybed-room without slippers; for one morning I felt the most maddeningitching in one of my toes, so I shouted for my servant Seeley, who wasa first-rate attendant, and asked him what could be the matter. Heand his wife had both been slaves who had been freed by Colonel Tidy,I think, of the 14th Regiment.[36] The colonel had given Seeley a watchwith an inscription on it at the time when he made him a free man.Whenever anything out of the common happened, Seeley would roll hiseyes, and grin from ear to ear, showing his white teeth, and lookingthe embodiment of black mischief. Having examined my foot, he almostshouted with delight.

‘Yah! yah! Massa got jigger toe. Yah! yah!’

I did not appreciate his mirth and laughter.

‘What am I to do, you horrible old rascal?’ I exclaimed.

Seeley bent nearly double, and with his hands on the front of histhighs, assumed the attitude of long-stop at cricket, and continued togive expression to his sense of enjoyment. ‘Yah! yah! ho! ho!’ But atlength he became quiet, and proceeded to business. Taking a needle,he began to scrape away at my toe, nearly driving me mad. Suddenly heexclaimed, ‘Hi haw!’ like a donkey braying, and then he appeared toforce the needle gently into my foot, and brought out at the end of ita little bag, which he held up with a triumphant look; for this was thejigger, which had laid its eggs in my toe, and which, if allowed[37] toremain, would have been attended with most serious consequences.

I had a thirty-ton cutter, in which I made several expeditions. Once Iwent to Trinidad, where the head-quarters of the 88th were stationed.I do not remember how long we took to go there, but I recall withpleasure that delightful sail over a calm sea, a favouring breezefilling our sails. As we cut through the water, flying fish darted hereand there, either in fear or in play; the nautilus floated gracefully,dolphins leaped, and sometimes the horrid fin of a shark following ourtrack might be seen. It is long ago since all this happened, and I canonly trust to my memory, but I think the barracks where the ConnaughtRangers were stationed must have been the very abode of fever. Themosquitoes were intolerable, and the heat intense. Lord Harris wasgovernor then, and his gardens were beautiful. I well remember theluxurious marble bath in his grounds. My colonel, the late Sir H.Shirley, gave me a room in his quarters, and in the morning he awoke meto show a huge tarantula, as big as the back of my hand, which a gunnerhad found in his boot as he was about to pull[38] it on. I also saw acentipede, which the assistant-surgeon of the regiment was preserving,so long that in a common-sized havanna cigar-box it could not be placedwithout almost doubling it. So my recollections of Trinidad are aconglomeration of tarantulas, mosquitoes, centipedes, iced champagne,and a hearty welcome.

My regiment went from the West Indies to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Wechanged from almost perpetual sunshine to a land where snow lay onthe ground for months. When we landed, I well remember how fresh andbeautiful everything looked. I had been accustomed for some years tosee for the most part only the negro women, who, although possessingfigures like graceful ebony statues, that showed to the finestadvantage as they walked erect and firm, bearing their purchases frommarket on a tray carried on the top of their heads, still their faces,as a rule, were ugly, and always black. How surpassingly beautiful wethought the women of Halifax, with their dazzling complexions, who cameto welcome the wild Irishmen; and further acquaintance showed thattheir beauty was only equalled by their frank and gentle ways. The yearwe remained at Halifax[39] is a memory never to be effaced. The venerableand rickety old wooden barracks, which had been condemned during thetime the Duke of Kent was in Nova Scotia, was burnt to the ground whenthe 88th and 38th Regiments occupied it as quarters. The conflagrationwas a grand sight, which we would willingly have dispensed with, as theConnaught Rangers never received any compensation for the mess naperyand other valuables lost in that magnificent bonfire.

The mention of land-crab catching in Grenada recalls to me thelobster-spearing at Halifax, a sport which was carried on at night. Inthe bows of the boat large fires were kept burning. Standing ready, thesportsman holds in his grasp a trident, which is not pointed, but islike a huge pair of tweezers. The lobsters are seen crawling beneaththe clear water. A sudden dart is made with the trident, the tweezersopen, and seize the prey, which is hauled on board and thrown amongothers in the bottom of the boat. Many dozens are caught in this way,and the scene is very exciting when there are several boats, the firesin them looking strange and weird-like.

[40]

If I were to begin recalling old times at Halifax, with its sleighclub in winter and the flowers of its summer, I fear I should becomevery wearisome. When my regiment was quartered in Nova Scotia, wegot a bear, about the size of a small donkey, which became a greatfavourite. The order came for us to return home in the troopshipResistance, commanded by Captain Bradshaw. Great was ourconsternation when that officer issued a proclamation that only acertain number of pets, and no bears, should be allowed on board. Weall vowed that the bear was not to be left behind, and a clever planto smuggle it on board was hit upon by two of my brother officers.As there were many casks to be hoisted on board, chloroform wasadministered to our bear, and he was packed in one of them. As it wasgoing to be hoisted in the air, the captain asked,

‘What’s in that big barrel?’

The Ranger, who was seeing it elevated, answered, promptly,

‘The warm clothing of the regiment, sorr,’ and being asked by a comradewhy he said so, he observed, with a wink, ‘Begorra, I thought the[41] ouldTartar moight see the fur through the bunghole of the cask and smell—abear!’

The sailors were delighted and helped to stow our favourite away, andI believe the captain never knew anything about it till we had beensome time at sea, and then he pretended to have been cognizant of thefact all along. Our bear was with us at Parkhurst Barracks, and wasalways in a friendly disposition with all. A young fellow dined at ourmess, and I suppose drank too much champagne, for he was discoveredpeacefully reposing beside the bear in its kennel.

The 38th Regiment brought home two bears, very fine, large animals. Achild was playing with them and got a hug, which killed the poor littlething. Down came an official from the Horse Guards with orders that allregimental bears were to be destroyed; we gave ours, however, to theZoo, where it lived in the pit and was fed with buns by children. Roundits neck was a brass collar with ‘Connaught Rangers’ engraved on it. Ido not know its further history.

RETURN TO ENGLAND—PARIS—ENGLISH AND FRENCH OFFICERS—UNVERITABLE ROSBIF—PLUM POUDIN—TOUCHING COURTESY—ISLEOF WIGHT—PARKHURST BARRACKS—ELECTION AT COWES—A TIPSYDRIVER—CAMP AT CHOBHAM—VISITORS TO THE CAMP—THE REV. DR.CUMMING—IN THE MANUFACTURING DISTRICTS—ORDERED TO THEEAST—GENEROUS CONDUCT OF THE CUNARDS—WAR DITTIES—SCUTARI—AWRESTLING MATCH—A GOOD STORY—A FAIRY SCENE—THE SULTAN’S WIFE.

[45]

CHAPTER III.

On our arrival in England we disembarked at Chatham and marched toCanterbury, where we were quartered for some months. The 17th Lancers,who occupied the cavalry barracks, were one of the most hospitable andpleasant corps I ever met; many of them have passed away, many of themfell in the glorious charge of Balaclava, but at the time of which Iwrite they formed a gathering of the finest specimens of the lightdragoon.

When the leave time came round I went to Paris. The late emperorwas then President of the French Republic, and enjoyment seemed theorder of the day. The balls of the Tuileries were most amusing;all officers were in uniform, and the dress of the 17th Lancers ofthat[46] day, several of whom were present at one of these balls, wasuniversally admired. I went in the tight coatee with epaulettes whichwas an infantry officer’s costume at that time, and no doubt thoughtmyself very fine; but my vanity received a shock when a French ladypassed, and, looking towards me, said to her friend, ‘Ma foi, c’est unvéritable Rosbif!’ We were received with great civility by the officersof the artillery quartered at Vincennes, who invited us to pay them avisit, which we did a day or two after the ball. Nothing could exceedthe friendliness of these French gunners. We dined with them in a café,as they had no mess, and I remember the great event was the ‘plumpoudin,’ the very remembrance of which fills my mind with horror. Theexcitement of the Frenchmen was intense when a large soup tureen wasplaced on the table. ‘Ah, le voilà! Le plum poudin! Ah, oh!’ When thecover was removed a mass of liquid horrors was brought to view, amongwhich a bottle of cognac was poured and then lighted. This fearfuldecoction was ladled out into soup plates, and with anxious eyes ourfriends gazed on us as we began to eat. I suppose the brandy saved us,but we certainly[47] endangered our lives for the honour of our country.

When we were leaving, these kindly-disposed fellows insisted on payingour cab hire to Paris, and we had the greatest difficulty in preventingthem doing so. We were anxious to give them some return for theircivility, so the lancers and myself resolved to ask them to dinner atthe Rocher de Cancale. A note was therefore despatched requesting thepleasure of their company. A reply came to me from one of them, a niceyoung fellow called Joubert, begging us to postpone the entertainmentfor a week. Of course this was complied with, and when the week hadelapsed we had a very jolly party. Joubert accounted for the delaywhich had been requested, which was owing, as he said, to the fact thatwe had honoured them with our presence in plain clothes, and, as theyhad nothing but uniform, they had to get mufti made! This was quitetouching by its simple courtesy.

We had a great deal of fun during our stay in Paris. On our firstarrival my friends, the lancers, asked me to order dinner at the ‘TroisFrères,’ which was in existence then. I was[48] determined to have a gooddinner; but I had forgotten Parisian ways, having been absent for solong in the West Indies and America. Anyway, I ordered a portion foreach person. I think we numbered eight; so there were eight soups,eight fish, eight of each entrée, &c., and the room seemed hardly largeenough to contain our various plats. How we did laugh and enjoyourselves! With one exception, I am now the only one left of that merryparty.

My leave was drawing to a close, so I left Paris, where every momenthad been so occupied. I had not done much in letter-writing, andwas, therefore, quite ignorant of regimental news. On arriving atCanterbury, I got a fly, and ordered the driver to take me to thebarracks; but, on reaching the infantry lines, I was surprised to findall in darkness, although it was only about half-past seven in theevening.

At length an 88th man came up to the carriage in which I was seated.

‘What’s become of everybody?’ I exclaimed.

‘Well, sorr, they’re all gone; a sudden order came, and they’re gone,except just a few to give over the barracks.’

[49]

‘Gone—where to?’ I asked.

After a time he replied, ‘They’re gone, sorr, to some island; but Idisremember the name.’

With this very unsatisfactory information, I told cabby to drive me tothe ‘Fountain Hotel,’ where I was told that the regiment had left forthe Isle of Wight.

Parkhurst Barracks was occupied by only one battalion, the 88th, andthe four company dépôt of the Cameronians. What delightful quartersthe Isle of Wight was in these days! There was no railway then in theisland; a four-horse coach plied between Newport and Hyde, and thedrive was most enjoyable. The pretty little villages have now becomestaring towns. It is difficult to find a retired nook in the noisycountry now all built over.

The officers of the 88th received the greatest hospitality fromeveryone in the Isle of Wight. The numbers were not overwhelming, therebeing few red-coats at the barracks. The private soldiers also weremost kindly treated by the inhabitants of this charming island. It isa strange fact that at home in Britain, because a man wears a red coatand is liable to a greater[50] punishment for drunkenness than a civilian,kind-hearted men consider themselves bound to offer him a dram, andeven press him to take it, while to another class of men they wouldonly wish ‘God speed.’ When my regiment was quartered at ParkhurstBarracks, an election took place, and the usually quiet town of Coweswas very excited. I had been asked to dinner there by a very hospitablehost, and a married brother officer offered me a seat in his carriage.The party was a very pleasant one, and the cheers of the successfulcandidate’s supporters were distinctly heard every now and then.

When we were leaving, my friend saw that his coachman, a privatesoldier, had been drinking success to the newly-elected member—inother words, was very drunk, so he whispered to me to get inside withhis wife, and that he would drive. The lady, however, was not to bedeceived by remarks about the pleasures of smoking a cigar and drivinghome by moonlight. She soon exclaimed,

‘I am sure there is something wrong,’ and at this moment coachee made atremendous lurch. ‘The servant is drunk. He will knock my husband[51] offthe box. Oh! Captain Maxwell, do, do something.’

What could I do to pacify this kind lady, whose husband was my dearestfriend? I was in a dreadful quandary. A bright idea came to the anxiouswife.

‘Oh, Captain Maxwell, will you hold the man on to the box?’

So I let down the front window, and with considerable difficulty gothold of some part of the horrid man’s dress, and so pretended to keephim steady. The tipsy wretch made a horrible lurch, and, giving hismaster a poke in the ribs, said, in a tone half jovial, half sad,

‘Meejor, the missus is pulling my tail!’

We left the Isle of Wight, and, after being quartered for some monthsat Portsmouth, proceeded to join the camp at Chobham. How much weenjoyed that bloodless campaign, and how absurdly proud of ourselveswe all were! The Connaught Rangers were composed of as fine a body ofmen as could be mustered anywhere, well seasoned soldiers, full ofloyalty to the Queen, and imbued with a thorough knowledge of theirduties, which it takes many years to[52] learn, and thus enable a privateto become a good non-commissioned officer. In two years from that timehow few remained alive! Most of them repose in death on the heights ofSebastopol, where the wild flowers cover their honoured graves. ButChobham was the first camp which had been formed for many years, andwe all enjoyed it very much. It was amusing to watch the curiositydisplayed by civilians. I have often seen visitors to the camp walkthrough our mess-kitchen, and horrify our cook by taking the lids offsome of his most cherished pots to see what we were to have for dinner.

I remember one day, after a long field-day in the warm sun, going tomy tent, throwing myself into an arm-chair, and very nearly fallingasleep, when I heard a whispering going on at the entrance, which wasgently opened, when a pretty face peeped in, and I heard the remarkmade, ‘He is asleep,’ but, like the celebrated weasel, I had an eyeopen. One peculiar feature of Chobham at that time was, that friendswho had previously ignored one’s existence all of a sudden becamegreatly interested in our welfare, especially about luncheon time. Thecamp at[53] Chobham was the first opportunity many of us had of seeingregiments combined together in brigades and divisions. It was a grandpicnic, and was the melodious overture to the great tragedy of theCrimean War.

We were visited by royal personages, by soldiers, sailors, lawyers,and clergymen. The celebrated Dr. Cumming once addressed the men. Iremember some of his remarks:

‘I am a man of peace, but, if anyone tried to knock me down, I would doall I could to floor him first.’

The chaplain-general preached a sermon. He said,

‘The last time he had seen such a gathering of soldiers, he himself hadtaken an active part, for he was then an officer under Wellington.’

Though no one was certain then that there would be war, yet there wasa sulphurous vapour impregnating the air, which the most peaceableinhaled, and the next year the Crimean campaign came on.

After leaving Chobham, we were sent to the manufacturing districts. Thehead-quarters was stationed at Bury, in Lancashire, and the left[54] wing,to which I belonged, was sent to Ashton-under-Line. The cotton-spinnerswere most hospitable to us. I have a very kindly remembrance of a Mr.Harrison, whose house was in the neighbourhood of our barracks, and whoshowed me the greatest kindness. But the plot was thickening, and theorder came for the Connaught Rangers to embark for the East. The wholeof Ashton turned out to see us march away. The streets were decorated,and as the colours were carried past every head was uncovered. Oneman, however, standing near the hotel in the street through which wepassed, did not take off his hat. A young fellow went up to him, and, Isuppose, told him to uncover, but he refused to do so. I heard him say:‘No, I won’t.’ The next moment he was lying on the ground, the youngfellow having hit him right between the eyes, and knocked him down. Aswe proceeded onward, an old woman knelt, and in a loud voice blessedthe colours.

When we arrived in Liverpool, we were halted near the Exchange, andthe mayor made a speech, which was received with great cheering. Theships in the harbour were gaily decorated with[55] flags, and crowds ofpeople shouted and cheered. On the 4th of April, 1854, the ConnaughtRangers embarked on board the Niagara, one of Cunard’s fineststeamers, on which we were most sumptuously entertained. On arriving atConstantinople we asked for our bill, and were informed we were guestsof the Cunards. We subscribed, and presented the captain with a watch.

Our passage out was a very prosperous one. A calm sea prevailednearly all the time. Our band played often on deck, and in the brightmoonlight the men sat in groups and sang merrily. I still possess someof their cheery ditties.

I must give another specimen, which, if not very well spelt, isotherwise a proof of the loyalty of a gallant soldier, who afterwardsfell at Sebastopol. I copy the whole as given to me on board theNiagara.

‘A soldier that is bound for this late war, and who goes with the mostgratified assurance of coming home again with the head of the Disturberof Europe; or, dying like a soldier in the field, and with the heart ofa real true subject, he says to his comrades:—

COME TO THE DANOBE.

(Composed by Private Edward Murphy, Light Company, 88thRegiment.)

On arriving at Gallipoli, we received orders to proceed on toConstantinople. A boat was upset[58] close to our steamer, and one of theTurks took refuge in the paddle-wheel! Most fortunately, he was notkilled. When he came on board, we gave him dry clothes, and, as it wasthe men’s dinner hour, they offered him some pork. His face would havemade a good picture. I mention this as the first mistake made by oursoldiers in their dealings with Mohammedans.

We anchored near Scutari, between the Sultan’s seraglio and theopposite shore, and in the afternoon we disembarked, and marched intoScutari Barracks, a fine building capable of containing six thousandmen. My company, numbering over one hundred, were all in one room.The quarters told off for two subalterns and myself consisted of onelarge room, lighted by three windows, in front of which was an ottomanwith pillows. Cleanliness was not the order of the day, so there weremany inhabitants besides ourselves. Our view was not enlivening,as we looked out on the Scutari burying ground, where tall, sombrecypress-trees waved sadly over the tombs of thousands of Mahomet’sfollowers. In the evening we went for a walk, and, seeing a crowd, wemade towards it and found two Turks[59] stripped to the skin, their onlygarment being a kind of bathing drawers. They were smeared with oil andwere engaged wrestling. The wrestlers were not a very pleasing sight,but the entourage was most amusing. Here was a Connaught Rangerin his neat red coat and white belt, without any weapon at all; there awild warrior of some eastern tribe, armed to the teeth with formidablepistols and curved scimitar. There were women covered up to the eyes,but the eyes were soft and bright, Greeks with long pipes, Turks ingreen turbans, and Turks in white—a strange and animated scene.

A good story was told of a gallant colonel commanding a mostdistinguished regiment. He had been given quarters in the Sultan’swing in Scutari Barracks. A pasha came to pay him an official visit,and, I suppose, approached with reverence the apartments sacred in hisestimation. He took off his slippers at the door and entered the room,when, horror of horrors! what did he see?—the said colonel occupiedfrying pork in a dispatcher on the Sultan’s table.

A brother officer and myself crossed one day by the steamer whichplied from Scutari to[60] Galata, and there hired a caique. We were boundfor the sweet waters of Europe. We were taken up the Golden Horn, andthen floated past green hills and picturesque-looking cottages. Allround us were hundreds of gilded caiques laden with handsome women inglittering attire, and boats whose Greek crews sang in wild chorus.As we proceeded onward the river became narrow, and we arrived atthe sweet waters of Europe. It was a fairy scene. Graceful forms inlovely dresses were dotted here and there on the green grass underthe shade of the trees, very transparent veils concealing theirfaces, their long fringed eyes beaming upon us, for the unbelieverswere in high favour at that time. We passed also stately Turks, gayFrenchmen, steady-looking Britons, and wonderful Cinderella coaches. Agilded carriage approached, drawn by four black horses, covered withsilver trappings; this was followed by a line of other gilded coachessurrounded by armed blacks. A lovely woman glittering with diamonds,her face barely concealed by the thin gauze she wore, was in thestately equipage. This was the Sultan’s wife. In the third carriagefollowing hers was seated a most[61] beautiful girl, by whose charms mybrother officer was quite struck. Though he was jostled by the armedblacks, pushed by the escort, knocked by the Turks, he still kept asclose as possible to No. 3 carriage. There are many old women at thevalley of sweet waters who sell bouquets. One came near and offeredsome flowers to my brother-officer, who took them, and, watching hisopportunity, presented them to this Nourmahal. She smiled and placedthem in her bosom, and, taking a rose from the bouquet, held it towardsmy friend, and then pressed the flower to her lips, on perceiving whichthe armed blacks began to swagger offensively. The escort of lancersclosed up, and, as the carriages were moving away, she rolled herhandkerchief up and threw it at my bewildered friend. She then held alooking-glass towards him and pressed it in her arms, thus ending theromance as far as I know, for the gilded coaches and prancing escortall moved on and gradually faded from our sight.

ENCHANTING SCENE—LOSS OF BAGGAGE HORSES—SIR GEORGE BROWN’SORDER—IDENTIFICATION OF LOST HORSES—DEALINGS WITH THEPEASANTRY—FORAGING—CHOLERA IN BULGARIA—DISAGREEABLEMISTAKE—DR. SHEGOG—DEVOTION TO HIS WORK AND SUDDENDEATH—DEATH OF AN OFFICER—EMBARKATION AT VARNA—THE BLACK SEAFLEET—KIND SOLDIERS—OUR FIRST SCARE IN THE CRIMEA—KINDNESSOF LORD RAGLAN—AN OUTLYING PICQUET—STORY OF A CONNAUGHTRANGER—CAPTURE OF BALACLAVA—A SERIOUS MISTAKE.

[65]

CHAPTER IV.

An the 29th of May, 1854, we embarked on board the Cambria, andon the 30th arrived at Varna, where we encamped for a few days. On the5th of June we changed our ground. Our tents were pitched on a heightbetween two lakes. The hills all around us were covered with youngtrees in beautiful foliage, and on our right was a valley, throughwhich a broad river flowed. The green hills were dotted everywherewith white tents, and curling smoke was stealing out of the woods frommany a bivouac fire. It was an enchanting sight. Some of our baggagehorses had been stolen, but a few had been recovered. As there was adifficulty, however, in recognising them, Sir George Brown, the generalof the light division, issued an order that each animal belonging tothe different regiments[66] forming the light division should have someidentifying mark, so that, if any of them were stolen, their recoverymight be facilitated.

The adjutant of the Connaught Rangers, Arthur Maule, gave orders tohis batman to have his initials burnt on his horse’s hind-quarters.I suppose Paddy did not know what initials meant, for Maule, onproceeding with his batman to inspect his nag, found B. R. beautifullyclipped and burnt on the charger’s hind-quarters.

‘What does B. R. mean?’ said the astonished officer. ‘My initials areA. M.’

‘Arrah, sure, sir,’ replied the rather offended groom, ‘B. R. standsfor British Army.’

The peasantry were much alarmed at our approach at first; but they verysoon found out that we were willing to pay freely for the produce oftheir farms, and in process of time they actually walked through ourcamp shouting out what they had for sale. One poor man I heard cryingout, in a very loud voice, ‘Bono Johnny. Bono bad eggs!’ theresult, no doubt, of some wag’s tuition. Colonel Sanders, of the 19thRegiment, and myself rode out one day to forage among the villages,whose inhabitants were[67] generally pleased to provide us with whateverthey possessed for a consideration.

This day we had been very successful, and our appearance would havesurprised those at home, who think officers of the Army the mostluxurious of men. Colonel Sanders had become possessor of several fresheggs, which he placed in his pockets. I was the proud owner of a duckand two hens, which were put in front of me on the baggage pony I wasriding. We got on very well at first; but my duck became obstreperous,and the hens struggled, so my nag began to kick, and roused ColonelSanders’ charger to do likewise—alas! for the colonel’s coat, wherenow the pomp and circ*mstance of glorious war? ‘Oh! the eggs are allsmashed!’ was the colonel’s most distressing announcement. We rodeinto camp very curious specimens of the British soldier. Sanders wentaway to pass a mauvais quart d’heure with his batman, and I wasreceived with joy by my servant, Hopkins, who expressed his delight inthe following forcible, if not very elegant terms:

‘Hurroo! here’s fowls. I’ve had nothing to[68] rub the sweat off my teethbut stale bread, Hurroo!’

The time passed in Bulgaria by the light division would have been along continued picnic had not pestilence come upon us, and choleravisited our camp in its most cruel form. It is very sad to recall toone’s memory that beautiful spot which simply by a change of wind wasaltered from a paradise to a place where death in one of its mosthorrid forms reigned supreme. We changed our ground very often, but thehideous demon followed us wherever we went, and we welcomed the orderwhen issued for the light division to march to Varna, there to embark.

One cold, raw evening, when cholera was at its worst, several of uswere sitting in my tent drinking hot rum and water. The sergeant ofmy company came to make some report, and I offered him some hot grog,which he accepted. With the greatest care I mixed the drink, and gaveit to him, while he made some kindly remark as he drank it off, andthen went away. Some one else, coming into the tent soon after, wasalso invited to ‘liquor up.’ The mug in[69] which the sergeant’s grog hadbeen was still on the table, and the little that was left looked socurious that I put my lips to it, and was terribly distressed to findthat I had used salt instead of sugar in concocting it. The great fearcame over me that it would make the sergeant feel sick, and that hemight fancy he had taken cholera; so I sent for him, and, when he came,I told him of my mistake. His answer surprised me; for he said he knewit was salt from the taste.

‘But, sergeant, was it not very horrid?’ I exclaimed.

‘Well, sir, it was rather nauseous,’ he replied.

‘Why did you drink it?’ I asked.

‘I did not like to let on that I knew it, as you had kindly given methe drink,’ was the astounding reply.

On our march to Varna, we were encamped on the ground which had beenvacated by the 79th Highlanders. Our tents were pitched, but greatdifficulty had been experienced in getting the sick settled in camp,and the doctors had been most terribly overworked. When the detachmentof the 88th Regiment were quartered[70] at Grenada in the West Indies, Isaw mentioned in the Gazette the appointment to the ConnaughtRangers of a man with a very curious name, Shegog. This name hauntedme, and I never took up a newspaper without reading that Shegog wasappointed assistant-surgeon to the 88th. The steamer arrived earlyone morning at Grenada, and I was wondering what news had come fromEngland when my servant announced, ‘Dr. Shegog.’ The doctor was acurious-looking man, with very prominent eyes, and, when he put hishat on, it was always very far back on his head; but, when we came toknow him, we found that there never was a truer man than ‘Old Shay;’no warmer heart ever beat than his. He accompanied the regiment toNova Scotia; and after being quartered, on our return home, withme at Ashton-under-Line, he embarked with the 88th on board theNiagara, to proceed to Turkey, in April, 1854.

When cholera attacked the light division in Bulgaria, Dr. Shegog neverflagged in his attentions to the sick, while he took but little care ofhimself. The hospital tent was a fearful place to visit. The poor menwere lying on the ground[71] writhing in agony; crying out to be rubbedin accents most pitiful to hear. Others were too far gone to feelpain—their last hour was nearly come. ‘Old Shay’ was everywhere, anddoing all in his power for the suffering soldiers. The Roman Catholicpriest might be seen kneeling beside the dying men whispering hope totheir passing spirits.

The joyous order came at last to move to Varna for embarkation. Thenews came like a tonic, and the weary men seemed to gain strengthat once. Our brigade marched away, and we were full of joyfulanticipations. Dr. Shegog had been so occupied looking after the sickthat he had no time to think of himself. The poor fellow’s tent waspitched, but he had no dinner to eat. Steevens, Browne, and I messedtogether, and, as our repast was over, nothing remained. Shegog came tomy tent, and asked if we could give him something to eat, but we hadnot one scrap left. He was told there was lots of brandy, to which hewas welcome at any time. He thanked us, but said he wanted something toeat, and at that moment Maule, the adjutant, appeared, and said, ‘Comealong. Old Shay, I[72] have something cold in my tent,’ and so he wentaway. Next morning, poor, kind-hearted Shegog died of cholera. A mancame to me, and told me that the doctor was very ill. When I saw him,all pain was over, and he soon sank to rest. He was buried under theshade of a tree. Who knows the place of his grave now? But what matter?Wherever he may be laid, it is the resting-place of a true and honestworker who lost his life in helping the sick and weary.

As we returned to the camp from Shegog’s funeral, one of mybrothers-in-arms said he felt very unwell. We cheered him up as well aswe could, but as the night went on he became really ill, and, in themorning, our surgeon passed my tent, and said, ‘Mackie has got cholera.’

The regiment was preparing to proceed on the march to Varna, for wehad nearly reached our destination, and our chief, Shirley, proposedthat Mackie should be left till later in the day—under charge of aguard—but, as he decided to accompany the battalion, a stretcher wasmade as comfortable as possible for him, and he was carried by some menof his company. On approaching Varna, he asked them to lower him[73] downto the ground, which they had no sooner done than poor Mackie expired.

Our embarkation at Varna was effected without difficulty. Our vessel,which was towed by a steamer, formed one of that magnificent fleet ofmen-of-war and transports that covered the Black Sea for miles. Whennight came on, the scene was marvellous to look upon; light afterlight shining in the far distance over the calm sea. Sometimes the searesembled a large harbour full of vessels at anchor, then it assumedthe appearance of long streets in some vast town, but all was silent,and filled our minds with awe.

The light division landed at Old Fort in the Crimea. There was noopposition from the Russians, not one of whom was visible, except someCossacks on a distant hill. We marched only a few miles from where wehad disembarked, and halted in what appeared to be a stubble-field,but, as darkness had come on, it was difficult to know where we were.While we were in this state of perplexity, it began to rain. I wasdressed in, I believe, the identical coat in which I had appeared atthe Tuileries ball, which was uncomfortable[74] for even a drawing-room,but quite unsuited for a wet night in a ploughed field. For hours therain continued, and we were all wet through. The men, in the morning,managed to light a fire, and one of them brought me a mug of hot rumand water, which was most delicious. What kindly fellows these privatesoldiers were in those by-gone days! I daresay they are the same now,but I only testify to what they were then, from my experience of them.

In a day or two we got our tents and were comparatively comfortable.One night some firing was heard, which was taken up by the whole lineof sentries. What an excitement it was! Stevens and I shared the sametent, sleeping on the ground, without light of any kind, in totaldarkness. When the hurly-burly began—the buglers sounding the alarm,followed by the assembly—we both jumped up, and struggled to get ourshakoes, which, of course, had hid themselves. Scrambling in the dark,our two heads came bang against each other, and nearly floored us both,but at length, after a fall over the tent ropes, we reached my company.One of our staff-sergeants was an excitable man. It is reported[75] ofhim that on that night he rushed about with a drawn sword in a mostfrantic way, and nearly knocked over a bugler, who, seeing this wildman rushing at him, fell on his knees, exclaiming, in terrified accents,

‘Spare me, spare me, I’m a frind!’

This was our first scare in the Crimea, and was caused by some horseshaving got loose and surprised the sentries.

The story of the Crimean War has been told so often that I am not goingto inflict the oft-repeated tale on my friends, but only mention a fewfacts which are not universally known.

It was the day before the battle of the Alma, when one of my brotherofficers was taken very ill with symptoms of cholera. There was a smallhouse, I think a post-house, near our bivouac, and my friend tookrefuge there. He had not been long established in these humble quarterswhen a staff officer came and informed him he was sorry he must turnhim out, but that Lord Raglan’s head-quarters had been fixed there, andthat his lordship was then approaching.

Lord Raglan came up during this conversation, and, on being informed ofthe case, insisted that[76] my brother officer should remain undisturbedwhere he was, had a chair brought in to make him more comfortable,and, later in the day, with his one hand, carried a bowl of soup tomy suffering friend, and this was on the night before the battle ofthe Alma. Lord Raglan showed in many acts what a kind heart was his.Later, when the siege of Sebastopol was progressing, Nat Stevens and Iwere sitting in our closed tent, enjoying a fire. Nat was an inventivegenius, and had found an old funnel lying about, and had made a kindof a chimney, through which escaped some of the smoke, that was causedby a few damp roots burning in a very primitive fire-place. We wereactually weeping for joy, as a great deal of smoke refused to leaveus. It was snowing heavily outside the tent, when a voice was heardshouting. With many exclamations of disgust Nat opened the tent. Afigure on a horse, all alone, was barely visible in the snow.

‘What are you burning?’ asked the rider. ‘I see you have a fire by thesmoke.’

‘Roots,’ answered Nat.

‘Remember, do not burn charcoal; an officer of[77] the 97th Regiment haslost his life by doing so,’ said Lord Raglan, for he it was, who, benton deeds of kindly care, rode, unlike the French generals, unattendedby any staff, his visits to the camp thus remaining unknown.

After the battle of the Alma I was ordered to take my company onoutlying picquet. The night was pitch dark, and my instructions wereto communicate with the 19th and 77th, the other two regiments of ourbrigade. I could see nothing in front, and in our rear were the bivouacfires of the light division, and I heard no sound but the murmur ofthe voices of the men. At length I was aware that some one mounted wasapproaching, and a voice said, ‘Who is in command here?’ I advancedand explained my position. The owner of the voice gave me severalinstructions, one of which was to light a fire, ‘and, if anyone asksyou who gave you these orders, say General Pennefather,’ and he rodeaway.

The men of my picquet lit a fire, and very soon after the picquets ofthe 19th and 77th approached, attracted by the light, for they also hadbeen puzzled what to do. We had not been long settled when a clatterof cavalry sounded[78] coming towards us, and an English voice made thesame observation the general had done! ‘Who is in command here?’ I mademyself known, and great was my surprise to find Thompson of the 17thLancers, with a detachment of his regiment, roaming about. For a momentor two we recalled old scenes in Paris; for he had formed one of thatmerry party. We shook hands, and he rode away. I never saw him again.He was killed in the charge of the light brigade at Balaclava.

