Women's Travel Writings in India 1777–1854, 13-Volume Set 9781138202726, 9781315473178, 9781138202764, 9781315473130

Table of contents :
Cover
Volume1
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
General introduction
Volume I
Introduction to Volume I
A note on the texts
Jemima Kindersley, Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies (1777)
Maria Graham, Journal of a Residence in India (1812)
Textual variants
Volume2
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Introduction
Harriet Newell, Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell (1815)
Eliza Fay, Original Letters from India (1817)
Volume3
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Introduction
Ann Deane, A Tour through the Upper Provinces of Hindostan (1823)
Julia Maitland, .Letters from Madras. (1846)
Textual variants
Volume4
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Introduction
Mary Sherwood, The Life of Mrs Sherwood (1854)

Citation preview

WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854

WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854 Edited by Carl Thompson Volume I

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund; individual owners retain copyright in their own material. The right of Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-20272-6 (Set) eISBN: 978-1-315-47317-8 (Set) ISBN: 978-1-138-20276-4 (Volume I) eISBN: 978-1-315-47313-0 (Volume I) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC Publisher’s note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements General introduction

vii ix

Volume I Introduction to Volume I

1

A note on the texts

17

Jemima Kindersley, Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies (1777)

19

Maria Graham, Journal of a Residence in India (1812)

137

Textual variants

309

Volume II Introduction

1

Harriet Newell, Memoirs of Mrs Harriet Newell (1815) Eliza Fay, Original Letters from India (1817)

17 147

Volume III Introduction

1

Ann Deane, A Tour through the Upper Provinces of Hindostan (1823)

v

13

CONTENTS

Julia Maitland, Letters from Madras (1846)

177

Textual variants

317

Volume IV Introduction

1

Mary Sherwood, The Life of Mrs Sherwood (1854)

vi

17

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The editors would like to thank Mark Pollard of Pickering and Chatto for first commissioning this set, and then Kimberley Smith and Simon Alexander at Taylor and Francis for continuing with the volumes, and for their support and patience throughout the editorial process. Thanks are also due to Gillian Dow and the Chawton House Library team for supplying the source texts on which this edition is based, and to Stephen Bygrave and Stephen Bending for their oversight of the project. Carl Thompson would further like to thank Katrina, Michael, Éadaoin, and Betty for all their hard work and cooperation; Sarah Shaw and Gavin Flood for useful advice; and Rebecca, Ethan, and especially Anita, whose early arrival made the final preparation of these volumes both more hectic and more delightful.

vii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

The seven narratives assembled in this four-volume set of Women’s Travel Writings in India were published between 1777 and 1854; they recount journeys undertaken in India, or periods of residence there, between the 1760s and the 1830s. This was a turbulent, transformative period in Indian history and in Britain’s relationship with the subcontinent. This was not yet the era of the British Raj, in which the British Crown ruled India directly in an overtly imperial idiom. But it was in these years that Britain first established its dominance in the region, through the activities of the East India Company. The 1760s saw major advances in the East India Company’s power and influence in the subcontinent; by 1840 the Company (by this date partly regulated by the British government) controlled most of what is now the nation-state of India, as well as neighbouring territories such as Nepal, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, and parts of modern Bangladesh and Pakistan. The seven accounts collected here therefore offer diverse perspectives on a key acquisitive and expansionist phase of British involvement in India. And crucially they offer in each case a woman’s perspective on these developments. Women’s presence in colonial India, and their influence and impact, has generated much discussion and scholarship in recent years. The majority of that scholarship, however, focuses on the Victorian memsahibs of the later Raj, the period of direct imperial rule that came into being from 1858 in response to the widespread rebellions or ‘Mutiny’ of 1857.1 The four volumes of Women’s Travel Writing in India offer a substantial reminder that women were also participants in the earlier era of British rule – a period that was foundational in terms of British attitudes to empire, India, and, not least, women’s travel writing. More than any previous set in Chawton House Library’s Women’s Travel Writing series, then, the present volumes throw a spotlight on women whose travels were overtly enabled by Britain’s growing global power and incipient imperialism.2 These accounts take us back to a more fluid, formative period in which the British established not only the territorial foundations of their empire in India but also its ideological underpinnings. The ‘memsahib’ stereotype – which led in some quarters to women being blamed for the increasingly poor relations between the peoples of India and their British colonial rulers – did not yet exist, though by the end of the period under consideration here one can undoubtedly see this role ix

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

and persona beginning to crystallize. Many of the other assumptions and agendas underpinning the later British Raj were similarly still taking shape; some were the focus of considerable contention. The seven texts selected for Women’s Travel Writings in India – six by British women and one by an American – do not merely reflect such wider debates; in a variety of ways, and with differing degrees of influence, they were also interventions in those discussions, helping to shape contemporary understandings of both empire and India. These texts accordingly have much to contribute to scholarly enquiries into the emergence of imperial attitudes and practices in Britain; they are especially pertinent to the often vexed issue of women’s involvement in the colonial process.3 As these last remarks suggest, another important ‘frame’ to put around the accounts presented here, and a further point of intersection with current academic enquiries, is the contribution they make to our understanding of women’s public agency in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Here these texts amply demonstrate women’s many and varied undertakings in this period as authors, intellectuals, educators, activists, missionaries, social reformers, and businesswomen. One development to which they especially speak is the growing acceptability of women taking up the genre of travel writing, or as it was more usually labelled at this date, ‘voyages and travels’. In a period when ‘literary representation of the foreign was at the cutting edge of emergent discourses both of the self and of scientific knowledge’,4 and when travel was strongly invested with epistemological prestige and civic responsibility, this was a significant threshold for women to cross. The accounts in this four-volume collection – presented here for the first time in reset scholarly editions – illustrate in diverse ways the intellectual and literary ambitions often motivating women’s writing of travelogues; they also indicate the authority and influence women could attain through the form, the new types of female subjectivity that travel writing enabled, and new directions the genre was taking in an important, transitional phase of its evolution. The themes and concerns outlined above are not the only reasons why the seven texts included in Women’s Travel Writings in India might interest modern readers. In many periods travel writing often operates as an omnium gatherum, a medium for addressing diverse and miscellaneous themes and preoccupations. This tendency is apparent in the present collection, which accordingly offers insights into topics as varied as reading habits and shifts in literary taste across the period; women’s balancing of rationalist and sentimental discourses; the spread of print culture and the emergence of an Anglo-Indian public sphere; the material culture of early nineteenth-century British India; and even the educational uses of visual media like magic lanterns. For students of Indian history and culture, they contain much information about a variety of communities and environments in the early colonial era – although all observations in this regard of course need to be treated cautiously, with acknowledgement of each writer’s inevitably limited, ethnocentric viewpoint. The introductions to individual volumes highlight some of these subsidiary themes and points of interest. This General Introduction maps the historical and generic contexts to the material assembled here, then gives a x

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

brief initial overview of these texts’ depiction of India and their relationship with contemporary British colonialism. Firstly, however, further remarks are in order on the selection of texts in this collection and on their designation as travel writing. As many studies have emphasized, travel writing as a generic label has historically embraced many different modes and types of writing; it is consequently problematic to offer too rigid or prescriptive a definition of the form. There is no need to rehearse the extensive debates on this score, other than to say that every account included here is travel writing in the sense of being a first-person, ostensibly non-fictional narration of travel and of other cultures.5 That is to say, these accounts offer eyewitness observations from travellers who have genuinely undertaken the travels they describe (although as is now well-established in travel writing studies, even accounts attempting to be wholly ‘factual’ are inevitably selective, interpretative, and therefore to some extent fictionalizing). However, two of the accounts – Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell (1815) and The Life of Mrs Sherwood (1854) – were not presented to their original audiences as ‘voyages and travels’ but as memoirs combining autobiographical material (letters and journals) with further biographical information from family members. They are included here, however, because they meet the criteria for travel writing just outlined, with both texts placing strong narrative emphasis on the Indian phase of the author’s life. Like contemporary ‘voyages and travels’ accounts, moreover, both memoirs contributed to the ‘imagined geographies’6 of their readers by the picture they painted of India; this is perhaps especially the case with Newell’s memoir, an enormously popular volume in both Britain and the USA which offered a groundbreaking portrait of the female missionary as martyr (and the book’s transatlantic appeal and influence is why we include it here in a set principally focused on British travellers). However, the depictions of India offered in Newell and Sherwood’s volumes are structured and inflected according to the different generic norms of memoir; one of these norms is the greater space allotted to the author’s life before (and in Sherwood’s case, after) their India experiences. We include these larger reminiscences for scholarly completeness and to establish in each case the context for the India account, just as we include, with travel narratives like Jemima Kindersley’s or Eliza Fay’s, their discussion of destinations en route to India.

Women travellers in early colonial India The earliest traveller included in this collection, Jemima Kindersley (1741–1809), arrived in India in 1764; Julia Maitland (1808–1864) departed the subcontinent in 1839. Across the intervening 75 years, the British relationship with India changed dramatically. The East India Company’s power and territorial reach greatly increased; this brought significant shifts in British attitudes to India and Indians and in the Company’s modes of governance. One consequence of these broader developments was a steadily growing number of women in the Anglo-Indian community (and in keeping with usual nineteenth-century usage, ‘Anglo-Indian’ here xi

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

denotes British residents and visitors in the subcontinent, rather than individuals of mixed British and Indian parentage). Yet throughout the period – and indeed, during the imperial Raj after 1857 – women were very much a minority in this community, with the disproportion between men and women especially marked in the decades before 1820. When the East India Company established its first trading posts in the subcontinent, women were expressly barred from travelling out. This proscription was subsequently relaxed and from the mid-seventeenth century wives and daughters sometimes accompanied Company officials. The final decades of the seventeenth century also saw the emergence of the so-called ‘fishing fleet’, whereby unmarried women travelled to India to seek husbands.7 Yet the numbers involved in both practices remained small. The Company’s principal outposts – or Presidencies, as they were later called – were Calcutta (Kolkata), Madras (Chennai), and Bombay (Mumbai). According to contemporary sources, by the 1730s the number of British women in Madras stood at around 45; two decades later in 1756 there were still fewer than 80 even at Calcutta, the largest British settlement in this era.8 By the latter date, the Company had greatly increased its military presence in the subcontinent; in 1765, after victory in the battle of Buxar (1764), it secured from the Mughal Empire the right to collect rents and tax revenues in the provinces of Bengal, Bihar, and Odisha, and so for the first time began direct governance of extensive tracts of India. It was this advance in British power that brought Kindersley to the subcontinent, when in 1764 she accompanied her husband Nathaniel as he took up a post as artillery officer in the East India Company’s army. With Nathaniel, Kindersley travelled as far up the Ganges as Allahabad, which had only recently come under British control; she was possibly the first European woman to visit this important Mughal capital. The battle of Buxar and 1765 Treaty of Allahabad inaugurated a more vigorously expansionist phase of East India Company operations in India. The next decades brought four wars against the powerful Mysore regime of Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan (between 1767–1769, 1780–1784, 1790–1792, and 1798–1799), and three wars against the Maratha Empire (1775–1782, 1803–1805, and 1817–1818), along with many smaller conflicts and extensive diplomatic manoeuvring. This brought new territories under the Company’s rule, generating in turn a steadily growing Anglo-Indian population and a consequent rise in the number of British women visiting or residing in India. These included the bulk of the women authors included in this collection. The first (if we order them by date of arrival in India) was Eliza Fay (1756–1816), who travelled out with her lawyer husband in 1779 and soon found herself directly caught up in the East India Company’s political and military rivalries. Arriving in Calicut she was held hostage for three months by the town’s governor, Hyder Ali’s brother-in-law. She eventually reached Calcutta in 1780, where she resided for two years (separating from her husband during this time) before returning to Britain; she then spent three further periods in Calcutta between 1784 and 1816. The next traveller, Ann Deane (1770–1847), arrived in India 20 years after Fay. Like Kindersley she was the wife of an officer in the East India Company’s army, xii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

although Charles Deane subsequently took on the role of District Collector for the Company; and for Deane as for Kindersley her husband’s career entailed a fairly peripatetic life, which chiefly took her to northern India (again to territories only recently acquired by the British). After arriving in 1799, Deane remained in India for the next 15 years, bar a short return to Britain to place one of her children in an English school. Mary Sherwood (1775–1851), also an Army officer’s wife, lived in the subcontinent between 1805 and 1816; she similarly moved around British India extensively in this period. Maria Graham (1785–1842) made a shorter visit, chiefly to Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta, between 1809 and 1811. Although a more genteel, leisured, and scholarly traveller than either Kindersley, Deane, or Sherwood, she too travelled initially as the companion of a military officer, in this case her father who was taking up a Naval posting at Bombay; en route to India she met and in Bombay married her first husband, another Naval officer.9 Then in 1812 the American Harriet Newell (1793–1812), the wife of a Christian missionary, made an even shorter visit of just six weeks to Calcutta and the small Danish colony at nearby Serampore; she soon thereafter died from an illness whilst sailing from India to Mauritius. All of these voyages and journeys took place not only in an era of aggressive British expansion within India but also in the shadow of the Napoleonic Wars, which saw Naval engagements in the Indian Ocean and the acquisition of several new British colonies elsewhere in South Asia. The overlapping visits of Fay, Deane, Sherwood, Graham, and Newell testify to a growing female presence in the Anglo-Indian community in the decades either side of 1800. However, this was still a fairly small presence in these years. Calcutta and the surrounding province of Bengal was the centre of Company operations, but even here, it has been estimated, there were only 250 Anglo-Indian women in 1810 (in the whole province), against around 4,000 men.10 Numbers were lower in the other Presidencies; and in all the Presidencies, the female population was chiefly centred in the capital cities of Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta. In the Company’s ‘up-country’ outposts, women were even more sparsely distributed. By the 1790s and early 1800s, however, developments were underway which would lead to more substantial growth in the number of ‘memsahibs’ (although this specific term, a conflation of ‘ma’am’ and Hindi ‘sahib’ or master, would not emerge until the 1850s). These developments also significantly adjusted women’s role in the colonial enterprise, giving them greater symbolic and ideological prominence. One reason why the number of women remained low in late eighteenth-century British India was the widespread preference at this date, among Company officials and employees, for forming sexual relationships with Indian women. Partly this was a matter of expense: it cost £50 a year to set up a household for an Indian partner, as against £600 per annum to maintain a British wife in a moderately respectable style.11 These cross-cultural liaisons were additionally often a type of sexual tourism and exploitation (although some do seem to have developed into fairly respectful and loving relationships).12 Yet they also arguably reflect a greater openness and receptivity to Indian culture in this early period of British rule. This was the age of the ‘White Mughals’, in William Dalrymple’s phrase, xiii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

who often adopted Indian clothing and other local practices. In similar spirit, the East India Company under the Governor Generalship of Warren Hastings from the 1780s encouraged Sir William Jones and the newly founded Asiatick Society to make extensive scholarly enquiries into Indian history and culture. The underlying agenda here was firmly colonialist: the aim was to advance and legitimate the Company’s control of its territories. But the intention was simultaneously to govern as far as possible in an ‘Indian’ style, in accordance with local laws and customs. For the same reason, the Company adopted a policy of religious toleration and banned missionary activity in the territories it controlled. In the early nineteenth century, however, this ‘Orientalist’ outlook, as it has been dubbed, gave way to a more ‘Anglicist’ attitude.13 The Company’s activities in India had generated much scandal and controversy back in Britain, where the public was especially shocked by the rapacious methods often used to extract revenues from Indian communities and by the famine and suffering that had resulted from this exploitation.14 Amidst huge publicity, Hastings was impeached for corruption in 1788 (although eventually acquitted, after a long, seven-year trial). There was consequently a growing sense that the East India Company needed major reform and greater governmental oversight.15 The early nineteenth century also saw the spread of utilitarian and evangelical attitudes across much of British society, which generated in turn a more haughty, disdainful attitude towards Indians and Indian cultures. In the closing decades of the eighteenth century, the Asiatick Society’s translations of classic Hindu texts such as the Bhagavad Gita had generated considerable respect, in some sections of the educated public, for traditional Indian culture, and novels from this period such as Phebe Gibbes’ Hartly House, Calcutta (1789), and Elizabeth Hamilton’s Translations of the Letters of a Hindoo Rajah (1796) often portray Indians quite sympathetically. But this (moderate) cultural and moral relativism was on the wane by the 1810s. Depictions of India increasingly foregrounded – often in sensationalized, even Gothic renderings – those parts of Indian culture that the British found most alien and repugnant, such as sati (the practice of widows immolating themselves on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands), child sacrifice, and the Thuggee criminal gangs. Such accounts reflected and reinforced a growing belief – expressed in texts such as James Mills’ History of British India (1817) and Thomas Macauley’s ‘Minute on Indian Education’ (1835) – that India was backward and barbarous, and accordingly should not be governed according to its own traditions. Rather, the subcontinent needed to be more radically ‘modernized’ and ‘civilized’ through the importation of British culture and values. A key marker of this change of attitudes was the lifting of the East India Company’s former ban on missionaries; this was insisted upon when the Company’s charter was renegotiated with the British government in 1813. This shift from an Orientalist to a more Anglicist outlook impacted in diverse ways on women. With cross-cultural liaisons increasingly frowned upon, it became more common for wives to accompany their husbands on East India Company postings. This trend was also encouraged by the subjugation of most xiv

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

military threats close to the Company’s main bases of Calcutta, Madras, and Bombay. The decades after 1820 saw ongoing expansion of British India, the conquest of new territories in Ceylon (Sri Lanka), Burma (Myanmar), Sindh, and the Punjab, and an ill-fated intervention in Afghanistan; however, these campaigns took place some distance from the Company’s traditional Presidencies, which the British consequently came to consider as more settled, stable territories (although in truth these regions were never entirely free from uprisings, mutinies, and rumours of potential insurrection, as Maitland’s account in the present collection testifies). This period also saw steady improvements with regard to the ease, safety, and duration of the voyage out to India.16 All these factors combined to bring a surge, from the 1820s, both in the overall size of the Anglo-Indian population and in its female component. Thus contemporary censuses record 1,345 women in Bombay’s colonial community in 1849 and 2,686 in Calcutta in 1850.17 As well as encouraging a greater female presence in the British colonial community, the Anglicist turn adjusted the symbolism and ideological resonance of these expatriate women. With the new emphasis on not simply governing but rather transforming India, women were increasingly regarded not just as onlookers and helpmates in the colonial endeavours of their menfolk, but as more active agents of empire and ‘civilization’ in their own right. Their role was to transplant British values in Indian soil, through the model they supposedly provided of exemplary British domesticity and Christian charity. This was an ideological function to some extent imposed upon Anglo-Indian women, yet it was in equal measure engineered and exploited by many of these early memsahibs, as a means of legitimating activities and female agency beyond the home. For example, women were prominent members in the evangelical and missionary networks which became more established in India from the 1810s onwards, as Newell and Sherwood’s accounts in the present collection testify.18 Women also undertook numerous projects of social reform (often focused on the plight of women and girls in Indian society) and especially education. This emerging sphere of female endeavour is presaged in Sherwood’s India career, but finds fullest expression in the present collection in Julia Maitland’s narrative. Maitland arrived in India in 1836, accompanying her first husband, James Thomas, first to Madras and then to the up-country district of Rajahmundry, where James was appointed District Judge. Recounting her residence in Rajahmundry, Maitland fashions a powerful early example of what would become a central theme or genre in Victorian women’s writing on India, the narrative of homemaking and domestication.19 This contrasts with the earlier, more itinerant narratives of Kindersley, Deane, Fay, and Graham which generally foreground the author’s mobility and often elide periods of extended residence from the final published account. At the same time, however, Maitland’s descriptions of sweeping out rooms and clipping hedges are combined with a detailed account of her efforts in setting up a ‘Native School’. Like Sherwood’s similar endeavours three decades earlier, this was a project which on the one hand built on and extended contemporary notions of women’s domesticating, ‘Angel of the House’ role – yet on xv

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

the other hand simultaneously (and somewhat paradoxically) transformed this emphasis on private virtues and personal endeavours into a public mission and something like a career. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, women’s more conspicuous presence in British India gave rise in some quarters to what Indira Ghose has dubbed ‘the myth of the memsahib’, an embittered sense that colonial wives had somehow soured relations between Britain and its subject peoples in India. To this way of thinking, women’s promotion of British domesticity in an Indian setting diminished cross-cultural curiosity, sympathy, and contact and so heightened the cultural and racial divisions between colonizer and colonized. While this is perhaps a broadly accurate account of the general trajectory of British colonial attitudes and practices in India over the nineteenth century, to castigate women as the prime force in this development is deeply unfair. As Ghose and others have argued, it neglects both the extent to which women were obliged to perform this domesticating role and the extent to which they in fact often surreptitiously subverted it, finding ways of engaging with local communities in the manner outlined earlier. Maitland’s account, the most ‘domesticating’ of the narratives included here, amply corroborates such critiques of the narrow-minded memsahib stereotype. Although she complains of the insularity of many other colonial women, she also shows that by the 1830s a ‘John Bull’ attitude, as she dubs it, was just as common among men as women – including her own husband, who Maitland has to chivvy into engaging socially with local Indian dignitaries. And prior to Maitland, with women having had such a small presence in British India, the stereotypical memsahib role had yet to take shape. Kindersley, Graham, Fay, and Deane are far more concerned to present themselves as seasoned travellers – and authoritative travel writers – than as housewives; Kindersley, Graham, and Deane, at least, demonstrate considerable curiosity about many aspects of Indian culture, even if they are not always approving of what they find in the subcontinent.

Women writing India Another possible form of public agency for Anglo-Indian women was publication of an account of India: a route chosen by six of the seven women included in this collection. The exception is Newell, who does not seem to have intended publication but nevertheless had extracts from her letters and journals published posthumously by her husband. Sherwood and Fay’s accounts were also published posthumously; however, these were texts intended for publication and almost completed when their authors died. Sherwood, it should further be noted, had already established herself as a published author of children’s fiction even before she sailed to India; as her memoir recounts, she continued this career in the subcontinent, producing stories such as The Ayah and the Lady (1813) and Little Henry and His Bearer (1816) – works which we might again loosely consider a branch of travel writing, since their Indian settings and characters helped shape contemporary British perceptions and imaginings of India. xvi

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

Five of the seven women included here – Kindersley, Graham, Fay, Deane, and Maitland – presented their volumes as travel writing in a more straightforward sense, as contributions to the genre then known as ‘voyages and travels’. This was a relatively new and potentially controversial form for women to take up, in print at least. Although it enjoyed enormous popularity with the reading public, travel writing was still widely regarded as an important ‘knowledge genre’, in Ina Ferris’s phrase, which was ideally dedicated to the accumulation of useful empirical information about peoples and places.20 To publish a travel account was accordingly to present oneself as a reliable, authoritative commentator on a range of public affairs, and to assert one’s fitness to enter civic debate on these matters. These generic expectations and assumptions prevented women from publishing as travel writers for most of the early modern period, although many produced letters and journals for private or family consumption during their travels. But just a handful of what we can loosely call travelogues by women appeared in print in the century or so before 1770: one of these texts is Jane Smart’s Letter from a Lady at Madrass (1743), an eight-page pamphlet which is the first published account of India by a woman, at least in English.21 In 1763, however, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s posthumously published Turkish Embassy Letters achieved popular and critical success, inspiring other women to take up the form. This was an important genre breakthrough, which seems to have been motivated in part by a proto-feminist desire to demonstrate women’s civic-mindedness and capacity for empirical observation and rational debate.22 Yet one should not overstate the extent to which women authors now took up travel writing. Although the female travel writer struck many contemporaries as a remarkable innovation – an innovation seen as laudable in some quarters, deplorable in others – the number of women publishing in the genre remained fairly small, both in absolute terms and relative to the many male-authored travelogues appearing most years.23 The cessation of the Napoleonic War, however, brought a more significant increase in the number of female-authored travelogues in the late 1810s and 1820s; then by the 1830s travel writing was fairly well established as a medium that an aspirant ‘woman of letters’ might turn her hand to.24 However, the genre as a whole was still dominated by men, and women might still receive chauvinist reviews that questioned the usefulness, and sometimes even the propriety, of their travels.25 The first text in the current collection, Kindersley’s Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies (1777), was part of the initial, post-Montagu wave of women’s travel writing. In an era when the majority of Anglophone travelogues by women recounted travels in Britain or western Europe, Kindersley’s narrative was especially notable for its far-flung, exotic destination; thus one contemporary review praised the author for being not simply a ‘female traveller’ but rather a ‘female voyager’.26 Another femaleauthored travel account of India would not appear until 1812, which saw the publication of the second text included here, Graham’s Journal of a Residence India (1812). Graham subsequently produced further travel accounts of Italy, Brazil, and Chile, thereby building a sustained, critically respected career specifically xvii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

as a travel writer; this constituted another significant authorial breakthrough for women, since prior to Graham most women travel writers published just a single travelogue. Graham’s example probably played some part in the post-1815 upsurge in women’s travel writing; certainly there was a sense in this later period that travel writing by women – and indeed all forms of female authorship – was now more common and acceptable. Evidence of this shift in attitudes comes from another of the writers included here, Eliza Fay. Although the second of our authors to arrive in India (in 1779), Fay was the fourth to publish, with her Original Letters from India not appearing in print until 1817. In her Preface (written in 1816), she gives as one reason for this lag in publication the hostile reception often given to women writers in the eighteenth century. But now, she suggests, ‘a female author is no longer regarded as object of derision, nor is she wounded by unkind reproof from the literary Lords of Creation’ (Volume II, p. 154; emphasis in the original). Between Graham and Fay’s volumes, the posthumous Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell appeared in 1815; after Fay, the number of female-authored travel accounts of India quickly increased, in line with the general increase of women’s travel writing in the 1820s and 1830s. However, India travelogues were always a small subset of this larger field, with just a dozen or so such texts produced between 1820 and 1850.27 These included noteworthy volumes by Sarah Lushington, Anne Katherine Elwood, Biddy Hasan ’Ali Mir, Emma Roberts, Marianne Postans, Maria Nugent, Fanny Parkes, and others, alongside the two further texts selected here, Ann Deane’s A Tour through the Upper Provinces of Hindostan (1823) and Julia Maitland’s Letters from Madras (first published in 1843, but reproduced here from the second edition of 1846). Our final selection, The Life of Mrs Sherwood, then appeared in 1854: although organized as a memoir rather than a travel account, it offers a detailed account of Anglo-Indian life between 1805 and 1816. If Graham’s sustained career as a travel writer probably contributed to the 1820s escalation in female-authored travelogues, her Journal of a Residence in India served as an important template for later India travelogues by women. In her Preface, Graham identified a need for ‘a popular and comprehensive view of [India’s] scenery and monuments, and of the manners and habits of its natives and resident colonists’ (Volume I, p. 142). Her own volume, she implied, filled this gap in the existing travel literature, offering a wide-ranging yet accessible account which avoided the more specialized and so narrower focus of many contemporary male travellers, whose narratives inevitably revolved around their professional activities in the subcontinent (as, variously, soldiers, merchants, administrators, or Orientalist scholars). At once self-deprecating and subtly aggrandizing – Graham implicitly positions herself as a more ‘philosophical’ or ‘curious’ traveller than many of her male counterparts – this ingeniously made a virtue out of women’s enforced unemployment and lack of professional expertise. It simultaneously established a rhetorical and commercial strategy which many later women travel writers would follow, presenting their accounts as introductions xviii

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

to the subcontinent which better captured the flavour and quotidian realities of Indian life than more recondite tomes. As Rosemary Raza has suggested, the niche that women travel writers on India thus established for themselves served an important colonialist function.28 As well as disseminating to a wider readership useful information about this increasingly important British dominion, the more generalist and quotidian focus of many women’s travelogues arguably helped to normalize and naturalize – for both British and Anglo-Indian audiences – the British presence in India. Yet Raza and others have simultaneously emphasized that these accounts are by no means monolithic or unanimous in their ideology and outlook. Amongst the texts included in this collection, a divergence of views is perhaps most apparent in the various writers’ attitudes to the East India Company’s governance of India. Kindersley, Fay, and Deane implicitly endorse the Company’s rule, offering almost no criticism of its activities (although Fay’s account does indirectly offer insights into Company politics and factionalism in 1780s Calcutta). Graham, Newell, Maitland, and Sherwood in contrast offer a range of critiques, which vary in their targets and motivations. Newell, Maitland, and Sherwood share an evangelical dissatisfaction with the Company’s policy of religious toleration and (for Newell and Sherwood prior to 1813) its ban on missionary activity. Graham, however, evinces little interest in converting Indians to Christianity and offers mixed comments on missionaries. But she is clearly mindful, in at least one comment, of the rapacity and corruption that accompanied the Company’s rise to dominance in India, and elsewhere implies incompetence in some aspects of the Company’s current administration.29 The latter theme emerges even more emphatically in Maitland’s narrative, which at several junctures accuses the Company of exacerbating, and even causing, famines in its subject territories, through ruthless revenue collection. However, such criticisms of contemporary British governance in India should not be read as a call for the end or diminution of Britain’s control over the subcontinent; rather, both Graham and Maitland are implicitly urging reform of the imperial system in India and greater regulation of the East India Company. There are more commonalties in how these writers depict India and Indians, yet even here it is important to register some significant differences in emphasis and attitude. On the one hand, all the accounts draw, to a greater or lesser extent, from a broadly similar set of anecdotes and motifs which collectively serve to denigrate and ‘other’ India’s Hindu and Muslim communities. They thus offer numerous observations seemingly illustrative of Hindu passivity, fatalism, and superstition and of Hindu society’s alleged inability to advance or improve because of these tendencies. In similar fashion, Muslims are routinely depicted as avaricious, hypocritical, and militaristic, while almost every native ruler, whether Muslim or Hindu, is to some degree cast as an Oriental despot, inclined to luxury, intrigue, and arbitrary, brutal retribution. Sati is referenced by every writer here, albeit to different degrees (in Graham, significantly, it merits just a passing mention); every account to some extent presents Hindu and Muslim women as oppressed, xix

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emphasizing variously their confinement in the zenana, lack of educational opportunities, and general mistreatment. Even as they assert in such ways the moral superiority of British culture, however, these texts also exhibit some significant variations in tone and include many observations which complicate any simplistically Manichean schema of British-Indian relations. They differ firstly in the degree of interest and empathy they show towards India and Indians. Once freed from captivity in Calicot, Fay barely engages with India at all, beyond complaining about the honesty of servants and offering in one letter a fairly standard digest of contemporary cultural stereotypes; instead her focus falls overwhelmingly on social interactions and gossip in the Anglo-Indian community and her own journeying to and from the subcontinent.30 Newell is similarly myopic, albeit for different reasons; because she only reaches India in the final stages of her narrative and then spends just six weeks there, what she offers the reader is essentially a fantasy projection of a benighted, heathen land in which the author will heroically test her spiritual mettle (a potent ‘imagined geography’ which helps us understand the later allure of missionary work in India for Charlotte Brontë’s heroine Jane Eyre). Graham in contrast is steeped in Orientalist scholarship, evinces genuine admiration for many past cultural achievements in the subcontinent, and is much more curious about the different Indian communities she encounters. The other four writers then sit somewhere between these poles of cross-cultural curiosity and incuriosity, with Kindersley and Deane sharing more of Graham’s sociological or ethnographic tendency, and Sherwood and Maitland principally focused on their own Anglo-Indian communities but engaging more with ‘native’ Indians than either Newell or Fay. Most of the accounts also acknowledge – or in some cases, inadvertently reveal – facets of Indian culture and conduct seemingly at odds with the more negative broader picture presented of India. Sherwood writes with warmth and affection of the loyalty of many of her servants, and especially of the love and devotion displayed by many ayahs and dhayes as they cared for Anglo-Indian children: a portrayal conducive to colonialist ideology insofar as it stresses the fidelity and contentment of the colonized, yet which complicates any simplistic evangelical understanding of Hindus as universally depraved, degenerate heathens.31 Maitland’s account, conversely, on the one hand reflects through its use of terms like ‘blackie’ and ‘nigger’ the emergence in the 1830s of more straightforwardly racist attitudes among the Anglo-Indian community. (Earlier writers like Kindersley and Graham, it is worth noting, generally attributed what they perceived as the stock characteristics of Hindu and Muslim Indians to climate and culture rather than race.) Yet if Maitland early on labels ‘the Hindoos’ a ‘lazy, inert race’ (Volume III, p. 204), her narrative simultaneously accumulates numerous counterexamples of a hunger for learning and self-improvement in both Hindu and Muslim communities. In its references to Gentoo newspapers and native debating societies, moreover, it also reveals a growing print culture and emergent public sphere amongst urbanized Indians in Madras. xx

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

Like many eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travel accounts by women, the narratives assembled here often have a complex, ‘double-voiced’ aspect.32 Whether by accident or design, they articulate and disseminate contemporary colonial ideology whilst simultaneously revealing tensions, contradictions, and lacunae in that ideology. Similarly, they generally assume a clear moral schism between Europeans and Indians, yet frequently discover a range of unsettling equivalences and parallels across the cultural divide. And their authors emerge as equally complex, ambiguous figures, at once beneficiaries, accomplices, and victims of Britain’s burgeoning empire across the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. India undoubtedly gave these middle-class women material wealth, status, and a route to public agency that most of them would probably not have enjoyed if they had remained at home. For women as well as men, these narratives demonstrate, India in the less regulated era of Company rule was a land of opportunity and adventure, where lives might be transformed. Yet such transformations – of circumstances and of the self – often came at a cost. All the journeys and voyages recorded here involved a degree of danger and discomfort, as these narratives frequently acknowledge (clearly seeking, in some cases, to contest any notion that women are less hardy travellers than men). More impactful, however, were the threats to health, which often had long-term or fatal consequences for either the authors themselves (Kindersley and Newell, for example) or their husbands (Kindersley, Deane, and Maitland), and the financial hardships that might follow widowhood. Still more poignant was what Maitland termed ‘the grand Indian sorrow – the necessity of parting with one’s children’ (Volume III, p. 290); she is referring to the custom of sending them back to Britain for schooling and to preserve their health, but infant mortality was also very high in the Anglo-Indian community, as Newell and Sherwood’s accounts sadly testify.33 In such ways, the four volumes and seven narratives of Women’s Travel Writing in India yield kaleidoscopic perspectives on the competing influences, aspirations, and pressures, and on the opportunities yet also constraints, that might shape women’s lives, subjectivities, and authorial careers in this foundational period of British empire-building in India.