Archdeacon Wright told a good story of a Connaught Ranger, after thebattle of the Alma. When we moved on, and came to the river Katcha,where we halted for the night, there was near our bivouac a countryhouse, which had been deserted by its inhabitants a very short timebefore our arrival. The property was a valuable one, and there wereextensive cellars, in which were many large casks of wine. Thearchdeacon was roaming among them, when all of a sudden he came on asoldier of the Connaught Rangers, who, on being discovered, began totap the big barrels with a stick, and appeared to listen attentively tothe sound he made.

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‘What are you doing there, my friend?’ said the archdeacon.

‘May it plase yer riverence,’ replied the man, ‘I was looking for thewell, and thought perhaps these barrels moight howld water.’

Some of the men of my company had also been looking for water, for theybrought me a huge can full of the best red wine I ever tasted, and justin time; for an order was issued soon after forbidding the men to strayaway from the lines of their regiments.

After the flank march through the woods—a most fatiguingperformance—and having come to Mackenzie Farm, and the rear ofMenschikoff’s army, where his carriage was taken, in which was adrunken aide-de-camp, we continued on to Traktir Bridge, and next dayadvanced on Balaclava, which was easily captured. What a pretty smilinglittle harbour it was then! approached through vineyards laden with themost magnificent grapes.

I there received an order to remain in command of some men of the 88th,who were to form part of a dépôt under command of a colonel. The dépôtconsisted of men from all the regiments.[80] At first we bivouacked in theopen, but, after a little, houses were appropriated for the men, andthe officers had to shift for themselves. I found a cottage, in whichwas rather a pretty woman in great fear and distress. It was a cleanlittle house, and I got some one to explain to the poor woman thather things would be safe, and that she might come and take them awaywhenever it suited her. So she seemed quite pleased, and presented mewith some hens. I do not remember how she managed to get her thingsremoved, but she and her property disappeared, and I was left inpossession. A looking-glass, which now hangs on the wall in Monreith,is the only memento I have of that small house.

A very curious thing happened to me, which was very trying atthe time, but in one way had its pleasing aspect, for it broughtforth expressions of kindly feeling from men with whom I had smallacquaintance. In the list of captains in the 88th I was fourth. GeorgeVaughan Maxwell had been senior captain, but was promoted to be major.By some strange mistake, when the brevet came out in November or[81]December, 1854, my name appeared as brevet-major, although there werethree captains senior to me. Colonel Shirley went to Lord Raglan, andbrought to his lordship’s notice the facts of the case: that my seniorswere more entitled to the brevet than I was. Lord Raglan said it was avery hard case for my seniors, but that as I had received the brevet,the rule applied—once a major, always a major—and that I was a verylucky fellow.

So I did duty as a major, and commanded in the trenches as one—inshort, was recognised as a brevet-major. But one cold winter’s morn Iwas informed that my appointment was a mistake, and that I must returnto my former rank as captain. It was a very trying position, but nofault of mine. Everyone sympathised with me, and, when I went on dutyto the trenches, the officer in command, generally, to show how muchhe felt for me, gave me charge of some most exposed party, a kindnessI would have most gladly dispensed with. My relations at home werevery indignant—one sterling friend of mine was most energetic in herefforts to see me righted, and on one occasion attacked a great man inauthority[82] so strongly that at length he rose, exclaiming,

‘duch*ess, I can remain no longer. I sit on a Board at two o’clock.’

‘Well,’ said her grace, ‘I can only hope that it may be a very hardone.’

SENT TUMBLING INTO A DITCH—SIR HOUSTONSTEWART—ORDERED TO ENGLAND—FEARFUL ACCIDENT ON H.M.S.BELLEISLE—LISBON—CHOLERA—A MAGNIFICENT REGIMENT—THE‘ULYSSES’—A SCOTCH CAPTAIN—A LONG FAREWELL TO ENGLAND—CAPEPIGEONS—THE ALBATROSS—ARRIVAL IN INDIA—PERPLEXINGNEWS—OUR POSITION IN INDIA—SERVANTS—ORDERED TO THEPUNJAUB—AGRA—INSTALLATION OF THE STAR OF INDIA—SHOWERS OFMETEORS—DURBAR.

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CHAPTER V.

During the siege of Sebastopol, the Connaught Rangers formed one ofthe left brigade, light division, the other regiments being the 19thand 77th. There was an officer belonging to the 19th who was a pureScotchman. On being asked why he joined such a thoroughly Englishregiment as the 19th, he gave as his reason that his father was veryold and his writing not distinct, and he had applied for his son to beappointed to the 79th Highlanders, but he had made the 7 so like a 1that the authorities had gazetted him to the 19th.

When the final attack was made upon Sebastopol, the light divisionformed the storming party and supports. After running across theintervening ground between the trenches and the Redan, two hundred andeighty yards, and getting[86] into the ditch and up on to the salient ofthe Redan, a check took place, and officers and men got no further.Some time elapsed, all the ammunition was expended, and no more wasto be got. The Russians soon found this out, and charged us. Theconsequence was we were all sent tumbling over into the ditch whichwe had previously crossed. I fell flat among some poor fellows whonever rose again, and my feelings of disgust were great when theabove-mentioned officer put his foot—like a fiddle-case—in the centreof my back, and made use of me as a stepping-stone to get out of theditch. I got out some way or other, and found myself, with many others,hurrying to our trenches, where I arrived in a very tattered condition.The first officer I met was my Scotch friend, who appeared greatlysurprised to see me, and greeted me warmly, saying,

‘Maxwell! is that you? I thought you were dead. Have a drink,’producing a flask, at which I was delighted to have a pull.

The siege was over, another winter had passed in luxury comparedwith the one that had gone before, summer was coming again, and the[87]Sebastopol heights were clothed with flowers, which hid both shot andshell beneath their green leaves. Peace was made, and we were alldreaming of home.

I was paying a visit to Sir Houston Stewart, in his flagship, theHannibal, commanded by my old friend, Sir John Hay. We had amost pleasant party, among whom was Sir Henry Bernard, a genial andagreeable companion. He now lies in his grave in front of Delhi. Aman-of-war, the Belleisle, was reported as having arrived, andit was decided that the 88th Regiment should return to England in her.I was ordered to telegraph to the regiment, and next day they embarked.We were all in the greatest spirits. I bid adieu to the kind admiraland all friends in the Hannibal, and proceeded on board theBelleisle. A fatigue party of the regiment was engaged at thecapstan when a fearful accident happened. I cannot tell what the causeof it was, but I believe the man who watched the chain neglected hisduty. I can only state, however, what occurred. All of a sudden thechain ran out with great velocity, round went the capstan, and outflew the bars like porcupine[88] quills. I was standing on the poop, andone of the capstan bars hit me on the face and marked me for life;but, far worse, a soldier, named Burke, who had been all through thesiege, was killed outright. Another man had his leg broken, and otherswere wounded severely. Sir Houston Stewart telegraphed home that theaccident had occurred, and that I was all right. I am glad he did so,for my brother had received the telegram, before he read in a Scotchpaper that I was killed.

As we sailed away from Kamiesch Bay the Hannibal manned theyards, and the officers and men of the Connaught Rangers loudly cheeredfarewell as we left the shores of the Crimea for ever. We were towed byH.M.S. Firebrand, commanded by a most agreeable officer, Captainthe Honourable Spencer, whom it has never been my fortune to meet sincethose days.

The Firebrand remained with us till we arrived at the coast ofPortugal, when she left us, owing to cholera being very bad on boardher. We touched at Malta and Gibraltar, and anchored at the mouthof the Tagus. As cholera was raging at Lisbon, we were not allowedto land,[89] but Captain Hoskins, our commander, asked me to accompanyhim in a sail in the cutter to Belem and Lisbon. We paid a visit toa man-of-war lying off the latter place, and met a young artilleryofficer on his way home from the Crimea. He was in great spirits, andhad a dog he had brought with him from Sebastopol. He wanted me to landat Lisbon, and laughed a good deal when I informed him that we werenot allowed to do so, owing to the prevalence of cholera. He said hehad been often in the town, and was always quite well. We returned,however, to the Belleisle without landing.

Next morning, before putting to sea, Captain Hoskins received someletters from Lisbon, and startled us very much when he announced thedeath from cholera of that young officer we had met the day before. Inprocess of time we arrived at Portsmouth. It was home-like to see oncemore the gay yachts skimming about between Cowes and Ryde; for it wasthe summer season. We landed, and were ordered to Aldershot, where wehad the honour of parading before Her Majesty the Queen—two thousandstrong. What a grand regiment might have been picked[90] out of thesesplendid men! but most of them were discharged. The Indian Mutiny thenbroke out, but the best part of these warriors had been sent out of theservice, and we bitterly felt their loss.

We came home in July, 1856, and in July, 1857, the Connaught Rangersembarked for India in course of relief.

When the 88th went out to India in 1857, as before mentioned, it wasfor the usual relief, and not in consequence of the mutiny; for, whenwe left the shores of Britain on the 9th of July, the terrible facts ofthe insurrection were unknown to us. I was in command of the left wing,which embarked at Portsmouth on board the good ship Ulysses,to proceed round the Cape to Calcutta. The Ulysses was a finesailing vessel, chartered by Government to carry troops; her usualpassengers being emigrants. The captain was a worthy Scotchman, buthis ideas of comfort were limited. The morning we embarked, my brotherhaving come to see me off, I asked him to breakfast on board. There wasbread, and tea, and a bowl of boiled eggs, but no milk or butter. Mybrother took an egg and broke the shell, it[91] was bad; he took another,it was worse; so he gave it up as a bad job, but the captain encouragedhim to go on by saying, ‘Crack awa, crack awa, ye’ll soon come to agood yin.’ I was obliged to make a report to the proper authorities,and the worthy man was enlightened as to the fact that officers ofHer Majesty’s regiments in those days were not to be treated likeemigrants; and for the future we were fed in a cleaner and morewholesome manner. At Spithead we bade adieu to relations, friends, andacquaintances. And thirteen years passed away before I again lookedupon the fair Isle of Wight and England’s shores.

Our honest skipper, although quite unaccustomed to deal with gentlemenpassengers, was a very kindly man. Evidently, in his former voyages, hehad seen many a disagreeable quarrel among his emigrants, for he wasvery much afraid of any unpleasantness occurring. I proposed starting anewspaper, to be called the Ulysses Gazette, which was to comeout every Saturday, in which anyone who pleased might write an article.

The old captain looked alarmed.

[92]

‘Ye won’t, colonel, have any pairsonaylities, I hope,’ was his timidremark.

The Gazette came out, and was a great success. Some of mybrother officers established a school on board, which was well attendedby the men. We had a very good time, and all the officers were mostfriendly. I cannot say the same for the soldiers’ wives (there were noladies on board), who appealed to me sometimes as colonel on subjectsregarding which my legal knowledge was not sufficient to instruct orhelp them.

When our ship came to a certain latitude we were surrounded day andnight by Cape pigeons, graceful, white angels they looked in the palemoonlight, but most unpleasant birds when brought on board, as theyimmediately became vulgarly sick. Albatrosses soared above, and sharksfollowed us. When we were in the latitude of the Cape, the sea was thefinest spectacle I ever saw. It ran mountains high, but it was as ifoil had been poured on its surface. Our vessel rose up to the summit ofone of those unbroken hills, and then glided down the other side, justto rise up again. It was a wonderful sight.

[93]

In the month of November we anchored off the Sandheads, having leftEngland on the 9th of July, and never having sighted land the wholeway till we saw the shores of India. We now received the astoundingintelligence of all the horrors of the mutiny, and the perplexing newsthat Delhi was taken. Taken by whom? We had been so long at sea weknew nothing. In a day or two we landed at Calcutta, and our gallantship, which had brought us safely out, was wrecked on her way home.Fortunately, however, the captain and crew were saved.

When the Connaught Rangers first landed at Calcutta the great shock ofthe mutiny was being severely felt. Very few of us knew anything aboutthe ways of the country, and we were, so to speak, cast adrift in aforeign land. We had great difficulty in procuring anything. I shallnot enlarge on these troubled times. The generation that lived throughthem is passing away, and with them is fading the intense bitternessthat the fearful atrocities of Cawnpore called forth—so utterlyforgotten now that I read books that make high-minded remarks on theunforgiving[94] spirit that actuated us in those days. It is better toforget; but the retribution was not too heavy for the crimes committed.

In this country good or bad servants seem a very minor consideration;not so in India, where comfort is so essentially in the hands ofdomestics. One of our greatest difficulties in landing was procuringany. All the good servants had vanished, and for some time we wereobliged to be satisfied with a very inferior lot. One of my brotherofficers got a man called Paul, a miserable little man, who was alwaysgetting drunk. When we marched to Cawnpore after the capture of Calpee,a great many men of the regiment got fever, and, among other officers,Paul’s master was very ill. The wretched servant got drunk in thebazaar, and was made a prisoner—at least, so it was supposed, for hedid not return to his master, and no one knew what had become of him.Time went on and my brother officer got better, and pour passer letemps either rode or drove into the town of Cawnpore to look at theplace still stained with the blood of its victims. Either by chanceor from a desire to see the sepoy prisoners, my friend arrived at thekotwallee or guard-house[95] where these mutineers were incarcerated, and,to his great dismay, he saw among these ironed rebels a wretched littleman, who shouted: ‘Me Paul! me poor Paul!’ Much surprised, he went tothe kotwal and asked why the man was among the rebels, but could get nosatisfactory reply. On explaining matters that most probably Paul hadbeen locked up for drunkenness, and not rebellion, he got him released,as one of the policemen grimly observed, ‘just in time, for he wouldhave been hanged in to-morrow’s batch.’

Paul left Cawnpore without much delay.

The story of the mutiny has been told over and over again. In time itwas stamped out, but for a long period distant murmurings were stillheard like those of a thunderstorm fading away. Gradually the aircleared, and Marochetti’s ‘Angel of Peace’ was placed on the CawnporeWell. Beautiful flowers began to grow in a garden where once women andchildren were dragged to their death, and writers at home began topublish books to prove that all the horrors, murders, and atrocitieswere caused by the fault of the white inhabitants of India. So I passover that sad and nearly forgotten time, and, leaping over several[96]years, come to the year 1860, when the 88th Connaught Rangers proceededto the Punjaub.

In the autumn of 1866 the Connaught Rangers, which I had then thehonour to command, was ordered to proceed from Cawnpore, where we hadbeen stationed for some time, to Rawul Pindee in the Punjaub. We weredirected to halt, on our way up country, at Agra, to form part of alarge camp there, to be assembled for the grand durbar to be heldin honour of the installation of the Star of India. All the rajahs,princes, and begums of the empire were to be present, to meet LordLawrence, governor-general.

On our arrival at Agra, we found a very large force collected. We werenearly all under canvas, and so also were the princes of India, withtheir numerous retinues. The governor-general came into Agra the dayafter our arrival there, and from that hour the cannons of the fortand batteries had a hard time of it. As every prince went to wait onthe viceroy a salute was fired, and, according to the number of roundsfired, we inferred the rank of the great man who sallied forth to crossthe plain, followed by his marvellous[97] suite of elephants, carryinggorgeously mounted howdahs, warriors riding on prancing pink-nosedhorses, with tails and legs deeply dyed with red, to represent theblood of their enemies, down to the tag-rag and bobtail that areinseparable from the courts of those native princes.

The durbar was a magnificent sight. There we saw gathered together mostof the great powers of India; the Begum of Bhopaul, our steady friend,men that had done us good service during our evil times, and others whohad done us as little as they could. All had been rewarded, as far aspossible, according to their works. Each noble vied with his neighbourin the number and beauty of his ornaments, and the rays of the sunblazed on priceless jewels.

But our stay at Agra was not a period of idleness. Reviews and shambattles kept the troops occupied from hour to hour. I had command ofa brigade, and often left my tent before the dawn, when night stilldarkened all around, and the stars alone lit up the sky. It was duringthe month of November, and the fall of meteors was constantly to beseen; their appearance as they[98] fell in dazzling brightness being moststartling and sublime. From all parts of the compass they came. First along stream of light, which reminded me of the ‘bouquets’ the Russianssent us during the siege of Sebastopol, and then a ball of fire, whichburst like a rocket, leaving all in darkness again. And so it continuedtill the sun rose in its splendour, and the air became full of noisylife.

As a variety to our military morning work, there were various largedinners, given by the governor-general and the commander-in-chief.There were dances also. The Rajah of Jeypore entertained us all at asplendid ball, and Scindia illuminated the Taj. We should have enjoyedour halt at Agra very much had not that dreadful curse, cholera,invaded the camp, and caused the loss of several valuable lives. Onenight my wife alarmed me by assuring me that she felt very ill. Themedicine-chest was in our other large tent, where my wife’s maid slept,at some distance from the one we were occupying. I got hold of mybearer, and, writing a note, dispatched him with it to M’Kay, the maid.After some[99] delay, she appeared, very lightly clad, with my note inher hand, saying, ‘A man had come a long way with this, and wanted thecolonel to get it at once.’ Her knowledge of Hindostani was limited,and she had not recognised the bearer.

BY TRAIN TO DELHI—THE RAILWAY STATION IN 1866—BRIDGE OFBOATS—PALACE OF DELHI—THE JUMNA—MUSJID—REMINISCENCESOF DELHI—VALUABLE COPY OF THE KORAN—AUTOBIOGRAPHYOF SULTAN BABER—MAUSOLEUM OF SUFTER JUNG—MARCHIN COLD WEATHER—LUXURIOUS TENTS—SOLDIERS’ WIVESIN INDIA—KURNAL—GOVERNMENT STUD—CHRISTMAS ININDIA—UMBALLAH—TREMENDOUS STORM—UMRITSUR—MARCH INTO RAWULPINDEE.

[103]

CHAPTER VI.

Owing to the fell presence of the grim visitor, cholera, the durbarbroke up sooner than was intended, and my regiment received ordersto proceed by train to Delhi, en route to Rawul Pindee. Mywife not being very well, I decided to go on at night by passengertrain. The left wing of the regiment was to follow by special train,but the station-master was not certain when he could despatch them,leaving a wide margin, between 6 p.m. or 1 a.m. 3 a.m. saw us,tired and miserable, at our journey’s end, standing on the railwayplatform, without a coolie to help us with our luggage, or any morelight than the glimmer our own lantern afforded. Such was the Delhirailway-station in 1866.

A gharry was at last procured, and wearied and worn we started for thehotel (which had[104] been our mess-house when the Rangers were stationedhere in 1859). The railway did not cross the river Jumna, which wasspanned by a bridge of boats. This entailed further delay, as thepair of ponies had to be taken out and changed for bullocks before weventured on the swaying structure. But the longest and most tediousjourney ends at last, and so did ours as we stopped at Hamilton’shotel. It was bitterly cold, and as in India the traveller carrieshis own bedding, and our luggage was still at the station, we had nota very comfortable night’s rest. As the morning advanced everythinglooked brighter. The weather was perfect, reminding one of a breezyautumn day at home. We drove out to the camp, which we found pitched inthe old cantonments outside Delhi, where our army was encamped so longduring the memorable siege in 1857.

As we left Delhi we passed through the Cashmere Gate, a monument nowof gallant daring. My tents were pitched under a tope of trees, andthe breeze sighing among the branches sounded like the wind up aloftat sea. We met a great many regiments at Delhi, as it was the relief[105]season, and they were all on their way to new quarters. It made thedifficulty greater than usual of getting carriage conveyance.

Being delayed several days, we spent our time visiting the sights inand near Delhi, specially the palace in whose vast hall, with its manypillars of marble, once stood the peaco*ck throne, which was carriedaway by Nadir Shah in 1739. Along the cornice on each side of thechamber there is written in Arabic the inscription, ‘If there be aparadise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this!’ The dilapidatedstate the whole of the palace was in when I first saw it in 1859 mighthave saddened anyone, but on this last visit what a change! Everythinghad been cared for, and the poetical beauty of the place was broughtout with great success. In Delhi stands the Jumna-Musjid, i.e.,the Friday mosque, Friday being the Mohammedan Sabbath. At the siegein 1857 our soldiers forced their way into this temple. A very greatfriend of mine, Coghill, who was then adjutant of the 2nd Fusiliers,was cheering the men on in his gallant, hearty way, and he came to whatwas called the holy of holies, a structure made in imitation of theprophet’s[106] tomb at Mecca. Coghill seized hold of the koran, a largeand heavy book kept in this place, and carried it off with severalother wonders, such as a hair of the prophet’s moustache, and similartrustworthy valuables. As the koran was rather heavy, he handed it overto some one to take to one of the civilian officers.

After Delhi had fallen, I was anxious to get a remembrance of the greatsiege, and I became possessor of the koran. For a long time it reposedin one of my portmanteaus, but a native came to see me one day and saidthat it was known by certain Mohammedans that a copy of the koran wasin my possession, and that it was very valuable, being one of the threeoriginal copies, one of which was at Mecca, another at Delhi, and thelast I forget where. So I packed it up very carefully and sent it hometo Scotland. Thinking that the Bodleian library would value such anacquisition, I offered it through a friend, but was informed that thekoran was incomplete; so it still belongs to me.

Among many interesting accounts of Delhi, there is none more curiousthan that contained in the autobiography of Sultan Baber, who lived[107]A.D. 1526. He was the ancestor of the old king of Delhi, wholost his throne by the mutiny of 1857. Baber was born to the throneof Ferghana, or Transosian, now the Russian province of Khokan.Sherbany Khan, the leader of the Usbegs, took all from him, but Baber(which means tiger) conquered all his overwhelming difficulties byhis energy and courage. He gained the throne of Kabul, and was rulerof that country in A.D. 1525. As he had many adherents, hedetermined to invade India. Sultan Baber wrote his own autobiography ina dialect of the Turkish language; it was translated into Persian, andalso into English fifty years ago by Dr. Leyden. The civilization ofIndia is Turkish to this day. Until the year 1857 Baber’s descendantscontinued to reign in Delhi. ‘There are four roads,’ writes Baber,‘that lead from Kabul to India; in all these there are passes more orless difficult, Lamghanat and Kheiber, Bangash, Naghz, and Fernul.’ TheLamghanat road is the present route from Kabul to Peshawur, and it wasby it that Baber and his horsem*n marched, and his baggage and cannonwere conveyed; it was the scene of the Kabul massacre in 1842, when a[108]British army was cut to pieces; it witnessed the triumphal march of aBritish army in 1879.

‘A.D. 1526, April 12th—The Turks, under Baber, arrived within twomarches of Panipat—which lies fifty miles from Delhi—and on the 21stof April the battle was fought that gave India foreign masters for manycenturies, and a form of government that it still retains.’

‘The same night, April 21st, A.D. 1526, Prince Humayon andKurajeh Khan were despatched to take Agra, seventy miles away. Babermarched to Delhi. Delhi for three thousand years had been a great city.It was contemporaneous with Nineveh and Babylon. The city of Delhi ofthat day was called Firozabad. On a rocky hill, which extends on oneside of the city, was a citadel, built by King Feroze a hundred yearsbefore the Turkish invasion. On another side of the city was KingFeroze’s other palace, in which stood a trophy of war, a large monolithof stone, surmounted by the Moslem emblem of the crescent shining inbrass. On it were inscriptions in the Pali tongue, which recalled along-forgotten king, Asoka, the King Alfred of Hindoo history.’

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All this information I copied at the time of reading it—the mostinteresting account of Sultan Baber’s journal. When I was quarteredin Delhi, in 1859, I have often ridden over to these ancient ruins,and examined the inscriptions on the stone pillar, which had thenlost the Moslem emblem mentioned above. The courtyard was then usedfor the commissariat bullocks, and the dust, flying about everywhere,was almost blinding. Delhi, in ancient times, was the largest cityin Hindostan, covering a space of twenty square miles. It has nowdwindled down to a circumference of seven miles; but the ruins ofits former grandeur still exist, and a vast tract is covered withremains of palaces and mausoleums. We drove out to the Kootub-minar,that wonderful monument of a by-gone age. We passed on our way theonce famous observatory, now much dilapidated, and no longer usedfor astronomical observation. In the eleven miles’ drive we saw asuccession of tombs, generally solid, square edifices, with domed tops.We stopped at the mausoleum of Sufter Jung, which stands in a garden,and is a graceful reminiscence of a prince of Oude. After a dusty driveacross[110] a sandy plain, we thought the patch of green on which theKootub stands, with its shady trees, a most refreshing sight.

Passing through Aladdin’s Gate, a very fine arch, we saw before us thesplendid column of the ‘Minar.’ It rises in a succession of marvelloussculptured fluted columns, two hundred and forty feet high, very wideat the base, and diminishing in circumference at each series of jointstill the summit is reached. Like the campaniles attached to churchesabroad, whence the bells ring out their summons to prayer, so fromthe height of the Kootub the faithful were called to their devotionsin the adjacent mosque. Sultan Baber, in his journal, mentions theKootub as ‘that strange, tall, unrivalled pillar, which was raised tocall the faithful to prayer in the splendid mosque open to the blueheavens below.’ We were informed that the Kootub had been erected by aprince, to enable his daughter to ascend every day and look upon theholy river Jumna, a feat which, if performed by her, must have kept herin first-rate condition, for the Kootub is, I think, higher than theMonument of London, and the winding stair is very steep.

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At length we were enabled to leave Delhi. There is no more agreeableduty than a long march in India during the cold weather. Afterall the necessary preparations have been made; after the means oftransport have been collected, and various other arrangements, tryingto the temper and patience of commanding-officer, adjutant, andquarter-master, have been got over, the regimental order-book containsthe following announcement, that ‘The regiment will parade at 3 a.m.,’the next day. On the same evening that these orders are read to thecompanies, a detachment has marched away, with the camp color-men andthe married people; the former to lay out the lines of the camp, thelatter to be out of the way of the regiment.

I always sent on a tent to be pitched by my own native servants,and, when we arrived at the camping ground in the morning, we foundeverything ready. What luxurious tents these were! Each one consistedof a drawing-room, bed-room, and dressing-room, with a broad verandah,formed by an outer covering. Indian servants have a wonderful knackof arranging a room. As the tent we slept in was denuded[112] of allfurniture, excepting beds and a chair or two, when we arrived in themorning, we entered apparently the same sitting-room we had occupiedthe previous day. Not a book was in a different place—everything wasthe same. On some marches we rode in advance of the regiment, on otherswe drove in my wife’s carriage; but, whichever way we travelled, weenjoyed ourselves much. The Grand Trunk road of India, along which wewere journeying, was the finest made road in the world, smooth, andlevel as a billiard-table. Ten to twelve miles was the average lengthof a day’s march.

The men throve wonderfully. It was splendid to see them quickeningtheir swinging steps as they came in sight of the new camping ground,marching in, every man in his ranks, to the lively sound of the band,playing ‘Patrick’s Day in the Morning.’ As each company came to itscamping ground, it was halted, and piled arms by command of itscaptain, and then the men proceeded to pitch the tents. It was a finesight to behold. When the bugle sounded a long, melancholy note, as ifby magic a white canvas town rose up on the dusty plain.

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Then a sudden lull would fall on the busy scene. The men were preparingfor breakfast. The camels, eased of their loads, were driven off tofind their food in the neighbourhood; the patient bullocks lay by theircarts, and munched chopped straw, or ruminated on the hardships oftheir life, while the married women of the regiment, having arrivedthe night before, were the only visible people, and they were occupiedscolding their servants; for in India all Europeans are waited on,and the wives of privates have their cooks and their washer-men. Themarried soldiers’ families on a long march travelled in large bamboocages, covered with carpeting to keep out the sun as much as possible,and these cages were put on the common country carts, drawn bybullocks. We had a long line of fifty or sixty carts of married people,and, as they started in advance at about two in the afternoon on thesame day as the regiment marched in, a great hush always seemed to fallon the camp as they creaked and groaned off on their way. The freshearly morning is very exhilarating, and the days are never too hot inthe cold weather.

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One morning was very cold, so my wife and I rode quickly on in front ofthe battalion. We passed the camels, which were moving steadily alongon each side of the well-made Indian highway. We arrived too soon atthe camping ground, and our tents were not quite ready, as the servantshad not expected us so early; so we got chairs, and sat enjoyingthe fresh morning air. At length our camels, told off to carry thekhansama’s property, arrived. On one of these ‘ships of the desert’ wasfastened a hencoop containing some turkeys and fowls. My wife insistedthat the poultry should be released at once, which was done, and a hugewhite turkey rushed madly about, and finally jumped on to my wife’slap. She received the great bird with kindness, but in a short timeexclaimed, in accents of the greatest consternation:—‘Oh, Edward, theturkey has laid an egg in my lap!’ And so it had. How we laughed! Thatturkey was ever after a great pet, was named Lady Alicia, and travelledwith us for many a day, but at length was devoured by a jackal in thehills of Murree.

At Kurnal we found our tents pitched in a[115] pretty spot, under largetrees, just outside the walls of the town. But we were carried off byan old friend, Colonel Trench, superintendent of the government studat Kurnal, to his bungalow. Tent life is very pleasant, but after along time of it one appreciates the solid comforts of four walls and aroof. The stud was a very interesting sight, everything being in themost perfect order. There were about eight hundred horses altogether,three hundred of them colts. We saw them turned out for exercise in alarge field. How they tore about, with manes and tails streaming! Thenthey formed up, with distended nostrils, to have a look at us, and wereoff again. Kurnal used to be one of the largest and most favouritestations in India; but it became, from some unknown reason, dreadfullyunhealthy. Hundreds of Europeans died there, and it was abandoned as amilitary station.

We spent Christmas here. Christmas is a season of rejoicing in Indiato the natives as well as to us. Yellow flowers are profusely usedas decorations, and it is the custom for all the principal employésto present ‘dollies’ to their masters, or the heads of departments.As colonel commanding[116] a regiment, I received ‘dollies’ from thekotwal of the regimental bazaar, from the commissariat baker, andmany others, and now on the march the chief of the camel-men broughta hill ‘dollie.’ They are almost always of the same shape, that of alarge, round, flat basket, with the contents tastefully arranged sothat everything is seen at once. Oranges, pomegranates, raisins, sugar,spices, and Cabul grapes, packed up in little boxes, each grape incotton wool, are the usual gifts. To touch the basket with the righthand, in sign of acceptance, is sufficient, and then the servants getthe contents, or, if there is any special delicacy, you appropriate it.

Umballa, a very large station, was our next important halt. Its closevicinity to the hills and Simla makes it very popular. The band of the94th Regiment came out to meet the 88th. None of us thought then thatin a few years that gallant corps would be called the 2nd BattalionConnaught Rangers. We changed our carts and camels at Umballa, and weredelayed fifteen days before we got others. We met with the greatesthospitality and kindness, and our time passed pleasantly. One night wewere fairly washed[117] out of our tents by a most tremendous storm whichsuddenly burst over us. The thunder roared, the lightning flashedincessantly, and the heavens descended in a flood. Our tents were ankledeep in water. Daylight showed that the camp was standing in a lake.The men, who on a march have no beds, were badly off; but the greatestsufferers were the married women and children. Their cages had beennecessarily removed from the carts that had conveyed them from Delhi,and they were on the ground till we got our new supply of carriages.Poor women, every stitch they possessed was floating in water. The sun,fortunately, came out, and tents and clothes dried; but we moved toanother ground.

About three hundred miles from Delhi we halted at Umritsur, celebratedfor its golden temple; the walls are of pure white marble, and its roofof copper gilt. It stands in a miniature lake, a hundred and fiftypaces square, the water of which, when we were there, was green andstagnant, and in it the Sikhs immerse themselves, that they may bepurified from their sins. I think that the Temple of Umritsur looksmore imposing in a photograph than in reality. We[118] passed along themarble causeway, guarded on each side with golden balustrades andlamps, and paused at the solid silver door to have straw shoes put overour boots. The inside is richly gilded and decorated, and the marblefloor is inlaid with mosaic; but there is a tawdriness in the silkencanopy, under which reposes the sacred ‘Grunth,’ the Sikh’s Bible, andin the yellow flowers hung everywhere.

Umritsur has always been noted for its manufacture of shawls and silks,and owing to its situation between Cabul, Delhi, and Cashmere, hasdriven a great trade.

There was intense excitement one night in consequence of a robberhaving been caught close to our tent, stark naked, and greased fromhead to foot. The servants surrounded him, but could not hold him tillthe bheestee (water-carrier) poured a mussock of water over him andhe was rubbed down. There is a regular caste of thieves. The mess onenight lost all their copper pots and pans.

On the 23rd of February, 1867, we marched into Rawul Pindee, after ajourney which was most successfully accomplished. We were quite[119] sorrythe long march was over. The men were in most splendid condition. Theusual amount of difficulty in collecting transport going up countryhad been encountered, but everything had gone right at last. We allhad had pleasant meetings with old friends at the various stations wehad passed. At several of them my wife and I had stopped for a nightor two at a friend’s bungalow, driving on afterwards, and overtakingthe regiment, which had always been moving steadily on. So it was withreal regret we watched the departure from camp on the last day’s march.The four bullock-carts started with the servants, the goats draggingbehind. The wives of the chief men were in marching trim, with tightblue trousers down to their heavily-bangled ankles, and over theirheads was a great white square of linen, reaching to their waists;behind them again was the swaying line of camels.

The Rangers had owned a pack of fox-hounds, which had given many a goodday’s run in the plains of the North West, and it was to our greatdismay we were told, on being ordered to Rawul Pindee, that our packwould be of no use up there. So they were disposed of before we left[120]Cawnpore, and when we saw the broken country we had got into, we feltwe had done wisely to sell them. The hot weather was very near when wereached Pindee. We had just time to get comfortably housed and settledwhen it was upon us.

RAWUL PINDEE—EXPEDITION TO CASHMERE—INDIANHEAT—VISIT OF THE AMEER OF CABUL—LADY IN ARIDING-HABIT—DEATH OF BISHOP MILMAN—ABSURDSTATEMENT—PESHAWUR—CHOKEDARS—NOWSHERA—HORSE-DEALERS—M’KAY—WILDSCENE—MARCH TO CASHMERE—MURREE—FAITHLESSCOOLIES—DAYWAL—TERRORS OF MY BEARER.

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CHAPTER VII.

Rawul Pindee is one of the most favourite quarters, being so close tothe hill station of Murree. Four hours carries one from the breathlessheat of the plain to the top of a mountain, with an elevation of seventhousand four hundred and fifty-seven feet.

My wife and I were eager to make an expedition during the leaveseason into Cashmere. The mountains guarding the Happy Valley hadstood out, a grand rampart, clear on the horizon, a great part ofour march. Our plans were all arranged. Light tents were bought, andleave was obtained, when cholera made its appearance in the regiment.Of course going away then was out of the question. The married peoplewere sent—to their great discomfort—into camp, and[124] extraordinaryprecautions were taken to prevent the spread of the disease, thehorrors of which we had so lately seen.

When encamped at Agra, under the outer flap of my tent, two unfortunatenatives lay down and died during the night, only the canvas wallsbetween them and us. Mercifully, the present outbreak was a slight one.But, when we could get away, there was not time left, during the leaveseason, for our journey to Cashmere, so we contented ourselves with avisit to Murree, the sanitorium of this district.

No one who has not experienced real hot weather in the plains, canunderstand what Indian heat is. It means darkness, for one thing, asevery ray of light is carefully excluded. In our darkened house atPindee, with every precaution taken, for a fortnight the thermometernever varied, night and day, from 99°. But, oh, the joy of the firstrain! When doors and windows were thrown open, and we once again saweach other!

Rawul Pindee was a very hospitable place. I remember dining withone of the civilians. It was a very grand party. Everything wentoff[125] charmingly. The soup was hot, the champagne well iced, and theinevitable tinned salmon, with Tartare sauce, was in abundance. As Iobserved that those who took salad tasted it, and left it alone, I tooknone. Next day my wife called on our hostess, and found her nearly intears.

‘Oh, Mrs. Maxwell,’ she exclaimed, in horrified accents, ‘can youbelieve it? The khansama made the salad with castor oil!’

We were quartered a year at Rawul Pindee, and then received orders tomarch to Peshawur.

We remained twelve months at Peshawur, and although there was agood deal of fever, yet we did not suffer so much as the 42nd RoyalHighlanders, whom we relieved, had done. During the time they werequartered there that unfortunate regiment was decimated by cholera andfever. Not only did they lose many men, but their pipers nearly allsuccumbed.

The most noteable event which occurred when we were at that station wasthe visit of the Ameer of Cabul, on his way to Umballa to meet LordMayo. The whole division paraded to do him honour, and, as I commandeda brigade, I had a good view of this treacherous man. Certainly[126] hisappearance was very noble and soldier-like. He rode with the generaland staff in front of our line, mounted on a high-bred Turcoman mare.I was so taken up looking at this perfect animal, that I had no eyesfor the rider; but I saw him often afterwards, and my remembrance ofShere Ali is not that of an artful deceiver, but more of a frank, jollysoldier. But at that time he was full of hope that our governmentwould stand by him, and his heart must have beat with pleasure when helooked on the bronzed warriors of Britain as they were in those days.Besides, he must have felt elated when he saw not only the chivalry ofIndia assembled to do him honour, but all the civilians, men and women,crowding to get a sight of him.

My wife rode to the parade, but when she got to the ground the crowdwas so great that she dismounted from her nag and got into the howdahon the back of an elephant, which sapient animal knelt down to allowher to ascend the ladder, the only way to get up. As she had begunthe morning on horseback, she was dressed in a riding-habit, and hadon her head a tall hat. When the parade was over, and the regiments[127]were still formed up, Shere Ali rode away, and, passing the elephanton which my wife was seated, seemed rather perplexed at her dress,and evidently asked for an explanation. But before the Ameer returnedto his country he saw many things more astonishing than a lady in ariding-habit.

During our stay at Peshawur, Bishop Milman, who was beloved byeveryone, visited the station. The greatest regret was expressed whenvery soon after his visit to us he was drowned, having fallen into theriver when going up a slippery plank which had been placed to enablehim to go on board a steamer. My remembrance of this good man is, thathe was very stout, had a deep voice, and preached a most impressivesermon on the text ‘Redeem the time.’

I mention all this to show how utterly absurd was the statement madeabout him by a fraudulent mess-man. A regiment quartered near usinvited the bishop to dinner, an invitation which he accepted. Itappears that the mess sergeant had been for some time suspected of notbeing very honest in his charges, and he was watched by one of the messcommittee. The day after the bishop[128] had dined at the mess the accountswere overhauled, and the enormous number of twenty glasses of brandyand soda were charged against the mess guests.

‘This is impossible,’ said the officer making the inquiry, ‘the numberis too great.’

‘Not at all, sir,’ said the mess sergeant, ‘the bishop alone hadfourteen tumblers!’

We passed a very pleasant time at Peshawur, and regretted when theorder came for us to move to Nowshera. Peshawur is situated on theRiver Bara, and is twelve miles from the Khyber Pass. The cantonmentsare on a ridge at a higher elevation than the town, which is veryunhealthy. Cholera and fever commit great havoc there, and yet itis a fair place to look upon, with its gardens and green trees, andcuriously-shaped bungalows built of mud, as earthquakes are very commonduring the cold weather, and the houses formed of mud consolidated in awooden frame are less dangerous than stone-built edifices.

Peshawur cantonments suffer not only from fever, but from theoccasional inroads of robbers, who are very clever at their trade,and steal horses in a wonderful manner. To save himself[129] from theirattacks, a kind of black-mail is paid by every person who is headof a house, and who desires security. This monthly tax is given tomen called ‘chokedars,’ and the recipients of the money belong tothe hill tribes that guard the Khyber Pass; magnificent men and trueas steel—so long as you pay them. They dress in a most picturesquecostume, and are armed with several weapons, one of which is generallya blunderbuss. They march round your house all night, shouting atintervals, ‘Khu-bardar!’ (take care), a signal to their brotherrobbers that the sahib round whose house they are watching has paidthe black-mail. The man in my service, a very handsome fellow, wasalways at his post; and I admired my brigand very much. One day heasked for leave, and, after bringing a friend of his to take his dutyin his absence, he entered into a long story to my bearer, who, when Iasked him why my chokedar wished leave, gave me the information desiredin the following few words: ‘Your highness,’ said the bearer, withhis hands clasped, ‘this man wishes to go and murder his mother.’ Ofcourse, on learning that he was going on such a praiseworthy[130] errand, Igave him his congê, and I never saw him again.

We were much commiserated when our turn for being quartered at Nowsheracame round; but somehow we got on very well. Polo became a greatinstitution, and we fraternised well with the cavalry and nativeregiments we found there. The Guides, at Murdan, a march across theriver from Nowshera, always made any of us who visited them more thanwelcome. So, what with excursions to Peshawur, and occasional visitsof friends passing up and down the Grand Trunk road, time passedpleasantly enough.

Nowshera is one of the hottest stations in the Punjaub—surrounded asit is by sandy hills—and when we first went to it there were no trees.Many hundreds were planted under my rule, and I am always gratified tohear that there is quite an avenue now from the barracks to the church.Camels are the great enemies of trees. Carefully as the young growthmay be guarded, a long neck suddenly protrudes from the line of movinganimals, and the top of a tree is nipped off, and its future beautyspoiled. But camels are not the only enemies trees may have; for, at[131]my old home at Monreith, in Scotland, when this century was young, myfather was possessed of many race-horses, one of which won the Leger.The stables are at some distance from the house, and my grandfatherhad planted several trees, which have grown up with forked tops. Thisunfortunate disfigurement was caused by the jockeys, on their way tothe stables, flicking off the tops of the young trees with their ridingwhips; at least, so the old people at home say.

Nowshera is forty miles from Peshawur. When we were there, in 1868,there was nothing to be seen but a large barracks like a prisonsituated on the right of the Trunk Road from Peshawur to Attock. Whenthe leave season came round, there was no cholera to prevent me gettingaway, so I decided to apply for six months’ leave, and to spend themin Cashmere. Our tents, three in number, were as light as they couldpossibly be made. I took the precaution to have one of them thoroughlywaterproof, as a refuge in very bad weather, but it proved unnecessary,as even in the trial of long continued rain none of the other tentsleaked.

The horses and impedimenta preceded us by[132] a few days fromNowshera, and we were to overtake them at Rawul Pindee. My wife’ssteed, called by her ‘Nila,’ was a gentle, well-bred, grey Cabul, fullof spirit when required. The way it came into my possession was rathercurious. During the time we were at Peshawur, the late General Haly wasin command, and, among many other good qualities, he knew a horse rightwell.

I have sometimes accompanied him into the town of Peshawur, where therewere several horse-dealers. It was a risky thing going along the narrowstreets of that town, filled as they were with wild-looking Afghans andAffriedees armed to the teeth; but we never were insulted. A dealertold General Haly that he had a horse, and invited him to see it. Thisvisit ended in my buying the nag for a very small sum.

Next day the dealer came to my bungalow accompanied by a young Afghan,who was leading the horse. This young man placed the rope holding thesteed in my hand. He put his arms round the animal’s neck, kissed iton the forehead, burst into tears, and then disappeared. Of course weasked an explanation of this scene,[133] and were informed by the dealerthat the young Afghan had come to Peshawur and lost all his money (mostprobably to the dealer). He had nothing left but his horse, and so hesold it, ‘and your royal highness has got a bargain,’ said the dealer,finishing his story, a conclusion which meant a demand for backsheesh.And Nila was a right good nag. My pony, called Silver Tail, was themost active, savage little brute I ever saw. He could walk very fast,and scrambled over rocks in a wonderful manner.

I cannot start on our Cashmere journey, during which we met with someadventures, without mentioning my wife’s maid, M’Kay. She was born inthe Highlands, and a more devoted, warm-hearted woman never lived. Sherests in her grave at Nowshera, but she is most kindly remembered byboth my wife and myself, for whose comforts she made many sacrifices.It was on a fine evening in April, when the fiery sun was dippingbehind the wall of mountains that guard, what alas! has been too wellnamed, the ‘Valley of Death,’ that we left Nowshera in a dāk carriage.The usual difficulty of getting the horses to start was at lengthovercome, and, with[134] the accompaniment of whips cracking and menshouting, the little nags dashed off at a gallop, which they kept upfor nearly the whole stage of seven miles. Fresh, wild-looking steedswere then harnessed, and we started again, with the same cracking ofwhips and shouting, the frightened animals tearing along over thebeautifully-made Trunk Road.

Thus we hastened until we arrived at the banks of the mighty Indus.The river was tearing down in full summer flood. The bridge of boats,which was the usual means of crossing, had been removed, as was alwaysdone at this season. Our only way to transport ourselves and effectsover, was by boats. We left the gharry here, and had to embark in anenormous barge. What a wild scene it was! The moon shone brightlyon the troubled waters of the sacred river, which rushed along infrightful rapidity. The naked boatmen, armed with huge poles insteadof oars, appeared like the forms we see in a feverish dream. Whenwe were seated in this boat, which we could imagine to be Charon’s,the word was shouted, and, by a vigorous push, we were sent out intothe wild rush of waters. The[135] black figures strained every nerve tokeep our craft’s head straight for the opposite shore, but the streamwhirled us down the dark river which surged around us. Our crew made atremendous effort, and we felt ourselves swept out of the main currentinto comparatively smooth waters, while the foaming river hurried alongin furious haste. Then came the slow and arduous process of rowing upagainst the strong current to the place of disembarkation at Attock.Here we found two other gharries awaiting us, and, without furtheradventures, we went on the remainder of our way. The sun was risingwhen we trotted into Rawul Pindee. We halted at Roberry’s Hotel duringthe heat of the day, and in the evening drove out to Barracao, a dākbungalow at the foot of the hills, where we found our advance guard ofservants and horses awaiting us.

Very early the next morning we may say we began our march to Cashmere.My wife was mounted on Nila. M’Kay was conveyed in a dandy, a kind ofa sack fastened to a pole and carried by two coolies. I was on SilverTail, and, the word being given, off we started, our four dogs, fullof glee, racing before us. Quite[136] dark when we left Barracao, the sunhad risen by the time we got among the hills, but his light did notreveal much beauty of scenery. We were shut in almost the whole way byhills, covered for the most part with scrubby underwood, here and therediversified by patches of cultivation.

A constant stream of natives, donkeys, and mules seemed to be goingup and down the mountain. Occasionally we passed a cart heavily ladenwith furniture and boxes plodding its weary way, at the rate of littlemore than a mile an hour, to where the anxious owners of its contentshad been most probably expecting its arrival for many days. Sometimesminus a wheel, it reclines by the wayside, the servants in chargesitting calmly round the wreck, smoking the pipe of contentment. Thefour unyoked bullocks chew the cud, little caring how long mattersprogress—or rather do not progress—in the same way.

We enjoyed the morning ride very much. There was an elastic feeling inthe air that recalled to our memory the Highlands of Scotland when thesun shone brightly in our far-away home, and our own glorious mountainstowered around, clothed in their brilliant haze of purple[137] heather.That night we halted at ‘Tret,’ and the next morning rode into Murree.

Murree was in 1868 a pretty, green-wooded place, but it lacked thegrandeur of the other hill stations we had visited. Its precipices arebanks, its mountains hills, compared with those of Simla or Mussoorie.It has no snowy range, like that grand chain of mountains one sees fromthe heights of Landour.

We passed some very pleasant days at Murree with Colonel (now SirSamuel) Browne, G.C.B. His pretty two-storied house was situated on theside of a hill, which could only be reached by a very break-neck path.We were warmly welcomed by our kind and charming hostess, and enjoyedour visit very much. Murree is the starting-point for Cashmere, andthe hiring of coolies to carry the baggage, &c., &c., is all completedhere, for everything must be carried by men. After a most arduousundertaking, we succeeded at length in making our final arrangements,and, having said farewell to our kind hosts, we got on our horses andstarted for Cashmere.

All our baggage was carried by coolies. Those in British territorywere a grumbling lot, who[138] never were satisfied, and ran away veryoften, when they had been paid, as the civil authorities in thosedays insisted that the coolies should receive their small fee beforestarting on the journey.

We rode along the wooded road that leads from Murree, breathing thebalmy afternoon breeze, which was laden with the sweet perfume of thepine forest. How glorious it was to feel free from all troubles, and toleave behind us all annoyances!... What is this we see before us, leftin the solemn woods? Our bedding, deserted by the coolie whose dutyit was to carry it, and who had absconded altogether. I shouted, butonly echo answered. The evening was closing fast, and nothing could bedone. All along the line of march various articles belonging to us wereleft nestling among the mountain flowers, so we gave up attempting tocollect our baggage, as some of our servants formed a rear-guard, andwe pushed on to Deywal.

Deywal is a good-sized village, situated on the right side of a deepgorge, traversed by a stream, which flows into the Jhellum some milesdown the mountain. There is now a good dāk bungalow[139] near thevillage, but in 1868 there was only a rest-house. A couple of chairs, atable, and a charpoy (the bedstead of India), formed the furniture ofthis inhospitable dwelling, as in India travellers provide all theirown necessaries of life, and our comforts were resting on the line ofmarch, so we had to make the best of it; but our cook, having precededus, we got some dinner. We had to repose our wearied limbs without anymattress, sheets, or pillows. My wife gallantly placed her head on herleather hand-bag, and declared she was ‘very comfortable.’ I used theprivilege of a British soldier, and grumbled to my heart’s content.

Previous to retiring for the night, we sat outside, enjoying the coolevening air. Immediately in front of us was the deep valley dividing usfrom high mountains on the other side. Light sparkled on this dark andlowering curtain from villages scattered over the distant view. Highup on these fir-clad hills we could only guess, by the aid of the softlight of the moon, where our soldiers, who were occupied in making aprincely road from Murree to Abbottabad, were encamped. The whole scenewas grand to a degree,[140] and as we adjourned for the night we cast ourlonging eyes towards the Cashmere hills, whose everlasting snow seemedghost-like in the moon’s white beams.

In the morning a miserable, forlorn-looking object arrived with alantern in his hand. This poor wretch sat down and wept! To my dismay,I recognised my bearer. This draggled-looking object was generally amost consequential little man—of very high caste, and so honest thathe could be trusted with any amount of money, and not a farthing wouldbe purloined by him. My two bullock-trunks and a lantern he consideredhis special charge, and often afterwards, high up in the mountains ofCashmere, this little man might have been seen, with the lantern in onehand, and laden with his copper cooking-pots, which no one was of highenough caste to carry except himself. He had passed a night of misery;in dread that the thieves would rob the ‘Sahib’s’ things. He was alsoin deadly fear that bears would demolish himself, and in terror lestevil spirits of the mountains might carry him away to some far offGehenna;[141] and—what in reality was the greatest trial of all—he wasstarving.

Once a day this high-caste Hindoo would approach me with clasped hands,and exclaim, in Hindostanee, ‘Provider of the poor, may I go and eatbread?’ And then he would disappear, and for two hours was occupiedcooking and eating his rice, which was a religious function altogether.When pressed with work, he would not eat at all till his labour wasover.

This was a most trying event. He had been so occupied packing at Murreethat he had postponed his hour of cooking till arrival at Deywal, andthen the ‘budmashes,’ the brigands of coolies, had deserted him, and hewas left all night starving among the bears and the evil spirits! Thiswas enough to account for his misery, so I told him to go to his ‘rhotikhana;’ and he returned two hours after, the bright and active factotumhe always was.

As the morning advanced, our baggage arrived. All the stray mules ofDeywal were sent out, and in time brought in everything.

MARCH TO KOHALLA—CROSSING THE JHELLUM—ACCIDENT TO ABOAT—ASCENT OF THE DUNNA PASS—BARRADURRIES, OR REFUGES—TOMBOF A YOUNG CAVALRY OFFICER—SUDDEN STORM—CHICKAR—THEDOCTOR—AN EARLY START—WONDERFUL TOMASHA WALLA—BACKSHEESH—THEPEOPLE OF CASHMERE—HEAVY TAXATION—TREATY.

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CHAPTER VIII.

Our next march was to Kohalla on the banks of the Jhellum. It is apleasant ride down to the valley, and then through flowering shrubs andgreen fir-trees, and past high rocks till we arrived at the comfortablehotel, situated near the river. Across that foaming mass of troubledwaters we had to pass, and then we should be in Cashmere; for theJhellum divides the territory of the Maharajah from that of GreatBritain.

There was only one way to proceed—in a flat-bottomed boat, which oninspection proved but a rickety craft. The horses and baggage crossedover in safety, and then our turn came. On entering the boat ourconfidence was not increased by finding a big hole in its side, which[146]was stuffed with grass, and a large stone placed against the bundle tokeep it safe!

The same performance was gone through as at Attack, on the Indus. Ourboat was towed some distance up the river, and then cast off. We flewacross, and made the opposite shore, some way down the stream, when,a rope being thrown, was caught by coolies, and we were hauled intosmooth waters, and landed.

A fortnight after we had crossed, a brother officer, on his way toCashmere, had passed this ferry, followed by his servants, horses,and baggage. The boat, cast off from the opposite shore, flew overthe boiling, surging waters. The rope was thrown and caught by thecoolies, but it was rotten, and the boat, with all its living contents,was swept away, the mad waters engulfing everything that was in thismiserable old coble.

But now we are landed in the Maharajah’s country. The day was farspent when we managed to start our avant guard of coolies with tentsand baggage. We decided, therefore, to advance only a few miles up themountain to a level ground, where there was water and sufficient[147] spaceto pitch our tents. The ascent of Dunna is not along green sides andgrassy slopes, but in the dry bed of a winter’s torrent. Leaving thevillage where we had disembarked, the path proceeds for a short wayalong the level, and then straight up the stony course of the stream.My wife started on foot. With her Alpine staff in her hand, she bravelyfaced the hill. I rode as long as I could, but the scrambling, slidingpony was most disagreeable, so I was obliged to walk.

To describe our ascent is impossible, as no one can form an idea equalto it who has not attempted the Dunna Pass. Intensely hot in thevalley, it became cooler as we scrambled and tumbled along the rockypath; and at length we arrived at the Dunna Dhuk, the only level sitebefore reaching the top. The evening had closed in, but the moon roseclear and splendid from behind the lofty mountain up which we weretoiling. The wild night-hawk’s shrill note echoed through the still,dark valleys, and the light and shadow deepened as the moon rosebrighter and more glorious every minute. Our tents were pitched by ouractive servants on a kind of terrace formed[148] for cultivation, and ourdinner was nearly cooked before we had time to look about us. Our onlylight was the silvery moon.

We asked for milk, and one of our Cashmerian retainers proceeded ashort distance, and, facing the valley, shouted our wants in a loud andprolonged call. The answer came, weird-like, from a long way off, and,in due course, rich milk was brought to us in abundance. It was verypleasant on that cool mountain side after the heat of the plains, andwe soon retired to our Swiss cottage tent to seek the repose we hadhonestly earned.

It was strange to awake and find ourselves encamped on the hills inCashmere; and, when M’Kay brought us our morning cups of tea, we wereready to begin another day’s march. The tents were struck and sentaway, and the final orders given. My wife, as usual, faced the brae onfoot, and I rode Silver Tail till I found it impossible. So I handedhim over to my syce, greatly to the knowing one’s internal satisfaction.

As the morning advanced, the sun’s bright rays tinged with golden tintsthe surrounding scenery. The loving calls of the black partridgessounded sweet and home-like. The early breeze[149] was laden with theperfume of mountain flowers. It was charming, but the climb wasterrible. We were glad when we reached the plateau which overlookedDunna, and were enabled to mount our nags once more.

As we halted at the refuge built by the Maharajah of Cashmere,we were very thankful to take possession of the queer habitationwhich he has dedicated to the use of travellers. These refuges arecalled barradurries, and have no claim to beauty of architecture. Amud wall surrounds a double-storied mud house. The ground floor isuninhabitable, but a rickety stair leads to the upper floor and intoa narrow passage, on each side of which there are empty rooms. Thepassage ends in a covered verandah in front of the rooms. The doors arerough planks of deodar, without any attempt at fastening. The windowshutters are the same, with no glass.

Many plans had to be adopted to keep the doors and windows closed.My wife and M’Kay made these wretched places most comfortable withgaily-striped purdahs, and many a pleasant hour have we passed in thenumerous barradurries scattered over the land of Cashmere. On the[150]right hand, as we entered the enclosure at Dunna, a tomb is erected tothe memory of a young cavalry officer, who broke a blood-vessel afterwalking up the steep ascent by which we had come. How sad are thesegraves scattered over India! As the road into Cashmere no longer passesover Dunna, that memento is very lonely now. Few travellers pause toread the record of that young life’s untimely end.

Very early next morning we left Dunna for Maira. The path zigzaggeddown through a wooded brae, and became altogether lost among hugeboulders as we approached the river we had to cross. The ascent on theopposite side was steep and rugged. Clouds which had been collectingthreatened a storm, and wild gusts of wind foretold rain. We got intothe barradurrie, and settled ourselves comfortably. The distant thunderrolled grandly through the mountains above and around us. The elementsseemed to be collecting forces for a grand attack at night, and whenthe darkness came the storm burst upon us, flash succeeded flash inrapid succession, and the thunder pealed forth its mighty voice; thewild wind shrieked through our mud-formed[151] house, and drove the rainand hail into our innermost rooms. The doors and window-shuttersbanged about in a mad jubilee of diabolical glee. After committingall sorts of havoc, the drunken furies flew before the gale, and thepeaceful stars peeped out from the blue heavens, while the waning moonshone sadly on the wearied earth. Still, in the now quiet scene, wecould hear the far-off thunder echoing through the high mountains ofCashmere. These sudden storms are very grand.

The next morning broke bright and fine, and, as we rode away, the freshperfume was sweet to us who had left the burning plains so lately.We rode through wooded, park-like scenery, aptly described by anIrish assistant-surgeon we met as ‘quite like a domain.’ Instead ofFenians to annoy the dwellers, there are leopards which destroy thepoor Cashmerian wood-cutters. A day or two previous to our arrival, ashepherd had been killed. Our way led up the mountain, and then throughwoods; our path descended to a river which flows along the valley. Highup on the hill on the opposite side was Chikar, the end of that day’smarch. Before crossing the river,[152] we passed through many rice-fields,which, as they resemble wet bogs, are not pleasant places to ride in.Numerous cheerful-looking peasants were engaged planting bunches ofgreen grass in rows in the wet and muddy ground.

After climbing the steep mountain, we arrived at Chikar, quite readyfor the ‘doctor,’ a combination of milk, eggs, and rum beat uptogether, which M’Kay always had prepared for us, and which seemed toincrease our enjoyment of a later breakfast.

During the day we sat out on the flat roof of the barradurrie, whencethe view was magnificent. In the distance we could see a far-off snowyrange, while nearer was a splendid panorama of mountains cultivatedat their base, with the rocky summits lost in snow and impenetrableclouds. Every now and then a great dark shadow would skim across themountain-side, then fade away, and the bright sun would light up thegreen grass on hill and dale. Faintly borne on the breeze were thevoices in the valley beneath, while soaring high in the air a royaleagle would pause for a moment, then swoop away and be lost to oursight.

[153]

As we were now deserted by the moon, our early start was made incomparative darkness. When the morning broke, we overlooked the valleyof Jhellum. We descended for three miles, by a winding, rocky path,to the left bank of the river, and rode along its wooded bank till wearrived at Huttie. The wonderful river’s roaring voice drowns everyother sound, and it insists on being listened to. On the opposite sideof the Jhellum is seen the road from Abottabad.

On arrival at Huttie, we found our camp pitched near the rapid Jhellum,the ground chosen by our advance-guard being the dry bed of a mountaintorrent. There was at Huttie a most wonderful Tomasha Walla, who mostperseveringly insisted that we should see him cross the river, apleasure which with equal resolution we declined; but by dint of neverleaving us, whether we sat outside or inside our tents, or went for astroll, he got his own way at last, and we reluctantly climbed a cliffto obtain a good view of our tormentor. The river at this place, pentin between high cliffs, comes tearing down in great angry waves, whichseem as if no living thing could for a moment contend with them.

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Standing on a rock some distance from us up the river, a black figure,with hardly anything on to speak of, and grasping in his arms a‘mussack,’[1] fixed our attention. As soon as he saw we were looking athim, he threw the ‘mussack’ into the water, and followed in a trice. Itwas surprising to see the ease with which he battled with the waves,turning heels over head, standing almost upright, then, mountingastride of his ‘mussack,’ and guiding himself to the other side of theriver.

His performances seemed to give unfailing delight to the inhabitantsof Huttie, who looked on as though they had not seen him go throughthe same feats every day of the season. Of course the Tomasha Walla’sre-appearance on the scene was followed by a demand for ‘backsheesh.’Have not all travellers in the East written folios on the subject ofbacksheesh? I must add my iota to the budget. It is the most irritatingof demands. Not a man in Cashmere will ever[155] accept the payment thatis offered to him, no matter that it is twice as much as the servicehe has done requires. He will whine and beg for more, going througha string of reasons why he should get it. At last, having eithersucceeded in obtaining an increase of pay, or else seeing he hasno chance of prevailing, he begins a fresh clamour for backsheesh.I grieve to say that our experience of the inhabitants of Cashmereproved them to be thoroughly false, utterly ungrateful, and desperatelyextortionate. Honour and honesty they have none. Find them out insome lie or fraud, they grin from ear to ear, never dreaming of beingashamed of themselves.

Ground down as they are by the system of perpetual oppression, weceased to wonder at the lowness of their morals as we saw more of theworking of the rule they live under. No nation in the world is taxedas the Cashmerians are (or were, for I write of 1868). Two thirds ofeverything is taxed for the benefit of the Maharajah, and to see thatthis is duly paid a host of officials are employed, who in their turnrob the unfortunate ratepayers, till (I am within the mark) I have beenassured by those who ought to know[156] that three-fourths of every man’spossessions are yearly taken from him in this grievously burdened land.It was very long before we understood the small enthusiasm shown whenwe congratulated the people on their smiling crops and fair prospect ofa heavy harvest. What matters it to them whether the produce be good orbad?—enough will be left them for their subsistence, and more for seedfor next year’s sowing. But all the rest finds its way, much lightenedby the hands it passes through, to the Maharajah’s coffers. Our farmersat home grumble, but they live in a free country—let them be thankful.

The Cashmerian sows his land, a government official comes down on hisinspection visit, and desires that each field should produce so manymaunds of grain. In vain the farmer protests that his land cannot yieldsuch a crop; he is not listened to, and woe to him if to the last seerthe number of maunds be not forthcoming. He is sold out—everything hehas is taken from him to pay his debt to the Maharajah.

We saw this beautiful and fatherly care of a prince for his people infull form in the Lolab[157] Valley. We were riding past a village along anarrow path; it was getting dusk, and we had to leave our road becausefour or five men who were sitting down did not get out of the way. Itwas an unusual rudeness. Next morning we passed the same way, and therewere the men still on the ground. No wonder they had not moved, evenfor a sahib, for their legs were bound fast and firm in stocks, thereto remain till it was the Maharajah’s good pleasure to release them.All that they could call their own had been sold to pay for deficientcrops, but much more was still marked against them.

‘Cashmere was conquered in A.D. 1587 by Akbar’sbrother-in-law, the Rajah of Jeypore, when the Mahomedan king of thatprovince was enrolled among the nobles of the court; and this lovelyvalley, the paradise of Asia, became the summer retreat of the emperorsof Delhi.’—History of India, by John Clark Marsham, vol. i. ‘Itwas conquered by Runjeet Sing in 1819.’—Ibid. vol. iii.

‘In 1846, the Sikh army having invaded our territory, Sir Henry Hardingissued a proclamation confiscating the Cis Sutlege possessions[158] of theLahore crown, and he annexed the Jullunder Doab, or district lyingbetween the Sutlege and the Beeas, to the Company’s dominions, by whichhe obtained security for our hill stations, and a position which gaveus control of the Sikh capital (Lahore). The expenses of the campaignwere computed at a crore and a half of rupees—which the Lahore statewas required to make good—but the profligacy of the ministers and therapacity of the soldiers had exhausted the treasury, and, of the twelvecrores Runjeet Sing left in it, there remained scarcely fifty lacs ofrupees to meet the demand. Sir Henry therefore determined to take overthe province of Cashmere and the highlands of Jummoo in lieu of theremaining crore. Since the death of Runjeet Sing, the powerful Raja ofJummoo, Golab Sing, had always cherished the hope of being able, bysome happy turn of circ*mstances, to convert his principality into anindependent sovereignty. During the recent contest he had played thepart of an interested neutral, watching the contest, and prepared toside with the strongest. When called to assume the office of ministerat Lahore, he negotiated[159] with the Governor-General as much for hisown interests as for those of the State. There could be little doubtthat a clear understanding regarding the possession existed betweenhim and the British Government; and hence it created no surprise whenhe stepped forward and offered to pay down the crore of rupees, oncondition of being constituted the independent Raja of Cashmere andJummoo. The sovereignty of these provinces was accordingly sold to him,but it must not be forgotten that he received only an indefeasibletitle to that which he actually possessed at the time. Sir HenryHardinge by this stroke of policy obtained funds to cover the expensesof the war.’[2]—History of India, vol. iii.

MEDICAL SCIENCE IN CASHMERE—LONG AND FATIGUINGMARCH—CHIKOTI—FORT OF OREE—FAQUEERS—BRIDGE OFROPES—AN OLD FRIEND—PLAYFUL MONKEYS—TEMPLE OFBHUMNIAR—PRIMITIVE FISHING—BARRAMULA PASS—THE HAPPY VALLEYAT LAST—FORMATION OF THE VALE OF CASHMERE—CHANGE IN MODEOF TRAVELLING—DONGAHS—HERONS—THE WALLOOR LAKE—FORT OFSRINAGUR—PUG AND THE AFGHAN WARRIOR—THE MURDERER OF LORD MAYO.

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CHAPTER IX.

The heat was very great at Huttie, for we were in a hollow, where nobreeze seemed to reach us, and the mosquitoes were more annoying thanusual. I do not know what we should have done in the event of illness.We had no medicine to speak of but quinine, which we found very useful,for the servants constantly had fever, and the faith they had in themysterious white powder was implicit. Villagers and coolies used tocome to us to beg for a little, and we had to harden our hearts, andgive to those only who required it.

Medical science is in a very backward state in Cashmere. A surgeon wemet at one of the halting-places told us that he had been entreatedby the head man of the district to come and see his[166] daughter, whowas suffering from a disease of the eye. Our friend went at once tothe house, and found the poor girl in a terrible state. A nativepractitioner had taken out her eye, and, having stuffed up the placewith wool, had left Nature to complete a cure, aided by a cloud offlies. The wretched girl was suffering agonies under this treatment,the whole side of her face being a mass of inflammation. Dr. ——trusted that the measures he had taken would save her life. As itcame on to rain in the night, our tents were wet in the morning, butfortunately our other set of tents had been sent on the night before.We had a long and fatiguing march up and down hill, through ricefields, and over so-called bridges. The bridges consist of two stoutlogs, roughly fastened together with planks, with no parapets, andwith gaps of several feet between, which made the crossing of a rapidstream a service of real danger to the horses and of most questionablepleasure to pedestrians.