Notes 1 Popular histories on this theme include P. Barr, The Memsahibs: The Women of Victorian India (London: Secker and Warburg, 1976); M. MacMillan, Women of the Raj (London: Thames and Hudson, 1988). More scholarly studies include M. A. Lind, The Compassionate Memsahib: Welfare Activities of British Women in India, 1900–1947 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988); S. Suleri, The Rhetoric of British India (Chicago, IL and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992), Chapter 4: ‘The Feminine Picturesque’; A. Burton, Burdens of History: British Feminists, Indian Women, and Imperial Culture, 1865–1915 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1994); I. Ghose, Women Travellers in Colonial India: The Power of the Gaze (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), which does include some discussion of pre-Victorian women travellers; M. Procida, Married to the Empire: Gender, Politics and Imperialism in India, 1833–1947 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002); S. Roye and

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2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

14

15

R. Mittapali (eds), The Male Empire under the Female Gaze: The British Raj and the Memsahib (Amherst, NY: Cambria Press, 2013); É. Agnew, Imperial Women Writers in Victorian India: Representing Colonial Life, 1850–1910 (London: Palgrave, 2017). A key starting point for research into the pre-1857 period is K. K. Dyson, A Various Universe: A Study of the Journals and Memoirs of British Men and Women in the Indian Subcontinent, 1765–1856 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978); further studies of this earlier era are referenced in the notes. Earlier sets in the Chawton House Library Women’s Travel Writings series have addressed women’s accounts of Italy, France (in both the Revolutionary and postNapoleonic eras), Iberia, Scotland, and North Africa and the Middle East. For important discussions of this theme, see S. Mills, Discourses of Difference: An Analysis of Women’s Writing and Colonialism (New York: Routledge, 1991); N. Chaudhuri and M. Strobel (eds), Western Women and Imperialism: Complicity and Resistance (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1992); V. Ware, Beyond the Pale: White Women, Racism and History (London: Verso, 1992), and also Burton, Burdens of History; Procida, Married to the Empire; Agnew, Imperial Women Writers. N. Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 1770–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 10. For an overview of competing definitions of ‘travel writing’, and the diverse forms the genre has historically taken, see C. Thompson, Travel Writing (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011), Chapter 2: ‘Defining the Genre’. For the concept of ‘imagined’ or ‘imaginative geographies’, see E. Said, Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1995), pp. 49–72. See J. M. Gaughan, The ‘Incumbrances’: British Women in India, 1615–1856 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2013), p. 40. R. Raza, In Their Own Words: British Women Writers and India 1740–1857 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. xix. Graham would be widowed in 1821 and then married again in 1827; she continued to publish successfully under her second married name, Maria Callcott. Gaughan, The ‘Incumbrances’, p. 109. Ibid., p. 109. See, for example, W. Dalrymple, White Mughals: Love and Betrayal in EighteenthCentury India (London: HarperCollins, 2002). This terminology of ‘Orientalist’ and ‘Anglicist’ has its origins in early nineteenthcentury debates about the East India Company’s educational policies in India; for more information, see L. Zastoupil and M. Moir (eds), The Great Indian Education Debate: Documents Relating to the Orientalist-Anglicist Controversy, 1781–1843 (Abingdon: Curzon Press, 1999). For a discussion of the broader changes involved in this shift of attitudes, see J. Marriott, The Other Empire: Metropolis, India and Progress in the Colonial Imagination (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003). For useful discussions of the controversies associated with the East India Company in this period, see J. P. Greene, Evaluating Empire and Confronting Colonialism in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), Chapter 4; K. Teltscher, India Inscribed: European and British Writing on India, 1600–1800 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1995), Chapters 4 and 5; Suleri, The Rhetoric of British India, Chapters 2 and 3. A degree of parliamentary oversight of the British India began as early as the 1773 Regulating Act, which established a judicial system presided over by Crown appointees. Other measures to constrain and regulate the East India Company’s administration of its territories were then introduced in subsequent legislation over the decades, the most notable being perhaps the decision in the 1813 Charter Act to allow missionary activity in the Company’s territories.

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16 The 1820s saw growing use of the so-called overland route to India, by which travellers sailed to Egypt and then crossed the Sinai peninsula (or went by some similar route) before re-embarking at the Red Sea for the final leg of the voyage. This cut down on journey time and also avoided the dangerous waters around the southern tip of Africa. Then in the 1830s steam vessels began to be used between the Red Sea and India, further increasing the reliability and speed of the journey. See Raza, In Their Own Words. 17 Raza, In Their Own Words, p. xix. 18 On the growing presence of Protestant missionaries in India, see Marriott, The Other Empire, pp. 82–95. 19 On British women’s domesticating influence in India, see Agnew, Imperial Women Writers, and also I. Ghose, ‘The Memsahib Myth: Englishwomen in Colonial India’, in C. R. Daileader, R. E. Johnson, and A. Shabazz (eds), Women and Others: Perspectives on Race, Gender and Empire (New York: Palgrave, 2007), pp. 107–28, especially pp. 118–19. 20 I. Ferris, ‘Mobile Words: Romantic Travel Writing and Print Anxiety’, Modern Language Quarterly 60:4 (1999), pp. 451–68; this quotation, p. 452. 21 For the other female-authored travel accounts published in English prior to 1763, see B. Colbert, ‘British Women’s Travel Writing, 1780–1840: Bibliographical Reflections’, Women’s Writing 24:2 (2017), pp. 151–69, at p. 165 (note 11). 22 For useful discussions of the wider intellectual, civic, and even political valences of women taking up travel writing in this period, see Y. Schlick, Feminism and the Politics of Travel after the Enlightenment (Lanham, MD: Bucknell University Press, 2012); K. O’Loughlin, Women, Writing and Travel in the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 23 See Colbert, ‘British Women’s Travel Writing, 1780–1840’; and for further discussion of Colbert’s bibliographical findings, C. Thompson, ‘Journeys to Authority: Reassessing Women’s Early Travel Writing, 1763–1862’, Women’s Writing 24:2 (2017), pp. 131–50, especially pp. 133–4. 24 See L. Peterson, Becoming a Woman of Letters: Myths of Authorship and Facts of the Victorian Market (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009), p. 4. 25 See, for example, the anonymous volume Woman: As She Is and As She Should Be, 2 vols (London: John Cochrane, 1835), which inveighed against women producing travel accounts and pronounced ‘Must not delicacy – not to speak of other obvious inconveniences – preclude a female from doing literary justice to a tour; and, alas! how few travel except in their own dust’ (vol. 1, p. 67). 26 Critical Review 43 (1777), p. 439. 27 This figure is derived from B. Colbert’s, Database of British Women’s Travel Writing, 1780–1840, available at www4.wlv.ac.uk/btw. Last accessed February 2020. However, Colbert defines ‘travel writing’ very broadly, and I have accordingly deducted from his list of India travel accounts works that contemporaries probably would not have regarded as ‘voyages and travels’ – for example, Barbara Hofland’s educational novel Alfred Campbell, the Young Pilgrim (1825) – and works which were edited rather than written by women. I have also added Fanny Parkes’s Wanderings of a Pilgrim In Search of the Picturesque (1850). 28 Raza, In Their Own Words, pp. 4–26. 29 See, for example, note 387 to Graham’s Journal, in the present volume. 30 In fairness to Fay, it should be acknowledged that hers is the only account in the present collection published in India (in Calcutta). This suggests that the volume was aimed at an Anglo-Indian audience, who of course had less need of any introduction to the Indian communities in Calcutta and the other Presidencies. 31 For a useful account of such complexities in Sherwood’s depiction of Indians, see J. Grossman, ‘Ayahs, Dhayes, and Bearers: Mary Sherwood’s Indian Experience and “Constructions of Subordinated Others”’, South Atlantic Review 66:2 (2001), pp. 14–44.

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32 See Grossman, ‘Ayahs, Dhayes, and Bearers’, p. 15; and for more general discussions of the ‘double-voiced’ tendency in women’s travel writing, see Mills, Discourses of Difference; S. Morgan, Place Matters: Gendered Geography in Victorian Women’s Travel Books about Southeast Asia (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996). 33 On the theme of children, see N. Chaudhuri, ‘Memsahibs and Motherhood in Nineteenth-Century Colonial India’, Victorian Studies 31:4 (1988), pp. 517–35.

Bibliography This bibliography consists of works cited in the General Introduction and the individual volume introductions, with some works that are cited in the editorial notes where especially significant or substantial. Manuscript material Said, R., ‘George Baldwin and British Interests in Egypt 1775 to 1798’ (PhD dissertation, University of London, June 1968).

Online material Colbert, B., Database of British Women’s Travel Writing, 1780–1840, www4.wlv.ac.uk/ btw. Last accessed February 2020.

Books, articles and reviews Agnew, É., Imperial Women Writers in Victorian India: Representing Colonial Life, 1850– 1910 (London: Palgrave, 2017). Anon., ‘Infidelity of the Indian Government’, Churchman’s Companion 30:2 (1847), p. 63. Anon., ‘Obituary of Maria Graham’, Gentleman’s Magazine 19 (1843), pp. 98–9. Anon., ‘Review of Jemima Kindersley’s Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies’, Critical Review 43 (1777), pp. 439–42. Anon., ‘Review of Jemima Kindersley’s Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies’, London Review of English and Foreign Literature 6 (1777), pp. 37–44. Anon., ‘Review of Jemima Kindersley’s Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies’, Monthly Review 57 (1777), p. 243. Anon., ‘Review of Maria Graham’s Journal of a Residence in India’, Quarterly Review 8 (1812), pp. 406–21. Anon., ‘Review of Ann Deane’s Tour of Hindostan’, Gentleman’s Magazine: And Historical Chronicle 94:1 (1824), pp. 144–5. Anon., ‘Review of Ann Deane’s Tour of Hindostan’, La Belle Assemblée or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine 29 (1824), pp. 77–8. Anon., ‘Review of Julia Maitland’s Letters from Madras’, Gentleman’s Magazine (1843), p. 58. Anon., ‘Review of Julia Maitland’s Letters from Madras’, Monthly Review 1 (New Series, 1843), pp. 100–4. Barr, P., The Memsahibs: The Women of Victorian India (London: Secker and Warburg, 1976).

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Bayly, C. A., Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). Bickley, F., ‘Review of [Eliza Fay’s] Original Letters from India’, Bookman (September 1925), p. 304. Broome Saunders, C., ‘Introduction’, in C. Broome Saunders (ed.), Women, Travel Writing, and Truth (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014), pp. 1–10. Burton, A., Burdens of History: British Feminists, Indian Women, and Imperial Culture, 1865–1915 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1994). Carson, P., The East India Company and Religion, 1698–1858 (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2012). Cassels, N. G., Social Legislation of the East India Company: Public Justice versus Public Instruction (Los Angeles, CA and London: Sage, 2010). Cayton, M. K., ‘Canonizing Harriet Newell: Women, the Evangelical Press, and the Foreign Mission Movement in New England, 1800–1840’, in B. Reeves-Ellington, K. K. Sklar, and C. A. Shemo (eds), Competing Kingdoms: Women, Mission, Nation, and the American Protestant Empire, 1812–1960 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010). Cayton, M. K., ‘Harriet Newell’s Story: Women, the Evangelical Press, and the Foreign Mission Movement’, in R. A. Gross and M. Kelley (eds), A History of the Book in America, Volume 2: An Extensive Republic: Print, Culture, and Society in the New Nation, 1790–1840 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), pp. 408–16. Chancey, K., ‘The Star in the East: The Controversy over Christian Missions to India, 1805–1813’, The Historian 60:3 (March 1998), pp. 507–22. Chaudhuri, N., ‘Memsahibs and Motherhood in Nineteenth-Century Colonial India’, Victorian Studies 31:4 (1988), pp. 517–35. Chaudhuri, N., and M. Strobel, Western Women and Imperialism: Complicity and Resistance (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1992). Cocks, N., ‘“Scripture Its Own Interpreter”: Mary Martha Sherwood, the Bible and Female Autobiography’, Nineteenth-Century Gender Studies 7:3 (2011). Cohen, A. L. (ed.), Lady Nugent’s East India Journal: A Critical Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). Colbert, B., ‘British Women’s Travel Writing, 1780–1840: Bibliographical Reflections’, Women’s Writing 24:2 (2017), pp. 151–69. Cope, R., ‘Composing Radical Lives: Women as Autonomous Religious Seekers and Nineteenth-Century Memoirs’, in M. M. Wearn (ed.), Nineteenth-Century American Women Write Religion: Lived Theologies and Literature (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), pp. 45–58. Culley, A., and R. Styler (eds), ‘Lives in Relation’, Special Issue of Life Writing 8:3 (2011), pp. 237–350. Cutt, M. N., Ministering Angels (Wormley: Five Owls Press, 1979). Cutt, M. N., Mrs. Sherwood and Her Books for Children (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974). Daileader, C. R., R. E. Johnson, and A. Shabazz (eds), Women and Others: Perspectives on Race, Gender and Empire (New York: Palgrave, 2007). Dalrymple, W., White Mughals: Love and Betrayal in Eighteenth-Century India (London: HarperCollins, 2002). Darton, F. J. H. (ed.), The Life and Times of Mrs. Sherwood (1775–1858) from the Diaries of Captain and Mrs. Sherwood (London: Wells Gardner, Darton & Co., 1910). Das, N., and T. Youngs (eds), The Cambridge History of Travel Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019).

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de Botton, A., The Art of Travel (London: Penguin, 2003). Dyson, K. K., A Various Universe: A Study of the Journals and Memoirs of British Men and Women in the Indian Subcontinent, 1765–1856 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978). Eastlake, E., ‘Lady Travellers’, Quarterly Review 76 (1845), pp. 53–74. Eden, E., Up the Country (London: Virago Press, 1983 [1866]). Edney, M., Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765– 1843 (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1997). Ferris, I., ‘Mobile Words: Romantic Travel Writing and Print Anxiety’, Modern Language Quarterly 60:4 (1999), pp. 451–68. Firminger, Rev. W. K., ‘Introduction’, Original Letters from India (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co, 1908), pp. iii–xii. Fisher, M. F., The Travels of Dean Mahomet: An Eighteenth-Century Journey through India (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1997). Flood, G., An Introduction to Hinduism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Frykenberg, R. E., ‘Modern Education in South India 1784–1854: Its Roots and Its Role as a Vehicle of Integration under Company Raj’, The American Historical Review 91:1 (1986), pp. 37–65. Gaughan, J. M., The ‘Incumbrances’: British Women in India, 1615–1856 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2013). Ghose, I. (ed.), Memsahibs Abroad: Writings by Women Travellers in Nineteenth-Century India (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998). Ghose, I., Women Travellers in Colonial India: The Power of the Gaze (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998). Ghose, I. (ed.), Travels, Explorations and Empires: Writings from the Era of Imperial Expansion, 1770–1835, Volume 6: India (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2001). Ghose, I., ‘The Memsahib Myth: Englishwomen in Colonial India’, in C. R. Daileader, R. E. Johnson, and A. Shabazz (eds), Women and Others: Perspectives on Race, Gender and Empire (New York: Palgrave, 2007), pp. 107–28. Gillespie, J. B., ‘“The Clear Leadings of Providence”: Pious Memoirs and the Problems of Self-Realization for Women in the Early Nineteenth Century’, Journal of the Early Republic 5:2 (Summer 1985), pp. 197–221. Gotch, R., Maria, Lady Callcott: The Creator of ‘Little Arthur’ (London: John Murray, 1937). Graham, M., A Journal of a Residence in Chile (London: Longman, Hurst et al., and John Murray, 1824). Greene, J. P., Evaluating Empire and Confronting Colonialism in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). Gross, R. A., and M. Kelley (eds), A History of the Book in America, Volume 2: An Extensive Republic: Print, Culture, and Society in the New Nation, 1790–1840 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2010). Grossman, J., ‘Ayahs, Dhayes, and Bearers: Mary Sherwood’s Indian Experience and “Constructions of Subordinated Others”’, South Atlantic Review 66:2 (2001), pp. 14–44. Gupta-Casale, N., ‘Intrepid Traveller, “She-Merchant”, or Colonialist Historiographer: Reading Eliza Fay’s Original Letters’, in S. Towheed (ed.), New Readings in the Literature of British India, c. 1780–2014 (Stuttgart: Ibidem, 2007), pp. 65–91. Gutacker, P., ‘Joseph Milner and His Editors: Eighteenth-and Nineteenth-Century Evangelicals and the Christian Past’, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 69:1 (2018), pp. 66–104.

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Hawes, C. J., Poor Relations: The Making of a Eurasian Community in British India, 1773–1833 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013). Hayward, J., ‘Introduction’, in M. Graham, Journal of a Residence in Chile, ed. J. Hayward (Charlottesville, VA and London: University of Virginia Press, 2003), pp. vii–xxiii. Hodgson, H., Letters to Mrs Kindersley (Lincoln: W. Wood, 1778). Holwell, J. Z., Interesting Historical Events, Relative to the Provinces of Bengal and the Empire of Indostan (London: Becket and De Hondt, 1765–1771). Hopkins, D., The Dangers of British India, from French Invasion and Missionary Establishments (London: Black, Parry, and Kingsbury, 1809). James, F., and J. North, ‘Writing Lives Together: Romantic and Victorian Auto/biography’, Life Writing 14:2 (2017), pp. 133–8. Kaye, M. M. (ed.), Eliza Fay: Original Letters from India (London: Hogarth Press, 1986). Keighren, I. M., C. W. J. Withers, and B. Bell, Travels into Print: Exploration, Writings, and Publishing with John Murray, 1773–1859 (Chicago, IL and London: University of Chicago Press, 2015). Khan, M. W., ‘Enlightenment Orientalism to Modernist Orientalism: The Archive of Forster’s A Passage to India’, Modern Fiction Studies 62 (2016), pp. 217–35. Kindersley, A. F., A History of the Kindersley Family (privately printed, 1938). Kindersley, J. (trans.), An Essay on the Characters, the Manners, and the Understanding of Women in Different Ages (London: J. Dodsley, 1781). Knott, S., and B. Taylor (eds), Women, Gender and Enlightenment (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2005). Korte, B., English Travel Writing from Pilgrimages to Postcolonial Explorations (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2000). Krishnaswamy, R., ‘Evangels of Empire’, Race and Class 34:4 (1993), pp. 47–62. Leask, N., Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 1770–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). Lind, M. A., The Compassionate Memsahib: Welfare Activities of British Women in India, 1900–1947 (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988). Linder, L. M., ‘Co-Constructed Selves: Nineteenth-Century Collaborative Life Writing’, Forum for Modern Language Studies 52:2 (2016), pp. 121–9. MacMillan, M., Women of the Raj (London: Thames and Hudson, 1988). Major, A., Pious Flames: The European Encounter with Sati, 1500–1830 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). Mani, L., Contentious Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1992). Marriott, J., The Other Empire: Metropolis, India and Progress in the Colonial Imagination (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003). Mascarenhas, K., ‘Little Henry’s Burdens: Colonization, Civilization, Christianity, and the Child’, Victorian Literature and Culture 42 (2014), pp. 425–38. Melman, B., Women’s Orients: Englishwomen and the Middle East, 1718–1918 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 1992). Metcalf, B. D., and T. R. Metcalf, A Concise History of Modern India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013 [2001]). Midgley, C., ‘Can Women Be Missionaries? Envisioning Female Agency in the Early Nineteenth-Century British Empire’, Journal of British Studies 45:2 (2006), pp. 335–58. Mills, S., Discourses of Difference: An Analysis of Women’s Writing and Colonialism (New York: Routledge, 1991).

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Morgan, C., Place Matters: Gendered Geography in Victorian Women’s Travel Books about Southeast Asia (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996). Nair, J., ‘Uncovering the Zenana: Visions of Indian Womanhood in Englishwomen’s Writing, 1813–1940’, Journal of Women’s History 2:1 (1990), pp. 8–34. Nixon, R., London Calling: V.S. Naipaul, Postcolonial Mandarin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). O’Brien, K., Women and Enlightenment in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). O’Connor, D., The Chaplains of the East India Company, 1601–1858 (London: Bloomsbury, 2012). O’Loughlin, K., Women, Writing and Travel in the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). Peers, D. M., and N. Gooptu (eds), India and the British Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). Peterson, L., Becoming a Woman of Letters: Myths of Authorship and Facts of the Victorian Market (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009). Peterson, L., ‘Collaborative Life Writing as Ideology: The Auto/Biographies of Mary Howitt and Her Family’, Prose Studies 26:1 (2003), pp. 176–95. Pond, J. S., Bradford: A New England Academy (Bradford, MA: Bradford Academy Alumni Association, 1930). Powell, A. A., Muslims and Missionaries in Pre-Mutiny India (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1993). Pratt, M. L., Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (Abingdon: Routledge, 2008). Procida, M., Married to the Empire: Gender, Politics and Imperialism in India, 1833–1947 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002). Rasico, P. D., ‘Calcutta “In These Degenerate Days”: The Daniells’ Visions of Life, Death and Nabobery in Late Eighteenth-Century British India’, Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies 42:1 (2019), pp. 27–47. Raza, R., In Their Own Words: British Women Writers and India 1740–1857 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006). Reeves-Ellington, B., K. K. Sklar, and C. A. Shemo (eds), Competing Kingdoms: Women, Mission, Nation, and the American Protestant Empire, 1812–1960 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010). Regaignon, D. R., ‘Intimacy’s Empire: Children, Servants, and Missionaries in Mary Martha Sherwood’s “Little Henry and his Bearer”’, Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 26:2 (2001), pp. 84–95. Richards, T., The Imperial Archive: Knowledge and the Fantasy of Empire (London: Verso Books, 1993). Roye, S., and R. Mittapali (eds), The Male Empire Under the Female Gaze: The British Raj and the Memsahib (Amherst, NY: Cambria Press, 2013). Said, E., Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1995). Sargent, J., Life and Letters of the Rev. Henry Martyn (London: Seely Jackson, 1868). Schlick, Y., Feminism and the Politics of Travel after the Enlightenment (Lanham, MD: Bucknell University Press, 2012). Sebastiani, S., ‘Race, Women, and Progress in the Late Scottish Enlightenment’, in S. Knott and B. Taylor (eds), Women, Gender and Enlightenment (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2005).

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Seshan, R. (ed.), Narratives, Routes and Intersections in Pre-Modern Asia (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2017). Spandri, E., ‘Beyond Fellow Feeling? Anglo-Indian Sympathy in the Travelogues of Eliza Fay, Maria Graham and Fanny Parks’, Textus 25:2 (2012), pp. 127–44. Suleri, S., The Rhetoric of English India (Chicago, IL and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992). Sweet, N., ‘Renegade Religious: Performativity, Female Identity and the Antebellum Convent-Escape Narrative’, in M. M. Wearn (ed.), Nineteenth-Century American Women Write Religion: Lived Theologies and Literature (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), pp. 15–32. Teltscher, K., India Inscribed: European and British Writing on India, 1600–1800 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1995). Thompson, C., Travel Writing (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011). Thompson, C., ‘Earthquakes and Petticoats: Maria Graham, Geology and Early Nineteenth-Century “Polite” Science’, Journal of Victorian Culture 17:3 (2012), pp. 1–18. Thompson, C., ‘Journeys to Authority: Reassessing Women’s Early Travel Writing, 1763– 1862’, Women’s Writing 24:2 (2017), pp. 131–50. Thompson, C., ‘Sentiment and Scholarship: Hybrid Historiography and Historical Authority in Maria Graham’s South American Journals’, Women’s Writing 24:2 (2017), pp. 185–206. Thompson, C., ‘Nineteenth-Century Travel Writing’, in N. Das and T. Youngs (eds), The Cambridge History of Travel Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), pp. 108–24. Thompson, N. D., ‘Lost Horizons: Rereading and Reclaiming Victorian Women Writers’, Women’s Studies 31:1 (2002), pp. 67–83. Towheed, S. (ed.), New Readings in the Literature of British India, c. 1780–2014 (Stuttgart: Ibidem, 2007). Ware, V., Beyond the Pale: White Women, Racism and History (London: Verso, 1992). Watson Andaya, B., ‘Imagination, Memory, History: Narrating India-Malay Intersections in the Early Modern Period’, in R. Seshan (ed.), Narratives, Routes and Intersections in Pre-Modern Asia (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2017). Wearn, M. M. (ed.), Nineteenth-Century American Women Write Religion: Lived Theologies and Literature (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016). Wheeler, R., The Complexion of Race: Categories of Difference in Eighteenth-Century British Culture (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000). White, D. E., From Little London to Little Bengal: Religion, Print and Modernity in Early British India 1793–1835 (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 2013). Winchester, S. (ed.), Eliza Fay: Original Letters from India (New York: New Review of Books, 2010). Zastoupil, L., and M. Moir (eds), The Great Indian Education Debate: Documents Relating to the Orientalist-Anglicist Controversy, 1781–1843 (Abingdon: Curzon Press, 1999).

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Jemima Kindersley’s Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies (1777) and Maria Graham’s Journal of a Residence in India (1812) are the first book-length travel accounts of India published by British women. Indeed, Kindersley’s volume is probably the first such account by any European woman. In the anglophone tradition, an earlier Letter from a Lady at Madrass [sic] to her Friends in London was published in 1743; however, this text, written by Jane Smart, runs to only eight pages and recounts a single incident, the visit paid by Smart and several other women to the wife and female retinue of a Nawab visiting Madras. Kindersley and Graham’s volumes are not only much longer but they are also far more ambitious in scope. Although couched in forms which might now suggest an emphasis on anecdote, personal reminiscence, and self-reflection – letters in Kindersley’s case, a journal in Graham’s – both books largely subordinate these elements to the project of assembling and disseminating useful information about India. They are thus more carefully crafted, consciously mediated texts than one might initially assume from their epistolary and diary formats. And in each case the aim was evidently to offer a broad, summarizing overview of Indian (and Anglo-Indian) society and culture, combining personal observations with reflections and wider research. Kindersley and Graham were thus pioneers of the authorial role and narrative strategy that for Rosemary Raza underpins the majority of British women’s accounts of India in the early colonial era. As discussed in the General Introduction, by the mid-nineteenth century, women authors had established a niche for themselves by offering accessible, non-specialist accounts which conveyed daily life in India whilst also introducing prospective travellers and metropolitan readers to recent developments in this increasingly important overseas dominion.1 Even as they inaugurate this tradition, however, Kindersley and Graham must be distinguished in several regards from the women travel writers who followed their example in the 1820s, 1830s, and 1840s. Their accounts are more overtly erudite than most later travelogues by women; linked to this, both Kindersley and Graham show a greater readiness to address topics and adopt attitudes that we now assume were off-limits or unusual for women in this period. In this way any ideology of ‘separate spheres’ in discourse seems less pronounced in these first 1

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female-authored travel accounts of India, although both authors also emphasize on occasion the distinctive perspectives they offer as women travellers. Finally, we also find in these two early accounts – and especially in Graham’s Journal – a more multifaceted and in some regards more sympathetic engagement with Indians and with Indian culture(s) than is generally the case in later travelogues.

Biographical and historical contexts Kindersley was born Jemima Wicksteed in 1741. Much in her biography remains obscure, but her family hailed from Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, and were later described by Kindersley’s son, Nathaniel Edward, as ‘very humble’ in status.2 Since the same source suggests Jemima met her future husband Nathaniel at a ball, this presumably designates a lower-middle-class rather than labouring-class background; nevertheless, it is clear that her marriage in 1762 brought a rise in the social scale. Nathaniel Edward was born in 1763; the following year Jemima and the baby accompanied Nathaniel when he took up a post as an artillery officer in the East India Company’s Bengal army. After a voyage which took in Tenerife, Salvador in Brazil and the Cape of Good Hope (all described in Jemima’s later narrative), the family reached India in May or June 1764, stopping first in Nagapatam in the Dutch Coromandel Colony. Kindersley thus arrived in India in the final phase of a tumultuous transitional period in Anglo-Indian relations. Between 1756 and 1763 the Third Carnatic War – an offshoot of the wider Seven Year’s War between France and Britain – had seen the East India Company and its Indian allies engage and ultimately defeat the French and their allies in fighting principally centred in southern India, around Madras and the French-held city of Pondicherry. In Bengal to the east, the British also won momentous victories. In 1756 the last independent Nawab of Bengal, Siraj ud-Daulah, captured Calcutta, giving rise to the notorious incident of the ‘Black Hole’ of Calcutta, in which many European prisoners died due to overcrowding in the gaol where they were held. When the Nawab was subsequently defeated by Sir Robert Clive at the battle of Plassey (1757), the East India Company became the dominant power in region. This led to further hostilities in 1763, when the Company faced an alliance between Siraj ud-Daulah’s successor Mir Qasim (even though it was the British who had originally installed him as Nawab), the Moghul Emperor Shah Allam II and Shuja ud-Daulah, Nawab of nearby Oudh. However, their combined forces were again defeated by Clive, at the battle of Buxar in 1764, after which the East India Company further extended its power through the 1765 Treaty of Allahabad. Most notably, the Company acquired the right to collect tax revenues in Bengal, Bihar, and Odisha, thereby becoming responsible for the governance of these provinces. Nathaniel Kindersley was not directly caught up in these campaigns, but his postings meant that Jemima visited many notable sites not long after these major events. After Nagapatam, they visited Pondicherry (recently captured from the French and still devastated from the British siege of the city) and Madras, before 2

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reaching Calcutta in August 1765. After a year in Calcutta (a period Kindersley gives no account of in her subsequent narrative), the family made a slow journey up the Ganges by ‘budgeroo’, or barge, taking in Mongheir, Patna, and Benares before arriving in Allahabad in June 1767. Kindersley must have been one of the very first British women to visit this ancient Indian city, an important administrative centre under the Mughals and at this date the home of the current Emperor Shah Allam, who was confined to Allahabad under the conditions of the 1765 treaty. She spent nine months there, then in May 1768 returned to Calcutta where she stayed five months before departing from India, apparently because of poor health.3 Nathaniel remained behind and died in India in 1769; Jemima and Nathaniel Edward returned to Britain via the island of St Helena (as later described in Letters). Her husband’s death left Kindersley financially straitened, and this may be one reason why she subsequently chose to produce and publish her travelogue. However, the highly impersonal narrative in Letters provides little explanation of its author’s private circumstances, her motivation for publication, or the long delay between Kindersley’s return from India and the volume’s appearance in 1777. Forty years after Kindersley’s departure from India, Maria Graham (as she would shortly become) arrived in the subcontinent. Like Kindersley before her, she arrived amidst recent and ongoing wars that encompassed both India and the wider world. Between 1809 and 1811, the duration of Graham’s visit, the Napoleonic War was at its height, leading to confrontations in South East Asia and the Indian Ocean between Britain and France and their respective allies and proxies. During this period, British forces seized Dutch colonies in the Spice Islands, having previously taken the Cape of Good Hope, St Helena, and the Dutch colony in Sri Lanka after Holland formed an alliance with revolutionary France in 1796. In India itself, the East India Company’s power now extended – either directly or indirectly, through nominally independent puppet rulers – over much of the subcontinent, due to the defeat of Mysore in the 1790s and victory in the Second Anglo-Maratha War of 1803–1805. Like Kindersley in Pondicherry, Graham recorded in her narrative the devastation caused by this last conflict. Having strong Naval connections, she was also cognizant of the wider regional confrontation with France, alluding frequently in her narrative to the British Navy’s operations in the Indian Ocean. Graham was 24 when she arrived in India: a similar age to Kindersley, who was 23. However, her background was significantly different to Kindersley’s. Born Maria Dundas in 1785, her immediate family was of comparatively modest means – her father was a Naval officer – but her wider kin were genteel and well connected. She was educated at a boarding school and then, in a crucial phase for her intellectual development, lived in Edinburgh in her late teens and early 20s.4 Here she absorbed the ideas and debates of the late Scottish Enlightenment, counting among her friends and mentors the philosopher Dugald Stewart and the geologist John Playfair. It was also in this period, however, that she first contracted tuberculosis, which would dog her throughout her life. 3

INTRODUCTION

When her father was appointed in 1808 to a senior post at the Naval dockyard at Bombay, Maria chose to accompany him. Given her literary and scholarly connections, she may have intended from the outset a future travelogue, but this is not certain. The voyage out in H.M.S. Cornelia took in Madeira and the Cape of Good Hope (although these visits are not recorded in Graham’s later published Journal); it also introduced Maria to Thomas Graham, son of a Scottish Laird and Second Lieutenant in the Cornelia. A romance blossomed and the couple married a few months after arriving in Bombay in May 1809. Thereafter Thomas was frequently away on Naval service, while Graham generally resided and travelled with friends and acquaintances among the Anglo-Indian social elite. In Bombay she initially lived with the celebrated Scottish jurist and historian Sir James Mackintosh, with whom she visited local sites and antiquities, as well as making longer trips to Pune, the capital of the Maratha Empire, and Sri Lanka. In June 1810 she sailed from Bombay to Madras, where she spent two months before sailing on to Bengal. She spent four months in and around Calcutta (staying principally at the city and country residences of the Governor General of India) before returning to Madras in January 1811. After visiting the Hindu antiquities at Mamallapuram, Graham then departed from Madras (and India) in February; her voyage back to Britain took in the Cape of Good Hope and St Helena. A Journal of a Residence in India was published in 1812, and was followed in 1814 by Letters on India, a broader survey of the subcontinent’s history, religion, and culture couched not as a travelogue but as an educational primer for potential travellers.

The craft of travel writing: form, persona, voice Kindersley publishes her account of India in epistolary form; Graham presents her observations in print as a ‘Journal’, although the opening pages additionally claim that the volume is based on a series of letters sent to an unnamed correspondent (based in Edinburgh, it later emerges). In adopting these formats, both women were following fairly standard practice in contemporary travel writing. Since the late seventeenth century, the importance of making immediate, on-the-spot observations had been enjoined on travellers by the Royal Society and others. Letters, logs, and diaries were one means of achieving this, and subsequent print publications often maintained this presentation of the material, since it implied that the observations therein had only been lightly edited and were thus a more reliable eyewitness record. These formats were accordingly much used by both men and women travellers – and for women, they had particular appeal, since it could plausibly be suggested that letters or journals were originally intended just for private consumption. Graham in her Preface explicitly makes this claim, suggesting that her observations ‘were really and truly written, nearly as they now appear, for the amusement of an intimate friend’ (p. 143); she also stresses that her account transcribes her first impressions of India, and therefore records important details that longer-term residents have become habituated to. Kindersley offers no such prefatory explanation or justification for her publication; however, both claims – of 4

INTRODUCTION

originally private communications now made public, and of fairly direct transcription of on-the-spot ‘first impressions’ – are implicit from the opening paragraphs. We should be wary, however, of taking these claims at face value. As with many other travel accounts in this era – by both men and women – their purpose is partly rhetorical, enhancing the authenticity of the account while downplaying in public the intellectual and literary ambitions of the author.5 In fact, both Kindersley’s Letters and Graham’s Journal are better classed as variants of what Graham in a later travelogue termed the ‘copied journal’ format.6 Here it is acknowledged that any original material generated during travel – e.g., letters, journal entries – might legitimately undergo a revision process, involving redaction of inconsequential details and expansion around core themes and issues, with the latter additions often drawing on wider reading and research. Again, this was common practice in contemporary travel writing – an example would be the editorial guidance Mungo Park received from Bryan Edwards when crafting Travels in the Interior Districts of Africa (1799) – notwithstanding the equally ubiquitous claims that little revision had taken place.7 The aim, in Graham’s later assessment, was to ‘give a better, because a more rational and careful account of countries visited’;8 and the usual result was travel accounts which mingled two discursive modes, usefully categorized by Rob Nixon (in a discussion of modern travel writing) as on the one hand ‘an autobiographical, emotionally entangled mode’ and on the other a ‘semiethnographic, distanced, analytical mode’.9 Kindersley and Graham’s narratives are in this way more artfully constructed than their letter and diary formats might initially suggest. At the same time, there are significant differences in each woman’s handling, and balancing, of the two discursive modes identified by Nixon. With Kindersley, the emphasis is overwhelmingly on providing a summative, ‘semi-ethnographic’ account of the cultures and communities she visits. There is no mention at all of her own travel experiences or observations in 30 of the volume’s 68 letters; for a substantial central section, from Letters 38 to 50, the personal narrative is entirely dropped, as Kindersley offers short essays on diverse aspects of Hindu and Mughal history, religion, and social practice. Even the more autobiographical letters, in which Kindersley makes some reference to her own travel experiences, chiefly foreground factual observations about the places she is visiting. And at the volume’s close, once she has described St Helena, Kindersley’s text simply stops: she evidently felt no need to recount her arrival back in Britain or to round off the narrative in any way. Kindersley thus fashions a very impersonal travel narrative, supplying little autobiographical detail beyond where, when, and in some cases how she travelled. Instead, the focus is overwhelmingly on the external world beyond the travelling self. Such a matter-of-fact tone is of course itself a distinctive voice, and in Kindersley’s case, it was perhaps especially assertive, given that so few women had published travel accounts before her.10 In an era when travel writing was still widely regarded as an important ‘knowledge genre’, Kindersley takes up the form without any sort of apology for her gender.11 There are a few moments of gentle 5