After a tremendous climb we came to scenery which recalled home toour memories. We were hundreds of feet above the Jhellum, whose voicesounded faint and far in the depths below us.[167] For some miles ourroad lay through park land: fine trees waved overhead, ferns nestledat their roots, and the grass glittered in the sunlight, each bladeweighed down by a drop of the last night’s storm. A pair of eagles wereteaching their young ones to fly; higher and higher they soared in theblue sky, till our eyes ached watching them. The sun was high in theheavens when we found ourselves at the barradurrie of Chikoti.

Welcome sight! this white-washed house of rest, and still more welcomethe ‘doctor,’ which M’Kay had ready for us. M’Kay never seemed tired.Her scons were always ready for breakfast. I do not know how we shouldhave got on without them, for we had no bread; but as long as we hadM’Kay’s scons we wished for nothing else, and, as we ate them, wemarvelled how she had strength to come such marches and do her workso untiringly. True she had a dandy to be swung along in, but, if hercoolies were lazy, she used to lose patience, get out, and run alongthe steep mountain path, with the swiftness and ease a childhood spentin a Highland home had given her. Her bearers, for very shame, wouldtrot along behind her, either grumbling at[168] this newly-developedeccentricity in the ‘belattee memsahib,’ or grinning at her remarkableappearance, as she skipped along from rock to rock, a tiny mug, inwhich she concocted the ‘doctor,’ strapped on behind her waist, alsoany article of dress my wife would require immediately on arrival.When her pack was opened, the objects she had elected to carry wereslippers, brushes, comb, and sponge-bag—all ready for her mistress.

We slept the sleep of the weary that night. Four o’clock came toosoon, but we never gave ourselves any time to think of the miseriesof early rising, for every mile traversed before the sun climbed themountains and shone down on us was worth very much. There was not lightto see a white horse as we came into the cold morning air; the starswere still out, and only a faint streak in the east showed us thatdaylight was coming. How very enjoyable those early morning break-neckrides and walks were, the fresh, exhilarating mountain breeze givingus spirits to meet difficulties which in the plains would have seemedinsurmountable, the air fragrant with the breath of roses, jessamine,and sweet brier, growing in thick and wild luxuriance.[169] The scenerywas very grand; but this was the most fatiguing of all the marches. Wescrambled, struggled, climbed to the top of a rugged, precipitous pathonly to descend again, and, having crossed a river, we ascended to theplateau on which the Fort of Oree is situated. Built by the Sikhs, itis now garrisoned by the troops of the Maharajah.

The barradurrie is near the fort, and is a two-storied house more thanusually tenanted—by fleas. As we sat out in the verandah, we wereattracted by the sound of a tom-tom, and in a short time appeared sometwenty faqueers, who halted in front of where we were seated, andproceeded to bivouac. These faqueers are so-called holy men; they wearno clothes, and their long and tangled locks are covered with ashes,and their faces painted all sorts of colours. A more disgusting sightthan one of these men can hardly be imagined, but a detachment, suchas were now before us, had a grim kind of comicality. One of them morehideous than the others possessed a queer-looking umbrella, which heplanted in the ground, and then extended himself at full length—thepicture of a loathsome animal. We were[170] glad when these dreadfulcreatures marched away again to the sound of their monotonous music.

There is a curious rope-bridge near Oree; two ropes parallel to eachother span the deep gully formed by steep rocks on each side of theriver. A chair is pulled across, in which the traveller sits and gazesbeneath him at the roaring waters, prepared to engulf him if the ropewere to break. Happily our way lay alongside, not across, the Jhellum.

What a lovely ride we had next morning! There were rough ups and downsat first, but then came forests of deodars, through the breaks of whichthe snow-covered mountains showed sharp and clear against the deep bluesky. Mighty cliffs rose sheer up to our right in some places, while theJhellum on our left roared and thundered in its narrow passage overhuge rocks with such violence that it was impossible to hear ourselvesspeak. My wife was riding in front, and, as she turned a corner, herhorse shied to the right. A weird-looking little man, with no garmentson at all, and his head anointed with cinders, was seated on the groundin a shallow[171] cave formed by a rock, thrumming on a native banjo, witha huge cat clinging to his shoulder. He looked very uncanny, and tookno notice of us, but seemed quite contented with his surroundings. Wewere informed that he was a very holy faqueer, who had lived theresummer and winter for many years, and that every passer-by gave himsomething. So we added a few pice to his store.

Further on a long string of large monkeys were turning somersaultsdisagreeably near to the high cliffs edge; but their glee seemedunending, and they raced away above us, springing from branch tobranch, and moving the forest as by a partial breeze. We came to an oldruin called Pandee Ghur, covered with ivy and buried among the denseforest.

Still further on there is a splendid ruined temple called Bhumiar,which is stated to be one of the finest specimens of a familiar kind ofarchitecture in Cashmere. At certain times of the year numerous Hindoopilgrims come to visit it. Perhaps the detachment of faqueers we saw atOree may have been returning from the pilgrimage. A thunderstorm whichcame on hurried[172] our proceedings, and the thunder rolled grandly as wearrived at Naoshera.

Our halting-place for the night was in the barradurrie, close to therapid Jhellum. Here we got good-sized fish, which were caught in themost primitive manner. A crooked pin fastened to a string and baitedwith a mulberry, was quite enough to ensure a good plate of fish. Imust not forget to mention that the mulberries were in great abundance,and, when we were in Cashmere, formed the staple article of food forthe lower classes. But the peasants are not particular, and devourfruit, nowise careful whether the peaches, apples, or melons be ripe ornot.

We felt rather excited as we went off to bed, for the next day wouldbring the fulfilment of a long looked-for event, our first sight ofthe Vale of Cashmere. It was grey dawn when we marched away in themorning. The Jhellum sounded louder than ever, its roar preventing anyconversation taking place, and making it expedient for us to ride onin silence. At first we passed through rugged, narrow glens, but soonwe emerged into a grassy plain surrounded by high wooded hills, and,amazing metamorphosis! the[173] loud and angry Jhellum flowed smoothly andquietly past with not a ripple on its waters.

And now, instead of rocky paths, our road was a perfect level, partof it through rice-fields. Here we met an old friend returning to theplains, accompanied by several coolies laden with trophies of thechase, and delighted with his wanderings in the mountains of Cashmere.There is a great charm in meeting an acquaintance when far from thehaunts of civilized life.

After some pleasant conversation, we bade adieu to our friend, andcontinued our ride towards the wooded ridge in front of us, over whichlies the Barramula Pass, which is some hundred feet above the plain.This was our last scramble, and when we arrived at the summit we bothexclaimed, ‘The Happy Valley at last!’

The top is covered with green grass and shrubs; the view is extensiveover a portion of the Vale of Cashmere. You see the Jhellum, theWalloor Lake, Sopoor, and the hills enclosing the northern side. I mustown that the first glimpse is rather disappointing. Accustomed fordays to the majestic mountains crowned with snow, the dark, mysteriousvalleys through which[174] the river foamed and raged, the Vale ofCashmere, with its green and fertile pastures, was a sudden change. Butsoon our eyes became enamoured with the glowing charms of that sweetview, and were quite ready to appreciate fully all its delights.

The valley at some time must have been a vast sheet of water. The wholeformation leads one to think this most probable, and the exit and drainof this vast lake must have occurred when the mass of water made itselfan issue near Naoshera, and, tearing through the rocks, rushed madlyon, leaving behind it the gently flowing river.

The trees in the Happy Valley are the plane, the walnut, the poplar,the mulberry, and the willow; while, higher up, the mountain sidesare covered with forests of deodar and pine. Fruit is very plentiful,growing wild, and consists of mulberries, peaches, apples, pears,cherries, grapes, walnuts, and melons. Vegetables are also in greatabundance. The soil is very rich, and during the summer there is noclimate to be compared with that of Cashmere.

If the country were fairly governed, and the[175] population unoppressedby tyrannical laws and injustice—in short, if we had retainedpossession of it when it once was ours, what a paradise it would nowbe! At present the flowers and fruit grow wild and untended, and thepoor peasants are miserable specimens of humanity. Many a better classfarmer has said to me, ‘Would that the English were our masters!’ Whenthe traveller reaches Barramula, he is in the actual Vale of Cashmere.

And now we were to change our mode of travelling—to have a rest frombreak-neck rides, and to travel luxuriously in boats. The horses wereto go on by easy marches to Srinagur, there to meet us. They hadcarried us well over the hundred miles of difficult road we had comefrom Murree. The rocks they had scrambled over had been very hard ontheir feet, and repeatedly they had lost shoes; but I had come preparedfor such contingencies, each syce carrying with him four strong leatherboots, and whenever a shoe came[176] off, a boot was slipped on to save thehoof; at the halting-places a blacksmith could always be found to puta shoe on, and we had our own with us. The natives keep only one size,very small, and they have been known to give lockjaw to travellers’horses from paring away the hoof to fit them. The Jhellum at Barramulais smooth and broad.

M’Kay was much put out when she discovered there were no steamers, andpuzzled the coolies by vainly trying to find out from them the wharffrom which we were to embark. We had three boats, called dongahs. Theone my wife and I occupied, a flat-bottomed boat, with very pointedextremities, was sixty feet long, six broad, and about two feet indepth. A wooden roof, covered with matting, extended about half itslength, and other pieces of matting were fastened on to the sides ofthe wooden frame, which can be closed at night and raised during theday. The crew consisted of a whole family, who lived in the stern partof the boat. The oars were short, with broad, heart-shaped paddles.My wife and M’Kay made our gondola most comfortable. The sides of ourcabin were festooned with red and[177] white curtains. In the centre,hanging from the roof, were large mosquito-nets. During the day ourcamp beds were pushed out of the way, and a table took their place, onwhich were our books and writing materials. There was room also for animpromptu sofa of cloaks, pillows, &c.

M’Kay had another dongah, which she shared with our dogs, and the thirdone contained our servants and cuisine. Oh! the delicious sense ofrepose—after toiling for days among rocks and mountain paths, to feelourselves resting in quiet and peace! It was sufficient, for a time,just to live, and lazily to look at the merry birds glancing past inthe sunlight, and every now and then seeing them drop into the calmwaters.

At first we had to cross a broad part of the river, and one of ourcrew stood in the bows, and with a pole pushed us along, while theremainder, in the stern, propelled us with the heart-shaped paddles.We soon reached the opposite bank, when most of the family jumped outon the path, and towed us by a long line, and so we glided past greenpastures, in which hundreds of mares and foals were quietly grazing,past sedgy pools, where numerous herons arose[178] before us. They had nofear, these royal birds, protected by the Maharajah, as a heron’s plumeis a token of nobility.

we reached the town of Sopoor, which is built on bothsides of the river, and joined together by a bridge resting on woodenpillars. Innumerable wild ducks skimmed past us, and the large mahseerrose to the flies which hovered over the mirror-like water during thestill evening hour.

Before sunrise next day, we had left our moorings at Sopoor, and,shortly after, entered the Walloor Lake. It is the largest lake inCashmere, and the Jhellum flows through it. The boatmen are verysuperstitious about crossing the lake. Offer them any amount ofbacksheesh, they will not attempt to enter it after the sun has set.The Walloor is often visited by storms and sudden squalls, and theflat-bottomed boats, with their heavy top-hamper, are not suitable fora gale of wind. So we entered the lake after sunrise. The mosquitoeswere innumerable. I sat[179] out on the prow of our boat to get a shot atthe wild fowl, which crossed and recrossed before our gondola, and themosquitoes covered my hands with white lumps and blood; for they areeasily killed, and are powerful blood-suckers.

The lake is choked up in many places by reeds and morass. Where theboats pass on their passage to Srinagur the whole surface of the wateris covered with water-lilies. The scene was fairy-like. High toweringaround us were mountains tipped with snow, while green pasturesencircled the lake. In the far distance, in our front, the fort ofSrinagur rose proudly on the horizon, like the Acropolis of Athens,while on our left the heights above Manisbul Lake marked the entranceto that lovely spot, and in the hazy distance on our right, could justbe seen the glaciers which show where Gulmurg, the ‘Field of Flowers,’nestles, a green valley among the snow-clad hills. In the evening,we entered Shadipore, ‘The Place of Marriage,’ where the Scind rivereffects a junction with the Jhellum.

A Hindoo temple on a solid block of masonry is shaded by a chenár.Tradition says that this tree, which is situated in the middle of theriver,[180] never grows. The boatmen drew up our squadron to leeward of alarge barge not laden with violets, so we insisted on being taken tosome other place. We were accordingly moved to a fine open space, andmoored to a post sunk deep in the mud.

My wife’s favourite pug jumped out of M’Kay’s boat at the first placewhere we halted, and now was nowhere to be seen. A great hunt ensued,and we were beginning to despair of her recovery when the littleblack-faced beauty made her appearance quite unconcerned. My wife wasvery fond of this troublesome pet, which had most endearing ways, but,like all her breed, was very selfish and exacting, her mistress oftenbeing compelled to sacrifice her own comfort to that of her favourite‘Polly,’ a name bestowed on her in remembrance of the very kind donor,who was wife of the Commissioner of Peshawur.

One day at Peshawur, a tall, fine-looking Afghan made his appearanceat our bungalow, and, having been admitted, entered the drawing-room,and saluting, produced a little black-nosed animal, which was Pug. Thearmed warrior again saluted, and retired, leaving Polly distractedunder a chair,[181] attached to a long chain. She was soon coaxed fromher retreat, and took at once to her new mistress, for whom she everafterwards showed a sort of selfish affection.

The tall Afghan was a retainer of the commissioner. His gentle care ofhis sahib’s children was very remarkable. He was often in attendanceon them when they went out to ride or drive; a kindly, gentle warriorhe seemed to be. But these Kybaries have strange customs, and one isthe ‘blood feud.’ Like the Corsican vendetta, it descends from fatherto son. This man was one day in the city of Peshawur, where he saw amember of a family with whom he had a blood feud. Perhaps he regrettedhaving come across his enemy, but the very honesty of the bold soldiermay have made him feel bound to pursue his foe. Anyway, he followedthe man, and on the road to Jumrood overtook him and slew him. Had hewaited but a short time, he would have been out of British territory;but the deed had been done in our queen’s dominions, where bloodfeuds are not recognised by the law. He was imprisoned and tried formurder, the punishment for which is death. Deep regret was[182] felt forthe faithful retainer, who, however, was not condemned to die, but toundergo imprisonment for life in the Andaman Islands. Alas! for thismountain warrior, imprisonment was far worse to him than death. Deathhe despised—but imprisonment! We must look at his position in his ownlight. We must remember that he was brought up in the faith of bloodfeuds. We must bring to bear all in his favour now, for soon weshall loathe his name. This Afghan mountaineer, this man who was thegentle attendant on children, who carried Pug so carefully into ourbungalow at Peshawur, was the murderer of Lord Mayo!

In the evening it looked like rain, but we did not much mind. Wesettled ourselves in our tent-like cabin and laughed at the mosquitoeswhich howled outside our curtains, when all of a sudden everyone onboard seemed demented. I jumped up and found the dress of a Highlanderquite unsuited to a gale of wind. My wife also sadly deplored herscanty costume. The usually quiet going gondola was flying in a mostdistracted manner before the wind; our gray, red, and white curtainsflew out like long, dishevelled[183] locks; our mosquito-nets jumped upand down in extraordinary fits; our boatmen’s family announced theirnumbers with great loudness, for in the back part of our vessel thevoices of male and female old age joined in fiendish clamour with thoseof youth and babyhood, and our dogs barked incessantly! On flew ourdissipated and ill-behaved, flat-bottomed barge, which had broken loosefrom the bonds that bound it to the muddy bank, and had started off ona lark, when the sudden squall had rushed down from the mountains andshouted ‘Come!’ How we were ever stopped, I know not; but, after halfan hour of great anxiety, the unwieldy and reckless, flat-bottomedbarge was made fast to the muddy bank, and we were left in peace torepair damages.

CHOWNI—SRINAGUR—WOODEN BATHING-HOUSES—BABOO MOHASCHANDER—OUR FUTURE DOMICILE—‘ME COME UP’—OURSHIKARRAH—SUMMUD SHAH, THE SHAWL-MERCHANT—ANCIENTTEMPLES—THE MANUFACTURE OF CASHMERE SHAWLS—DINNER WITH THEMAHARAJAH—A NAUTCH—THE MAHARAJAH’S ‘HOOKEM’—LORD MAYO’SFETE AT AGRA—UNINVITED GUESTS—RISING OF THE LAKE—THE POPLARAVENUE—THE PARIAH DOG—CAUSE OF THE FLOOD.

[187]

CHAPTER X.

When morning broke we continued our voyage. As we had left the lakethe day before, the river was now more narrow, and twisted and turnedlike a serpent in the green fields through which it made its way.And then we came to Chowni, which was intended by Golab Sing to bethe dwelling-place of English visitors, but, owing to want of gooddrinking-water, was never used.

We breakfasted under the shade of a grove of poplars, and then,entering our gondolas again, we were towed up to Srinagur, the capitalof Cashmere. As we glided along, we had to pass the old gallows onwhich many a mortal has suffered in days of yore; now it is seldomused, but during our visit to Cashmere a culprit was[188] executed on it,and was left to hang there for days, filling the air with his horridpresence. But when we passed the gallows was empty, and a weird-lookingold raven was perched on the cross-beam of the gibbet, croakingdismally to itself about the good times of Golab Sing, which werechanged completely now. We had pictured this city to ourselves as ascene of ruined palaces, but all we saw were crazy wooden houses withpent roofs overlaid with earth and covered with grass and plants.

We passed some ancient temples, which seemed in their ruin to markthe difference between the rotten buildings of the present day andthe massive architecture of a gone-by age. We glanced for a moment atsplendid marble cause-ways, hanging over hideous wooden bathing-places,and dwellings erected on wooden piles close to gardens full of fruitand flowers. As we struggled up the stream, and with difficulty gotunder and past the wooden bridges which span the river, boats like ourown, but not so large, shot by us. In some were reclining the Englishsahib, exploring. In others, larger and more crowded, were soldiers,country people, and busylooking[189] men. On each side of this centrethoroughfare of the town were men and boys swimming and bathing. Nota house but had a wooden bathing-place, and these were always full ofsplashing human beings, while crowding the banks were female figureswashing clothes and children alternately. We swept past the Maharajah’spalace, the golden roof of its temple being the only attraction there.

Leaving the last bridge, called Ameeri Kudal, we came to a widerpart of the river, and the place where the visitors’ bungalows aresituated opened out. It was a pleasant sight, the calm and placidJhellum, on the right bank of which were grand chenars—the Orientalplane—overshadowing the curious little houses built for theaccommodation of the Maharajah’s British guests. As we toiled on,a swift and smart-looking gondola drew up alongside, and the Baboowelcomed us in the name of His Highness the Maharajah of Cashmere.

Baboo Mohas Chander was a courteous, smiling man. When he spoke, hiswhite teeth sparkled in the sunlight, but, when he ceased to addressus, a sudden darkness seemed to overspread his[190] face, all because theBaboo had shut his mouth. He informed us our house was ready, and wefound him always civil and attentive.

Ah, me! what a house! Our future domicile was like a square box dividedin the centre, the division being the floor of the upper story. Up arickety stair we ascended to our three rooms. The windows had no glass,but had diamond-cut shutters, the peculiarity of which was that, whentampered with, they invariably fell on the toes of the unwary. However,we were delighted with our apartments. Hearing the sound of riderspassing by, we rushed to the window; the effect of which energeticmovement was to make everything in the room dance, as the floor wasvery elastic.

As we gazed on the river so near us, and watched the gondolas skimmingpast, we became aware that a crowd had assembled in front of our house.‘Me papier-maché man—me show you fine things—me come up.’ ‘MeSoubona jeweller—very cheap—me come up.’ ‘Me leather man—mebring shot-bags, sandals—me come up.’ ‘Me shawl man—very fine,very cheap—me come up,’ and so on, the ‘me come ups’ becoming[191]really alarming by the constant repetition of the words. So I assumedthe attitude of a popular candidate for parliamentary honours andrequested them to ‘retire till a future occasion,’ and, finding theywere losing time, they vanished.

Gradually the boats, riders, and pedestrians became fewer, night cameon apace, and we were glad to say ‘Good night.’ Next morning we engageda shikarrah, a miniature of the boat in which we had come up the river.It was thirty-six feet long, by three and a half wide, and one footdeep. Our shikarrah had a flush deck and awning. The crew consisted ofsix men, who propelled the boat with heart-shaped paddles. These craft,which are used by everyone like gondolas at Venice, seem to fly throughthe water. My wife and I reclined on rugs and pillows, and gave theword to proceed to Summud Shah, the great shawl-merchant. The entranceto this great man’s house is by a flight of stone steps, which arewashed by the river. Through a fine gateway we passed into a courtyard,and then, ascending stairs, we were ushered into the shawl-room. SummudShah received us arrayed in an ample gown, like a night-dress. He couldnot speak a[192] word of English, but by his courteous actions seemed tosay: ‘All I have is yours—if you pay me well.’ We were handed tochairs placed on a divan, and then business began.

What a collection of magnificent shawls! But oh, how wearisome! Ourhost gave us Ladok tea, which is not unpleasant to the taste. Insteadof cream, a slice of lemon floats in the cup. Summud Shah was thebanker at Srinagur, and was most attentive to our wants during thewhole of our stay in Cashmere. We saw two kinds of shawls. Those madeby loom, and those by hand.

Some time after this visit, we were wandering through a poor part ofthe town, when we observed a number of men with very weak eyes. Ourguide informed us that these were workers of Cashmere shawls, andthat the work they were engaged in was the cause of the weakness oftheir eyes, and in some of total loss of sight. We visited some oftheir houses, and found them occupied sewing the graceful patternson small patches of canvas. When these are completed, they are allunited together, and form the beautiful shawls, some of which we hadbeen admiring. We were also told that, when the shawls were[193] firstintroduced, the inventors were in the custom of ascending the hillabove the town, from which there is a fine view of the Jhellum, windingand turning in the valley beneath, and that the tortuous pattern of theCashmere shawls is a copy of the river’s windings.

I received an invitation to dine with the Maharajah. My wife was alsoasked to accompany the Resident’s party, to see the fireworks whichwere to be exhibited in the evening. So far as dinner was concerned,there was amply sufficient to eat and drink, but on an occasion ofthat sort one goes with rather a wish to be introduced to the host. Myexperience of that one dinner party did not afford me an opportunityof having that desire gratified. We had been requested to come campfashion, which means that each guest is expected to bring his ownplates, knives, forks, tumblers, napkins, &c. I landed at the mean anddirty entrance to the palace, where the shouting boatmen seemed at warwith each other. I clambered up the steep stairs, but there was noone to receive me, or to show me the way. I found myself at length ina large dining-hall, in which some eighty khitmegars were making as[194]great a noise as the boatmen below, each servant endeavouring to securethe best place for his master.

After getting past this pandemonium of waiters, I was shown a door,through which I proceeded to an open terrace, where a number of chairswere placed in a semicircle, many of them already appropriated byother guests like myself—their occupants being officers on leave fromBritish territory—so I took possession of one of them.

In the open space in front of the seats two or three nautch girls weregoing through that dreary and unmusical performance called a ‘nautch.’In the meantime, I discovered some old friends, stranded like myself.At length, as, somehow or other, everybody intuitively knew that dinnerwas ready, a rush was made towards the door. Excited khitmegars seizedtheir masters and dragged them to the place they had secured for them.I was charmed to find myself situated between a brother officer andan old friend I had not met since the Crimean days. The table wasgroaning with really a good dinner, for everything had been placed onit at once. The champagne was Cutler’s best, and our little[195] coteriehad our dinner and jokes in a very pleasant way. We had some fun aboutthe Maharajah’s hookem (order). I wanted a glass of iced water, and Idesired my servant to bring the water, and pour it into my silver mug.A great man, clad in red, came behind my chair and informed me ‘thatit was the Maharajah’s hookem (order) that the tumblers were to betaken to the water, and not the water to the tumblers.’ Verily it wasa jovial party. Then the Resident rose, and proposed the health of theMaharajah. We cheered uproariously. Some one then proposed the healthof the Resident, ‘the representative of our beloved Queen,’ we soldierscheering loudly for our sovereign, more than for her representative.The costumes worn by His Highness’s guests were peculiar; someappearing in uniform, others in evening dress, while a number woreancient shooting-coats which bore testimony to hard work among themountains of Cashmere.

Had the head constable of Agra been present, he would have been sorelypuzzled. That functionary was on duty one evening at the Taj, when theGovernor-General, Earl Mayo, gave a fête,[196] with kind hospitality, tothe residents at Agra. Several uninvited guests had tried to enter theprecincts of Viceroyalty on a former occasion, and a police officer,by order of the civil authorities, determined that these intrudersshould not force their way again into a private party given by theGovernor-General.

‘How shall I know the guests of his lordship?’ asked the anxiousconstable.

‘Allow no one to enter who is not dressed in uniform or in eveningcostume, like Mr. T——,’ replied the police officer, pointing to theofficiating collector, a tall, handsome man, dressed as an Englishgentleman.

In the evening we were all assembled in the garden near the gate, wherea sound of voices in altercation was heard at the entrance. The policeofficer proceeded to inquire into the disturbance, and found, to hisdismay and our delight, that Mr. A——, one of the leading swells inLord Mayo’s suite, had been stopped because he had a coat differingvery much from Mr. T——; in fact, a political costume.

The weather was so fine and warm that we decided on pitching our campnot very far from[197] our rickety bungalow. The site where our tents wereplaced was on a green knoll, on whose flat surface our whole encampmentfound ample room. There were trees dotted all round us, and a straightpath led down to the river, where we usually embarked.

For a day or two after our change of quarters the sun shone brightly,and there was a balmy breeze blowing; but it came on to rain suddenly,and never stopped doing so for thirty-six hours. Our tents werethoroughly waterproof, but to say the best of it we found our spacerather confined, and the time hang somewhat heavily on our hands. Mywife was sitting in the verandah of our tent, and I was not far offsmoking a cigar. For some time I had observed the water round a treegradually rising, and in a lazy kind of manner kept watching it growingdeeper and deeper, and felt very pleased that we had pitched our campon the green knoll, and not in the grass field below us. All of asudden a native employé of the Maharajah came running from thelanding-stage.

‘To the boats, sahib—to the boats! The Maharajah has sent three—theriver is rising.’

We could not understand what had happened,[198] but to hear was to obey,and then a wild scene of excitement ensued. Everyone began to packup something; the servants struck the camp; M’Kay was everywhere,working hard. The only unconcerned man was an orderly sent by BabooMohas Chander, who was placed at our disposal when we first arrived atSrinagur. This valiant warrior divested himself of all his clothes,and, wrapping them in a bundle, squatted in a way which is possibleonly to natives, holding over his head an umbrella made of broadleaves. He had fixed his position at the edge of the green platform onwhich our tents were pitched. His apathy was very irritating to M’Kay,and she managed, when flying from one place to another, to give oursepoy a gentle push, and bundle, man, and umbrella rolled down the bankinto the water.

At length everything had been transported into the dongahs, whichresembled the craft in which we had travelled from Barramula, so thesame arrangements held good as those which we had adopted in our formerboats. Our horses had been moved at once up to high hills, and theywere in safety. To our repeated question,[199] ‘What does all this mean?’the answer was astounding. The river was rising from some unknownreason, and the great danger was that the embankment, which preventedthe lake from overflowing its boundaries, might give way, and, if suchan accident happened, the whole valley would be inundated.

Yes, the river had already risen twenty feet, the green bank on whichour tents had been pitched was gradually becoming covered with water.The path along which we had hurried was no longer visible. The floodwas entering our old, rickety bungalow, and the walls soon collapsedlike a building of cards. It was a strange and anxious position tobe placed in, for there was nobody to tell us what to do; our realdanger was unknown. My wife and M’Kay having made our big boat quitecomfortable, we trusted ourselves to the care of Providence, whose goodangels had watched over us in many an equally momentous adventure.

The afternoon passed and the river was still rising. The rain, however,ceased, and evening became night. Our boats just floated on the waters.The moon rose in its splendour, and the stillness[200] of the hour was onlybroken by the howling of homeless dogs, and that fearful sound—onceheard, never to be forgotten—a house crumbling to the ground. Thenall was quiet again, and we were left to imagine scenes of death anddismay, which in time proved to be too true.

When morning broke, the sun shone forth on a scene of desolation. ‘Thewaters covered the earth.’ There was no trace of gardens left. Many ofthe visitors’ bungalows had subsided, and all of them had some depth ofwater in the lower floors. Our boatmen poled us along through placeswhich, two days before, were dry land, and into gardens, over which amass of water was tearing. Our crew aided their progress by holding onto cherry-trees, and freely helped themselves to the fruit, which a fewhours previous they would not have reached without the aid of a ladder.

We passed through the poplar avenue, one of the walks near the city,the tall trees of which had been planted by the Sikhs many years ago.Now a torrent rushed along the favourite ride. As we glided on, we sawa poor Pariah dog seated on a door, floating anywhere, and howlingpiteously.[201] My wife was most anxious to save the forlorn animal, andmade the boatmen take us near to it. She spoke to it kindly, and coaxedit to be good; but when its enemy, man, came nearer and nearer, itdistrusted us, and sprang from its door, and was swept away. As welooked on the vast expanse of waters our wonder was great; but howmuch was it increased when we both saw a rat and a serpent swimmingclose together, too intent on getting to dry land to take any heed ofeach other. As we continued on, we picked up a chicken, which was ingreat dismay, but soon fraternised with us, and, being named Nourmahal,became our companion for a long time after she had been saved.

It would be tedious to enumerate all our adventures. It was anexperience never to be forgotten. We spent several days in ourboats, but it was some time before the waters subsided, and the fullextent of the damage to life and property could be ascertained. Theperil most dreaded—the rising of the lake and the bursting of thewater-gate—when the town of Srinagur would have been, most probably,swept away, and the whole valley destroyed, was mercifully[202] averted.A broad embankment is built for protection, and the water-gate is soformed that, when the lake rises, the gate closes itself; but when atit* proper level the huge wooden doors open.

Our crew brought our squadron to anchor at the base of Tukht Suliman,on whose sides our horses were picketed. We climbed to its summit tothe little temple where King Solomon once sat, so says tradition.The view of the valley is the most extensive that can be had, andfrom where we stood we saw the full length of the poplar avenue ofmagnificent trees. There are in all one thousand seven hundred andfourteen trees, of which one thousand six hundred and ninety-nine arepoplars, and fifteen chenars (so I find noted down).

The scene presented to us was most interesting. Very many dongahs, likeour own, had taken refuge here, out of which appeared mothers withchildren in all states of undress. These poor ladies, like ourselves,had been obliged to embark in a hurry, and found, no doubt, that anursery was an inconvenient obstacle to overcome. But, like true women,they bowed to the inevitable, and made the best of everything.

[203]

We remained a few days near the friendly rocks, till the waters hadsubsided. During that time the great Baboo Mohas Chander had often paidus visits. He informed me that the cause of the flood was the meltingof a glacier in the mountains, which had forced its way in volumes ofwater down to the river. I never heard this information contradicted,so I suppose it was true.

JOURNEY TO THE NISHAT BAGH—FLOATING GARDENS—SUPERFINEJOE—ISLE OF CHENARS—INSCRIPTION—NIGHTINGALES—SUDDENSTORM—SUNBUL—AN IRISHMAN’S DINNER—THE GUARDIAN OF THELAKE—GANDERBUL—NOONSER—ENGAGEMENT OF A SHIKARREE—AN IRISHMANLOSING HIS ‘PRESENCE OF MIND’—A HOLY MAN—CROSSING A RICKETYBRIDGE—VALLEY OF THE SCIND—BEARS.

[207]

CHAPTER XI.

The weather had quite improved again, so we determined to proceed onour travels once more, and, having still retained our flat-bottomedgondolas, we gave orders to our new crew to take us through thedrogjun, or water-gate, into the lake, whose embankments had caused somuch alarm to the Maharajah and to everyone. How enchanting it all was!We had left our moorings in the afternoon, and the glow of the fadingday was like a halo over mountain and woods.

Our destination was the Nishat Bagh, one of those fine old palacesbuilt by one of the Mogul emperors. On our way through the clear waterof the lake, we passed the floating gardens laden with melons. On everyside were lotus-flowers[208] and singhara plants. The lake was like a greatmirror, in which the high mountains were reproduced. We landed at aflight of steps, and, mounting them, found ourselves in the terracedgardens among flowers and cherry-trees laden with fruit.

The Maharajah comes out occasionally from his gold-roofed dwellingin Srinagur, and is taken up the lake in his grand barge, landing atone or other of these summer habitations to spend the day. An orderfrom our Resident can generally secure the use of rooms in any ofthe palaces for officers on leave. The rooms are bare; some of themquite open to the balcony overhanging the garden. Here we establishedourselves for a time.

As we were idly gazing from the verandah, an arrival attracted ournotice. It was that of a native arrayed in garments of gorgeouscolours; but what was most remarkable was a large embroidery insilver on his shoulder. For some time we were greatly puzzled by thisornament; but, having got my glasses to bear on him, our delight wasgreat to find the word ‘Superfine’ written on it. This conspicuousornament was[209] no doubt the English manufacturers’ mark of the qualityof the cloth in which this strange creature had clothed himself. Wehailed him as ‘Superfine Joe,’ at which he seemed greatly pleased, ashe salaamed repeatedly as he swaggered away. When night came on, ourresting-place was in an alcove not far from a marble fountain situatedin the centre of the fine hall. During the hours of darkness the breezemoaned sadly through this vast apartment, sounding like the sighs ofthose who had once lived and loved in this almost ruined palace.

When morning broke, we crossed the lake to Nishat Bagh, where wepitched our tents under the shade of some magnificent chenars plantedin the time of Akbar. Before us was the calm and placid lake, thebreadth of which is here some miles. Near where we landed is the CharChenar, or Isle of Chenars, also called Rupa Lank, or Silver Island.Vigne visited this isle in 1835, and says there was a square templeupon it; but it no longer exists. He states a black marble tablet wasplaced there which has also disappeared. He informs us that it bore thefollowing inscription:—

[210]

Three travellers,
Baron Carl Von Hugel from Jamu,
John Henderson from Ladâk,
Godfrey Thomas Vigne from Iskardo,
Who met in Sreennugger on November 18, 1835,
Have caused the names of those European
travellers who had previously viewed the Vale of Kashmir
to be hereunder engraved—
Bernier, 1663,
Forster, 1786,
Moorcroft, Trebeck, and Guthrie, 1823,
Jacquemont, 1831,
Wolfe, 1832.

Of these, three only lived to return to their native country.

Seated outside our tents, the whole scene was very beautiful. Thelake was dotted here and there in the far distance with boats plyingfrom one place to another. Then, rising in proud grandeur on theopposite shore, the lofty mountains towered into the clear blue sky,while at their feet nestled ancient palaces among green trees andfruitful gardens. It was a scene of peaceful quiet, which is peculiarto Cashmere, owing to the absence of all wheeled traffic. The lovelyclimate of this beautiful land adds enchantment to every view.

[211]

It is no less attractive when seen by moonlight.

As we lingered under the shade of the green-leaved trees, I endeavouredto make a sketch, and thought I had succeeded pretty well. Seeing M’Kaypass near me, I called, and asked her how she liked my drawing. As shedid not answer, I said,

‘You know where that is?’

Poor M’Kay was always anxious to give pleasure to anyone, so she said,in her pleasant Scotch voice,

‘Oh yes, sir; that’s your bungalow at Murree.’

Alas for my fine sketch of the Cashmere mountains!

Time fled very pleasantly in our gipsy encampment.[212] The scene wasoccasionally varied by the presence of the Maharajah as he went past inhis gilded barge, followed by his courtiers in large and picturesqueboats. Sometimes we paid visits to the gardens of Shalimar, and restedduring the heat of the day in Nourmahal’s Pavilion. This pavilion isbuilt of marble, and the pillars which support it are of black marble.It is in the centre of a reservoir of clear water, and there are onehundred and forty-four large fountains springing from it.

Now all is silent. The palace is forsaken, and the gardens deserted.But, happier than our old Scotland, the nightingale is heard among thetrees which surround this fairy place; although, according to a Scotchassistant-surgeon,[213] there are nightingales in our Highland homes. Thesurgeon being asked to describe one, he gave his impression of thelovely songster in these terms:—

‘It’s got a heed like a caat: aboot the beegness of a pigion; and flitsaboot at night; and cries, hewt! hewt!’

We could linger no longer among the fine forest of chenars near thatbeautiful lake, so our camp was broken up, and we reluctantly departedfor the Scind Valley. We were fortunate in having the moon to lightus on our way. Very beautiful was the lake enshrined among the gianthills. As we moved slowly along, a storm rushed up, sweeping the watersinto real waves. The flash of the lightning was incessant, and the roarof the thunder never ceased as it rattled among the mountains. But thestorm passed almost as suddenly as it had arrived.

We allowed our boatmen to take us wherever they liked best, onlystipulating that we should find ourselves halted in the morning at somesuitable camping-ground for breakfast.

Sunbul was the place they selected, and there we breakfasted underthe shade of some wides-preading[214] sycamores. There was little varietyin our food. We carried with us tea, and a few tins of soup, which weonly used on the march. Besides these, my wife had a small store ofdainties, which only saw light on special occasions. We trusted forthe rest to the fowls and eggs of the country. Potatoes and bread,which were always plentiful, we had to send for to Srinagur. Milkwas abundant; but beef we never saw. Bulls and cows being sacred, wemight have answered, as the Irishman did, when asked to dinner by DanO’Connell:

‘Come to dinner, a quiet dinner. Ye’ll get nothing but potatoes andbeef.’

‘Bedad,’ answered Paddy, ‘I’ll come. It’s the same dinner I have everyday—barrin’ the beef.’

After a two hours’ halt, we proceeded on to Manusbul Lake, passingthrough a narrow canal, and under a very ancient one-arched bridge.

The canal is about a mile long, and then you emerge into the clearestwater of this most picturesque lake. In the shallow parts the lotusabounds, the leaves of which are very long and of great diameter. Wesaw on our left an elevated table-land, at the foot of which is thevillage of[215] Manusbul. Near this hamlet are the ruins of Bádsháh Bágh,an old palace built by Jehángir for his wife, the lovely Nourmahal. Onthe right, a low range of hills extends from high mountains. We landedand paid a visit to the guardian of the lake, a very holy fakeer, witha gentle, good expression of face, who is spending his life digginghimself a grave. When we were there, he had tunnelled out some fiftyfeet, and as he was then a man in the prime of life, if he is stillalive, he must have burrowed a long way in. Whatever fruit happens tobe in season in the valley at the time of a visitor’s advent, this holyman will give it in greater perfection than it can be procured anywhereelse.

The mosquitoes were very troublesome here, so we embarked again, andfloated away over the clear deep water of the lake, and finally arrivedat Ganderbul, where our horses awaited us. We encamped for the night ina tope of fine trees, and next morning continued our march up the ScindValley. The river Scind was still in flood, and two bridges had beenswept away, and the waters were over the lower path, so we decided toproceed to Noonur, which is only three miles[216] from Ganderbul, and thereto halt. The distance being so short, we thought it better to walk,and never did a march seem longer than this one. There was no shade,and we were on a narrow path in the midst of rice-fields. The sun beatdown piteously on the marshy ground, from which exhaled a stifling air.At length we arrived at Noonur, which is a pretty, English-lookingvillage, nestling among fruit-trees and chenars. Our four tents werepitched under the shade of one of these nobles of the forest. Thehorses were picketed at a little distance off, near a walnut-tree, anda tiny stream of clear and sparkling water ran past our encampment.Here we were regularly beset by ‘shikarries,’ the gamekeepers of thevalley.

We had reached the bear country. I selected one of these men,a nice-looking fellow, who had only one ‘chit,’ or letter ofrecommendation, but that one was most satisfactory, the writertestifying to all that was said in favour of ‘Jan of Kangan.’ On beingasked for his other ‘chits,’ he said they were left in his home in themountains—‘But surely,’ he added, ‘that was sufficient;’ and so he wasengaged, and we were spared the continual[217] announcement, ‘A shikarriewaits.’ Our new gillie made himself useful, bringing us any amount ofunripe mulberries. M’Kay also went off into the woods, and returnedwith basketfuls of cooking pears and apples. We remained at Noonur somedays—quiet, dreamy, unremarkable days.

One morning our honest gamekeeper was brought before me like aprisoner, guarded by three other greatly roused shikarries. Theysalaamed most respectfully, and inquired if the sahib had engaged thisman, the prisoner, as ‘Jan of Kangan.’ He was not the said Jan ofKangan, for Jan of Kangan was the man who now addressed ‘your royalhighness, the provider of the poor.’ This fellow was a common coolie,who had stolen Jan’s ‘chit’—here were the others to prove what he hadsaid was not true. The false Jan was speechless, and had nothing tosay. He had not the ready wit of an Irish soldier-servant I once had,whom I found telling a most palpable falsehood. On being afterwardsaccused by me of saying what was not true, be drew himself up tomilitary attention and said, ‘Plase, sir, I lost my prisince of mind.’

The only drawback to Noonur was an excessively[218] holy fakeer, whoappeared at unexpected moments, gesticulating furiously, evidentlyperfectly mad. The Cashmerians looked on him with intense respect, andour servants told us that the Maharajah had begged the holy man to comeand live with him, and had offered him beautiful presents, but thefakeer had refused his highness’s offers, and had thrown the gifts inhis face.

We had not had any rain for a week, so the Tickedar was summoned,and coolies ordered. Bitterly cold it was at half-past three in themorning, as we felt our way out of the tent ropes, and we were onlytoo glad to walk and keep our blood circulating. When day broke, wehad fairly entered the Scind Valley, in which we overtook numbers offlat-faced, Chinese-looking coolies, all laden, travelling generally inthe employment of some merchant back to Ladâk.

At first the path was good, but we were soon in difficulties. The riverhad carried away one part of the track, and in others the water hadoverflowed and then receded, leaving a most slippery road. So there wasnothing for it but to ride our horses into the river, the Scind, which[219]had covered the whole of the low ground. At last we had to retrace oursteps, clamber up the mountain-side, and hit off another approach tothe bridge. Many misgivings assailed us when about a mile from whereour guide told us was Kangan. We saw what was evidently a sahib’s horsegrazing, and its syce squatting on the bank opposite to us. We askedhim why he was there. He did not dare to face the waters, he said, sohe was waiting till the river subsided, or till his sahib returned. Onwe rode beside the foaming torrent to a place where it widened intothree branches. The chokedar called a halt; we had arrived at thebridges. There were two very rapid rivers to cross, which we had to doby wading, and then the main body was bridged. A native went first,and, although the waters surged around him, he was able to hold his ownagainst the tide.

So we followed on our horses. Having crossed in safety the twobranches, we then came to the bridge, a pile of loose stones on eitherside, round which the waters madly rushed. It supported a frail ladder,turfed over in some places, the sods kept down by heavy stones thatweighed the[220] trembling structure down to the waves. However, M’Kay musthave got over, for there was no trace of her, and our advance-guardof coolies and servants had also certainly managed to get across.We dismounted, and handed the nags to their respective syces. Nilaclimbed the pile of loose stones supporting the bridge like a cat, andfearlessly followed the syce over the troubled waters, hopping overholes in the neatest possible fashion. But Silver Tail, more impetuous,made a rush at the stone-work, to the vast alarm of his syce, who sawthe near approach of a watery grave, and held on with all his might tohis charger’s head, shouting for assistance. But at length they bothgot over all safe. My wife held on to one end of a stick, while thechokedar had the other end firmly grasped in his hand. She landed allright from this swaying structure, which had no parapet, and throughwhich the furious flood was plainly visible beneath.

In my opinion the dogs gave us most trouble in our efforts to get overthis rickety structure. We were all rejoiced when we were assembled onthe Kangan side of the river, and, when everything was fairly over thebridge, we continued on[221] our way to where our tents were pitched underthe shade of some walnut-trees, and where M’Kay was ready to receive uswith the welcome ‘doctor.’

The valley of the Scind is narrow, but the scenery is very grand andbeautiful. On each side rose lofty mountains whose summits were coveredwith snow, and whose precipitous sides are clothed with forests ofdeodars. Lower down chestnut, sycamore, and walnut-trees take theplace of those giant firs. Villages surrounded by cultivated landare sprinkled here and there on the banks of the river; fruit-treesafford a welcome shade, and the green carpet of grass a pleasant placeon which to pitch the wanderer’s camp. We enjoyed our luncheon verymuch, for in honour of the occasion my wife produced some of her mostprecious stores, and we had among other dainties a Stilton cheese and abottle of milk punch; so we decided to devote the remainder of the dayto rest and quiet enjoyment under the shade of a huge walnut-tree.

I smoked a cigar, while my wife, by the aid of my glasses, examinedevery nook and corner of the high mountain which towered above us.All[222] of a sudden she exclaimed, ‘I see a bear!’ and there, far up onthe hill-path, a bear and her cub were plainly seen. It was a prettypicture, for the mother was playing with her child, rolling it overand running away, then coming back and falling down, while the littlecub jumped over her. Well, I did not go after them. Perhaps the milkpunch and the cheese prevented me; anyway, I left them alone, but abrother officer, arriving soon after, encamped not far from us, and hewent and shot the cub and then the mother, but nearly lost his lifein doing so, for the old bear was so furious when her cub was killedthat she charged my friend at a moment when his rifle was not loaded.Fortunately for him, however, another sportsman came up to the rescue,and Bruin received a bullet which finished her.

There were several bears seen during our halt at this charmingcamping-ground. I went out several times to shoot, but was notsuccessful. My shikarrie generally got me out of bed about three in themorning, and we sallied forth by the light of the moon, and climbed upone of those steep mountains on which my wife had spied the[223] mother andchild. The bears came down during the night from their haunts in themountains to feed on the ripe mulberries in the valley.

My shikarrie’s plan was to take me up the mountain before dawn, andto post me behind a rock where the bears were likely to pass, as theyalways returned up the mountain from the valley when the day broke. Imay safely say that, on these occasions, I never saw a bear. A strongsmell of a menagerie was sometimes perceptible, and the broken branchof a mulberry-tree would give evidence that Bruin had been there; but Iwas never fortunate enough to get a shot at one. I think the fur of theAmerican bears finer than that of the Cashmerian ones.

GOND—OFFICER OF THE CONNAUGHT RANGERS—A STATE PRISONER—OURGASCON CAPTAIN—SILVER TAIL—M’KAY ON EASTERN MOUNTAINSCENERY—THE WALLOOR LAKE—PALHALLAN—OUR CHOKEDAR—TAKENFOR WANDERING JUGGLERS—VALE OF GULMURG—OUR CAMPINGGROUND—A FAVOURITE EXCURSION—HOSPITALITY OF THE RESIDENT OFCASHMERE—POLLY THE PUG—CALLING THE MARES HOME—HINDOOS ANDANIMAL SUFFERING—EFFECTS OF CAMPAIGNING ON SERVANTS.

[227]

CHAPTER XII.

We left Mamur and encamped at Gond, intending to proceed to Sonamurg,but I did not feel at all well, so we had to give it up. The sceneryhad become wilder and grander at every turn round each rugged cliff,and then the mountains seemed to close entirely, so that there wasapparently no possibility of getting further on, till a turn of thepath led us to where the valley widened into a green enclosure. On ourway we got lots of apricots, the trees being fairly weighed down withtheir yellow load.

Gond is a very wild place. Our tents were pitched close to a brawlingstream that clamoured so loudly as it hurried past to join the Scindthat we could hardly hear ourselves speak. My wife, accompanied bythe dogs, proceeded alone for[228] about five miles up the valley. Shebrought back a glowing account of glorious combinations of mountain,wood, and river. The intense stillness of the place imparted a feelingof solemnity to the scene. While my wife was on her way a figureappeared, at first wholly unrecognisable, face burned red, and haira perfect thatch, dress indescribable. This was an officer of theConnaught Rangers. How amazed I was when my wife returned to our campwith this singular-looking being. He had been to Leh, and was fullof stories of his adventures. He had walked thirty miles that day.As he had left his servants behind, we made an impromptu bed for himin our spare tent. He told us he had seen a state prisoner at a fortcalled Tillet, a man tall in height, cramped up in an iron cage wherehe could not sit upright. My friend measured this cruel prison, and,as far as I remember, his conclusion was that it was only four feethigh, and narrow in proportion. The poor man had been immured therefor years. At the time of the death of Gholab Sing (the father of thepresent Maharajah) the prisoner plotted to raise another branch of thefamily to the throne, his intention[229] being that the prince who nowreigns was to have been slain. The plot was discovered, and the unhappyauthor of it was condemned to a life-long incarceration in an ironcage. It is so long ago since the story was told on the valley of theScind river by this wandering Ranger, that now my written descriptionof the event seems quite tame; but at the time his portrait of theunfortunate wretch he had seen, and the measurement of the cage whichhe had marked on his stick, made us all thrill with horror, and we madea fresh inroad on the fluids in my wife’s stores. I hope my friend hadno difficulty in getting off his boots, as I might have chaffed him asI was once chaffed myself.

In the Crimea, during the last winter there, my old friend and comrade,Nat Steevens, and I built, with the aid of one of the Rangers, namedHopkins, a very good man, ‘a moighty foin house,’ consisting of tworooms, divided by a very thin partition. Nat resided in one room, whileI was possessor of the other. Nat said to me one morning:

‘I always can tell when you have been dining out.’

[230]

I innocently inquired, ‘How?’

‘Because,’ said Nat, ‘I can hear you say to your servant, on yourreturn from one of those festive parties, “Schnopkins, pull offmy boots!”’

We had great difficulties in procuring any food, and at length I had tosend in to Srinagur, to Baboo Mohas Chander, requesting him to give mea Sepoy orderly, to get us supplies. After his arrival, we did better;for we got what there was to be had—small, half-fed sheep—but we hadto pay double for everything, owing to our new attendant. I do notbelieve the peasants gained by the change; for our ‘Gascon captain,’as we named him, was a great swaggerer, and pocketed most of the moneyhimself.

We had to cross the Scind river twice, on our return journey, to enableus to get to a better path than the one we came by, and we met with nomishaps till we reached a tributary of the river. It came brawling downfrom the mountains, a goodly sized stream. My wife was walking, andSilver Tail, with the side-saddle on, was being led by the syce. Theycame to a rickety bridge, where the impetuous pony, as[231] usual, made arush. The syce checked him, but down went Silver Tail into the water,and rolled twice over in the flood! The knowing rascal seemed rather toenjoy it, and swam to a shallow place, where he coolly began to drink,allowing the alarmed syce to catch him. Not a scratch was on him, norwas the little demon strained in the least. My wife’s saddle was, ofcourse, very wet, but uninjured.

We arrived early at our camping-ground at Mannur, and M’Kay started offon an expedition up a mountain at the back of our tents. It toweredup many thousand feet, and from its summit a view could be obtainedover the ridge on the other side of the Scind Valley, right away toSrinagur, Gulmurg, and Baramoula.

It was some hours before M’Kay rejoined us. We had seen her, throughmy glasses, climbing steadily on; and, when she returned, her accountof the splendour of the panorama she must have gazed on was short andpithy.

‘There was nothing to be seen at the top but more mountains, andvillages. As to the wonderful height, there was not a mountain of the[232]lot to be compared in size, or anything else, with the mountains at theback of my father’s house in Sutherlandshire.’

The heat in the valleys was becoming oppressive, so we determined tomove up to higher ground. We turned our steps, in the first place,towards Srinagur, there to make all arrangements for a protractedexpedition. Baboo Mohas Chander strongly recommended us to retain theservices of the Sepoy, so the Gascon captain remained with us. We leftSrinagur by boats on a lovely moonlight night, and drifted down theJhellum with little aid from our crew. The tinkling sound of zitaras,mingled with laughing voices, came on the breeze, and added to ourenjoyment as we floated along, inhaling the perfume from the flowers inthe gardens on the banks of the river. The grim old temples, black withage and decay, were softened in the moonlight, and the squalid woodenhouses appeared almost cheerful as seen in that sweet evening hour.

In the morning, we entered the Walloor Lake, and crossed over toour landing-place at Palhallan. The mosquitoes were more voraciousthan[233] usual, and positively attacked our mosquito-nets in millions,but, baffled in their attempts to come through, they howled outside.From Palhallan we walked to Wangan, where the horses met us, theyhaving come round by land. Our Gascon captain was in great force, andswaggered about, trying to get coolies. His moustache had an extracurl, and he proved—by his overbearing ways—a great addition toour importance, as every article of food was charged nearly doubleto us. Our other retainer was a chokedar, full of conceit, and whatthe Americans call bounce. When we landed at Palhallan, thisman buckled on his sword, and swung my gun, in its leather-case, overhis shoulder, arming himself also with a long pole, on which he fixedan old Union Jack belonging to me; and marched with pompous gravityin front of our party, greatly to our amusem*nt, but not much to ouredification.

As we passed through a village, the little naked children rushedforth clapping their hands and shouting: ‘Ho! tomasha wallah. Ho!’ Tobe taken for a party of travelling jugglers increased the delight,but not the dignity of the wanderers. Before daylight the march wasbegun, and when[234] morning broke we had left the low land, and werebeginning the ascent of the real mountains. A slight shower brightenedeverything. The note of the cuckoo, so home-like and sweet, thefir-trees refreshed by the rain, the balmy, bracing morning air, allmade our hearts rejoice. We toiled up through pine forests, among whichwere many fine deodars blasted by lightning. We arrived in due timeat Baba-murchi, where we were met by two of my brother officers, whowere looking out for us, and welcomed us with the intelligence, ‘Wehave breakfast ready for you,’ a most satisfactory meeting. Need I sayhow we appreciated the meal provided for us by these two kind friends,one of whom now rests in his grave in India; but we were longing fornews of the outside world, not having met anyone in our brief halt atSrinagur. They told us of rumours of disturbances among the hill tribesnear Peshawur, always an anxious report for officers on leave, as, ifanything serious breaks out, it means recall to the plains. However,the air of Cashmere makes one look on the bright side of things, and itwas with wills resolved thoroughly to enjoy our holiday as long[235] as itlasted that we got on our horses and proceeded on our way.

For two or three miles our road continued ascending through pineforests, but at length, like

so we began the short descent to the Vale of Gulmurg. Gulmurg means the‘meadow of flowers,’ and in few places in the world except Cashmerecould such a pleasant spot be found.

The long, narrow green valley, on whose sweet grass many mares andfoals were grazing, is traversed by a clear stream of pure water. Oneach side of the valley are high broad banks, on which grow loftydeodars. On one side the bank goes up, still covered with pines, tillit joins the hill behind it, and then it rises upward and upward tillit reaches the line where the snow always lies. In snug nooks above thevalley were to be found various tents.

Gulmurg is the most favourite resort for the less adventurous visitorsto Cashmere. It was a pretty sight, for the encampments were many,[236] andeach one had some decoration, either of arbours or flags, to enliventhe scene.

We had some difficulty in finding a good camping-ground, for a ratherlarge terrace was required, not only for our own accommodation, butalso for our retainers and the ponies. At last we were satisfied. Forsome time we had ample occupation in arranging our gipsy camp. Ourtents were cosily pitched beneath some giant deodars, more than sixtyfeet high. It occurred to the syces, both good men, whom I had had inmy service for long, that the ponies might be led down the valley toenjoy a good feed of grass. It was an unlucky thought, for no soonerdid the nags find themselves in the neighbourhood of the mares than,casting decorum to the winds, they squealed, and kicked, and prancedmost gallantly. The men held on to their charges as long as they could,but at last I saw the discomfited grooms prostrate on the ground, andour excited horses tearing away after the long-tailed denizens of thevalley. It was next day before they were recovered. By many a bite andcut, we saw that their advances had not been too well received.

When night came, the scene was very picturesque.[237] The large fires,always lit, near every camp reminded me of old campaigning days. Wehad our huge log fire, and the moon rose soft and silvery from behindthe dark woods, a bright gleam occasionally piercing the gloomydarkness of the thick forest, which loomed grandly between us and thecloudless sky. It is like a dream recalling these pleasant hours, forthe inevitable discomforts are all forgotten, and memory reproduces thebright side alone.

One of our favourite excursions was to the end of the valley by whichwe had come in, and then into the woods, along a narrow path throughlordly pines, to an open vista made by the Resident. The view was verybeautiful; the far-off mountains were often hid in mist, but sometimesat sundown the lofty Hurra-Mukh showed his snowy head, and the cloudsfaded away like a veil lifted from his god-like brow. Then themagnificent ice-clad giant, flushed in the rosy sunset glow, quicklyshrouded himself again in a covering of impenetrable clouds. Beneath uswas the green plain, through which the broad Jhellum shone like a bandof silver, and the Walloor Lake seemed but very small indeed.[238] Villageswere dotted here and there. In the far distance a gleam of light showedSrinagur’s Fort and the golden-roofed palace glistening in the sun’sdeparting rays.

Our constant companion was a large Thibetian dog—poor fellow, healways kept at a respectful distance, but followed us on all occasions,fascinated by our lady pack of canine charmers. He appeared to have nomaster, and we were told that he was the self-constituted guardian ofthe mares, which graze everywhere at Gulmurg, against the wild beaststhat prowl down from the heights above. We liked the shaggy old dog,which never came too near; but one day we missed him, and were toldthat this honest old watch had been shot, so his troubles were over.

It must be difficult for the keepers to know to whom the differenthorses belong. Most of them are the property of the Maharajah, but someare not. I suppose they have a distinguishing mark.

The Resident of Cashmere, Colonel Cracroft, was most prince-like in hisideas of hospitality. No one could be more courteous and kindly thanwere both he and his wife. They endeavoured in every way to promote ouramusem*nt[239] and good-fellowship. A hearty welcome was given to everyonewho was bid to their hospitable board. Cricket was established as wellas archery; polo was also greatly patronised.

Time flew gaily among the woods and flowers of Gulmurg. It was a prettysight to see the care-takers of the innumerable mares and foals calltheir horses home at the fall of day by the sound of a long-prolongedcry which the guardians gave. A stampede ensued, and from hidden nooksand glens numbers of mares gallopped towards the man whose voice theyknew. Some moved with a long stride, while others cantered quietly,followed by their little foals. From our green hill it was amusingto note the different manœuvres these wild horses went through. Theyformed up in troops, and changed front in a compact form. The place towhich they had been called was not enclosed, but was at the entranceof the valley, and no straggling was allowed, owing to the dread ofwild beasts. One day I saw a great number of vultures collected in thevalley immediately in front of our position; with my glasses I couldsee that a poor little foal had died, and that its carcase was beingdevoured by[240] these horrid foul scavengers of the East; but my disgustcan be imagined when through the same glasses I saw Polly, the pug,enjoying herself quite as much as the gorged carrion crows. If therewas not a row soon established at that detestable feast, it was not thefault of our servants, for the Gascon captain, chokedar, and syces, ledon by M’Kay, charged down among these festive guests. Polly was seized,and washed, and rubbed, and if anyone had been ill, and wanted castoroil, Polly, if she could have spoken, would have informed any inquirerswhere most of the bottle had gone to. Polly was a very greedy littleanimal. At a croquet-party given by General Dunsford at Peshawur wewere all deeply engaged showing our science at that now obsolete game,when, happening to turn round, I saw the pug on the table, surroundedby strawberries and sugar, which she did not appreciate, but up to theeyes in a large jug of cream, which had been provided by our hospitablehost for his guests.

On a knoll in the valley, across the clear running stream, a littlechurch, constructed of deodars and green branches, had been erected.Here every Sunday a small congregation assembled,[241] and it was verytouching to join in the service in this far-off beautiful land. Theclergyman was chaplain to the 79th Highlanders, and he took greatinterest in his little church in the vale.

We were going one Sunday to the morning service, when we passed on theway a young horse with a broken leg, a very pitiable sight. The pooranimal was trying to hobble along, its fore leg, which was broken,hanging powerless. The poor beast was evidently suffering great agony.A message was sent off at once to the native in charge at Gulmurg, buthis answer was that he had received no hookem to destroy thehorse. So Colonel Macpherson, of the Ghoorkas, took the case into hisown hands, and the suffering animal was shot. The Hindoos are verycareless about animal suffering though they avoid taking their lives. Ihave often seen at Cawnpore a worn-out camel lying all alone near theriver Ganges, a small supply of food beside the forsaken beast. It isimpossible to imagine a picture of desolation more complete than thedying camel alone on the river’s bank.

We made many excursions from Gulmurg, once to the range of mountainsone thousand feet[242] above our valley. The path was very steep, but wewere rewarded when in about two hours we arrived at Killun, anotherplateau above Gulmurg. But our route was higher up, and we passed bankscovered with every kind of wild flowers. The breeze was cold as itcame over the ice. The view of the valley and the distant Thibetianmountains was very splendid. Beneath us was green Gulmurg, with itswhite tents dotted here and there. Above us were glaciers and perpetualsnow. In a shaded nook near the frozen stream we established ourbivouac; a pâté de foie gras, together with some black bottles,was placed in the snow, and, in due time, we enjoyed a luncheon fitfor a king. One of our party naïvely remarked that after luncheonin these high altitudes the ground seemed to rise towards him. Wehad no attendants with us, so we helped ourselves. Gipsy life, likecampaigning, makes servants forget the required polish of every-daylife.

In 1858, the Rangers marched into Lucknow. A brother-officer and myselfwere dining with the Commissioner, Sir R. Montgomery. My friend wasseated between the hostess and another lady, and was making himselfvery agreeable, delighted[243] to be in ladies’ society again, afterwandering about the country for months in pursuit of rebels. Dinnerover, dessert was discussed, when, to my friend’s dismay, his servant,who had been campaigning with his master, stole gently behind hischair, and, with great care, placed beside his plate an old black cuttypipe and a ‘screw of cavendish,’ wrapped up in a piece of old newspaper.

The murg of Killun is too high up to be frequented as a camping-ground;supplies are very difficult to be got, everything having to be carriedup from the bazaar which the Resident had got established for thenecessaries of life at Gulmurg. Rain is more frequent there than lowerdown. But, all the same, it is a capital place for a picnic. We oftendined with the Resident and his wife, whose camp was pitched high upon the green hill which overlooks on one side Gulmurg, and on theother the Happy Valley. Our departure after dinner on dark nights wasremarkable, and like a triumphal procession. The ‘Gascon captain’ andthe ‘Chokedar’ were both in attendance with blazing flambeaux of pinewood, which burn like lamps, owing to the liquid turpentine[244] which theycontain. One preceded us, armed to the teeth, while the other followed,with his head all wrapped up to keep out the cold air. Occasionallya difference of opinion arose between the rival light-bearers as tothe correctness of the path to pursue. The ponies usually decided thequestion by taking a line of their own, and the joyful welcome of ourfour dogs proved that the log-fire we had been making for was theright one. We were struck by the absence of small birds. The woods aresilent during the day, but at night large owls scream with a weird andmournful sound.

Much as we were enjoying our life at Gulmurg, we felt, if we werethoroughly to explore the Valley of Cashmere, there was no more timeto linger; so reluctantly the order was given to strike tents and tomove on. We returned to Srinagur for a few days before starting againon another expedition. Great part of our time was passed in SummadShah’s shawl-room, where we chose some beautiful shawls for friendsat home and for my wife. Nothing combines lightness with warmth soperfectly as a chuddar—there is no more comfortable dressing-gownthan a choga,[245] the ordinary dress of a better-class native. Of course,we had an immense deal of bargaining to go through, but we had a fairidea of what we ought to give both for shawls and dressing-gowns. Onthe true Cashmerian principle of no business transaction being possiblewithout ‘backsheesh,’ the chief man of our boat’s crew anxiously, andapparently as a matter of course, watched our purchases, he beingentitled to a percentage on the same, and so also was my bearer. Mywife, too, claimed that a something should be thrown in with theshawls, and Summad Shah presented her with a pretty silk many-coloured,hand-worked table-cover. I think all parties were satisfied.

VISIT TO ISLAMABAD—AVANTIPORE—KUNBUL—PITCHING OURCAMP—TRAVELLING CAMP FASHION—PALACE OF SIRKARI BAGH—ANUTNAG, THE SACRED SPRING—SHAWL MANUFACTORY—VISIT TO THE GARDENAT ATCHIBUL—IRISH ACUTENESS—PLEASURE GARDEN—PICNIC IN THERUINS OF MARTUND—SACRED SPRING OF THE BOWUN—A PUNDIT EAGER FORBACKSHEESH—EXPEDITION TO THE LOLAB—REVIEW OF THE MAHARAJAH’STROOPS.

[249]

CHAPTER XIII.

The Khansama having announced that his part of the preparations for afresh start were complete, after dinner on a fine summer’s evening,our squadron of boats left Srinagur. We had decided on paying a visitto Islamabad. Our crew, as usual composed of a whole family, towed ourbig boat up the winding river. Had we gone by land with the horses,we should in an hour have done what it took us by boat much longer toaccomplish, the river twists and winds in such a tortuous manner. Thisis the part of the Jhellum that we looked on from the heights of TukhtSuliman, and whose serpented bends gave the idea for the well-knownpattern on Cashmere shawls.

At night, as usual, we halted, and in the early[250] morning continuedour voyage, towed against the stream. We passed the day in a trulylazy manner, enjoying the balmy breeze as we glided noiselessly along,all Nature basking in soft repose. We passed green woods and rockyeminences, every now and then sighting the road. We got fresh fish frommen who had merely to take the trouble of casting a net and hauling uplots of one-pounders. We came to a picturesque ruined village, all indecay, once the capital town of Cashmere, named Avantipore, after KingAvante Verna. We passed under a fine old wood bridge at Bajahara, andfloated past ruined mosques and gardens—for once upon a time it was aplace of vast repute.

On the second day, in the afternoon, we arrived at Kunbul. There wasmore than usual fuss at that landing-place, for a great English lordwas about to embark for Srinagur, and all honour was to be shown tohim, by order of the Maharajah. Owing to this redoubtable party, wehad some difficulty in getting coolies, and the ‘Gascon captain’ hadto twirl his moustaches and look very fierce before we could get ourproper number. My wife and I walked on in the cool evening[251] hour. Ourroad was along the banks of a stream hid by flowering shrubs and longgrass. The fields looked well cultivated and green.

It was a pleasant walk, and we soon arrived at an orchard offruit-trees, underneath the shade of which our camp was to be pitched.A venerable old fellow, the head man of the village, came up to us,and with profound salaams conducted us to our ground. In the twinklingof an eye the place was swept clean, and then began the clatter oftent-pegs being knocked into the ground. The servants placed everytable and box in exactly the same corners of the tents as they hadoccupied when our camp was pitched at Gulmurg. No life can be morecomfortable when travelling than camp-fashion, make as long or as shorta day’s journey as you like. You sleep on your bed in your own room,and are waited on by your own servants. Now, however luxurious and wellappointed an hotel may be, you have not your own odds and ends roundyou; the waiters do not know your ways, and the pillows are sometimesdistracting.