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self-deprecation – for example, when she recounts how ridiculous she looked riding an ass on Tenerife. But generally her narrative reflects a confidence that she is just as reliable and well-informed an observer as most male travellers. A similar confidence is apparent in the acerbities and condemnations frequently directed towards various aspects of Roman Catholicism and of Hindu and Mughal culture – and in these moments we also glimpse something of Kindersley’s personality and individual preferences, notwithstanding the impersonal style. Graham strikes a different balance between the autobiographical and ethnographic modes identified by Nixon. She includes much more personal information about her activities and original, immediate impressions during her time in India. In the process, she fashions a more embodied narrator, whom we frequently encounter moving through, and responding to, specific individual locations – enjoying picturesque gardens in Bombay, for example, or enduring the blazing heat as she seeks out Indian antiquities. The narrative attention often given in these passages to the traveller’s thoughts, feelings, and physical sensations can make them feel like transcriptions of original diary entries written soon after the episodes they describe. Again, however, it is likely that many such passages were in fact more artfully – and retrospectively – constructed. Fragments of Graham’s original India diary survive, and it is instructive to compare, for example, the unpublished diary entry recording Graham’s arrival at Bombay and the published account of this event.12 The former – reproduced here in note 12 to Graham’s narrative – is comparatively brief and chiefly focused on the (British) individuals Graham was interacting with and her feelings for Thomas Graham. Of India or Bombay, it is merely noted that this is ‘a highly picturesque country which has so many charms’. In the published journal, however, Graham offers a detailed account which conveys far more of Bombay itself and the exotic sights which greeted her, such as palanquins waiting on the pier and men and women washing in water-tanks. The narrative oscillates constantly, almost sentence by sentence, between what are apparently initial, on-the-spot impressions and more summative or explanatory reflections on what she saw, with the latter incorporating information clearly gathered at a later date. Thus Graham describes the palanquins but then explains what caste the bearers belong to and how much they are paid; later the description of locals washing their clothes transitions into a more general summation of the chief modes of dress among Hindu, Muslim, and Parsee women. This constant combining of (apparent) first impressions with supplementary reflections then occurs throughout Graham’s Journal, being interrupted only by more extended discussions largely devoid of personal narrative, in which Graham, like Kindersley, offers mini-essays on diverse India-related subjects. From such internal evidence, it is clear that Graham’s published Journal seldom if ever simply transcribes her original journal entries. Possibly it has its basis in a series of what are sometimes dubbed ‘journal letters’, a common format in this era in which a traveller produced periodic, summative letters for his or her correspondent (although as noted earlier, it is debatable whether Graham ever actually sent any such letters: she may alternatively have produced periodic sections of draft 6

INTRODUCTION

material intended from the outset for future publication). Either way, almost every extended passage in the Journal seems to some extent a retrospectively crafted composite, combining Graham’s personal diary with further observations, reflections, and researches (in James Mackintosh’s extensive library, for example, and no doubt back in Edinburgh as well) and probably also utilizing as an aide-memoire the many sketches that Graham, a talented draughtswoman, always produced during her travels. Recognizing this more considered and protracted composition process, we can also better appreciate the extent to which the apparent immediacy of some passages, and Graham’s more embodied, emotionally responsive narrator, was similarly a literary construct, fashioned on the page consciously and deliberately. Here it is likely that Graham’s agenda was both aesthetic and epistemological. At one level, Graham’s more personable narration simply provides an engaging, relatable frame to the extensive information she provides; however, given Graham’s Edinburgh connections and intellectual affiliations, we also need to locate her in a tradition of ‘sentimentalized’ or ‘Romanticized’ travel, for which a traveller’s affective and aesthetic responses to new scenes were themselves an important branch of empirical data and philosophical enquiry.13 Carefully crafting their narratives in these diverse ways, Kindersley and Graham evince little sense of discursive limitation or restriction on account of their gender.14 Each fashions a confident, unabashed persona, addressing without qualms topics conventionally marked as masculine preserves in this period, such as commerce, foreign policy, and the progress of military campaigns. Both allude to discomforts, even dangers, during some parts of their travelling, and so implicitly project a degree of physical resilience. And both women engage with and condense contemporary scholarship on India and its inhabitants. With Graham, indeed, we have a writer well connected in intellectual circles, who evidently sought not just to summarize ongoing scholarly debates but also to contribute to them (via both her main narrative and the three appendices she included in the volume). In this regard, the sentimental dimensions to Journal of a Residence in India identified earlier are conspicuously balanced with, and regulated by, an equally strong commitment to rational enquiry, with Graham displaying considerable expertise in the vast and often complex studies generated by William Jones and the Asiatick Society. She also signals in print her association with learned Orientalists like Colin Mackenzie and John Leyden and with leading botanists such as William Roxburgh and John Fleming.15 On both antiquarian and scientific issues, Graham frequently offers her own observations and opinions; comparing her own drawing of the entrance to the Hindu temple at Elephanta with that published by the German explorer Carsten Niebuhr, she declares bluntly that hers is the ‘most correct’ (p. 177). Kindersley in comparison is a less sophisticated thinker and writer (in part, no doubt, because she was travelling and writing before the late eighteenth-century surge of Orientalist scholarship under Jones). Yet hers is an account of India deeply informed by Montesqueiu’s seminal Enlightenment treatise The Spirit of the Laws (1748), from which she twice quotes at some length, and elsewhere Kindersley’s text seems to be in dialogue with more recent works that are not referenced explicitly, such as 7

INTRODUCTION

John Zephaniah Holwell’s Interesting Historical Events, Relative to the Provinces of Bengal and the Empire of Indostan (1765–1771).16 At the same time, both Kindersley and Graham on occasion lay claim to the distinctive perspectives that only women could bring to European discussions of India and other ‘Oriental’ cultures. Both include, for example, accounts of visits to the ‘zenana’, or female quarters, of high-status Indian families – a topic that was in this period almost an expected ‘set-piece’ of women’s travel writing from Asia and the Middle East, in part because it represented a contribution to ethnographic knowledge that was uniquely the preserve of women.17 Elsewhere, Kindersley and Graham arguably provide more information on a range of conventionally ‘feminine’ topics – for example, costume and fashion, food and cooking, and domestic arrangements in both Indian and Anglo-Indian households – than most contemporary male travellers in India. Yet even though both women were in the subcontinent as military wives, neither offer an overtly ‘domesticating’ women’s travel narrative, in which the author charts her establishment of a familiar, orderly household in alien, foreign surroundings. This type of account, in which the narrative trajectory at one level encodes and asserts the supposedly benign stewardship of the colonial project in general, would later become a staple of women’s travel writing about India.18 For Graham, who visited India for a comparatively short period and moved around frequently in that time, such a narrative was probably not feasible. It might have been possible for Kindersley, however, since she was resident for extended periods in several parts of India. Yet these extended residences are mostly passed over without comment, or with little discussion of her own activities during this time. For neither woman, one senses, were such personal, domestic details an important focus (although Graham does include admiring descriptions of some of the households she stayed in). Instead, the main concern in both Kindersley’s Letters and Graham’s Journal is a more holistic and studious account of Indian and Anglo-Indian life.

Depicting India and Anglo-India In their broad outlines, Kindersley and Graham’s portraits of India are much the same, with both largely conforming to prevailing British stereotypes and prejudices about the subcontinent’s diverse communities. At the same time, the two accounts have their distinctive features, and the differences between them reflect some important adjustments in British attitudes to India between the 1770s and early 1800s. And both accounts can be differentiated in various ways from the more strongly ‘Anglicist’, often explicitly evangelical depictions which became increasingly common from the 1810s onwards, as represented in Women’s Travel Writings in India by Harriet Newell and Mary Sherwood’s narratives. For Kindersley and Graham, as for many contemporary European commentators, India is evidently ripe with economic and commercial potential, offering numerous opportunities for trade and revenue generation. However, its lucrative resources and commodities – frequently itemized in some detail in these texts – are implicitly 8

INTRODUCTION

underdeveloped or wasted, due to the moribund nature of the dominant regimes in the subcontinent and the backward state of Indian society generally. As presented here, India’s Hindu population is in thrall to priestcraft, superstition, and indolence, with any possibility of innovation and reform stifled by excessive emphasis on custom and caste. Muslims and the ruling Mughal elite are portrayed in similar terms but assigned a greater proclivity to hypocrisy, duplicity, and cruelty. It is worth noting that these pejorative tropes are not yet anchored in an essentialist ideology of innate racial characteristics, as they often were later in the nineteenth century. Although both Kindersley and Graham allude to contemporary theorizing on this score, they do so to dismiss the notion of ‘natural’ differences between races.19 Instead, the faults and problems they perceive across Indian society are attributed to the climate and above all to the passivity and corruption generated by despotic governance, here presented as a staple feature of both Muslim and Hindu polities. These were stock themes in European discussions of India from the Enlightenment onwards, given influential early expression by Montesquieu and then reiterated by the late eighteenth-century wave of Orientalist scholarship (although many of the latter scholars were also comparatively respectful of earlier Hindu and Mughal cultural achievements, positing therefore an India that had supposedly degenerated from former greatness). Against this backdrop, the British could be presented as potential saviours of India, agents of historical progress bringing peace, industriousness and justice to an otherwise static, unchanging subcontinent. These are again tropes frequently deployed by Kindersley and Graham – as when, for example, Graham praises the East India Company’s suppression of the human sacrifices supposedly offered at Sagar Island in Bengal. It is however a reading of the contemporary situation, and of Indian history more generally, that modern scholarship would dispute. Here emphasis has fallen rather on the dynamism of pre-colonial India, the more flexible, negotiable nature of both traditional caste arrangements and apparently despotic political structures, and the East India Company’s role in generating the instability and poverty which European commentators then took as endemic to Indian society.20 Interestingly, both Kindersley and Graham’s narratives, when read somewhat against the grain, inadvertently offer support for this revisionist historiography. Both acknowledge the excellence of some branches of Indian craftsmanship such as textiles, even as they bemoan a supposed resistance to innovation; both implicitly recognize that there were states in India (the Marathas and Mysore under Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan) who had modernized effectively and so presented a challenge to British power. Elsewhere, Kindersley records that supposedly despotic, socially static India was nevertheless a place ‘where the meanest cooly of a Moor-man . . . may become a general, or even a Nabob’ (p. 85), while a later discussion of the supposed inadequacies of local medicine in fact offers evidence that some Indian medical practices may well have been superior to their European equivalents at this date. As Kindersley notes, ‘Many wounds, which in an [sic] European would make an amputation necessary, can in them [Hindus] be cured without’ (p. 98), by the application of local remedies. Yet 9

INTRODUCTION

most of these details that contradict the period’s dominant discourses about India are not registered as contradictions; they appear incidentally, as it were, and are ignored or swiftly glossed over. As they disseminate and seemingly corroborate prevailing assumptions about India, Kindersley and Graham also make a distinctively female contribution to colonialist discourse. There is, for example, both a commercial and an ideological logic to their accounts of visiting zenanas. These were at one level European readers wanted to read about, in part because of a prurient fascination with what possibly went on in these female-only settings: this no doubt played some part in the decision – by author or publisher – to have a zenana scene as the frontispiece and sole illustration in Kindersley’s Letters. As discussed already, these visits also supplied a unique authority to the woman traveller, since obviously only women could visit them. Perhaps most importantly, however, they enabled a powerful contrast between the mobile, educated, inquisitive Western woman authoring the account and her confined, uneducated ‘Oriental’ counterparts. This spoke to a well-established Enlightenment concern with the treatment of women as a marker of progress and civilized modernity.21 Here the comparative freedoms enjoyed by European women were usually contrasted with the confinement and repression allegedly inflicted on women in more barbarous, primitive nations (and also, for Kindersley at least, in Catholic nations: this is a prominent theme in her depiction of Tenerife and Brazil in the early part of Letters). This is the tenor of both Kindersley and Graham’s descriptions, with Graham especially scathing about an environment ‘so totally void of cultivation’ (p. 156). At the same time, both women – like Lady Mary Wortley Montagu before them22 – implicitly refute the highly eroticized accounts sometimes offered by male writers: boredom rather than sexual intrigue, it seems, is the leitmotif of life in the zenana. These are the underlying contours of Kindersley and Graham’s surveys of India. Yet neither narrative is wholly reducible to just colonialist ideology, and both women to varying degrees complicate or nuance the simplistic binaries that such ideology sought to promote. This is especially evident in Graham’s Journal. Unlike the earlier Kindersley, Graham was writing after the wave of Orientalist scholarship produced by Jones and the Asiatick Society; as discussed previously, there is ample evidence of her familiarity with this material. This produces a genuine intellectual curiosity about many aspects of Hindu history and religion, and about other Indian communities such as the Parsees and Jains. Graham is also one of the few contemporary travellers to offer glimpses of lower-class Indians, and more specifically lower-class Indian women, as she peers into the huts of Bombay gardeners and toddy-gatherers and writes respectful accounts of women at work in these homes. Most significantly, in Graham we sense an aesthetic appreciation of many forms of Indian art, architecture, and literature, both past and present. Thus she gives stirring accounts of the temple complexes at Elephanta and Kanheri, whilst also admiring, inter alia, Mughal miniatures and the Hindu plant illustrators employed at the Botanical Gardens at Calcutta. She is also more appreciative than Kindersley of the beauties of the Indian landscape: a taste, and narrative focus, that again reflects broader shifts in both British culture 10

INTRODUCTION

generally and British representations of India between the 1760s and early 1800s. The ‘picturesque’ was not yet in vogue when Kindersley visited India; by the time of Graham’s visit, there was a well-established (and lucrative) interest in fine views and vistas, encompassing not only the scenery of the British Isles but also that of the subcontinent. Indian landscapes had been made familiar to British audiences by illustrated works such as William Hodges’ Select Views in India (1786– 88) and Thomas and William Daniell’s Oriental Scenery (1795–1808); Graham would meet a third artistic member of the latter family, Samuel Daniell, during her time in Sri Lanka, and she made her own contribution to this visual tradition by including in her published volume 16 plates of picturesque and antiquarian scenes, based on her own drawings. As Sara Suleri, Nigel Leask, and others have explored, picturesque depictions of the Indian landscape – whether rendered in art or in words – served the British colonial project at both an ideological and psychological level, commodifying the landscape for aesthetic consumption and intimating the beneficence and stability of British rule.23 The interest Graham elsewhere takes in Indian traditions and antiquities has from one perspective a similar resonance, suggesting implicitly that the British will be careful guardians of India’s rich heritage and pluralistic society. Yet we should also acknowledge the contrast between the fascination and nuance often evinced by Graham and the more dismissive – indeed, often disgusted – responses to Indian culture frequently found in other European travel accounts of this era. Graham produced her narrative in a decade when such hostile depictions of India were coming to the fore, due to the growing influence of evangelical and utilitarian attitudes. Commentators of the latter stamp generally denounced Indian culture in almost all its forms as barbarous, heathen and degenerate, and so in urgent need of moral and political reform. Graham on occasion makes similar pronouncements; but as Indira Ghose has noted, in Graham’s Journal such Anglicist tendencies overlap with a more respectful Orientalist discourse.24 Writing some 40 years earlier than Graham, Kindersley’s attitude to India in many ways anticipates the Anglicist outlook of the early nineteenth century. She is generally far more dismissive of Indian accomplishments than Graham, though she seldom suggests that it is Britain’s duty to reform the culture; instead, India seems to be regarded simply as a subject nation, to be controlled and governed. Similarly, Kindersley’s distaste for Indian culture and society is not yet married to any evangelical zeal, as it often would be in later accounts. (Here it is worth noting that both Kindersley and Graham were travelling in the pre-1813 period when missionary activity was still forbidden in the Company’s territories.) Kindersley also enumerates what she sees as the virtues of the Hindu population, attempts some sociological analysis of especially alien and repellent customs such as sati, and on occasion acknowledges Biblical or Ancient Greek counterparts to Indian beliefs and practices (a comparison which to many contemporaries would have unduly dignified the latter). In such ways her portrayal of India differs subtly but significantly in tone from later Anglicist accounts, even if its overall tenor is similarly negative. Returning to comparison of Kindersley and Graham’s accounts, the difference between the two women is especially marked in their depiction of the British in 11

INTRODUCTION

India. Here Kindersley – married, not coincidentally, to an East India Company employee – offers a straightforward endorsement of the Company’s past and present role in Indian affairs. Similarly, she is implicitly approving or at least non-judgemental as she describes the distinctive features of Anglo-Indian life, although there is veiled censure of the number of mixed-race children born to British men. Graham, however, turns a more critical eye on both the Company and the Anglo-Indian community. Her account reflects the more tarnished reputation of the Company in the aftermath of the controversies of the 1780s and the trial of Warren Hastings. This legacy also colours her depiction of colonial society, which is presented here as stultifying, provincial, and narrow-minded. ‘Over-bred and under-dressed’ (p. 161) is her curt comment on the majority of British women in Bombay (although several exceptions are also acknowledged). It is not only in the Muslim zenana, it seems, that women are discouraged from cultivating their minds. The superiority of the emergent colonial order is also brought into question at several moments when Graham critiques either the East India Company’s current policies or its past conduct. Thus Graham writes, after visiting a child revered as a living incarnation of the Hindu god Ganesh: If I could be assured that the communication with Europe would in ever so remote a period free the natives of India from their moral and religious degradation, I could even be almost reconciled to the methods by which the Europeans have acquired possession of the country. (p. 187) This pronouncement neatly encapsulates Graham’s ambiguous attitude and positioning in relation to British dominance in India. On the one hand, her comment can be considered anti-imperialist insofar as it looks askance at the structures and practices of imperial governance actually operating at the time of her visit. Yet she also denigrates the current state of Indian society and implies strongly that only European guidance will bring relief from ‘moral and religious degradation’. The solution to both India’s problems and the Company’s problematic rule, it seems, is reform rather than abandonment of the imperial project.