We passed several pleasant days at Islamabad, making excursions inthe neighbourhood, and[252] visiting the various objects of interest inthe town. There is a palace here, called Sirkari-Bagh, in which theMaharajah and his ladies repose, on their way to Srinagur from Jumrood.It is not a very interesting building, but there is a nice fruitgarden, surrounded by a high wall.

The Barradurrie of the town is close to the Anut Nag, and is encircledby a high wall, which encloses a vast space about sixty or seventyyards square. The sacred spring, Anut Nag, issues at the foot of a hillwhich overlooks the town, and is received into a tank, from whence itflows through a canal into a lower tank. It then continues its courseby another canal to the outside of the high wall, where it rushes forthin a fine cascade about seven or eight feet high. The tanks and canalsare full of tame fish, which are regularly fed by the faqueers, andare considered very sacred. The Sonur Pookur is a stone tank, not veryfar from Anut Nag, and the stream which flows to it has its source inthe hill overlooking Islamabad. There are two other streams, one ofwhich is sulphurous. The medicinal properties of this mineral water arepeculiar in their effects.

[253]

The Barradurrie is a picturesque, though not over clean-lookingwooden edifice, round the entrance of which numerous curious faqueersestablish their bivouac. We preferred our camping-ground, and remainedthere.

Whilst here, we visited a shawl manufactory, the entrance to which wassituated in an unwholesome quarter of the town. The perfume was notthat of roses, and the workers were miserable-looking objects, withsore eyes. It was curious to see these squalid creatures employed atthat intricate work, which in time produces shawls of great value. Thesmall squares shown to us were of most beautiful fabric, and no doubtthe weak eyes which gazed on us got the lacklustre look from hard workat the looms. The rugs and carpets made at Islamabad are much cheaperthan those sold by the merchants at Srinagur, though in reality most ofthem are made here. We bought several handsome hearth-rugs, besides along, warm blanket, called ‘loué,’ peculiar to Cashmere.

The old tickedar was very civil, and brought us to his house, where hiswife and daughters came and gazed with smiling faces at my wife.[254] Aftera great deal of good-will dumb-show, which reminded me of the ‘BonoJohnny’ of old Crimean days, we left the delighted family open-mouthedwith admiration.

The environs of Islamabad are very pretty. There are pleasant ridesthrough gardens near the river, and a long avenue of poplar-treesextends for more than a mile through green pastures.

Next day we determined to visit Atchibul, where there is a beautifulpleasure-garden, laid out by the Emperor Shah-Jehan, and we were toldthere was a summer-house in the centre of the grounds, where we couldrest. The charm of our gipsy life was that we were enabled to startwhenever we pleased. My wife and M’Kay made all arrangements for apicnic, and the amiable tickedar provided coolies on the shortestnotice to carry our food. As our expedition was only to last one day,the tents were not struck. When M’Kay brought the tea at an early hour,we anxiously asked how the weather was looking, and felt proportionablydelighted when we were informed that it was very fine. Clouds had beengathering the day before, and rain[255] appeared imminent. We mounted ourhorses, and sallied forth. M’Kay accompanied us on foot, all our dogs,plus two puppies, came also. Our way lay through the rather dirty town,and we were very pleased when we emerged from narrow lanes to greenorchards in the open country.

After crossing the river, we followed the right bank along which theroad continued. Then our path lay through rice-fields, very treacherousto ride over. Our horses constantly sank in the boggy ground. In frontof us were mountains, whose summits were covered with dark clouds whenwe started, but, as the day went on, rain and fleecy mist succeededthe lowering curtain, and, as if by magic, the mists faded away, andleft the clear outline of the green hills painted on the autumn sky.As we advanced on Atchibul, a hill clothed with young deodars rosegrandly before us, and, as we approached the gate of the gardens, wepassed under magnificent chenars. The entrance is rather formal, butthe Pavilion, situated in the centre of a tank of clear water, is verycharming.

A civil old fellow bade us welcome in the name[256] of the Maharajah, and,after bringing us some fine peaches, left us to ourselves. In a shorttime the jets d’eau which surrounded us began to play, andcontinued doing so all the time we were there. The day was warm, as thesun had conquered the clouds, and the splashing music of the waters wassoothing and thoroughly Eastern. The old gardener brought us grapes,peaches, and plums, so we passed a few hours very happily, havingbrought a supply of books. The fruit which is to be got in India isnot equal to what we have cultivated at home in hot-houses. There are,of course, certain fruits peculiar to the country, such as mangoes,bananas, and oranges, which we cannot surpass, but as a cart-horse maybe a very fine animal, yet in refinement cannot be compared with athorough-bred, neither can the natural produce of the soil be comparedwith the highly-cultivated results of skill. In Cashmere there is anabundance of the fruits of the earth when they are in season. No highwalls and locked doors are required to keep out thieves, or to preventvisitors from wandering about among the extensive garden-paths.

But at home it is different. A friend of mine[257] in the south of Irelandwas taking some ladies to see his very fine hot-houses. When theyreached the garden, the door was found to be locked, and the key wasthere, but in the inside. Great perplexity was felt on the part ofthe Irish host how to get in. He shouted to the gardener, and a voiceanswered, but not much to the purpose. There was much excitement andconfabulation as to how the party outside the walls was to be admitted.Finally a happy thought struck the master. ‘Whisper, Pat!’ he shouted,‘throw the key over the wall, and we shall let ourselves in.’ So, withmany a ‘Stand clear—are ye ready?’ whiz the key came over the wall,and, with considerable triumph, our friend said, ‘Now we’ll get in!’ Ithad never occurred to any of them that the easiest way would have beento unlock the door on the inside.

Several notabilities of Islamabad came to pay their salaams, amongthem a Sikh officer from Peshawur, who went into ecstasies about theplace, and concluded by saying, ‘Oh, if the English were possessorsof this land, what a paradise it would be!’ The hill which rises inthe background is covered with young deodars,[258] which the Maharajahpreserves most strictly, and which add very much to the quiet beautyof the scene. In the time of the Emperor Shah-Jehan, when thispleasure-garden was trimly kept, when the cascades were full of water,and everything was cared for, this place must have been unsurpassed inloveliness. The spring of water in this rare old garden is consideredthe finest in Cashmere, and the water sparkles in its clear purity whenpoured into a glass.

Atchibul only requires careful looking after, for the ground isfertile; peaches, quince, plums, and grapes grow in abundance in itsorchards. The day was far spent as we rode away, and as we passedthrough the curious gate which divides Shah-Jehan’s garden from theoutward world we both exclaimed, ‘How often shall we look back withpleasure on our day at Atchibul!’ Our path homewards was the same bywhich we came in the morning. The shades of night had closed round usbefore we reached the camp.

Our next picnic was to the wonderful ruins of Martund. M’Kay was leftin charge of the camp, and we started in the morning towards thevillage of Bowun, which is about six miles[259] from our ground, on thenorthern side of what is called in Cashmere a kuraywah, or table-land.These kuraywahs vary in height from three to four hundred feet, and inlength from one to five miles. They are divided from each other by wideravines, through which flow mountain streams. The upper part, which isgenerally bare and flat, is composed of very rich soil. The scenery isnot very grand, and the path skirts along the foot of the kuraywah, onwhich the temple of Martund is built.

In due time we arrived at the sacred spring of Bowun, whose holy watersare received in a large tank full of tame fish. On the one side ofthis tank is a temple, from which emerged a very holy man, in searchof backsheesh. We did not respond to his appeals, but a stout khansamabelonging to an English family in Cashmere, seemed a great find; for hehad to pay for everything. First he was mulcted of his coin to providefood for the fish, then he had to pay before he was allowed to kneeldown to try to embrace a fish, which, as he was stout and rather old,I need not say he did not succeed in doing. I then saw him paying foradmittance into the[260] temple, to be blessed by the holy man. The lastI saw of him was when he was surrounded by little boys shouting forbacksheesh. The limp state of his money-bag, however, showed that hehad no more to give.

Yet why should we laugh at this poor Hindoo. It was faith that carriedhim on, faith as powerful as that which inspires the pilgrims ofRussia to leave their homes, and crowd the Church of the Sepulchre atJerusalem, and the same faith as that which caused the martyrs of oldto smile as the fire was lit to consume their bodies. Magnificent oldchenars are near the sacred spring.

There were so many faqueers here that we determined not to halt, asthese gentlemen are not particular about wearing any clothes, anddespise soap and water. We declined all offers of a guide, for ourancient tickedar had provided us with a coolie who knew the road. Sowe turned our backs on Bowun, fully convinced that Nature was mostbountiful to this beautiful land, but that man ruined it by extortionand folly.

We proceeded by a very steep path to the top of the kuraywah, on whichare the ruins of[261] Martund. The view was fine. In the far distance wesaw the woods of Atchibul on one side, and in front the green entranceto Kunbul. Martund is a wonderful place. Vigne says in his ‘Travelsin Cashmere,’ ‘As an isolated ruin, this deserves, on account of itssolitary and massive grandeur, to be ranked, not only as the firstruin of the kind in Cashmere, but as one of the noblest among thearchitectural relics of antiquity that are to be seen in any country.’And what did we see? We went out on a calm summer evening on a rockycoast, where Nature had cast about in endless confusion great rocks ofponderous size; that is what we seemed to see, but these massive blocksof stone and masonry, tumbled about in magnificent disorder, once ona time formed walls surrounding the temple. The temple still stands,in spite of the loss of its surroundings, which have succumbed to thegales and storms of ages. It rears its noble front in proud grandeurand disdain of overwhelming and destructive time. We entered thisancient edifice through a gateway. It seemed to us to be built on acruciform plan. The aisle was there, and, towards the east, the altarrecess,[262] while at each corner the cross was completed by projectingspaces like chapels. On the walls of stone were strange figures cut,but the roof in most parts had failed, and the blue sky formed thecanopy overhead.

There was something pathetic in finding ourselves alone in thismonument of by-gone days. Those who once worshipped in this very grandbuilding must have been some of the great ones of the world, and nowtheir very existence is unknown. The knowledge of who they were is butdimly seen through the ages of the past. Were it not for these grandmementoes which outlived the memory of those who worshipped in them,who now would think of them?

We prepared to pass the hot hours of the day in this sacred retreat,delighted to be left alone to our thoughts, which must, under thecirc*mstances, be somewhat solemn. Our hopes of solitude were doomed todisappointment, for, entering the portals of the temple, a salaamingfigure advanced, and, having arrived at a respectful distance, squatteddown on the ground before us. He was a young, well-dressed Pundit,and, as we were actually reposing in a Hindoo temple,[263] we receivedhim courteously, though, like many callers, his absence would havebeen preferable to his presence. He observed that the ruins were verylarge, to which undoubted fact we, of course, agreed. He produced along roll of parchment signed by many names, and pointed with pride tothe signature of Vigne. This roll had belonged to his father. He thenbrought out several ‘chits’ or characters, and requested me to give himone. Being rather puzzled what to write, I looked over the numeroussheets of note-paper, one of which particularly attracted my attention.‘This is to certify that Pundit—is the greatest bore and nuisance Iever met. Signed ——.’ They were all to the same effect. Having nevermet this worthy man before in my life, and being most anxious to getrid of him, I wrote, ‘This to certify that Pundit—is the son of hisown father,’ and signed it. He received this certificate with greatpleasure; but, as he did not understand a word of English, I cannotmake out what good he could possibly derive from it. I bowed him out,as is the custom in the East, and sincerely hoped we had seen the lastof him.

We passed a very quiet day, and when the[264] sun began to sink to restwe prepared to leave this grand old monument of ancient Cashmere. Wesallied forth from the venerable ruin, and who should be there but thePundit? He said a good deal, but all I could make out was backsheesh.So we gave him a small silver coin, and he asked for more, ‘as hisday was spoilt.’ The quiet and the calm of the time-worn temple wasforgotten, and with wrath we turned away from this extortionate beggar,and, with ruffled tempers, began our return march to Islamabad. Insteadof retracing our steps to Bowun, we continued along the kuraywahon which Martund is built. After riding for two or three miles, wedescended a steep path and entered again the road on which we had beenin the morning.

As the evening was very close, we dismounted, and, seating ourselvesunder the shade of a wide-spreading tree, we made our syces take thehorses to a clear, running stream close to our resting-place, and ourthirsty nags enjoyed a cool drink. As there was no water to be had atthe temple, a coolie carried a serai of drinking water for us. But theshades of night warned us to loiter no longer, so we remounted, andsoon found ourselves[265] once more in our pleasant camping-ground.

Our time in Cashmere was drawing very near to its end. We began tocount the days of our holiday. One more expedition we resolved to make,to the Lolab, said to be a beautiful and fertile valley, situated onthe north-western side of Cashmere. As the way to it was partly on ourreturn journey, we sent off our horses to meet us at Sopoor. Our returnto Srinagur was uneventful. We floated down the stream from Kunbul,where we embarked. There seemed to be a calm everywhere, and, as westole past gardens, the perfume of flowers came to us on the breeze,and the sound of children’s voices was toned down to music by distance.We remained a day or two at Srinagur, during which time a grand paradeof the Maharajah’s troops took place, and his army nearly came togrief, for somehow or other the ammunition in one of the men’s pouchestook fire, and a most extraordinary scene ensued, as the fire wentdown the whole of one of the ranks, and some men were badly wounded. Idaresay the men would do well enough if called on to fight,[266] but theirideas of discipline are different from ours.

It came on to rain one day, and a sentry posted near where we weretaking shelter coolly took off all his clothes and waited till thestorm was over till he dressed again! Baboo Mohas Chander came to seeus, and looked quite sorrowful at our departure; but he showed hiswhite teeth with delight when we expressed our hopes of returning someday to Cashmere. He gave us some skinny fowls and a tray of sweetmeats,and then vanished from our sight. In all probability I shall neversee the Baboo again, and can say with truth that he always was mostcourteous to us and attentive to our wants. But oh, how we loathed theskinny fowls! The very sight of chicken was enough to make us shudder.Now in England a chicken is a delicacy—not so, however, in Ireland.

Many years ago, the dépôt of the Rangers marched all through Ireland,and we never could get anything to eat at the inns on which we werebilleted but co*ck and bacon. At length we really had co*ck and baconon the brain. It was always our question, on arriving at the inn,when[267] the waiter appeared, ‘Pat, what can we have for dinner?’ andthe invariable answer was, ‘Anything yer honour chooses to order.’‘Well, then, we’ll have a roast leg of mutton.’ ‘Faith, sorr, there’snot a sheep been killed for the last month or two.’ ‘Oh, then,’ wefrantically exclaimed, ‘roast beef.’ ‘Sorra a bit of beef at all, atall.’ ‘What can we have?’ we all shouted in despair. ‘co*ck andbacon, sorr,’ triumphantly roared our present tormentor.

Fish at Srinagur was very difficult to be procured. The large mahseerare coarse food, and no fish were allowed to be caught between the twobridges on that part of the river on which the palace is situated, asthe soul of the Maharajah’s father now dwells in a fish. The Maharajah,who is very attentive to his religious duties according to his light,visited the faqueer’s temple every day.

LAST WANDERINGS IN CASHMERE—LALPARI—RETURN TO MURREE—AMURREE CART—RETURN TO MILITARY LIFE—FEVER IN THEREGIMENT—DEATH OF M’KAY—ORDERED TO AGRA—INTELLIGENCE OFELEPHANTS—GOATS—REGIMENTAL PETS—A DRUNKEN OLD GOAT—HUNTINGREBELS—THE VALUE OF A FLOGGING—SAPIENT JACKDAWS—PAINFULTIDINGS—BRIGADIER NICHOLSON—ENGLISH STORES—LAHORE—FLIGHT OFLOCUSTS—FLOCKS OF GEESE.

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CHAPTER XIV.

And now the time was come to bid adieu to Srinagur. In the coolevening hour we floated away, under the bridges and past the oldtemples, till we came to Sopoor, where we found our horses, and ourtents pitched. Next day commenced our last wandering in Cashmere. Itwas a fine bracing morning when we rode away to Arwun, where someiron-works have been established. We went through green fields andorchards and vineyards; a cool breeze tempered the heat of the sun. Buta thunderstorm came on, with a gale of wind, which lasted but a shorttime, leaving us, however, rather dishevelled. Our path next day stillcontinued through fields and orchards, and then we climbed a steephill, at the other side of which was a good road, which[272] brought us toKundee, amid scenery that recalled the Alps.

Next day we continued our journey to Lalpari, where we found a house,in which we took possession of some empty rooms, and establishedourselves for a few days. The weather was very good all the time welingered here, and the walks under the shade of the fruit-trees in thecool and invigorating air was a strengthening tonic before beginningagain the busy scenes of military life in the plains.

During one of our rides, we came on the camp of Colonel Bright ofthe 19th Regiment, who, with his wife, was enjoying a dolce farniente existence in the green valley before returning to work oncemore. The regiment to which the colonel belonged had been associatedwith the Rangers in many a quarter at home and abroad. Officers and menof both corps were sworn friends, and during the Crimean campaign the19th, 77th, and 88th formed the left brigade of the light division, andwere like one regiment.

It was a pleasant feature among the old battalions of the ancienrégime the friendship which existed between them, and which feelinghad descended[273] for years like an article of faith. On the other hand,animosity, that sometimes existed between two regiments, was also anhereditary feeling. There is one corps now, under some new name in HerMajesty’s army, which never meets with the 88th without a serious rowamong the men from a feeling of hostility which began in the Peninsularwar.

We made the most of our days in the Lolab, for we well knew that itwas the last scene in our Cashmerian experiences, and most thoroughlywe enjoyed our remaining hours in that peaceful, beautiful valley. Atlast the time came for us to start on our return journey. We met withno special adventures on our way, and after ten days’ march we foundourselves again cordially welcomed at Colonel Brown’s house at Murree.

The cart to take us down the hill to Rawul Pindee had been securedweeks before our arrival; for at the close of the leave season thereis always a great rush for conveyances. A Murree cart is a very low,strong-built dog-cart, with canvas roof, most suitable for bad roads.They are usually well horsed with a pair of strong[274] ponies, whichtravel at full speed, and accomplish the distance down in four hours.

At Rawul Pindee we chartered a dawk-gharry, and after the inevitabledifficulties occasioned by unbroken horses refusing to start, wearrived at Nowshera, where we once more began the busy life of soldiersin the plains during the cold weather. It was the middle of October,and the weather was very pleasant. The thermometer in the verandah at4 p.m. stood at 78°, in the drawing-room 66°. But during that seasonthere was an immense deal of fever in the Peshawur valley, two-thirdsof the regiment suffering from it. It was just the ordinary prostratingIndian fever, not by any means of a deadly nature. The men went tohospital for a few days, and came out well, though weak.

When M’Kay announced one evening that she had got ‘the fever,’ wethought nothing of it; she was so strong and sturdy. It was only thedoctor’s imperative orders that made her remain in bed; she was sounwilling to leave her work undone. But instead of shaking off thefever as others did, and getting up at the end of a few days, shesank, and, before we quite realised the[275] calamity that was threateningus, she was gone. Her death was a real grief to us; she had sothoroughly identified her interests with ours that we felt we had losta friend. The sergeants of the 88th volunteered to carry her to herlast resting-place in her grave at Nowshera, far from the home in theHighlands of Scotland she was so fond of.

We had only a year to remain in India before our turn for home servicecame round, and one day the order was received that the 88th Regiment,Connaught Rangers, was to hold itself in readiness to proceed toKurrachee. The years we had spent in India had been passed in thenorth-west provinces and the Punjaub, and we all regretted that ourlast year of Indian service was to be in the Bombay Presidency, asit entailed the necessity of parting with our carriages, furniture,&c., before we set out on our long journey. However, we had no choice,and Indian fashion-lists were made out of all our possessions andsent to the regiment that was to succeed us at Nowshera. Carriagesand horses were advertised in the papers, and it was with the barestnecessaries of life, minus even our fine[276] tents, as I had accepteda good offer for them, and had borrowed two from the commissariatfor our march to Loodiana, that we rode away before the regiment toour first camping-ground at Akhara. I there received a telegram fromhead-quarters changing our destination from Kurrachee to Agra—amost welcome order, had it come a little sooner, as the sale of ourpossessions would not have taken place, and present loss and futureexpense would have been saved to every one of us; for carriages,horses, and furniture were all required at Agra. However, as it was,we were glad to hear we were to have another year in the north-westprovinces, and in such a good quarter as Agra.

In former marches, during the Mutiny time, a number of elephants wereattached to our battalion, but now we only had camels. The former werevery amusing to watch; their ways are so peculiar. When I went to visitthem on the line of march when halted, the mahout in charge wouldshout out to them ‘salaam!’ and then all their trunks would go up inthe air. These great animals were each fastened by a thin chain boundround the hind fetlock, and attached to[277] a tent-peg, driven into theground. I have been often amused to see how much they disliked flies ormosquitoes. When troubled by these tormentors, they would take up a lotof dust in their trunks, and throw it on their backs, and give a gentlelittle squeal, which, coming from such a huge frame, was intenselycomical. I have seen a mahout fearlessly leave his baby in chargeof an elephant. Sweeping a space clear within reach of the animal’strunk, and placing the black child before him, he departed with thewarning, ‘kubbardar’ (take care), which the huge creature, perfectlyunderstanding, anxiously watched if the baby tried to crawl beyond theassigned limit, and gently swept it back with his trunk, if it did.

It was very amusing, when out riding, to meet an elephant. My horsehad not the least fear of them, but some nags grow quite wild at theirapproach. So elephants have been taught to scuttle away on the approachof equestrians, and hide themselves. I have often seen a monsterrushing behind a wall, and stand there, with its eyes just over thefence, looking as wise as possible, and full of mischievous fun. Wehad[278] a goodly number of animals belonging to ourselves: horses, dogs,goats, and poultry. The goats are a necessary of life; for their milkis the only kind procured in most places in India. Their feeding isa simple business. A man goes out with a large flock of them in theearly morning, and, after they have picked up a subsistence in theopen country, they are returned to their various bungalows beforemilking time in the evening. I had, one time, a very curious goat—poorNan—who was killed by a jackal. In the hot weather at Cawnpore, whenthe evening came, and all the doors and windows were opened that theweary inhabitant of the bungalow might emerge, half dead, to breathethe outer air, and to recline for a short time in one of those longeasy-chairs made of cane, my goat would be sure to make her appearanceat my elbow, and whisper a gentle, subdued ‘ma-a!’ I knew perfectlywhat she wanted: a good-sized tumbler of brandy and water; afterdrinking every drop of which, her spirits became very lively, and shedanced about on her hind-legs, and really was a drunken old goat.

These were the days of hunting rebels. The[279] Rangers formed part of acolumn under command of Colonel G. V. Maxwell. The camel-corps, underColonel Ross, Rifle Brigade, was attached to the column. We wereordered to a place called Ackberpore, there to await orders. Sir HughRose was triumphantly marching through India, and then was approachingCalpee, a stronghold of the rebels not far from where we were thenencamped. With our column was a civilian magistrate, who had all powerto punish ill-doers in the most summary way. Ross’s camel-corps wasordered away on what was called a ‘dour,’ or expedition in search ofrebels. He marched early in the morning.

I was in my tent that same day, when some of the men of the 88th cameup, leading my goat Nan, and marching prisoner a native. They statedthat the man had been trying to get Nan to go with him, and that shehad resented this very much, which attracted their notice, and thenthey recognized the colonel’s goat, so they seized the robber, andbrought him prisoner. Not one of us understood a word the man said,so I desired the soldiers to take the native and hand him over tothe magistrate sahib. When they arrived at[280] the civilian’s tent, themagistrate was just mounting his horse to proceed on some duty, sothe order was given to have the thief placed in some safe place tillthe official’s return. I thought no more of the affair, as it was outof my hands, and old Nan was reposing close to my tent. Next morning,I received an indignant note from Ross, informing me that when thecamel-corps was marching off in the morning, he had seen my goatstraying away, and that he had desired one of his coolies to take itto the 88th camp and give it to the colonel sahib. The native, as Ihave described, had been taken prisoner, but the very sad part of thestory has to come. The magistrate had not believed the coolie’s story,and had ordered him to be flogged and turned out of camp. Naturally,Colonel Ross was much displeased, and I was equally distressed, but Iexplained matters, and sent the poor man a good present of rupees, andI received a letter saying that the coolie was quite pleased, and wouldwillingly be flogged every day for the same amount.

The common crow or jackdaw of India is a most sapient bird. I haveoften watched them[281] holding counsel together, apparently hatchingplots, and the conclusion of their consultation always seemed to endin a shout of raven delight. My wife and I were sitting outside ourbungalow one evening, and my old dog Nelly had either stolen or beenpresented with a mutton bone, which she was enjoying. Two jackdawsappeared on the scene, and hopped about in front of Nelly, evidentlywith a view to getting her bone; but she made sudden rushes at them,and away they flew, laughing. After a bit one of the rascally birdsadvanced very near, so near that Nelly thought she could catch him,and made a rush, at the same time leaving her bone, when down came theother bird to seize the prey; but Nelly was too quick for them, and gotback to her prize. A fresh noisy conference then ensued between thetwo villainous conspirators, which chattered and laughed, and againflew away. Next time they renewed the attack, one of them danced beforeNelly, while the other hopped up in the rear, and actually took holdof the old dog’s tail. This was too great an insult. Nelly flew roundindignantly, and pursued the insulting miscreant, when in a trice theother crow popped in and[282] flew away with the mutton bone, old Nellyreturning quite abashed, and evidently not appreciating our laughter atall.

The march down country was conducted in the same way as it had beenfour years ago, when we came up from north-west provinces; the heavybaggage, married people, and impedimenta going on the day before. As Ihave already said, we had got rid of everything we could before leavingthe Punjaub. So it was with deep dismay I received the tidings thatgreeted us when we rode into camp at Hattee, two marches from Nowshera,that robbers from the hill tribes had come down during the night andemptied several of my boxes, carrying off my best uniform and almostall my valuables. It was inconceivable how the robbery could have beeneffected, as my bearer lay between the boxes that were broken into. Ofhis honesty I never had a suspicion. There is always, however, a silverlining to every dark cloud, and ours in this case was, that it wouldhave been a much heavier loss if my wife’s boxes had been carried off,containing, as they did, diamonds and other jewels. I may here mentionthat some months after the robbery I got back my[283] blue patrol jacket,which had been found by the police in a suspected house in Peshawur;but nothing else was ever recovered, and for the rest of the march, sofar as I was concerned, it did not take many carts to carry my baggage.During all the remainder of my stay in India, I was haunted with thisrobbery, for it seemed to me that I never asked for anything, but I wastold it had been carried off by the hill tribes.

The day before we marched into Rawul Pindee we were halted atJanee-ke-Sung, near Brigadier Nicholson’s monument. The brigadier wasa preux chevalier sans peur. I have often read the inscriptionon his tomb at Delhi, where he fell at the siege in 1857; but he livedlong enough to know that the enemy had been beaten and their strongholdtaken. He was only thirty-five years old when he fell, but he hadobtained a most wonderful influence among the natives of the north, bywhom he was both feared and loved. There is a sect in existence calledafter his name, who worship his memory.

Our next halt was at Rawul Pindee, and at the wonderful storethat provided all sorts and kinds of ‘English goods,’ from candlesticksto flannel[284] shirts, I was able to replenish my exhausted wardrobe.These ‘English stores’ are one of the great features of Indian life.I daresay now, with a railway up to Peshawur, home goods are cheaper,but in the days of which I write everything of English manufacturewas enormously dear, and there was apt to be a tarnished, spottedappearance in the goods that made their acquisition a doubtfulpleasure. The merchants conducted business in a very superior manner.To appear behind their own counter was a thing unheard of. In short,ready money in those days was not the way of the country. Even thecollections at church were made with slips of paper and a pencil, themoney being called for next day.

I have an amusing letter in my collection from one of the store-keepersin the Punjaub. An officer in the Rifle Brigade, having ordered aforage-cap, addressed the letter to Mr. ——, shopkeeper, &c., fromwhom he received the following reply:—

‘Sir,—I will do our best in having a forage-cap made up foryou as kindly desired. I would, however, remark that we prefer notbeing addressed[285] as “shopkeepers,” as we have no claim to such.’

From Rawul Pindee we tramped on past various camping-grounds toGoojerat, where we spent many rupees on presents for home friends.Goojerat is celebrated for its inlaid gold on iron-work. I got a veryhandsome brace of pistols and various knick-knacks done in the samestyle. Near our camping-ground was the scene of the great battle ofthat name. Of course the cultivation of the fields has altered theappearance of the surrounding country. Our march along the high-roadwas varied by crossing the rivers of the Punjaub, which at this seasonhad dwindled into small, deep, rapid streams, traversed by bridges ofboats. But it was heavy work for men and animals getting over the widereach of deep sand that we met with on each side of the streams. It wasas much as could be accomplished in one day.

Six days after crossing the Chenab, we arrived at Shadera, and encampednear Jehangir’s tomb. Runjeet Sing took away all the marble of the tombto make the gardens of Shalimar. It is about two miles from Lahore, thecapital of the[286] Punjaub, which stands on the opposite bank of the Ravi,and, like most Indian towns of any pretensions, looks more imposingin the distance than it does when you explore it. But Lahore is verymajestic. It is eight miles in circuit, and is surrounded by a highwall flanked by bastions and by a broad moat. There are some very finemosques here, notably the mosque of Padshah, with its lofty minaretsand cupolas, and of Vizier Khan, covered with painted and lacqueredtiles. The bazaars were good, and some of the work of Lahore, such asthe lacquered work and the gorgeous shawls sewn with gold and silverthreads, are well worth buying.

I met with a sad misfortune while halted at Shadera. We were exploringthe lovely gardens round Jehangir’s tomb, in which everything was in astate of wildest luxuriance. A protruding thorn branch fastened itselfin my one red tunic, and inflicted injuries too deep for the mostskilful tailor to be able to make a neat mend. More sorely than everdid I feel the evil wrought me by those thievish hill-tribes. Though itwas only the end of February, it was getting very hot in tents, and thesun was already high before the[287] morning marches were accomplished. Thedusty encampment at Meau Meer was very disagreeable, not a green leafor a tree near us; we had to stop here to change our carts; our lastimportant halt before completing our march.

My wife and I let the regiment get a day ahead of us when we reachedFerozepore, as we stayed with an old friend who welcomed us mostwarmly. It is a pretty green station, once the British boundary. Wesaw here the most wonderful flight of locusts pass over the place. Thewhole air was darkened with them. I can only compare the effect to thatof a blinding snowstorm; but the colour was grey instead of white. Allthe populace turned out with tin pots, kettles, drums, and tom-toms toprevent the enemy settling, and the main body passed the station inabout an hour, but thousands of stragglers kept flying after them allthe afternoon, and many thousands more dropped exhausted. The nativescollect the fallen, and make curries of them, which is not at all abad dish; but woe to the green fields if they be allowed to alighton them—not a blade of grass or green leaf escapes these fearfulmarauders.

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The next flight of winged things we saw was a flock of wild geese, sonumerous that the whole goose tribe seemed to be emigrating to moretemperate zones.

AGRA—LETTER-WRITERS IN BAZAAR—A DILEMMA—THE RAJAH OFULWAR—THE TAJ-MAHAL—DESERTED CITY OF PALACES—FUTTEHPORESEKRI—RAILWAY TRAVELLING—THE SEWALLIC RANGE—THEHIMALAYAS—THE SNOWY RANGE—DEHRA—THE TRAININGSEASON—CHOLERA—PROCLAIMING BANNS OF MARRIAGE—PRESAGES OF ASTORM.

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CHAPTER XV.

It was the 9th of March when we reached Loodiana, having left Nowsherathe last day of January, and here we were at what was then theterminus of the Indian railway. We got down to Agra in a couple ofdays, breaking the journey at Meerut to let the men have their rationscooked, and on the 13th of March we arrived at Agra, well pleased tohave reached our final destination.

The general at Agra, having been sent home on sick leave, I got commandof the brigade, which I retained till the 88th left the station ontheir way to England. Agra is a very pleasant quarter, and although theheat was great, yet we managed to keep our houses cooler than at RawulPindee during the hot weather. India is so well[292] known now that I shallnot minutely describe the early morning ride to welcome the only coolbreeze in the twenty-four hours, which is wafted like flowers strewn inthe path of the conqueror, the sun. Nor shall I dwell on the dark roomsand the kuss-kuss tatties fixed into the window-frames, and alwayskept wet by coolies dashing water on them. The sweet fresh perfumethese scented grass shutters gave forth was quite delightful. The daypassed quickly enough, and then, when the sun sank in the evening hour,the doors and windows were all opened, and we sallied forth, pale andexhausted, for a drive, to ‘eat the air’ on the Mall. The water-cartshad laid the dust and created a fictitious coolness. Energetic youngofficers cantered past on their ponies to the tennis-court. The crowssat on the branches with their beaks wide open, and the green paroquetschattered merrily and flew past like a flash of light. On certainevenings the residents at the station met each other at the band stand,and listened to the regimental bands discoursing very good music. Itwas wonderful, however, how everyone plucked up as the evening went on.

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We were very fortunate in our domestics, many of whom had been with meall the years I was in India. I never engaged any servant who couldspeak English, as those who can do so are generally the worst of theirclass. Our communication was necessarily limited, as I never masteredmore of the Hindostanee language than was sufficient to give orders.One day I found on my dressing-table the following letter, evidentlywritten by one of the men in the bazaar who made letter-writing aprofession, and who no doubt had charged my house-bearer for the same:

‘Honoured Sir,—I humbly beg to inform your honour that mymother is so apprehended in a hard illness that she cannot sit and get,and my wife will bring forth after some days. Wherefore I most humblybeg to inform your honour that, if you kindly and graciously bestowupon me the favour of leaving, I shall ever pray for your long life andprosperity.—I am, sir, &c., &c., Thakur, bearer.’