Reception and influence Both Kindersley’s Letters and Graham’s Journal received generally favourable reviews upon publication (for examples, see the headnotes to each text in the present volume). However, both accounts also attracted a degree of condescension, even hostility, clearly generated to some extent by chauvinist assumptions that women had little place taking up an important ‘knowledge genre’ like travel writing. A Cambridge cleric, Reverend Henry Hodgson, took Kindersley to task for allegedly offering too sympathetic a portrayal of Catholicism when discussing Brazil.25 Given that Kindersley’s account is resolutely anti-Catholic in its overall tenor, bar a few remarks in Letter 12 which acknowledge Catholicism’s success 12

INTRODUCTION

in finding converts among African slaves, one senses that Hodgson’s intervention was simply a male gatekeeper slapping down the perceived impropriety of a female commentator on these issues. Later, Graham was similarly patronized by the Quarterly Review, which opened what is ultimately an admiring review by labelling Journal of a Residence in India ‘a literary curiosity which we are not disposed to overlook’ and suggesting that its author, ‘like most young ladies’, went to India ‘to procure a husband instead of information’.26 Despite these put-downs, the general approbation that greeted their publications gave both Kindersley and Graham an entrée into literary and intellectual circles. According to later family reminiscences, Kindersley established an acquaintance with Samuel Johnson;27 she also published in 1781 a translation of Antoine Léonard Thomas’ Essai sur le caractère, les moeurs et l’esprit des femmes dans les différents siècles (1772), accompanied by two short essays of her own reflecting on the status of women in different cultures.28 Her son Nathaniel Edward shared her interest in ethnographic and Oriental scholarship. Like Nathaniel père an East India Company employee, he published in 1794 Specimens of Hindoo Literature, Consisting of Translations from the Tamoul: this contained the first ever English translation of the classic Tamil text the Tirukkural. Around this time Nathaniel Edward also entrusted his children to his mother’s care, before returning to India; the arrangement seems not have been entirely successful, and Kindersley apparently spent her final years again in a financially vulnerable position, before dying in 1809 at the age of 68. For Graham, her first publication brought much greater celebrity and renown. Already acquainted with Edinburgh literati such as Dugald Stewart and John Playfair, she was soon well connected in London’s intellectual networks, especially the Whig circles centred on Holland House. Around this time she also established a close, lifelong friendship with the publisher John Murray II. A second edition of Journal of a Residence in India appeared in 1813 and was followed in 1814 by Letters on India, another erudite work in which Graham’s fascination and respect for the past glories of Hindu culture is even more marked. The topics this required her to tackle, however, were not to everyone’s taste. ‘She is writing again’, wrote Lady Romilly to Maria Edgeworth, adding: ‘I am sorry to say on heathen Mythology; one cannot read it’.29 These early works on India were then the springboard to a long running literary career which encompassed three more travelogues – to Italy, Brazil, and Chile – along with some groundbreaking works of art history and a bestselling volume for children, Little Arthur’s History of England (1835).30 She died in 1842 aged 57, having spent the preceding decade housebound due to tuberculosis; at her death, the Gentlemen’s Magazine judged that ‘few women had seen so much of the world, or travelled so much, and none perhaps have turned the results of their activity to such benevolent account’.31 Modern readers may be somewhat circumspect about the ‘benevolence’ of Journal of a Residence in India, given its complex entanglements with contemporary colonialist ideology. Yet Graham’s volume, like Kindersley’s earlier Letters, undoubtedly occupies an important place in both the history of women’s travel writing and the history of British depictions of India. 13

INTRODUCTION

Notes 1 See R. Raza, In Their Own Words: British Women Writers and India 1740–1857 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), pp. 6–10. 2 Quoted in A. F. Kindersley, A History of the Kindersley Family (privately printed, 1938), p. 91. 3 See Kindersley, History of the Kindersley Family, p. 94. 4 Information about Graham’s early life is drawn principally from R. Gotch, Maria, Lady Callcott: The Creator of ‘Little Arthur’ (London: John Murray, 1937), and from Jennifer Hayward’s introduction to her edition of Graham’s Chile travelogue; see M. Graham, Journal of a Residence in Chile, ed. J. Hayward (Charlottesville, VA and London: University of Virginia Press, 2003). 5 For the use of prefatory tropes of self-deprecation, amateurism and private communication, see I. M. Keighren, C. W. J. Withers, and B. Bell, Travels into Print: Exploration, Writings, and Publishing with John Murray, 1773–1859 (Chicago, IL and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2015), pp. 100–8. 6 M. Graham, A Journal of a Residence in Chile (London: Longman, Hurst et al., and John Murray, 1824), p. 145. 7 On editorial interventions in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travel accounts, see Keighren et al, Travels into Print, Chapter 4: ‘Explorers Become Authors’. 8 Graham, Chile, p. 145. 9 R. Nixon, London Calling: V. S. Naipaul, Postcolonial Mandarin (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 15. 10 See the General Introduction. 11 I. Ferris, ‘Mobile Words: Romantic Travel Writing and Print Anxiety’, Modern Language Quarterly 60:4 (1999), p. 452. 12 While Graham’s original private journal is now lost, substantial sections of it are transcribed in Gotch, Maria, Lady Callcott, pp. 93–141. 13 This was a key theme in Dugald Stewart’s Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind (1792), a volume Graham is known to have read at least twice (notably she reread it, and made Thomas Graham read it with her, during their courtship on HMS Cornelia: See Gotch, Maria, Lady Callcott, p. 130). For Stewart, attention to the operations of one’s own mind, and thus recognition of one’s own personal foibles, blindspots, and biases, was a foundational act in establishing accurate knowledge about the wider world. This epistemological emphasis on inward as well as outward scrutiny was also promoted by explorers like Georg Forster and Alexander von Humboldt, who were well known and highly regarded in Graham’s Edinburgh circles. See C. Thompson, ‘Sentiment and Scholarship: Hybrid Historiography and Historical Authority in Maria Graham’s South American Journals’, Women’s Writing 24:2 (2017), pp. 185–206; and for Humboldt’s ‘Romanticized’ mode of scientific exploration, N. Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 1770–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), Chapter 6. For a useful discussion of how Graham’s (carefully regulated) sentimentalism informs her depiction of, and sympathies towards, Britain’s colonial subjects in India, see E. Spandri, ‘Beyond Fellow Feeling? Anglo-Indian Sympathy in the Travelogues of Eliza Fay, Maria Graham and Fanny Parks’, Textus 25:2 (2012), pp. 127–44. 14 Possibly the only nod in this direction is the title of Graham’s narrative, Journal of a Residence in India. Graham is in fact in many different ways a very mobile traveller, moving quite frequently between residences, undertaking numerous excursions whilst at each location, and also including plenty of detail about the various modes of travel and transport she adopted – riding an elephant at Barrackpore, for example, or braving the full heat of the sun in search of antiquities. Graham’s choice of title, however, arguably downplays this mobility, and seemingly conforms to contemporary expectations of female domesticity and sessility.

14

INTRODUCTION

15 Recognizing this dual dimension of the India Journal, Nigel Leask links Graham to Mary Wollstonecraft in a rational-reformist tradition of Romantic-era women’s writing, which sought to demonstrate that women might combine (in Jane Austen’s terms) ‘sense’ and ‘sensibility’. See N. Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 1770–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), Chapter 4. A repudiation of excessive sensibility is also apparent at other moments in Graham’s Journal, for example when she rebukes the naïve idealism of Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint Pierre’s La chaumière indienne (The Indian Cottage, 1790): See notes 11, 34, and 35 to the present edition of Graham’s Journal. 16 For one engagement with Holwell’s volume, see note 235 to Kindersley’s narrative in this volume. 17 See I. Ghose, Women Travellers in Colonial India: The Power of the Female Gaze (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), Chapter 3; B. Melman, Women’s Orients: Englishwomen and the Middle East, 1718–1918 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 1992). 18 See I. Ghose, ‘The Memsahib Myth: Englishwomen in Colonial India’, in C. R. Daileader, R. E. Johnson, and A. Shabazz (eds), Women and Others: Perspectives on Race, Gender and Empire (New York: Palgrave, 2007), pp. 107–28, especially pp. 118–19; É. Agnew, Imperial Women Writers in Victorian India: Representing Colonial Life, 1850–1910 (London: Palgrave, 2017). 19 See pp. 84 and 198. 20 See, for example, C. A. Bayly, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); D. M. Peers and N. Gooptu (eds), India and the British Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 21 See K. O’Brien, Women and Enlightenment in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); S. Sebastiani, ‘Race, Women, and Progress in the Late Scottish Enlightenment’, in S. Knott and B. Taylor (eds), Women, Gender and Enlightenment (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2005), pp. 75–96. 22 For a useful discussion of Montagu’s famous account of a harem in her Turkish Embassy Letters, see Melman, Women’s Orients, Chapter 3. 23 See S. Suleri, The Rhetoric of English India (Chicago, IL and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1992), Chapter 4; Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, Chapter 4; Ghose, Women Travellers in Colonial India, Chapter 2. 24 I. Ghose, ‘Introduction’, in Ghose (ed.), Travels, Explorations and Empires: Writings from the Era of Imperial Expansion, 1770–1835, Volume 6: India (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2001), p. vxi. 25 See H. Hodgson, Letters to Mrs Kindersley (Lincoln: W. Wood, 1778). 26 Quarterly Review 8 (1812), p. 406. This accusation prompted Graham to add a rather irritated footnote to the second edition of Journal; see Textual Variant ‘g’ in the present volume. 27 See Kindersley, History of the Kindersley Family, p. 98. 28 J. Kindersley (trans.), An Essay on the Characters, the Manners, and the Understanding of Women in Different Ages (London: J. Dodsley, 1781). 29 Quoted in Gotch, p. 154. 30 Graham was widowed in 1821, then married again in 1827; her second husband was the celebrated painter Augustus Wall Callcott (1779–1844). From 1827, accordingly, she published under the name Maria Callcott. 31 Gentleman’s Magazine 19 (1843), p. 98.

15

A NOTE ON THE TEXTS

This edition takes as its source texts the sole, 1777 edition of Kindersley’s Letters, and the first, 1812 edition of Graham’s Journal. In both texts, the errata lists included in the original published editions have been followed, with these corrections being silently incorporated here. For further emendations and additions to the second (1813) edition of Graham’s Journal, see the Textual Variants. In the original published version of Kindersley’s Letters, two letters were misnumbered, giving rise to two Letter 43s (and no Letter 44), then two Letter 45s (and no Letter 46). The sequence then proceeds correctly from Letter 47 onwards. The numbering has been corrected in this edition. The editorial notes do not gloss foreign terms where an accurate explanation is immediately given in the main narrative. In the appendices to Graham’s Journal, only Graham’s framing discussion of these supplementary materials is annotated. Kindersley’s Letters included as a frontispiece an illustration entitled ‘An apartment in a Zenannah’; this depicted five women in Indian costume sitting indoors, engaged in pursuits such as smoking a hookah pipe and playing musical instruments. Graham’s Journal included sixteen plates, all drawn by Graham herself. These depicted a variety of picturesque scenes, Hindu antiquities and notable public buildings in India. The volume also incorporated two larger, fold-out illustrations, each measuring approximately 52cm × 16 1/2cm (in landscape orientation). The first was drawn by Graham herself and depicts, according to its handwritten caption, ‘Figures in the Great Cave at Elephanta’. A further note on the print states: ‘The Trimurti is imperfect in this plate – the other figures are as they stood A.D. 1809’. The second illustration is based on a drawing by Colin Mackenzie that has been etched by Graham; its caption reads: ‘Tapass of Arjoon/Sculptured on the rock at Mahaballapooram/from Col. Mackenzie etched by M.G. 1811’. These two larger illustrations are not reproduced in the present edition.

17

JEMIMA KINDERSLEY,

LETTERS FROM THE ISLAND OF TENERIFFE, BRAZIL, THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE, AND THE EAST INDIES (1777) Jemima Kindersley (1741–1809), née Wicksteed, began her voyage out to India in May or June 1764, accompanying her husband Nathaniel Kindersley who was taking up a post as an artillery officer in the East India Company’s army. The couple also took with them their one-year old son, Nathaniel Edward. En route to India the family visited Tenerife in the Canary Islands, Salvador in Brazil and the Dutch colony at the Cape of Good Hope in Africa, before finally arriving at Nagapattinam in Tamil Nadu, India, in May or June 1765. The Kindersleys then travelled on to Pondicherry (Puducherry), Madras (Chennai) and finally Calcutta (Kolkata), which they reached in August 1765. After a year in Calcutta, the family began a nine-month voyage up the Ganges, passing through Mongheir (Munger), Patna, and Benaras (Varanasi) before finally arriving at Allahabad in June 1767. Nine months was spent at Allahabad, an important administrative centre for the Mughal Empire which had only recently come under East India Company control. In April 1768 the family returned to Calcutta, travelling back down the Ganges. At some point in late 1768, Jemima and Nathaniel Edward then departed India, with Nathaniel remaining behind: the departure was probably motivated by Jemima’s ill health and by the desire to have Nathaniel Edward educated in Britain, as was common practice for Anglo-Indian families in this era. Their voyage home took in the island of St Helena in the South Atlantic, which they visited in February 1769. Kindersley’s later published narrative ends at this point, without recording when they subsequently reached England. Nathaniel Kindersley died in India in 1769, leaving Jemima financially straitened. This may have been one motivation behind Kindersley’s decision to publish Letters from the Island of Teneriffe, Brazil, the Cape of Good Hope, and the East Indies, which was printed by J. Nourse in 1777. However, the gap between Nathaniel’s death and the volume’s appearance, along with the nature of the account and Kindersley’s subsequent writings, suggests publication was not solely driven by expediency; clearly Kindersley had a strong intellectual interest in Indian history and culture, and a desire to contribute to contemporary knowledge and debate. Kindersley was also probably inspired to some extent by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s Turkish Embassy Letters, which had been published posthumously in 1763. The success of Montagu’s Letters encouraged other women to take up 19

J E M I M A K I N D E R S L E Y, L E T T E R S ( 1 7 7 7 )

travel writing; however, the handful of female-authored travelogues that appeared between 1763 and 1777 all related domestic or European itineraries. Kindersley’s Letters therefore stood out by virtue of their more far-flung, exotic destination. For the Critical Review, accordingly, while ‘the Letters of female travellers are now become not unusual productions’, Kindersley’s volume was ‘the only instance . . . we remember to have seen under the name of a female voyager’.1 In this ‘uncommon situation’, the reviewer suggested, ‘Mrs Kindersley appears to great advantage’, and her Letters were praised for their ‘judicious observations’ and for ‘communicat[ing] much information in an easy and agreeable manner’.2 The Monthly Review was more circumspect, suggesting that Kindersley offered ‘few material facts not to be met with in the narrative of former voyagers’ and that she lacked ‘that philosophical penetration so desirable in travellers’. However, it also judged that she ‘relate[d] a variety of amusing particulars with much ease and simplicity; and with every mark of fidelity’.3 For the London Review of English and Foreign Literature, meanwhile, Kindersley displayed ‘good sense, ingenuity, and judicious reflection’ in her ‘sensible and amusing letters’.4 A more hostile response came from a Cambridge cleric, Reverend Henry Hodgson. Writing firstly in a series of letters to the London Chronicle, then in a pamphlet, he somewhat bizarrely accused Kindersley of being too generous in her depiction of Catholicism in Brazil.5 Hodgson’s animadversions notwithstanding, the success of Letters seems given Kindersley an entrée to metropolitan literary and intellectual circles, and in 1781 she published An Essay on the Characters, the Manners, and the Understanding of Women in Different Ages. This was a translation of Antoine Léonard Thomas’ Essai sur le caractère, les moeurs et l’esprit des femmes dans les differents siècles (1772), to which Kindersley also added two short essays of her own on the status and conditions of women in different cultures.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5

Critical Review 43 (1777), p. 439. Ibid., pp. 439, 442. Monthly Review 57 (1777), p. 243. London Review of English and Foreign Literature 6 (1777), pp. 37, 44. H. Hodgson, Letters to Mrs Kindersley (Lincoln: W. Wood, 1778).

20

Frontispiece.

An Apartment in a Zanannah.

L E T T E R S F R O M

THE ISLAND OF TENERIFFE, B

R

A

Z

I

L,

THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE, AND

T H E E A S T I N D I E S.

B y M r s . K I N D E R S L E Y.

L O N D O N, PRINTED FOR J. NOURSE, IN THE STRAND, BOOKSELLER TO HIS MAJESTY. MDCCLXXVl1.

L E T T E R I. Santa Cruz, Isle of Teneriffe,1 June 1764. NOW begin to fulfill the promise I made, of giving you2 a particular account of whatsoever I should observe, worthy of notice, either in the course of my voyage, or during my residence in India. We arrived here after three weeks sail from the Downs,3 the wind being uncommonly fair. Notwithstanding the short time we had been at sea, every individual on board seemed as much delighted at the sight of land, as if all his cares were at an end, and he should never again be distressed by sea-sickness, or the other inconveniences attendant on a voyage. The land being in most parts very high, we had the pleasure of observing it at a great distance, appearing at first like clouds, and afterwards like a ridge of mountains, with the Peak,4 which is conical, and of an astonishing height, towering above the rest. The Canary islands, of which there are seven, are all subject to the king of Spain; this is the largest except one, which is called Grand Canaria.5 A French ship driven amongst these islands by a storm, gave the first account of them in Europe, about the year 1330, and the reduction6 of them was attempted by some Spaniards in about 1337, but the people who landed were all taken prisoners by the natives.7 About thirty years after, the Spaniards made a descent on Lancerota,8 and by degrees made themselves masters of that island, and the five others; at last they took possession of Teneriffe, and brought all the inhabitants over to the Christian Faith. It was not without much difficulty, and after various attempts, that the Spaniards took this island: the natives defended themselves with great bravery, at the same time that they treated the Spaniards with humanity; but at length the numbers of the Spaniards prevailed, and the natives submitted to their government, and became Christians. The entire reduction of Teneriffe, which finished the conquest of the Canary islands, was effected in the year 1495; when the Spaniards built a fort at this port, which they called Santa Cruz, and the town is called by the same name. On the plains of Laguna they likewise built a city, and called it the city of Laguna, or Saint de la Laguna.9

I

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Santa Cruz consists of two or three streets, which are broad, but remarkably ill-paved; the houses are all white on the outside; those belonging to the principal people are large, and the different apartments, which are all up stairs, are built round a court or square, with a gallery on all sides leading to the rooms, which are mostly spacious, but are calculated more for coolness than for shew: The windows are not glazed but latticed, which give the houses, both on the in and outside, a mean appearance. But the lattices have these two conveniencies, they admit the air, and give the ladies an opportunity of looking out without being seen. The walls are white, and the doors, &c. without paint or ornament; which altogether convey to the mind of a person just come from England, an idea of rooms not quite finished. The houses of the common people are very mean, with a look of much poverty. Even the churches are mean, and the priests though few, seemingly poor and humble. The number of inhabitants on the island are computed to be 96000. The governor and officers are appointed by the king of Spain; the inhabitants are all Spanish subjects, and the Europeans call themselves Spaniards; some are really from Spain, others born here of Spanish parents; but a far greater number are descendants of Irish Roman Catholic families10 who about the end of the last century found it necessary to seek in this island that liberty and protection which their own country, at that period, did not afford them. The original natives of this island were called Guanches.11 The account which the Spaniards give of them, is, that their ancestors found them almost in a state of nature, without laws or religion, and unable to give any account of their origin. It has been conjectured by some, that they were emigrants from Carthage.12 The Spaniards call them Moors,13 but what is their reason for giving them that appellation I know not. These Moors, the descendants of the Guanches, are mostly labourers and servants; they are much darker than the Spaniards, have lively black eyes, long black hair, and remarkable fine teeth. I am, &c.

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L E T T E R II. Santa Cruz, June 1764. LTHOUGH Teneriffe is only three weeks sail from England, the whole appearance and manner of the people and things is so different, that it seems to us quite another world; the religion, dress, address, houses, cookery, &c. are so very different. It is, in short, a poor Roman Catholic country, which are every where pretty much the same, making a proper allowance for the solemnity of the Spaniards, which differs from the softness of the Italians, and the forward complaisance of the French. The Spaniards are less known to their neighbours than the people of any other great nation, because they do not travel much, and their own country is but little visited by strangers;14 The first cause (it must be confessed) is a proof that they have little desire of improvement, and the second, that their neighbours do not believe there is much to be learned from them. However, wedded as they are to their ancient customs and superstitions, I am still of opinion, that, were they better known to us, we might find, that, in a balance of virtues and vices, they would stand as good a chance to preponderate in the right scale, as most of their neighbours. There is one part of the national character, over which charity would wish to throw a veil; but alas! the persecutions in America will ever be remembered;15 although perhaps we are mistaken in the motive, and attribute that to avarice and a cruelty of temper which is occasioned by a blind superstition and religious enthusiam. In all points, except religion and jealousy, no people can shew more mildness of manners, kind in the greatest degree to their domestics,16 whom they treat almost as their children. The common people are not laborious,17 but that defect seems to be compensated for by their being contented with a little, their abstemiousness, the sobriety and regularity of their lives. The pride which the Spaniards are accused of, although it is not without a dash of vanity, is mostly of that sort which makes people ashamed of unworthy actions; and they are remarkable for a high sense of honour, and a strict regard to their word. But above all other virtues, they seem to lay a stress upon the duty and obedience of children to their parents, particularly their mothers; and they go so far as to say, that, if there could be a man amongst them undutiful in this point, he would be shuned as a monster.

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L E T T E R III. Santa Cruz, June 1764. INCE my last, I have made a little excursion, which was pleasing on account of its novelty, both as to the objects which presented themselves, and my manner of performing it; than which nothing can be more ridiculous. Fancy that you see me meekly riding upon an ass, which is the way all ladies are obliged to travel here, on account of commotions in the earth18 which have happened formerly, and have thrown up such prodigious heaps of large stones in some places, and sunk the ground so much in others, that it is impossible for a carriage to move, and extremely dangerous to venture on horseback; therefore the ladies all ride upon asses, and the men on mules: two cross sticks are fixed on the neck of the animal, and two behind, with a cushion laid between, by which means one sits almost as if in a carriage, and a man leads the ass. Our journey was to Laguna, usually called the city: which is a pretty large town, and regularly built, but quite unornamented, and silent as the night. Many of the principal people at Santa Cruz have houses there, which they go to by way of retirement from business. Laguna is about five miles from the sea, the road to it, if it can be called a road, is all the way up hill, in some parts steep, craggy, incumbered with pieces of loose rock, and of a most barren appearance; notwithstanding which, one sees here and there a scattered vineyard, which thrives amongst the stones. As soon as we arrived at the city, we found ourselves in another climate; instead of the heat, which at Santa Cruz is very great, it is there so cool that we walked in the sun at mid-day with pleasure, and the air was fresh and perfectly agreeable. Laguna stands on an eminence, and Santa Cruz in a valley; but, after allowing for these circumstances, and the accidental difference of soil, &c. the change appears to me to be greater, than with all these allowances one could possibly suppose within the distance of five miles. Our curiosity was soon satisfied, as Laguna does not contain any remarkable beauties, either of art or nature: the principal church is decorated with images of the Virgin, and a few paintings in a tawdry stile. – But what I had the greatest desire to see was a nunnery; a nunnery must surely be a charming place, at least to look at. Thither the young and beautiful retire, they renounce the pleasures, the cares, and the follies of the world! they spend their lives in piety, in praise of their Maker, in innocence! they exert their ingenuity in beautiful works of fancy; they repose themselves in the shady bowers of their delightful gardens. For policy, knowing that they have relinquished every tender tie of duty, of friendship, and of love, has endeavoured, by the commodiousness of their retirement, to soften their sense of the confinement. Impressed then as I was with this idea of spacious gardens, magnificent buildings, and beautiful virgins; how great was my disappointment! to find the buildings mean, dirty, and confined, the Nuns old and very plain. They talked to us through the grates19 with great civility, and presented us with some trifling flowers of their making.

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We found one English woman among the nuns, who served as interpreter, though indeed not a very good one, for as she came here in her youth, and is now grown old without having occasion to speak her native language, she has partly forgot it. – She would not acknowledge, that any one after taking the veil20 ever repented of it; and, upon some of the English gentlemen seeming to doubt her, made use of this remarkable expression, No, no! they must not repent of it. In short, she expressed herself happy in her situation, with how much sincerity I shall not pretend to determine. By her account, the life of a nun differs little from that of a girl at school; and the Abbess is a sort of Governess; they are obliged to conform punctually to the hours of rising, dining, prayer, &c. shut up with the same companions constantly, whether pleasing or disagreeable; with the addition of this most dreadful reflection, that death only can release them.

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L E T T E R IV. Santa Cruz, June 1764. T seems as if the Spaniards themselves began to be sensible of very bad consequences, from shutting young girls up from the world; for the court of Madrid has lately published a decree (which extends likewise to these islands) forbiding any woman to take the veil till the age of twenty-five;21 a considerable change, in a country where every innovation is regarded by the people as an attempt to overturn the ancient form of government; and the more to be wondered at, as such a change must, for obvious reasons, be very disagreeable to the Clergy. The monasteries are as mean and miserable as the nunneries.—I believe no protestant ever saw a monastery, without reflecting as I do now, on the indolence and inutility of a monastic life, and the folly of its mortifications. I should suppose, that Monks will be as numerous amongst the Spaniards as amongst any people, since it favours both their pride and their indolence, two qualities which I believe no country in Europe will pretend to dispute with them. After we had visited the nuns, we took a ride without the city, in order to have a better view of the famous Peak; here our eyes were suddenly delighted with the sight of a little verdant plain, a beauty in nature which is always delightful, but incomparably more so, when the eye has been fatigued with barrenness; the Peak is at the distance of near sixty miles, but from its amazing height one appears to be close under it; it is a dark brown rock, much the shape of a sugar-loaf,22 only that its height is greater in proportion to its breadth, so that its ascent is almost perpendicular; the Spaniards assert, that it is three miles in height, and that those who had been hardy enough to climb to the top of it, have found it the labour of three days: It is not at present a Volcano, and the inhabitants seem to sleep in as perfect security, as if it never had thrown out any eruptions, although according to tradition, it is not more than seventy years since the country was despoiled by the vast quantities of sulphur and melted ore which issued from it;23 and no doubt, from the present barren, rocky, and desolate appearance of great part of the island, the commotions of the earth must likewise have been very terrible. The coast supplies the inhabitants with fish in abundance, and notwithstanding the appearance of the country, provisions of all sorts are in sufficient plenty; likewise fruits such as are usual in hot climates, figs, plantaines or bananas, lemons, almonds, grapes, &c. A considerable quantity of wine, known by the name of the country, is made annually and exported; it is something like Madeira,24 but not quite so good, although I believe it sometimes passes for it.

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L E T T E R V. Santa Cruz, June 1764. HE excessive obedience of sons to their mothers, although it is an admirable quality amongst the Spaniards, is nevertheless, not without its inconveniencies, even to the women; for although it makes them of more consequence in old age, it makes them less happy and independent in youth and the prime of life. Almost every family has a mother, aunt, or some sage matron, who is the oracle, and no woman is thought at years of discretion before she is grey headed: thus a young woman, when she marries, only passes from one tutelage to another; from the direction of her own relations, to that of her husband’s. The excess of this national virtue, seems to account for the horror the Castilians and other Spaniards conceived at the Emperor Charles the Fifth; for although Johanah was absolutely in a state of lunacy, the Spaniards could not prevail on themselves to exclude her from the throne:25 And Charles’s imprudence (and perhaps not knowing the disposition of the Spaniards) in suffering himself to be proclaimed King in the life-time of his mother, appeared to them so very impious, that nothing but his own good fortune could have obviated the difficulties it occasioned. The ladies at Teneriffe lead the most retired lives imaginable, they very seldom leave their own houses, except going to church, and even there a young one does not venture without some elderly lady to attend her; no one ever goes out in the day-time without a veil; the veil is exactly like two petticoats sewed together made of black serge,26 the one serves as an upper petticoat, and the other comes over the head, so that the woman is entirely covered by it, except a little over one eye, which is left open for her to guide herself by. Notwithstanding the retiredness of their lives, the Senioras of Teneriffe are possessed of the most agreeable vivacity, which fully compensates for their want of beauty, and makes them exceedingly pleasing; their lively black eyes are expressive of their tempers; they have mostly long black hair, which they braid, and let it hang down their backs like a queue,27 without any head-dress; their complexions are very dark, and features not pleasing.—The dress is a jacket and petticoat with extreme stiff stays,28 and yet none of them are crooked; they have earrings, bracelets, and crosses; the jewels they esteem are emeralds and the oriental pearl.29— They perfume themselves exceedingly high, and some of them paint.30 Besides the law I mentioned relative to the Nuns, the king of Spain has issued out another order, which likewise concerns the women. It is that no one shall appear in Madrid after it is dark with a veil, the spirit of intrigue which the Spaniards have always been famous for has made this necessary. The ladies in this place, although not obliged, conform to it as a new fashion; therefore when they walk by moonlight, which is indeed the only time for walking, they wear a little cloak.

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L E T T E R VI. Bay of St. Salvador, Coast of Brazil, Aug. 1764. T is with the greatest pleasure in the world I now sit down to tell you, that after a long, dangerous, and uncomfortable voyage from Teneriffe, we are at last arrived safe in the bay of St. Salvador, otherwise Bahia,31 on the coast of Brazil, and hope soon to be on shore. I am mortified at being obliged to stay till the captain’s return, being already informed that I must not leave the ship till I have obtained leave from the Governor. Several Portuguese gentlemen are come on board by the governor’s order, two or three civilians, an officer of the army, a doctor, and a French surgeon: The two last to examine whether any contagious disorders are amongst the crew. The others to enquire the number of troops, the articles of trade, the captain’s motive for making this port, &c. &c. all which they do in a manner which shews them to be distrustful and suspicious. They have either a very bad opinion of the English, or are not very honourable and sincere themselves. In the mean while we have received from the shore, such fruit as the cold climate of England never can produce, and it is doubly welcome to people who have seen none for a long time. My impatience to be on shore is increased by the appearance of the town, which at this distance looks delightful. The part we see of it stands upon the side of a steep hill, with streets of white houses one above another, intermixed in some parts with small plantations of sugar canes, which, from the reflection of the sun, in these unclouded skies, have a very beautiful effect. Perhaps the having been deprived of the sight of land for some time, may add to its charms; but I really think I never saw a more beautiful landscape. The reflection of heat from the land on all sides of the bay, together with the burning sun, make every part of the ship like an oven. Until I have the pleasure to address you from the shore, I remain, &c.

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 L E T T E R VII. St. Salvador, Aug. 1764. AM not a woman of much penetration, otherwise I should have known that things are not always what they seem; and I should have been less surprised, at finding that the nearer we came to St. Salvador, the less delightful it appeared; like many other things, which please only when viewed at a distance; as we rowed nearer the town, the houses which at the distance of a league looked so shining white, lost all their beauty; the dirt they are covered with became visible, the clumsy wooden windows, doors, and lattices, without the ornament of paint, grew more distinct, the want of elegance in the tout ensemble32 disgusted, and in short the delusion vanished.

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I am lodged at the house of the French surgeon I mentioned: he is married to a Portuguese native. I much fear I shall not enjoy the respite from ship-board as I wish, on account of the very disagreeable confinement I am under, in this most suspicious, most unhospitable government. Ever since I have been on shore, I have been followed and attended by an officer and a soldier, so much that I cannot walk out of one room into another, without being followed by them; the first night I came on shore, they slept in the passage adjoining to my room, but have since relaxed so much of their severity, as to go home at night, and return in the morning. I have complained of this attendance, but without being able to obtain redress. I am told that it is a compliment, and to prevent my being affronted: But it does not require much penetration to discover that it is to prevent my going to the nunneries, of which they are exceedingly jealous, or becoming acquainted with any of their women; what danger they apprehend from it, is beyond my comprehension. Fortunately I am in no danger either of corrupting my landlady, or of gaining any intelligence from her, for she speaks no language but her own, which I do not understand a word of. But amongst these Portuguese, where I little expected such a satisfaction, I have the pleasure to meet with one English woman: Her father was a merchant at Lisbon,33 and a Roman Catholic: at Lisbon she married a Portuguese gentleman, who, with his family, is since come to settle here; the good lady was rejoiced to find one of her country women come to the place, and her husband waited on the Governor, to beg leave for me to reside at his house; but was answered, that two English women in one house was too much. But what is still more extraordinary, I did not see her till two or three days after I came on shore, and the reason was, she waited the Governor’s permission to make me a visit. Good heavens! what a government is this to live under! these things astonish us, who are not satisfied even with liberty.  L E T T E R VIII. St. Salvador, Aug. 1764. Y desire of communicating to you my observations on whatever I see, has made me very attentive to the customs and government of this country, but indeed with very little success; for the inhospitable disposition of the Portuguese to strangers, gives one but little opportunity of making observations; and their suspicious tempers, do not leave one at free liberty to enquire. The people are all called Portuguese, of whom some are descended from those who settled here when Portugal first took possession of this coast,34 and their numbers have since been constantly increasing by families from the mother country, who are allured by the hope of enriching themselves.

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They come here with a different view to what English people have when they quit their native country for any foreign settlement: We always flatter ourselves with hopes of returning home again, but these generally settle themselves and families for generations, and look upon it as their future home. If they are satisfied, it is well; if not, it is doubly hard, on account of the difficulty attending their return. No inhabitant being allowed to leave the place without an express order from Portugal; the obtaining of which is attended with such infinite trouble and length of time, as make it amount almost to an impossibility. Any foreigner who once takes up his residence here, finds it equally difficult to return: I believe they have very few foreigners but those they have seduced from ships which touch at the port. Several poor unhappy English fellows are here for the remainder of their wretched lives, which they languish out in poverty and contempt, and are watched with such particular caution whenever any foreign ship arrives here, as makes their escape impracticable. You will easily conceive from this attention to keep every person from departing, that it is not a desirable country to live in. The government is in itself a most extraordinary one: I know not whether to call it ecclesiastical, civil, or military: here are three who are said to have an equal share in the government, viz. a Bishop, a Colonel, and a Civil Layman.35 As they keep foreigners so much at a distance, it is impossible to tell which is the head; all we know is, that whenever any application is made for necessaries of provision or accommodation; if they are granted at all, it is with much delay and difficulty; under pretence that the Colonel cannot do it because the Governor is out of town, or the Governor cannot do it because the Colonel is absent, or both these together can do nothing without the Bishop. Therefore if any stranger is plundered or cheated, as the Portuguese are the greatest thieves upon earth, no redress can be obtained, from the chicanery I have mentioned. But by whatever name they may call the form of government, the church appears to carry all before it; the liberties the priests take, are abominably insolent and oppressive, they come into any house they please, dine and sup without invitation; dictate in conversation, and are admitted into the private apartments of the women, which does not seem to suit with the natural jealousy of the Portuguese, who in other respects appear to be very suspicious of their wives and daughters, seldom allowing them to be in company, or with their knowledge, to be seen by any other men, unless they are relations. I am told, that this town alone does not contain less than three thousand religious, of different orders. No court of inquisition is kept here,36 but many inquisitors, who take cognizance of any misdemeanors, and confine and send to Portugal, any persons accused of spiritual crimes. America has ever been the rendezvous of the Jesuits, and many are still in Brazil, notwithstanding the king has had resolution enough to banish them from Portugal.37 The next in authority to the religious, are the military: a man trembles at the sight of a soldier in his house, and is obliged to treat every private man with as much respect and deference as if he was his master. 34

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And yet, what is very extraordinary, these soldiers, who are so formidable to the inhabitants, are no more than a sort of militia,38 who in general follow different trades, both men and officers. But on the arrival of any foreign ship, an extraordinary number of them are put upon duty, and dressed in their uniforms, which is blue turned up with red. However little reason an enemy might have to fear these men of war, they are sufficiently feared by their fellow citizens. So that between the subtle wiles of the priests, and the open violence of the military, the simple inhabitant must live in a wretched state of awe and dependence. We have amused ourselves since we came here, in seeing the town, and visiting the churches: The town is large and populous, and the upper part of it is pleasant and airy, consisting of many good streets, broad and clean; the houses are large, but very ill-finished, and of a mean appearance; all that part of the town next the sea, the streets are narrow and dirty, full of mean looking shops, and crouded with negro slaves of both sexes. The people of any fashion all live up stairs, and the ground floors are made use of as shops, warehouses, &c. The houses are not more elegant in the apartments than the outsides. The first floor generally consists of two or three large rooms, and always a small bed-room in the middle, so situated, as to receive no light but from the others, consequently quite dark when the doors are shut. Above these are the apartments of the children and slaves. As to furniture, the once whited walls are generally adorned with prints of our Saviour and the Virgin in strong wooden frames, a couch, a few wooden chairs, and a crucifix finishes the apartment. And yet they have jewels, and gold, and silver, and many slaves; but the arts do not flourish amongst them, and taste and elegance in furniture and equipage39 is unknown: besides, where the greatest security is in poverty, every one fears to make an appearance, which might subject him to persecution. The only buildings worthy observation are the churches, which are numerous, some of them large and superb, and by being unincumbered with pews, the double row of pillars have a very fine effect, and give the whole choir an open airy appearance which our churches can never have: they are kept in the neatest order, and adorned, particularly the altars, with carving, paintings, and gilding; with candlesticks and ornaments of gold and silver to a vast expence. In one of the churches, I was shewn two superb images of our Saviour and the Virgin larger than life, they are kept in a separate apartment richly dressed, and have several priests to attend them, who were so civil as to open all their drawers, and shew me the rich embroidered cloaths, and fine jewels, with which these goodly images are decked upon solemn occasions. The convents attached to the churches are likewise handsome buildings, with porticoes and cloisters, where the priests have their separate apartments, in which they enjoy all the luxuries of life. In short, these proud lazy pampered priests are a direct contrast to the poor, humble, mortified Monks of Teneriffe. The priests certainly have some reason to value themselves, for all the little learning of the country is centered in them: This rich and populous place does not 35

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afford one academy of any kind; reading and writing is the usual education of the youth, if to this is added a little Portuguese Latin, the boy is fit for a Bishop. It is surprising, that in a country so nearly connected with a kingdom in Europe, as this is with Portugal, the arts and sciences should be so utterly unknown. The paintings, &c. which they have in the churches, are from Europe: The inhabitants seem to have very little idea of the elegancies of life; they spend their time in great indolence, and knowledge is shut out from them, by their being allowed to read very few books which can give them information. It is the policy of the government to keep the people in ignorance, which makes them more docile under an arbitrary sway. Knowledge of the laws and customs of different countries, the blessing of a moderate government, and indeed learning in general, is apt to inspire people with a confidence in thinking, which makes them sensible of every oppression they labour under. They compare their own laws, and the impartiality with which they are put in execution, with those of other countries; and sometimes, if they are under a happy government, are sensible of the blessing; but if not, are always sure to be sensible of its defects. Corruption in the state, is naturally followed by corruption in the minds of the people: the more they are actuated by the principle of fear, the less they have of honour; and the more difficulty they find in obtaining justice, the greater will be their craft and dishonesty; until every man looks upon his neighbour with an eye of suspicion and distrust. It is amusing, and at the same time melancholy, to reflect on the extraordinary rise and fall of particular nations; Portugal, whose commerce and navigation once extended itself over both Indies;40 and who set the example to all Europe, to explore the riches, and form settlements in the East, is now so sunk, that one can scarcely believe the present race to be descendants of those who lived some ages since.—All history does not furnish a more remarkable instance of national virtue and resolution, than the manner of the Portuguese throwing off the Spanish yoke.41 When one considers the great number of people of all ranks intrusted with the Duke of Braganza’s intention,42 and the long time they had to keep it secret; let a change have been ever so necessary for the public good, or the burthen to individuals ever so grievous, it is nevertheless extraordinary, that either fear of punishment, or hope of reward, should not induce some of them to betray the secret.

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L E T T E R IX. Saint Salvador, August 1764. LTHOUGH I am not permitted to visit the nunneries, Mrs. R.43 has been so kind as to carry me to a private Convent, where I saw several young women dressed like Nuns. One amongst them I could not help particularly observing; she was the picture of sorrow. I naturally enquired what was the cause, and heard a story, which shews the dreadful power of the inquisition, and how little property, or even life, is secure, in a country where such a tribunal, or any of its ministers are permitted. Her father, said she, was a worthy good man; but he was very rich, and it happened to be known that he was so: The inquisitors, without letting him or his friends know what was his crime, pretended that he had been accused of heresy; they seized him, took possession of his house, &c.; and his family, not knowing whether he is sent to Portugal, whether he is confined here, or certainly whether he is dead or alive, are ever since in a state of anxiety between hope and fear. We are shocked with the frequent accounts we hear of murders. If a Portutuguese has received any injury or affront, he cannot as in England have recourse to the laws to do him justice; the church interferes in every thing, and the thunder of the inquisition perverts the natural course of justice, but revenge! bloody revenge! soon or late, is sure to follow. The offended person watches his adversary, till some time or other he finds him alone, unarmed, and in the dark; then, either with his own hand, or by the hand of an assassin, which a little money will procure, he stabs him in the back, and then takes sanctuary at the altar of some church; where confession and alms procure his pardon: there he is as secure from being brought to punishment, as if he was not in the country. If his friends can procure his pardon, he in a short time appears in the world again as before; if not, he turns priest, and is received into the body of the church as a true penitent.

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 L E T T E R X. St. Salvador, Aug. 1764. FTER what I have said of the general character of the men of this place, you will not expect to hear much in praise of the women; brought up in indolence, and their minds uncultivated, their natural quickness shews itself in cunning. As their male relations do not place any confidence in their virtue, they in return use their utmost art to elude the vigilance with which they are observed; and, to speak the most favourably, a spirit of intrigue reigns amongst them. Were I to tell you what the darkness of the evening conceals, amongst such as are not to be seen in the day but in a church, it would look like a libel on the sex. Many of them, when they are quite young, have delicate features and persons, but there is a certain yellow tint in their complexions which is disagreeable, and beside they look old very early in life.

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The dress is calculated for a hot climate; the best-dressed woman I have seen, had on a chintz petticoat,44 a flowered muslin shift,45 with deep ruffles, and a tucker46 of the same sewed upon it, without any stays or gown, but a large sash of crimson velvet, thrown round and round her waist. Her hair was braided behind, and fastened up with a great many combs; she had drops in her ears,47 and her hair was ornamented with a sort of egret,48 or rather a large lump of massive gold, embossed and set with diamonds; on her neck were several rows of small gold chain; and on her arms she had bracelets of gold of great thickness, and each of them wide enough for two. A pair of slippers like the sash, completed the dress.  L E T T E R XI. St. Salvador. Sept. 1764. INCE the conclusion of my last, we obtained leave to go a few miles into the country, for we dared not go without, and then not without our attendants. We were much delighted with our little excursion, which afforded us a view of a rich, fruitful, and beautiful, though almost uncultivated, country. After going for some time through cool shady lanes, which terminated in an open airy plain, we had a most pleasing view of the sea. Little rural cottages are scattered about the country, and gardens with variety of fruits, plantains, melons, tamarinds, limes, citrons, lemons, sweet lemons, pomgranates, water melons, and lofty trees bending under the weight of oranges, a fruit which are here in the greatest plenty and perfection: a particular species of them are four times as large as those you have from Spain and Portugal, have no seeds, and are of a delicious flavour. The husbandman’s labour is little required, in a soil and climate like this, where the richest fruits of the earth grow almost spontaneously. How much did we enjoy the freshness of the evening air! which in this hot town we are deprived of in the day time, and the delightful shade of the wide spreading trees, a pleasure which can be known in its full extent only in these climates, where the sultry heat of the sun is intolerable! The clearness and brightness of the sky add indeed to the beauty of a prospect, and throw a double gloom upon the shade. But in your cold frozen clime, the glorious sun is always welcome, seldom too powerful, and too often absent. Further distant in the country, chiefly along the sea coast, are large plantations of sugar and tobacco, which belong to the Portuguese, who reside at St. Salvador; each of them employs a great number of slaves. But it is not the tobacco, or the sugar, or the fertility of the earth, which have brought christian adventurers here; but the riches which the bowels of the earth contain, and which these Indians49 value not. The diamond mines all belong to the king, and are a great source of his riches; although the diamonds are esteemed not quite so fine as those of Golconda,50 having something of a yellow cast: here are likewise some amethysts, and a great number of topazes, which are to be bought exceedingly cheap.

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I don’t know whether it is, that the soil or climate is not proper for corn, or whether the inhabitants are too indolent to cultivate it; but it is certain, that the Portuguese do not grow near enough to supply their own tables; but eat Cassada pulverized, they call it farinna de Pao, which is literally powder of post,51 and a most proper name; for it has no kind of taste, but feels in the mouth like chaff; it is not made into bread, but stands upon the table in a dish. As it is not customary to trust foreigners with horses, we were obliged to go our little excursion in chairs,52 and these being as extraordinary as any thing I have seen in the country, I shall endeavour to describe them. They are of an oblong make, one pole is fixed before and one behind, the top and bottom are fastened together by the pieces of wood to which the poles are sized, and no other woodwork round it, but curtains from top to bottom made of camblet and lined with bays,53 calculated, one would suppose, rather for the frigid than the torrid zone;54 at the back part is a little seat about the breadth of two hands; I suppose those who are used to them, can sit very well; but between the narrowness of the seat, and the motion of the chair, a stranger is in danger of being thrown out at every step. The chair is carried by two negro slaves on their shoulders; at every step the foremost gives a groan, which the other answers: this helps to make them keep an equal pace; but it is a melancholy disagreeable noise, and when we first came on shore, hearing the slaves, who were in parties, carrying any thing from one place to another, utter these kind of moans, we thought they were oppressed with burthens beyond their strength; which excited in us much pity for the slaves, and accordingly great contempt for their masters. I must not omit giving you an account of a wonderful creature, which the Portuguese are constantly talking of, and insist upon my believing: Their account is as follows; that a creature of the serpent kind,55 which is found in low marshy ground, chiefly along the borders of rivers, is so large that it will swallow a bullock whole; the method is this, it begins at the tail of the beast, and licks it all over with its tongue, the strength of which, and the uncommon quality of the saliva, is such, that it breaks every bone, and makes the whole carcase soft and glutinous, by which means the serpent sucks down a creature much larger than itself. They add likewise that a great many human lives are lost by these serpents, for whenever any man is so unfortunate as to be within sight of one of them, it is impossible for him to make his escape: I have no great faith in these my informers, but I must observe, that Don Ulloa,56 whom I esteem a good authority, mentions in his voyage, creatures which answer to this description.

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L E T T E R XII. St. Salvador, Sept. 1764. Fear that whatever I have yet said of the Portuguese on this coast, shews them to have more vices than virtues; therefore I am happy before I leave them, to observe to their honour, that in the midst of all their vices, they have shewed great humanity, as well as policy, in their treatment of the original natives57 in this country, whom they have left a free though conquered people; they are not either servants or slaves, but are mostly retired to the interior parts of the country, where they are governed by their own laws, and exercise their own religion—The Portuguese, in this, have not followed the cruel example of their neighbors the Spaniards; whose religious zeal has carried them to the height of barbarity: the methods they have taken to make the Americans in that part of the country they have conquered, embrace the christian religion, is a disgrace not only to christianity, but to human nature.—The Portuguese have missionaries dispersed throughout the country: and it is not, they say, very unusual for the natives to become Christians; but when they do, it is not by compulsion. All the servants both men and women are slaves, brought from Africa, of the negro kind; by nature disagreeable, but often rendered still more so, by frightful marks on their faces, made by their parents when they are young;58 they are all made christians as soon as bought, and it is amazing to see the effect the pageantry of the Roman Catholic religion has upon their uninformed minds; they are as devout as the common people in our cities are prophane; constant at their worship, obedient to their preceptors without scruple, and inspired with all the enthusiasm of devotion; the gilded pomp, the solemnity of processions, the mysterious rites, the fear as well as admiration of their ghostly fathers, all conspire to render them so. From the warm and steady devotion of the common people here, it has often occurred to me, that the plain good sense of the protestant worship, so well calculated for those who can distinguish the substance from the shadow, is much wanting in that glare and shew, which catches the eye, and leads the imagination of the vulgar. Confession itself, was it not abused, is an excellent institution;59 and were the Roman Catholic priests to take as much care of the morals of their flock, as they do to attach them to the church, they would be the most virtuous common people in the world. It must seem strange, that whatever subject I begin a letter upon, it generally slides into religion before I finish it: but it cannot be otherwise, where the forms of religion encompass every thing, where one half of the people are governed by superstition, and the other half make use of it to govern with. May you enjoy long life, in that country, where men profess less zeal, and practise more virtue.

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L E T T E R XIII. Cape of Good Hope,60 Nov. 1764. Have now the pleasure to address you from a place which travellers have spoken of in the highest terms, and indeed not without some reason. For, besides the great conveniencies, refreshments, and good accommodations to be met with here, I think every one must be pleased with the town, which has all the regularity and neatness usual amongst the Dutch:61 the streets are all parallel to each other; and there is one large square with trees planted round, and a canal of water from springs running down: the houses are very good, and have a neat appearance on the outside; which altogether make it a very pretty town, and, some few circumstances excepted, equal in neatness and conveniences to any of our sea-ports in England. The governor’s garden, as it is called, is a very large garden belonging to the Dutch East India Company,62 where strangers, and sometimes the inhabitants, walk by way of mall:63 the method this is laid out in appears something extraordinary. In the middle, is one very long broad walk, planted on each side with oaks, which stand very close, and the boughs spread in such a manner as to have exactly the appearance of espaliers,64 which, although tall for such ornament, are short for oaks; the rest of the garden is divided into squares, and planted on each side the walks in the same manner; within the squares is a vast variety of plants of all countries and climates, to which the oaks are an excellent defence from the high winds, as well as a great shelter to people walking. At the end of the grand walk are iron rails, which give view into an inclosure, in which one sees several extraordinary beasts and birds; the governor has a very curious collection,65 and most of them natives of the country; amongst the beasts, are the zebra, or wild ass, elks, tigers,66 leopards, wolves, &c. In one part of the garden, a little detached, is a pretty good house, called the garden house: this is always kept ready to accommodate any of their governors passing to and from India:67 English governors, admirals, commanders in chief, &c. are complimented with living in it while they stay. The Dutch, who value themselves much upon being good gardeners, shew that sort of pride no where more than in this country; which being so situated between the extremes of heat and cold, is particularly favourable to vegetation: and produces almost all the fruits, vegetables, and plants, common to both Europe and Asia. The inhabitants themselves say, that there is not a fruit in the world but what grows here; however they are a good deal mistaken, and in this particular, I think travellers who have mentioned the Cape, have said rather too much: Indeed, it is no wonder that any person coming from sea, particularly after having been long in India, and finding the tables covered with such plenty and variety of agreeable fruits, to which they were accustomed in both climates, should be very ready to subscribe to the opinion of this being the most fruitful country in the world. They in general do not stay till the novelty is worn off, or do not consider the subject. If they did, I think they would not attribute the plenty so much to the soil or climate, as to the steady industry of the Dutch: a well-known proof that they are the cause of it, is, that when this Cape was

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in possession of the English,68 they quitted it, because, on account of the barrenness of the country, it was not worth the expence of keeping. But let me observe by way of excuse for my countrymen, that notwithstanding the present plenty, and although smiling vineyards, gardens, and plantations are scattered over many parts of the land, nothing can appear more bleak and barren, than those parts of the country which still remain uncultivated. In many, English oaks are planted in great abundance, which although tall, never grow to be large; as to European fruits, such as apricots, peaches, strawberries, &c. although they are exceedingly plentiful, and very pleasant, they are never so perfect as in England; and oranges, and some other fruits peculiar to warm climates, are very poor. All which I should account for thus; that although, between the industry of the inhabitants, and the uncommon fineness of the climate, an amazing variety of trees, plants, fruits, and vegetables, are produced, the soil itself is too poor to bring some of them to perfection. The finest fruit is the grape, which is extremely large and well flavoured: the vines grow as in most other wine countries in fields like corn, without any support; but on account of the high winds, the vineyards are defended with oaks in the manner I have described in the gardens. The vintage is in autumn, which is about March and April, when a considerable quantity of wine is made; the white they call Cape Madeira, the best red is a sort of Tent.69 The town stands under the shelter of three steep lofty hills, which extend a considerable way into the country: these hills from their shape, are called the Table-land, the Sugar-loaf, and the Lion’s-rump,70 the first of which before a gale of wind, is always covered with a thick cloud, which the people call the devil’s table-cloth; it is an infallible sign, that within twelve hours at most, the wind will blow strong off the land, the wind lasts perhaps for two or three days, when it ceases for a day or two, and then, after the same sign, begins to blow again: it is almost a continual high wind; not however so turbulent, but that that ships ride very safe at anchor nine months in the year in the Bay; which is formed by a little island opposite, called Penguin island.71 In the winter months, which are June, July, and August, any ship which arrives is obliged to put into another bay about eight miles to the eastward of the cape, and called Cape Falso, or False Bay.72 The Dutch are of opinion that the high winds are a great blessing; for say they, the climate is hot, and we stand so very low, that a common breeze could not reach us, and the place would be very unhealthy. As it is, they enjoy a competent share of health, having but few sickly people amongst them; and yet what is very extraordinary, their lives in general do not exceed fifty years, and vast numbers die between forty and fifty, so that a very old man or woman is really a wonder. The small pox when it happens amongst them, which is perhaps once in ten, or seven years, is a most dreadful calamity; the devastation it makes exceeds

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belief; whole families, parents, children, and slaves are sometimes carried off by it: it spreads itself all over the country; and people shut themselves up from their neighbours, to escape the pestilence. The Dutch aver that the climate is particularly unfavorable to the small pox: but I cannot attribute the mortality so much to that cause, as to two others; first, their utter ignorance in managing the disorder; and secondly, the improper state of body they are always in to receive it; being mostly fat gross people, occasioned partly by their diet (for they dress their victuals with a vast quantity of grease and butter, and the children live in the same manner) and partly by their want of exercise, which they use very little of; for altho’ the Dutch are naturally œconomists73 and careful, they are not in this country active, but the labor is left entirely to the slaves. The interior parts of this country, which by all accounts are fine, are seldom visited