Taking into consideration the lamentable state of his family, Ibestowed the favour, and never saw Thakur again.

This letter reminds me of what took place at[294] Cawnpore some yearsbefore. The young Rajah of Ulwar (since dead) arrived at Cawnpore witha large camp. The officers of the 88th wished to be civil to this youngnative prince, so a card was dispatched, worded in the usual form:‘Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell and officers 88th (Connaught Rangers)request the honour of his highness the Rajah of Ulwar’s company todinner,’ &c., &c., &c. My feelings may be imagined when I received thefollowing reply: ‘Moha, Rajah of Ulwar, and his company give thanks toyou, and excepted the dinner this evening, but requests to distributethe rations to all men from the bazaar as Hindoo regulation, also weare meet with you this evening at seven o’clock, March 19th, 1864.’The Rajah’s company consisted of several hundred followers, for whomI was expected to distribute rations in the bazaar! I forget how wegot out of the dilemma, but we certainly did not provide food forthe followers. The young noble came in a magnificent dress, coveredwith jewels, accompanied by about twenty of the most fierce-lookingattendants, also arrayed in grand suits. His highness would eatnothing, but seemed to appreciate cherry brandy, and caused me some[295]anxiety, as he insisted on drinking it out of a large claret-glass.

There are many interesting relics of by-gone grandeur in and near Agra.Everyone has heard of the Taj-Mahal, but no one who has not seen itcan imagine the perfect beauty of this tomb. Built as it is of whitemarble, in a climate which does not tarnish the purity of the stone, itrises gracefully in clear lines from its surroundings of green treesagainst the blue sky. But night is the time to see it, and we wereespecially favoured when Lord Mayo paid his visit to Agra, and gave agarden-party among the flowers and fruit-trees of this most romanticspot. The guests were received in front of a temple in the gardens,from which there is a fine view of the tomb. Suddenly a flood ofbrightness came from blue lights lit upon the height in the background,and the Taj stood out clear and distinct in startling beauty. Everypinnacle and cornice of the exquisite marble of that most dream-likemonument of love was seen for a moment, and, as the light faded away,the tomb glided back into a sepulchral gloom.

Near Agra there is a deserted city of palaces, called Futtehpore Sekri.We drove there one[296] evening, when the moon shone clear and bright,and the air was cool and balmy. In five hours we reached the gates ofthis ancient place. There was no one to receive us, for there are noinhabitants. We took possession of Miriam’s palace, so stately, yetquite deserted. The moon shone on white marble walls, and the noise ourservants made getting things ready for us re-echoed through the vastand empty corridors. During the night the sound of jackals’ hideouslaughter was strange and uncanny, and the scream of some wild birdstartled the listener; no one but visitors like ourselves had restedthere for several hundred years, Futtehpore Sekri having been abandonedfor that period.

When the morning broke, we wandered about among massive ruins, andeverything looked different in the glowing sunshine; but still noliving being was to be seen, we were the sole inhabitants of thepalaces. I cannot attempt to give more than an idea of the forsakencity.

Ackbar was the founder of Futtehpore Sekri, and he built it withthe full intention of making it the seat of government. His hall ofjudgment is a curious erection, consisting of a single[297] apartment,with a massive pillar in its centre. He was throned on the summit,and on four cross beams branching out from the centre were seated hisfour principal ministers to administer laws to the world. There is thehide-and-seek palace, full of tortuous passages, where the ladies ofthe court amused themselves. In a court near this palace is Ackbar’schess-board. The pavement is laid in squares of marble, and traditionsays that the knights, bishops, and pawns were his queens. His durgah,or holy palace, is a magnificent structure, with its splendid mosqueon one side, and on the other an enormous gate. In the durgah is theexquisite marble shrine of a holy man. The elephant gate, guarded bytwo monster elephants with intertwined trunks, has an uncommon effect.Beyond it is a tower, bristling with very good stone imitations ofelephants’ tusks. From this tower Ackbar used to review his troops. Wehad our friend, the Assistant-Commissioner at Agra, with us, and hemost kindly acted as cicerone, and told us what we were looking at.In all my wanderings I never saw anything more entrancing than thisdeserted city. The dry climate has not touched[298] the red sandstone ofwhich the palaces are built, and we could imagine its streets swarmingwith busy life, its edifices filled with the splendour of Ackbar’smagnificence. But the dream faded away, and left the reality of utterdesolation.

Tradition says that Ackbar deserted his capital to satisfy the capriceof a very holy faqueer who had been in possession before Ackbar madehis appearance. Certain it is that, as suddenly as they had come,kings, queens, courtiers, nobles, followers, and men of lesser degree,vanished away, taking up their quarters twenty-two miles off on thebanks of the sacred Jumna, and called the place Agra.

The general commanding, having been summoned away for some reason, Igot command of the division, and it became my duty—a very pleasantone—to proceed to Mussoorie and Landour, to inspect the dépôt atthe latter-named station. It was no new ground to me, for I had paida visit to Mussoorie during the hot weather of several years, and Iwas well acquainted with its many beauties. I was also glad to take afarewell glance at old remembered haunts. My wife accompanied me. Wetravelled[299] by train as far as Seharanpore. In spite of all that hasbeen done to make railway travelling luxurious in the hot weather, itis a terrible ordeal. The dust sifts through the closed, jalousiedwindows in clouds, and, swiftly as we may fly through the air, it isthe atmosphere of a furnace that we breathe. Cases of heat apoplexywere so common that at all the principal stations shells were ready forthe bodies of those who had succumbed, and at each stoppage a scrutinywas made of every carriage to see who required assistance. We had ahuge block of ice with us to cool the atmosphere, so we arrived insafety at the end of the railway part of our journey. A dāk-gharrywas waiting for us, and we rattled along the dusty high-road, pastmiles and miles of ripe corn-fields.

In the distance, through the haze of heat, we saw the well-rememberedgiant mountains of the Himalayas. Before reaching them an advance lowridge of hills, known as the Sewallic range, has to be crossed. It is awild, jungly country. Tigers and huge snakes have their haunts in thefastnesses of the Terai. At the Mohun Pass we changed from gharry todoolies, and were borne[300] at a steady trot by four bearers up and down,the way abounding in huge boulders and rocks. They keep up a monotonouschant as they move along, the words often applying to the burden. I wasnot a light weight; and ‘Oh, the elephant! oh, the elephant!’ was therefrain of their song, which changed occasionally to ‘Oh, the greatman, the great prince! Backsheesh from the great king.’

Dawn was breaking as we emerged from the pass, and apparentlyimmediately before us, though really fourteen miles distant,towered the mighty Himalayas. A rest for a bath and breakfast atthe delightful, cool, and clean hotel at the foot of the mountains,prepared us thoroughly to enjoy our steep climb up to Mussoorie. As werose higher and higher, we got, as it were, into the very heart of thehills, and to us, direct from the breathless plains, the air seemedstrangely rarefied, and gave one a sensation of deafness, which passedaway after a short time. We were pleasantly lodged at a private hotelnot far from the club.

After the duty was performed which had brought me away from the heatto the delightful[301] temperature of the hills, we wandered about amongmany well-remembered places, not forgetting Landour, where we hadpassed some months a year or two before this visit. Mussoorie is thefashionable part of this hill station, but is not to be compared withLandour in purity of air and grandeur of scenery. In the early morningthere is nothing to equal the view. When the sun has just risen abovethe mountains, and the soft breeze fans you gently, the distant soundsare heard like far-off music, and it is difficult to realize—lookingdown on the plains, which extend in the boundless horizon like aglistening sea—that the thermometer, which marks 70° in this mountainretreat, is registering well over 100° in the beautiful country onwhich you are now gazing. Then on the other side of the heights, faroff in the heavens, tower the snowy range. In the world, there canbe nothing more superb than the view of the snowy range as it burstssuddenly into sight, peak upon peak glittering bright and cold underthe cloudless sky. There is a hitherto unknown, intense feeling ofsolemn awe as one gazes on the still grandeur of perpetual snow. Nearerand nearer[302] come mountains and valleys. Down hundreds of feet belowappears a silver line, so far off that it requires glasses to discoverthe washer-men beating the clothes with fearful energy in the stream.The mountain on whose spur Landour’s many cottages are gathered, is twothousand feet higher than the one on which Mussoorie is built, and theair is so exhilarating that one feels inclined to shout out for joy.I was grieved to say farewell to this favoured spot, and often, whena cold east wind is blowing, the remembrance of Landour and its soft,sweet breeze comes back to my memory like a dream.

As we prepared to descend the mountain to Rajpore and Dehra, we had topass the club, where we saw the well-dressed young officers loungingforth, on their way to the Mall, where all Mussoorie assembled to talksense or nonsense, as suited the occasion. Some delicate ladies andchildren were in jampans, while others rode or walked.

At Dehra we got into our dāk carriage, and proceeded on our journeyto Agra. Dehra is a green and wooded station, with bungalows, mostof which have gardens round them; and, although[303] sometimes fever andcholera visited the place, it was not generally unhealthy. The greatattraction to many was that Dehra was the Newmarket of the north-westprovinces. The stables were filled during the hot weather with horsesin training for the first meeting of the season, which generallytook place in October. I had a stable in charge of Henry Hackney,whose knowledge and care, added to his great honesty, made me fullyappreciate his value. My stable consisted of thirteen horses, and, asthe leave season began in April, I used to proceed to Dehra as early inthat month as I could get away. What a pleasant time it was! Up everymorning at sunrise, a light-hearted lot of fellows would meet in thestand on the race-course, and there criticise the different horses asthey took their long slow gallops. When these performances were over,coffee would be discussed, and then, before the sun had dried the dewon the grass, the various members of that little coterie would disperseto their several stables to see the horses rubbed down, and to get theopinion of the different trainers. Some would then mount their hacksand gallop off up the mountain to the Mussoorie[304] Club, in time to eatthe good breakfast which early rising and exercise entitled them toenjoy. I always liked the training season better than the race week,for the watchful interest was over when that week came round, althoughit was very satisfactory to win the rupees, which helped to pay theexpenses of the stable.

For days before the races took place, Dehra assumed a very gayappearance. Tents were pitched everywhere, and the whole stationwas excited and merry; and, when the first day came, four-in-hands,dog-carts, carriages, and pedestrians assembled on the course. A weekafter the races were over, Dehra looked deserted, for not only had allthe tents disappeared, but the leave season was past, and the MussoorieClub empty.

The natives in India do not flock to a race-course the way ourcountry-people do, nor do they take such interest in the sport asIrishmen did. When I was quartered at Boyle, a sporting squire had ahorse called Harry Lorrequer, which was entered for a steeple-chase tobe run near our barracks. A young, fresh-looking Englishman had justjoined our dépôt as ensign, and the[305] owner of Harry Lorrequer, havingseen him ride, liked his seat, and fancied the way he managed hishorse, so he asked the new-comer to ride for him. The young officer didnot know what he was undertaking when he agreed to pilot the nag in theBoyle Steeple-chase. The day was fine, and a great crowd of countrymen,staunch supporters of the owner of Harry Lorrequer, were assembled nearthe temporary stand. They were all armed with shilelaghs, and were veryvehement in their declarations ‘that niver another horse would win’ buttheir one. The start took place amid shouts of defiance, ‘the boys’ ranlike madmen over the course, but Harry had it all his own way, and wonin a canter. ‘The boys’ were frantic with delight; they crowded roundthe winner, seized hold of the young Englishman, roaring and cheeringas if they were going to murder him, carried him on their shoulderseverywhere, and at length allowed the exhausted youth to escape.

Some days after, I was driving my young friend in my dog-cart, andhappened to stop at an inn on the road, when a quiet, mild-lookingPaddy touched his hat and said,

[306]

‘More power to ye, captin, ye rode fine the other day, yer honour.’

‘Oh, you were at the Boyle Steeple-chase,’ was the reply.

‘Is it me, sorr?—sure I was one of the boys that carried ye round thecoorse,’ said the countryman, co*cking his hat, and looking surprised atnot being recognised.

‘If I had lost the race, what would you have done?’ was the questionthen put by my friend.

‘Bedad, captin, I don’t know,’ replied the man, scratching his head;‘but any way the other horse would never have been let to win. Yerhonour was quite safe to do it.’

My young friend’s face was a picture worth seeing.

Dehra, with all its pleasant memories, has some sad ones too. Thatfearful scourge, cholera, lurks among green trees and dense vegetation,and suddenly declares its dreaded presence. One autumn the station wasmore than usually filled by owners of horses who had many stables.The hotel was very comfortable, as Mr. Williams did all he could tomake the time pass pleasantly by attention to the cuisine and thearrangement of[307] his hotel. It consisted of two bungalows and extensivestabling. My stables had thirteen loose boxes, and the whole of thefirst floor in one of the bungalows was my dwelling-place. CaptainDowdeswell, 7th Dragoon Guards, had a stable and lived in the otherbungalow in the compound. One morning I went as usual to the standon the race-course, and found those already assembled there in greatwonderment at the severe pace. Dowdeswell was taking one of his horsesround the course. As he passed the stand, I shouted to him that thecoffee was ready; but he only waved his hand, and then we saw him soonafter get on his pony and canter home. As usual, we dispersed, and Iwell remember going to Dowdeswell’s bungalow in great spirits, for myhorses had done their gallops very well, and Hackney was confidentof success. The room opened on a verandah on the ground-floor, and Icalled out Dowdeswell’s name, and, receiving no answer, went in, andwas greatly distressed to find that he was very ill.

As the doctor lived at some distance, I ordered my trap, and went offto find Dr. Allan of the Ghoorkas, a most able man; but, although Iwent[308] to different places, I failed to meet him, so I left messagesasking him to come quickly to the hotel. I returned, only to besummoned to Dowdeswell’s room; but he was dead. In less than four hoursthat dreadful disease had carried him off. These sudden shocks amid agay and thoughtless party are very startling. The day before he was aswell as any of us assembled there. The next morning we saw him take hislast ride, and the following day he was in his grave!

It is surprising how time slips away in the quiet, drowsy atmosphere ofan Indian hot weather. The punkah waves to and fro for ever; the cooliewho pulls it sits outside in the verandah like a black machine woundup. Meals must be eaten, but it is difficult to know what to order;when the meat that comes in the early morning is unfit to be used inthe evening, we fall back a good deal on fowls, curry, quails fattenedby ourselves, and tinned provisions. What would the lady of a housein India do without tinned provisions? The salmon which looks so wellat her ‘burra khana’ has journeyed from afar in hermetically sealedboxes; in some ladies’ opinion,[309] those who have never left the shoresof Hindostan, the use of these sealed dainties is quite general in thehighest society at home.

‘So you dined with the Queen?’ said one of these untravelled ladies tosome general officer lately returned from Britain. ‘I suppose that atHer Majesty’s table there was nothing but tinned provisions.’

It is some years since the charming lady I allude to made thisremark. The constant communication between England and India musthave enlightened even those who have never left the country. In thehot weather Sundays mark that the weeks are passing; there is littleelse to do so. Divine service was at six in the evening, and the palecongregation gathered under punkahs to follow the clergyman, who, underhis special punkah, read the service and preached a sermon. How verymuch hotter he must have been than we, who were melting, I can answerfor, as I frequently officiated as clergyman in various quarters ofIndia, owing to the absence, from sickness or other cause, of the padrésahib.

I remember on one occasion the clerk whispering that there were bannsof marriage to be proclaimed,[310] and he only handed me the names of thepair. I utterly forgot the words of the form to do this, and could notfind the place in the prayer-book; then, with startling distinctness,the old Scotch formula came to my mind, which I had often heard in thedays of my boyhood: ‘There is a purpose of marriage between So-and-so,of this parish, &c.,’ announcing the same, to the considerableentertainment of some of my hearers. Occasionally, when the heatseemed to have reached its highest pitch, the bearer would appear,and ask leave to roll up the outside verandah chicks, as a storm wascoming. The air felt thick and heavy, and the breathless stillness wasoverpowering. In a moment all was changed, and a raging tempest wasupon us. A dust-storm is a terrible sight—the whole atmosphere a redmass, a whirlwind of dust, and all as dark as night around. I havestood at the window looking out into the darkness, and felt that therewas some one beside me, without being able to distinguish who it was.Then the rain came down in torrents—we sallied forth always with anexpectation of finding it cooler, but the sensation is that of a hotvapour bath.

INDIAN HOSPITALITY—REMINISCENCES OF HINDOSTAN—MYBEARER—A SPINSTER IN A DILEMMA—DEOLLALEE—OUR FINALJOURNEY—BOMBAY—VOYAGE IN THE JUMNA—ESCAPE OF A MINAR—LOSSOF A PARROT—RETURN TO ENGLAND—ESCAPADE OF A YOUNGOFFICER—ANECDOTE.

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CHAPTER XVI.

On the 6th of November, 1870, the head-quarters of the ConnaughtRangers left Agra by train for Bombay. It was our last journey inIndia. I had passed many pleasant years in the country, and I hadreceived great kindness from friends, many of whom I most probablywould never see again. Indian hospitality has not been over-rated. Ihave been told that now-a-days there are so many railways that hotelstake the place of dāk bungalows; but in my time it was different,and at the various halting-places the burra-sahib of the placegenerally came himself to welcome any wanderer to his own house, and toshow him all the attention he possibly could think of. When I look backat the days passed in Hindostan, the names of Lind,[314] the Commissioner,and Judge Spankie, of the High Court, stand out among a crowd ofothers, and recall to my memory very happy days. So it was with mingledfeelings that I bid adieu to the burning plains.

At Allahabad I had to part with my bearer. I am certain it was withmutual regret we went our different ways. I see now his erect figuremarching away out of the railway-station, laden, as usual, with hisbeloved copper cooking-pots. He was a Hindoo, but more attentive tohis devotions than many an enlightened Christian. An honest, good manlike him, although a heathen, must surely have his reward. We were fivenights in the train before we reached Deollalee, from whence the finaldeparture for home is made. The train pulled up during the heat of theday, and was put into a siding, while the men got their meals cooked.

Our first halt was at Allahabad. We spent the day with my friend, JudgeSpankie. Our last experience of Indian hospitality was in the house ofa friend whose unvarying kindness I shall never forget. Some of theplaces we stopped at were merely railway-sidings; tents were standing[315]for the accommodation of the regiments. Our cook, who travelled downcountry with us, always managed to give us a tolerable dinner, makingup a little mud fire-place beside the train, and, as a matter ofcourse, going through all the ordinary dishes.

Jubbulpore is a large station, and there we got into the hotel, whichwas very full. A large party, newly arrived from home, were going upcountry, among them half a dozen pretty, fresh, English girls. When wewere quartered at a certain station in India, there was only one ‘spin’in the place, and she, poor thing, received such overwhelming attentionthat quite inadvertently she was engaged to two men at the same time.Deollalee, where our last few days in India were spent, was an immenseerection of wooden barracks and huts. Regiments newly arrived from homewere halted here, as well as those about to leave the country, and therespective arrangements were made between the various departments ofthe in-coming and out-going corps. The servants who had accompanied usdown country now left us, taking service with the new-comers.

[316]

On the evening of the 16th of November, we got into the train for ourfinal journey. It was daylight when we descended the Ghauts, a mostwonderful piece of engineering. The railway goes down a sheer fall ofnineteen hundred feet, in a succession of zig-zags. Our train was along one. The carriage we were in was at the end, and, in looking outof the window, the engine, with its following, seemed another train onquite a different line far below us.

It was the afternoon when we reached Bombay. It has left no verydistinct impression on my mind, as we proceeded direct from the stationto the tug, which took us off to the huge Jumna, that was lyingwaiting for us. We were fortunate in every respect in our voyage inher. The weather was perfect, and Captain Richards, the captain ofH.M.S. Jumna, was unvaryingly kind and courteous. On the 17th ofNovember, the shores of India faded away, never to be looked on by meagain. The splendid ship we were in, with its luxurious comforts, was acontrast to the vessel in which I had come out to India thirteen yearsbefore.

Now, on our return home, we were embarked[317] in a magnificent troopship.I think there were seventeen hundred souls on board, but everything wasin such beautiful order that there was no confusion. My regiment got oncapitally, and Captain Richards reported very favourably of the men’sconduct when in his ship.

1870–71 was the last season that regiments were conveyed across theisthmus from Suez to Alexandria by train. We left the Jumnawith much regret. The train was drawn up almost immediately alongside.We started in the evening from Suez, and arrived at Alexandria aboutseven o’clock next morning—one man short. He got out in the desertto get a drink—as we heard long afterwards—and the train went onwithout him, in consequence of which he lost his home passage, as wellas his train. On arrival at Alexandria, we embarked at once on a tug,and proceeded on board the Crocodile. One of the many childrenthat were accompanying their parents home distinguished himself on theshort trajet from the wharf to the troopship by carefully untying thefastenings of a cage-door, and letting loose a very valuable minar,which the unconscious owner had brought at great trouble[318] to himselffrom the far north of India. I do not think he ever knew how his birdescaped. Minars speak most perfectly, much more distinctly and with abetter imitation of the human voice than a parrot.

It is very annoying losing a pet, especially when the conviction mustbe that it will inevitably come to grief. I recall a curious case ofthe sort which happened in Scotland at my old home. My sister-in-lawhad a parrot, which had been the object of her care for many years.In fine summer weather, when the windows were open, it flew out, andenjoyed itself very much among the trees in front of the house, and,when called, returned to its cage. One day a sudden gale of wind cameon, and the poor bird was carried away before it. A great search wasmade; but it never came back. My sister read in the county paper anadvertisem*nt, couched in the following term: ‘Found, a parrot. Anyonehaving lost the same, apply to,’ &c., &c. In hopes that this referredto her lost favourite, she wrote a full description of Lorry, andanxiously waited for the reply. Her disappointment was great when shereceived the following answer to her[319] application: ‘Milady, i am sorryto say that it was a farot’ (ferret), ‘and not a parot,that was found.’

The Crocodile was a fac-simile of the Jumna, withthe exception of not being painted white. In the Mediterranean, wewere caught in a gale, and found that the Crocodile was notdistinguished without cause for her powers of rolling. The stormdelayed us three days, as we could make no headway against the wind.It was the last rough weather we encountered, but as we neared ourown latitudes the cold became intense. Nothing could have looked muchmore miserable than we poor denizens of a warm climate did that 21stof December, as, with eager eyes and longing expectation, we crowdedthe sides, and looked at the goal of our hopes for long years—home!Take the Solent on a fine, bright, sunny day in summer, with yachts andpleasure-boats glancing over the surface of the rippling water, andyou will say it is a fair sight to see, but what we looked on now wasa grey and leaden sky, the whole country under snow, and an occasionalflake in the air, proving there was a good deal more to fall. Slowly wecame into our berth alongside the quay, and it did seem a[320] realizationof our long dreams when friends and relations flocked over the gangway,and warmly welcomed us back to the old country.

The next day we disembarked. The snow that had been threatening wasnow falling, and it was freezing very hard. One month previous the sunwas shining and the thermometer marked 86°. The men of the 88th, withtheir white-covered helmets on their heads, had, like all of us, rednoses and yellow faces. We thought it was positively cruel to bring ussuddenly from intense heat to bitter cold, but, in spite of shuddersand chattering teeth, we all felt an exhilarating glow on that 22nd ofDecember, 1870, when we disembarked during an eclipse of the sun andin a blinding snowstorm. The 88th regiment proceeded to Fort Grange,and that night thirty men were taken into hospital with bronchitis.The regiment did not remain very long quartered in the forts, but weremoved over to Portsmouth, where it occupied the Cambridge Barracks.

What a changed place is Portsmouth now that the old walls have beenremoved! It has assumed a gay and youthful look. Midshipman Easywould not recognise it, and the old tars of former days[321] would feelquite adrift. The last ten years have greatly improved its outwardappearance. It was always a favourite quarter, being so near the Isleof Wight, and the young officers of the different regiments stationedin Portsmouth and the neighbourhood kept the ‘tambourin a-roulin,’ asno doubt they do still.

There was a good anecdote told about the subaltern of the main guardat Portsmouth during the time that a noble lord was commanding thedistrict. A ball was to take place at the Southsea Rooms, and, asill-luck would have it, the hero of my story was in orders for guardthe very day of the ball, and could get no one to exchange duties withhim. Despair filled his mind, for she was to be there, and hewas engaged to her for several dances. Cupid, they say, laughs atlocksmiths, so, I presume, goes into fits when a subaltern’s guard ismentioned as an excuse for being a recreant knight. So our hero decidedhe would, like Cinderella, go to the ball for only a certain time. Asthe other officers were in uniform, his costume was not remarkable,but he kept his eyes on the general, and once, when whispering softwords into his fair one’s ears, he[322] saw his lordship give a start as helooked towards him, and felt sure he saw his lips form themselves intothe appearance of a strong expletive.

In a short time the general called his aide-de-camp, and our youngwarrior looked out for squalls. He followed his lordship to the door,saw him get into his carriage, and heard him give the order, ‘To themain guard!’ Away flew the fiery steeds. On arrival of the general,‘Guard turn out!’ was shouted. Everything was correct. The officerwas at his post, and reported ‘all correct.’ This ought to have beensufficient for the visiting officer, and satisfied him that he had madea mistake, but, if all stories be true, the then commander-in-chief atPortsmouth never made a mistake, in his own opinion. He calledthe young officer to him, and asked him, ‘Did I not see you, a fewmoments ago, in the Southsea ball-room?’ And the only reply he got was,‘How could that be, sir, as I am now here in command of my guard?’

So the older wise one departed, and the younger retired to hisguard-room to smoke and dream. But the affair was not over. Nextmorning the[323] A.D.C. arrived at our subaltern quarters, requesting hisattendance at Lord ——’s house, and our friend went at once. Thegeneral, I have always been told, was very kind-hearted. He receivedthe young officer most courteously, and then said,

‘Mr. ——, the guard you were on is a thing of the past. We meet nowas friends. I want to know how the mischief you ever managed to get toyour guard, for I am positive I saw you in the ball-room.’

On receiving the reply: ‘Behind your lordship’s carriage!’ it may beimagined how the general laughed, and, no doubt, was of opinion thatthe young officer had shown a great deal of cleverness in getting outof what might have been a serious scrape.

This escapade recalls to my memory a story I heard given by a mostamusing raconteur in Scotland. The colonel of a regimentquartered in Edinburgh Castle had been much annoyed at the number ofmen who not only were brought up to the orderly-room for drunkenness,but also for absence without leave, so he was determined to[324] make anexample of some one on the first opportunity. One morning the regimentwas on parade, and a private soldier appeared with his coat all muddyand his cap in a battered condition, quite sober, but evidently havingbeen engaged in a row, and ‘absent all night.’ Here was a ‘horridexample.’ So the colonel ordered a corporal’s guard to make the man aprisoner, and, forming the regiment in line, he marched the culprit infront, so that every soldier might see him. On arriving at the leftflank of the line the prisoner saluted, and said, ‘Thank you, colonel;it is one of the finest regiments I ever saw. You may dismiss them,’which rather altered the colonel’s intentions with regard to this‘horrid example!’

I would like to command a regiment formed of officers like thePortsmouth subaltern and men like the Edinburgh private, althoughneither of them, I daresay, knew anything about Spenser’s ‘FaerieQueen,’ a knowledge of which is required at examinations forcommissions in the army of the present day.

But I must finish now. At Portsmouth I said[325] farewell to my dear oldhome in which I had passed all the years of my soldiering life, and nowagain I say God speed to you, old 88th; luckier than most time-honouredcorps, you are Connaught Rangers still, but full of by-gone memoriesare the numbers 88, the sound of which has echoed in peace and war, athome and abroad.

THE END.

LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.

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THE FRIENDSHIPS OF MARY RUSSELL MITFORD: As Recorded inLetters from her Literary Correspondents. Edited by theRev. A. G. L’Estrange, Editor of “The Life of MaryRussell Mitford,” and Author of “The Life of the Rev. W.Harness,” &c. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

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CONVERSATIONS with M. Thiers, M. Guizot, and otherDistinguished Persons, during the Second Empire. By the LateNassau W. Senior. Edited by his Daughter, M. C. M.Simpson. 2 vols. demy 8vo. 30s.

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CATHARINE OF ARAGON, and the Sources of the EnglishReformation. Edited, from the French of Albert duBois, with Notes by Charlotte M. Yonge, Author of“The Heir of Redclyffe,” &c. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

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A CHRISTIAN WOMAN; Being the Life of Madame JulesMallet, née Oberkampf. By Madame deWitt, née Guizot. Translated by Mrs. H.N. Goodhart. With a Preface by the Author of “JohnHalifax.” Foolscap 8vo. 5s.

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“General Maxwell writes with a facile and seductive pen, and in hischapter on the Lebanon and anti-Lebanon he touches on comparativelyunknown regions, where it is instructive as well as pleasurable tofollow him.”—Daily Telegraph.

HISTORY OF TWO QUEENS: CATHARINE OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN. ByW. Hepworth Dixon. Second Edition. Vols. 1 & 2.Demy 8vo. 30s.

“In two handsome volumes Mr. Dixon here gives us the first instalmentof a new historical work on a most attractive subject. The book isin many respects a favourable specimen of Mr. Dixon’s powers. It isthe most painstaking and elaborate that he has yet written.... Onthe whole, we may say that the book is one which will sustain thereputation of its author as a writer of great power and versatility,that it gives a new aspect to many an old subject, and presents in avery striking light some of the most recent discoveries in Englishhistory.”—Athenæum.

“In these volumes the author exhibits in a signal manner his specialpowers and finest endowments. It is obvious that the historian hasbeen at especial pains to justify his reputation, to strengthen hishold upon the learned, and also to extend his sway over the many whoprize an attractive style and interesting narrative more highly thanlaborious research and philosophic insight.”—Morning Post.

“The thanks of all students of English history are due to Mr. HepworthDixon for his clever and original work, ‘History of two Queens.’ Thebook is a valuable contribution to English history.”—Daily News.

VOLS. III. & IV. OF THE HISTORY OF TWO QUEENS:CATHARINE OF ARAGON and ANNE BOLEYN. By W. HepworthDixon. Second Edition. Demy 8vo. Price 30s.Completing the Work.

“These concluding volumes of Mr. Dixon’s ‘History of two Queens’ willbe perused with keen interest by thousands of readers. Whilst no lessvaluable to the student, they will be far more enthralling to thegeneral reader than the earlier half of the history. Every page of whatmay be termed Anne Boleyn’s story affords a happy illustration of theauthor’s vivid and picturesque style. The work should be found in everylibrary.”—Post.

HISTORY OF WILLIAM PENN, Founder of Pennsylvania. By W.Hepworth Dixon. A New Library Edition. 1 vol. demy8vo. With Portrait. 12s.

“Mr. Dixon’s ‘William Penn’ is, perhaps, the best of his books. Hehas now revised and issued it with the addition of much fresh matter.It is now offered in a sumptuous volume, matching with Mr. Dixon’srecent books, to a new generation of readers, who will thank Mr. Dixonfor his interesting and instructive memoir of one of the worthies ofEngland.”—Examiner.

“Mr. Dixon’s book will be certain not only to interest but to pleaseits readers and it deserves to do so. It contains a great deal thatis worthy of attention, and is likely to produce a very usefuleffect.”—Saturday Review.

THE SWITZERS. By W. Hepworth Dixon. ThirdEdition. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s.

“A lively, interesting, and altogether novel book on Switzerland.It is full of valuable information on social, political, andecclesiastical questions, and, like all Mr. Dixon’s books, is eminentlyreadable.”—Daily News.

OUR HOLIDAY IN THE EAST. By Mrs. George Sumner. Editedby the Rev. G. H. Sumner, Hon. Canon of Winchester,Rector of Old Alresford, Hants. Second and CheaperEdition. One vol. crown 8vo. With Illustrations. 6s. bound.

“‘Our Holiday in the East’ may take its place among the earnestand able books recording personal travel and impressions in thoselands which are consecrated to us by their identification with Biblehistory.”—Daily Telegraph.

“A most charming narrative of a tour in the East amongst scenes of thedeepest interest to the Christian. No one can rise from the perusalof this fascinating volume without the pleasant conviction of havingobtained much valuable aid for the study of the inspired narrative ofOur Blessed Lord’s life.”—Record.

LIFE IN WESTERN INDIA. By Mrs. Guthrie, Author of“Through Russia,” “My Year in an Indian Fort,” &c. 2 vols. crown8vo. With Illustrations. 21s.

“This is a remarkable book, for the variety and brilliance of thepictures which it sets before us. Mrs. Guthrie is no ordinary observer.She notes with a keen interest the life and character of the nativepopulation. Altogether this is a charming book, in which we can find nofault, except it be an embarrassing richness of matter which makes usfeel that we have given no idea of it to our readers; we can only say,Let them judge for themselves.”—Pall Mall Gazette.

“Mrs. Guthrie’s ‘Life in Western India’ is worthy the graphic pen ofthis accomplished writer. Her familiarity with Indian life enablesher to portray in faithful and vivid hues the character of Hindooand Mohammedan tribes, noting the peculiarities of their social andreligious traditions, and representing their personal habits andmanners with picturesque fidelity.”—Daily Telegraph.

MY JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD, via Ceylon, NewZealand, Australia, Torres Straits,China, Japan, and the United States.By Captain S. H. Jones-Parry, late 102nd Royal MadrasFusileers. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

“A very pleasant book of travel, well worth reading.”—Spectator.

“It is pleasant to follow Captain Jones-Parry on his journeyround the world. He is full of life, sparkle, sunlight, andanecdote.”—Graphic.

“A readable book, light, pleasant, and chatty.”—Globe.

A VISIT TO ABYSSINIA; an Account of Travel in ModernEthiopia. By W. Winstanley, late 4th (Queen’s Own)Hussars. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

“A capital record of travels, cast in a popular mould. The narrative iswritten in a lively and entertaining style.”—Athenæum.

MY OLD PLAYGROUND REVISITED; A Tour in Italy in the Springof 1881. By Benjamin E. Kennedy. 1 vol. crown 8vo.With Illustrations, by the Author. 6s.

“‘My Old Playground Revisited’ will repay perusal. It is written withthe ease that comes of long experience.”—Graphic.

PRINCE CHARLES AND THE SPANISH Marriage: A Chapter ofEnglish History, 1617 to 1623; from Unpublished Documents in theArchives of Simancas, Venice, and Brussels. By Samuel RawsonGardiner. 2 vols. 8vo. 30s.

“We doubt not that the reception of Mr. Gardiner’s valuable andinteresting volumes will be such as is due to their high merit. For thefirst time in our literature the real history of the Spanish match, andwhat took place when Charles and Buckingham were at Madrid, is hererevealed. Mr. Gardiner has brought to bear upon his subject an amountof historical reading and consultation of authorities which we believeto be almost without a parallel.”—Notes and Queries.

“These valuable volumes are profoundly and vividlyinteresting.”—Telegraph.

“Mr. Gardiner has given us a more complete and perfect accountof this interesting period of our history than any which has yetappeared.”—Observer.

MONSIEUR GUIZOT in Private Life (1787–1874). ByHis Daughter, Madame de Witt. Translated by Mrs.Simpson. 1 vol. demy 8vo. 15s.

“Madame de Witt has done justice to her father’s memory in an admirablerecord of his life. Mrs. Simpson’s translation of this singularlyinteresting book is in accuracy and grace worthy of the original and ofthe subject.”—Saturday Review.

“This book was well worth translating. Mrs. Simpson has writtenexcellent English, while preserving the spirit of the French.”—TheTimes.

“We cannot but feel grateful for the picture that Mme. de Witt hasgiven us of her father in his home. It is a work for which no one canbe better qualified than a daughter who thoroughly understood andsympathised with him.”—Guardian.

“M. Guizot stands out in the pages of his daughter’s excellentbiography a distinct and life-like figure. He is made to speak to usin his own person. The best part of the book consists of a number ofhis letters, in which he freely unfolds his feelings and opinions,and draws with unconscious boldness the outlines of his forcible andstriking character.”—Pall Mall Gazette.

WORDS OF HOPE AND COMFORT TO THOSE IN SORROW. Dedicated byPermission to The Queen. Fourth Edition. 1 vol.small 4to. 5s. bound.

“These letters, the work of a pure and devout spirit, deserve to findmany readers. They are greatly superior to the average of what iscalled religious literature.”—Athenæum.

“The writer of the tenderly-conceived letters in this volume was Mrs.Julius Hare, a sister of Mr. Maurice. They are instinct with thedevout submissiveness and fine sympathy which we associate with thename of Maurice; but in her there is added a winningness of tact, andsometimes, too, a directness of language, which we hardly find even inthe brother. The letters were privately printed and circulated, andwere found to be the source of much comfort, which they cannot fail toafford now to a wide circle. A sweetly-conceived memorial poem, bearingthe well-known initials, ‘E. H. P.’, gives a very faithful outline ofthe life.”—British Quarterly Review.

“This touching and most comforting work is dedicated to TheQueen, who took a gracious interest in its first appearance, whenprinted for private circulation, and found comfort in its pages, andhas now commanded its publication, that the world in general may profitby it. A more practical and heart-stirring appeal to the afflicted wehave never examined.”—Standard.

“These letters are exceptionally graceful and touching, and may be readwith profit.”—Graphic.

LIFE OF MOSCHELES; with Selections from his diaries andcorrespondence. By His Wife. 2 vols. large post8vo. With Portrait. 24s.

“This life of Moscheles will be a valuable book of reference for themusical historian, for the contents extend over a period of threescoreyears, commencing with 1794, and ending at 1870. We need scarcelystate that all the portions of Moscheles’ diary which refer to hisintercourse with Beethoven, Hummel, Weber, Czerny, Spontini, Rossini,Auber, Halévy, Schumann, Cherubini, Spohr, Mendelssohn, F. David,Chopin, J. B. Cramer, Clementi, John Field, Habeneck, Hauptmann,Kalkbrenner, Kiesewetter, C. Klingemann, Lablache, Dragonetti, Sontag,Persiani, Malibran, Paganini, Rachel, Ronzi de Begnis, De Beriot,Ernst, Donzelli, Cinti-Damoreau, Chelard, Bochsa, Laporte, CharlesKemble, Schröder-Devrient, Mrs. Siddons, Sir H. Bishop, Sir G. Smart,Staudigl, Thalberg, Berlioz, Velluti, C. Young, Balfe, Braham, andmany other artists of note in their time, will recall a flood ofrecollections. Moscheles writes fairly of what is called the ‘Music ofthe Future,’ and his judgments on Herr Wagner, Dr. Liszt, Rubenstein,Dr. von Bülow, Litolff, &c., whether as composers or executants, are ina liberal spirit. He recognizes cheerfully the talents of our nativeartists: Sir S. Bennett, Mr. Macfarren, Madame Goddard, Mr. J. Barnett,Mr. Hullah, Mr. A. Sullivan, &c. The volumes are full of amusinganecdotes.”—Athenæum.

A YOUNG SQUIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, from the Papersof Christopher Jeaffreson, of Dullingham House,Cambridgeshire. Edited by John Cordy Jeaffreson, Authorof “A Book about Doctors,” &c. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 21s.

“Two volumes of very attractive matter:—letters which illustrateagriculture, commerce, war, love, and social manners, accounts ofpassing public events, and details which are not to be found inthe Gazettes, and which come with singular freshness from privateletters.”—Athenæum.

“Two agreeable and important volumes. They deserve to be placed onlibrary shelves with Pepys, Evelyn, and Reresby. The Jeaffresonletters add very much to our knowledge of other people, and ofother acts than those recorded by Pepys, Evelyn, and Reresby, andare pleasantly supplementary in sketches of contemporaneous men andmanners.”—Notes and Queries.

MY YOUTH, BY SEA AND LAND, FROM 1809 TO 1816. ByCharles Loftus, formerly of the Royal Navy, late of theColdstream Guards. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

“Major Loftus played the part allotted to him with honour and ability,and he relates the story of his life with spirit and vigour. Some ofhis sea stories are as laughable as anything in ‘Peter Simple,’ whilehis adventures on shore remind us of Charles Lever in his freshestdays. A more genial, pleasant, wholesome book we have not oftenread.”—Standard.

MY LIFE, FROM 1815 TO 1819. By Charles Loftus,Author of “My Youth by Sea and Land.” 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

“The praise which the Athenæum gave to the first portion ofMajor Loftus’s work, may be fairly awarded to the second. Thesereminiscences are pleasantly told. There is a cheeriness about themwhich communicates itself to the reader.”—Athenæum.

“A thoroughly interesting and readable book, which we heartilyrecommend as one of the most characteristic autobiographies we everread.”—Standard.

A LEGACY: Being the Life and Remains of John Martin,Schoolmaster and Poet. Written and Edited by the Author of“John Halifax.” 2 vols. crown 8vo. With Portrait. 21s.

“A remarkable book. It records the life, work, aspirations, anddeath of a schoolmaster and poet, of lowly birth but ambitious soul.His writings brim with vivid thought, touches of poetic sentiment,and trenchant criticism of men and books, expressed in scholarlylanguage.”—Guardian.

THE VILLAGE OF PALACES; or, Chronicles of Chelsea. By the Rev.A. G. L’Estrange. 2 vols. crown 8vo. 21s.

“Mr. L’Estrange has much to tell of the various public institutionsassociated with Chelsea. Altogether his volumes show someout-of-the-way research, and are written in a lively and gossippingstyle.”—The Times.

“Mr. L’Estrange tells us much that is interesting about Chelsea. Wetake leave of this most charming book with a hearty recommendation ofit to our readers.”—Spectator.

COSITAS ESPANOLAS; or, Every-day Life in Spain. By Mrs.Harvey, of Ickwell-Bury. 2nd Edition. 8vo. 15s.

“A charming book; fresh, lively, and amusing.”—Morning Post.

MEMOIRS OF QUEEN HORTENSE, MOTHER OF NAPOLEON III. CheaperEdition, in 1 vol. 6s.

“A biography of the beautiful and unhappy Queen, more satisfactory thanany we have yet met with.”—Daily News.

WORKS BY VARIOUS AUTHORS.

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘JOHN HALIFAX.’

Each in One Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s.

WORKS BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘SAM SLICK.’

Each in One Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s.

WORKS BY MRS. OLIPHANT.

Each in One Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s.

WORKS BY GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D.

Each in One Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated, price 5s.

Under the Especial Patronage of Her Majesty.

Published annually, in One Vol., royal 8vo, with the Armsbeautifully engraved, handsomely bound, with gilt edges, price 31s.6d.

LODGE’S PEERAGE

AND BARONETAGE,

CORRECTED BY THE NOBILITY.

THE FIFTY-FIRST EDITION FOR 1882 IS NOW READY.

Lodge’s Peerage and Baronetage is acknowledged to be themost complete, as well as the most elegant, work of the kind. As anestablished and authentic authority on all questions respecting thefamily histories, honours, and connections of the titled aristocracy,no work has ever stood so high. It is published under the especialpatronage of Her Majesty, and is annually corrected throughout, fromthe personal communications of the Nobility. It is the only work of itsclass in which, the type being kept constantly standing, everycorrection is made in its proper place to the date of publication,an advantage which gives it supremacy over all its competitors.Independently of its full and authentic information respecting theexisting Peers and Baronets of the realm, the most sedulous attentionis given in its pages to the collateral branches of the various noblefamilies, and the names of many thousand individuals are introduced,which do not appear in other records of the titled classes. For itsauthority, correctness, and facility of arrangement, and the beauty ofits typography and binding, the work is justly entitled to the place itoccupies on the tables of Her Majesty and the Nobility.

LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

• Historical View of the Peerage.
• Parliamentary Roll of the House of Lords.
• English, Scotch, and Irish Peers, in their orders of Precedence.
• Alphabetical List of Peers of Great Britain and the UnitedKingdom, holding superior rank in the Scotch or Irish Peerage.
• Alphabetical list of Scotch and Irish Peers, holding superiortitles in the Peerage of Great Britain and the United Kingdom.
• A Collective list of Peers, in their order of Precedence.
• Table of Precedency among Men.
• Table of Precedency among Women.
• The Queen and the Royal Family.
• Peers of the Blood Royal.
• The Peerage, alphabetically arranged.
• Families of such Extinct Peers as have left Widows or Issue.
• Alphabetical List of the Surnames of all the Peers.
• The Archbishops and Bishops of England and Ireland.
• The Baronetage alphabetically arranged.
• Alphabetical List of Surnames assumed by members of NobleFamilies.
• Alphabetical List of the Second Titles of Peers, usually borneby their Eldest Sons.
• Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Dukes, Marquises, andEarls, who, having married Commoners, retain the title of Ladybefore their own Christian and their Husband’s Surnames.
• Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Viscounts and Barons,who, having married Commoners, are styled Honourable Mrs.; and,in case of the husband being a Baronet or Knight, Hon. Lady.
• A List of the Orders of Knighthood.
• Mottoes alphabetically arranged and translated.

“This work is the most perfect and elaborate record of the living andrecently deceased members of the Peerage of the Three Kingdoms as itstands at this day. It is a most useful publication. We are happy tobear testimony to the fact that scrupulous accuracy is a distinguishingfeature of this book.”—Times.

“Lodge’s Peerage must supersede all other works of the kind, for tworeasons: first, it is on a better plan; and secondly, it is betterexecuted. We can safely pronounce it to be the readiest, the mostuseful, and exactest of modern works on the subject.”—Spectator.

“A work of great value. It is the most faithful record we possess ofthe aristocracy of the day.”—Post.

“The best existing, and, we believe, the best possible Peerage. It isthe standard authority on the subject.”—Standard.

HURST & BLACKETT’S STANDARD LIBRARY

OF CHEAP EDITIONS OF

POPULAR MODERN WORKS,

ILLUSTRATED BY SIR J. GILBERT, MILLAIS, HUNT, LEECH, FOSTER,POYNTER, TENNIEL, SANDYS, HUGHES, SAMBOURNE, &c.

Each in a Single Volume, elegantly printed, bound, and illustrated,price 5s.

1. SAM SLICK’S NATURE AND HUMAN NATURE.

“The first volume of Messrs. Hurst and Blackett’s Standard Libraryof Cheap Editions forms a very good beginning to what will doubtlessbe a very successful undertaking. ‘Nature and Human Nature’ is oneof the best of Sam Slick’s witty and humorous productions, and iswell entitled to the large circulation which it cannot fail to obtainin its present convenient and cheap shape. The volume combines withthe great recommendations of a clear, bold type, and good paper, thelesser but attractive merits of being well illustrated and elegantlybound.”—Post.

2. JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.

“This is a very good and a very interesting work. It is designed totrace the career from boyhood to age of a perfect man—a Christiangentleman; and it abounds in incident both well and highly wrought.Throughout it is conceived in a high spirit, and written with greatability. This cheap and handsome new edition is worthy to pass freelyfrom hand to hand as a gift book in many households.”—Examiner.

3. THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS.

BY ELIOT WARBURTON.

“Independent of its value as an original narrative, and its useful andinteresting information, this work is remarkable for the colouringpower and play of fancy with which its descriptions are enlivened.Among its greatest and most lasting charms is its reverent and seriousspirit.”—Quarterly Review.

4. NATHALIE. By JULIA KAVANAGH.

“‘Nathalie’ is Miss Kavanagh’s best imaginative effort. Its manner isgracious and attractive. Its matter is good.”—Athenæum.

5. A WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“A book of sound counsel. It is one of the most sensible works of itskind, well-written, true-hearted, and altogether practical. Whoeverwishes to give advice to a young lady may thank the author for means ofdoing so.”—Examiner.

6. ADAM GRAEME. By MRS. OLIPHANT.

“A story awakening genuine emotions of interest and delight by itsadmirable pictures of Scottish life and scenery. The author sets beforeus the essential attributes of Christian virtue, with a delicacy,power, and truth which can hardly be surpassed.”—Post.

7. SAM SLICK’S WISE SAWS & MODERN INSTANCES.

“The reputation of this book will stand as long as that ofScott’s or Bulwer’s Novels. Its remarkable originality and happydescriptions of American life still continue the subject of universaladmiration.”—Messenger.

8. CARDINAL WISEMAN’S RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LAST FOUR POPES.

“A picturesque book on Rome and its ecclesiastical sovereigns,by an eloquent Roman Catholic. Cardinal Wiseman has treated aspecial subject with so much geniality, that his recollectionswill excite no ill-feeling in those who are most conscientiouslyopposed to every idea of human infallibility represented in Papaldomination.”—Athenæum.

9. A LIFE FOR A LIFE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“In ‘A Life for a Life’ the author is fortunate in a good subject, andhas produced a work of strong effect.”—Athenæum.

10. THE OLD COURT SUBURB. By LEIGH HUNT.

“A delightful book, that will be welcome to all readers, andmost welcome to those who have a love for the best kinds ofreading.”—Examiner.

11. MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS.

“We recommend all who are in search of a fascinating novel toread this work for themselves. They will find it well worth theirwhile. There are a freshness and originality about it quitecharming.”—Athenæum.

12. THE OLD JUDGE. By SAM SLICK.

“The publications included in this Library have all been of goodquality; many give information while they entertain, and of thatclass the book before us is a specimen. The manner in which the CheapEditions forming the series is produced, deserves especial mention. Thepaper and print are unexceptionable; there is a steel engraving in eachvolume, and the outsides of them will satisfy the purchaser who likesto see books in handsome uniform.”—Examiner.

13. DARIEN. By ELIOT WARBURTON.

“This last production of the author of ‘The Crescent and the Cross’has the same elements of a very wide popularity. It will please itsthousands.”—Globe.

14. FAMILY ROMANCE.

BY SIR BERNARD BURKE, ULSTER KING OF ARMS.

“It were impossible to praise too highly this most interestinghook.”—Standard.

15. THE LAIRD OF NORLAW. By MRS. OLIPHANT.

“The ‘Laird of Norlaw’ fully sustains the author’s highreputation.”—Sunday Times.

16. THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY.

“Mrs. Gretton’s book is interesting, and full of opportuneinstruction.”—Times.

17. NOTHING NEW.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“‘Nothing New’ displays all those superior merits which have made ‘JohnHalifax’ one of the most popular works of the day.”—Post.

18. FREER’S LIFE OF JEANNE D’ALBRET.

“Nothing can be more interesting than Miss Freer’s story of the lifeof Jeanne D’Albret, and the narrative is as trustworthy as it isattractive.”—Post.

19. THE VALLEY OF A HUNDRED FIRES.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “MARGARET AND HER BRIDESMAIDS.”

“If asked to classify this work, we should give it a place between‘John Halifax’ and ‘The Caxtons.’”—Standard.

20. THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM.

BY PETER BURKE, SERGEANT AT LAW.

“A work of singular interest, which can never fail tocharm.”—Illustrated News.

21. ADELE. By JULIA KAVANAGH.

“‘Adele’ is the best work we have read by Miss Kavanagh; it is acharming story, full of delicate character-painting.”—Athenæum.

22. STUDIES FROM LIFE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“These ‘Studies from Life’ are remarkable for graphic power andobservation. The book will not diminish the reputation of theaccomplished author.”—Saturday Review.

23. GRANDMOTHER’S MONEY.

“We commend ‘Grandmother’s Money’ to readers in search of a goodnovel. The characters are true to human nature, and the story isinteresting.”—Athenæum.

24. A BOOK ABOUT DOCTORS. By J. C. JEAFFRESON.

“A delightful book.”—Athenæum.

“A book to be read and re-read; fit for the study as well as thedrawing-room table and the circulating library.”—Lancet.

25. NO CHURCH.

“We advise all who have the opportunity to read thisbook.”—Athenæum.

26. MISTRESS AND MAID.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“A good wholesome book, gracefully written, and as pleasant to read asit is instructive.”—Athenæum.

“A charming tale charmingly told.”—Standard.

27. LOST AND SAVED. By HON. MRS. NORTON.

“‘Lost and Saved’ will be read with eager interest. It is a vigorousnovel.”—Times.

“A novel of rare excellence. It is Mrs. Norton’s best prosework.”—Examiner.

28. LES MISERABLES. By VICTOR HUGO.

AUTHORISED COPYRIGHT ENGLISH TRANSLATION.

“The merits of ‘Les Miserables’ do not merely consist in theconception of it as a whole; it abounds with details of unequalledbeauty. M. Victor Hugo has stamped upon every page the hall-mark ofgenius.”—Quarterly Review.

29. BARBARA’S HISTORY. By AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

“It is not often that we light upon a novel of so much merit andinterest as ‘Barbara’s History.’ It is a work conspicuous for tasteand literary culture. It is a very graceful and charming book, with awell-managed story, clearly-cut characters, and sentiments expressedwith an exquisite elocution. It is a book which the world willlike.”—Times.

30. LIFE OF THE REV. EDWARD IRVING.

BY MRS. OLIPHANT.

“A good book on a most interesting theme.”—Times.

“A truly interesting and most affecting memoir. Irving’s Life ought tohave a niche in every gallery of religious biography.”—SaturdayReview.

31. ST. OLAVE’S.

“This charming novel is the work of one who possesses a greattalent for writing, as well as experience and knowledge of theworld.”—Athenæum.

32. SAM SLICK’S AMERICAN HUMOUR.

“Dip where you will into this lottery of fun, you are sure to draw outa prize.”—Post.

33. CHRISTIAN’S MISTAKE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“A more charming story has rarely been written. Even if tried by thestandard of the Archbishop of York, we should expect that even he wouldpronounce ‘Christian’s Mistake’ a novel without a fault.”—Times.

34. ALEC FORBES. By GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D.

“No account of this story would give any idea of the profoundinterest that pervades the work from the first page to thelast.”—Athenæum.

35. AGNES. By MRS. OLIPHANT.

“‘Agnes’ is a novel superior to any of Mrs. Oliphant’s formerworks.”—Athenæum.

“A story whose pathetic beauty will appeal irresistibly to allreaders.”—Post.

36. A NOBLE LIFE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“This is one of those pleasant tales in which the author of ‘JohnHalifax’ speaks out of a generous heart the purest truths oflife.”—Examiner.

37. NEW AMERICA. By HEPWORTH DIXON.

“A very interesting book. Mr. Dixon has written thoughtfully andwell.”—Times.

“We recommend every one who feels any interest in human nature to readMr. Dixon’s very interesting book.”—Saturday Review.

38. ROBERT FALCONER. By GEORGE MAC DONALD.

“‘Robert Falconer’ is a work brimful of life and humour and of thedeepest human interest. It is a book to be returned to again and againfor the deep and searching knowledge it evinces of human thoughts andfeelings.”—Athenæum.

39. THE WOMAN’S KINGDOM.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“‘The Woman’s Kingdom’ sustains the author’s reputation as a writer ofthe purest and noblest kind of domestic stories.”—Athenæum.

40. ANNALS OF AN EVENTFUL LIFE.

BY GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.C.L.

“A racy, well-written, and original novel. The interest never flags.The whole work sparkles with wit and humour.”—Quarterly Review.

41. DAVID ELGINBROD. By GEORGE MAC DONALD.

“The work of a man of genius. It will attract the highest class ofreaders.”—Times.

42. A BRAVE LADY. By the Author of “John Halifax.”

“A very good novel; a thoughtful, well-written book, showing atender sympathy with human nature, and permeated by a pure and noblespirit.”—Examiner.

43. HANNAH. By the Author of “John Halifax.”

“A very pleasant, healthy story, well and artistically told. The bookis sure of a wide circle of readers. The character of Hannah is one ofrare beauty.”—Standard.

44. SAM SLICK’S AMERICANS AT HOME.

“This is one of the most amusing books that we everread.”—Standard.

45. THE UNKIND WORD.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“The author of ‘John Halifax’ has written many fascinating stories,but we can call to mind nothing from her pen that has a more enduringcharm than the graceful sketches in this work.”—United ServiceMagazine.

46. A ROSE IN JUNE. By MRS. OLIPHANT.

“‘A Rose in June’ is as pretty as its title. The story is one ofthe best and most touching which we owe to the industry and talentof Mrs. Oliphant, and may hold its own with even ‘The Chronicles ofCarlingford.’”—Times.

47. MY LITTLE LADY. By E. F. POYNTER.

“There is a great deal of fascination about this book. The authorwrites in a clear, unaffected style; she has a decided gift fordepicting character, while the descriptions of scenery convey adistinct pictorial impression to the reader.”—Times.

48. PHŒBE, JUNIOR. By MRS. OLIPHANT.

“This novel shows great knowledge of human nature. The interest goes ongrowing to the end. Phœbe is excellently drawn.”—Times.

49. LIFE OF MARIE ANTOINETTE.

BY PROFESSOR CHARLES DUKE YONGE.

“A work of remarkable merit and interest, which will, wedoubt not, become the most popular English history of MarieAntoinette.”—Spectator.

“This book is well written, and of thrilling interest.”—Academy.

50. SIR GIBBIE. By GEORGE MAC DONALD, LL.D.

“‘Sir Gibbie’ is a book of genius.”—Pall Mall Gazette.

“This book has power, pathos, and humour. There is not a characterwhich is not life-like.”—Athenæum.

51. YOUNG MRS. JARDINE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”

“‘Young Mrs. Jardine’ is a pretty story, written in pureEnglish.”—The Times.

“There is much good feeling in this book. It is pleasant andwholesome.”—Athenæum.

52. LORD BRACKENBURY. By AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

“A very readable story. The author has well conceived the purposeof high-class novel-writing, and succeeded in no small measure inattaining it. There is plenty of variety, cheerful dialogue, andgeneral ‘verve’ in the book.”—Athenæum.

“‘Lord Brackenbury’ is pleasant reading from beginning toend.”—Academy.

THE NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS.

PUBLISHED BY HURST & BLACKETT.

“Mr. Westall writes of the manufacturing districts with knowledge,and in his hands the rough Lancashire folk and the grimy purlieus ofthe cotton towns lend themselves not unpicturesquely to the needs offiction.”—Athenæum.

“One of the most readable novels of the year. The author’s interestsare wide and intelligently directed, and his way of describing incidentis exceedingly graphic. The conversations are both interesting andamusing, preserving, as they do, the racy and humorous manners andmodes of expression of the self-made men who hold them.”—DailyNews.

“A very pleasant and readable tale of English life and manners. Thecharacter of Dora, the honest, straightforward English girl, is verycharming. Mr. Westall’s large circle of readers will welcome thislatest effusion from his pen.”—Life.

GABRIELLE DE BOURDAINE. By Mrs. John Kent Spender,Author of “Godwyn’s Ordeal,” “Both in the Wrong,” &c. 3 vols.

“We advise all who can enjoy a pretty story, well told, to read‘Gabrielle de Bourdaine.’ It is the best of Mrs. Spender’s novels.It is in her character-drawing that the author shows so marked animprovement.”—Standard.

“‘Gabrielle de Bourdaine’ is a pleasant story in its quiet and simpleway. It is readable and attractive.”—Athenæum.

“Like every work of Mrs. Spender’s, this novel bears many traces ofcultivated power and deep thought.”—John Bull.

“This novel is deeply interesting.... There are many passages whichwould make the reputation of a novelist. Gabrielle is drawn with apowerful pen, and is a delightful study.”—Scotsman.

SAINT AND SIBYL. By C. L. Pirkis, Author of “A VeryOpal,” “Wanted, An Heir,” &c. 3 vols.

“In ‘Saint and Sibyl’ there are some excellent pieces of writing, sometouches of poetical art, some highly dramatic scenes, some pretty andpathetic pictures.”—St. James’s Gazette.

“This story abounds in incident and diversity of character. There aremany striking passages.”—The Queen.

“A cleverly written, readable story. The two girls, Rose and Sibyl,are ably contrasted: Sibyl in especial is an original, cleverconception.”—Daily News.

DAISY BERESFORD. By Catharine Childar, Author of “TheFuture Marquis.” 3 vols.

“An admirable novel, which will not fail to extend its author’spopularity very widely.”—John Bull.

“Several of the characters in ‘Daisy Beresford’ are cleverly drawn.Two old maiden aunts are very well done, and the heroine is alsogood.”—Athenæum.

“Miss Childar has written a pretty, pleasant story, full of variedcharacter and entertaining talk. Daisy Beresford is a charmingcreation.”—Daily News.

DONOVAN. By Edna Lyall, Author of “Won by Waiting.” 3vols.

“‘Donovan’ is distinctly a novel with a high aim, successfullyattained. The character-drawing is vigorous and truthful.”—PallMall Gazette.

THE BRANDRETHS. By the Right Hon. A. J. B. BeresfordHope, M.P., Author of “Strictly Tied Up.” SecondEdition. 3 vols.

“In ‘The Brandreths’ we have a sequel to Mr. Beresford Hope’s clevernovel of ‘Strictly Tied Up,’ and we may add that it is a decidedimprovement on his maiden effort. He has not only laid a firmer graspon some of those characters which in his earlier work were ratherwanting in outline and individuality, but he has secured the interestof his readers by simplifying his story. ‘The Brandreths,’ although itabounds in the study of personal character, investigating the innermostlife and analysing the feelings of the hero, is, nevertheless, in greatmeasure a political novel. Mr. Hope writes of political life and thevicissitudes of parties with the knowledge and experience of a veteranpolitician. Not a few of the casual pictures of society are exceedinglyfaithful and lively. We repeat, in conclusion, that the novel is onewhich will repay careful reading.”—Times.

“There are many sayings in these volumes—many wise, many witty, manytender, many noble sayings—that we should wish to cite to our readers,but doubtless their pleasure will be greater in finding them out forthemselves. The book is full of clever epigrams.”—Standard.

NEW BABYLON. By Paul Meritt and W. HowellPoole. 3 vols.

“This story is clever and amusing. Vivid and graphic scenes follow inchangeful succession.”—Daily Telegraph.

“‘New Babylon’ will attract attention at the libraries, where anexciting story is always welcome. The tale hurries along from onestirring incident to another, and compels the reader to admire theinventive power of the writers, and their ingenuity in weaving acomplicated series of incidents.”—Era.

FORTUNE’S MARRIAGE. By Georgiana M. Craik, Author of“Dorcas,” “Anne Warwick,” &c. 3 vols.

“‘Fortune’s Marriage’ is gentle, tender, and unexaggerated. It iscarefully written and has been carefully thought out.”—DailyNews.

“‘Fortune’s Marriage’ is naturally and pleasantly written, like allMiss Craik’s stories. Both Fortune and Ronald are thoroughly welldrawn.”—St. James’s Gazette.

REDEEMED. By Shirley Smith, Author of “His Last Stake,”“All for Herself,” &c. 3 vols.

“Her Majesty the Queen and Princess Beatrice have perused thisstory with great interest, and they have been especially pleasedwith the manner in which the incidents that led to the death ofthe Prince Imperial have been introduced in the latter part of thenovel.”—Nottingham Guardian.

THE MERCHANT PRINCE. By John Berwick Harwood, Author of“Lady Flavia,” &c. 3 vols.

“A clever, stirring novel.”—Daily Telegraph.

“‘The Merchant Prince’ is an interesting story of English commerciallife, told quietly and easily in Mr. Harwood’s well-knownmanner.”—Daily News.

A FAITHFUL LOVER. By Mrs. Macquoid, Author of “Patty,”“Diane,” &c. 3 vols.

“A pretty, graceful, and agreeable novel, in which there is plenty ofcharming portraiture and abundance of love-making.”—IllustratedLondon News.

IRIS. By Mrs. Randolph, Author of “Gentianella,” “WildHyacinth,” &c. 3 vols.

“‘Iris’ has all the pleasant characteristics which are peculiar to thewriter. As usual, the story is refined, agreeable, and interestingthroughout.”—John Bull.

A BROKEN LILY. By Mrs. Mortimer Collins. 3 vols.

“This novel has many points of interest, and the constructionis workmanlike. There is much that is clever and amusing in thestory.”—John Bull.

MY LORD AND MY LADY.

By Mrs. Forrester,

Author of “Viva,” “Mignon,” &c.

“This novel will take a high place among the successes of the season.It is as fresh a novel as it is interesting, as attractive as it isrealistically true, as full of novelty of presentment as it is of closestudy and observation of life.”—World.

“A love story of considerable interest. The novel is full of surprises,and will serve to while away a leisure hour most agreeably.”—DailyTelegraph.

“A very capital novel. The great charm about it is that Mrs. Forresteris quite at home in the society which she describes. It is a book toread.”—Standard.

“Mrs. Forrester’s style is so fresh and graphic that the reader is keptunder its spell from first to last.”—Post.

SOPHY:

OR THE ADVENTURES OF A SAVAGE.

By Violet Fane,

Author of “Denzil Place,” &c.

“‘Sophy’ is the clever and original work of a clever woman. Its meritsare of a strikingly unusual kind. It is charged throughout with thestrongest human interest. It is, in a word, a novel that will make itsmark.”—World.

“A clever, amusing, and interesting story, well worthreading.”—Post.

“This novel is as amusing, piquant, droll, and suggestive as it canbe. It overflows with humour, nor are there wanting touches of genuinefeeling. To considerable imaginative power, the writer joins keenobservation.”—Daily News.

“‘Sophy’ throughout displays accurate knowledge of widely differingforms of character, and remarkable breadth of view. It is one ofthe few current novels that may not impossibly stand the test oftime.”—Graphic.

STRICTLY TIED UP.

By the Right Hon. A. J. B. Beresford Hope, M.P.

“A clever story. In ‘Strictly Tied Up’ we have vigorous sketches oflife in very different circ*mstances and conditions. We have theincisive portraiture of character that shows varied knowledge ofmankind. We have a novel, besides, which may be read with profit aswell as pleasure.”—Times.

“‘Strictly Tied Up’ is entertaining. It is in every sense a novelconceived in a light and happy vein. The scheme of the story is wellproportioned and worked out in all its complications with much care andskill.”—Athenæum.

“This novel may be described as a comedy of life and character. Thereis humour as well as excitement in the book, and not a few of thedescriptions both of people and scenery are exceedingly graphic andpiquant.”—Saturday Review.

HIS LITTLE MOTHER: and Other Tales.

By the Author of “John Halifax, Gentleman.”

“This is an interesting book, written in a pleasant manner, and full ofshrewd observation and kindly feeling. It is a book that will be readwith interest, and that cannot be lightly forgotten.”—St. James’sGazette.

“The Author of ‘John Halifax’ always writes with grace and feeling, andnever more so than in the present volume.”—Morning Post.

“‘His Little Mother’ is one of those pathetic stories which the authortells better than anybody else.”—John Bull.

“This book is written with all Mrs. Craik’s grace of style, the chiefcharm of which, after all, is its simplicity.”—Glasgow Herald.

“We cordially recommend ‘His Little Mother.’ The story ismost affecting. The volume is full of lofty sentiments andnoble aspirations, and none can help feeling better after itsperusal.”—Court Journal.

LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS.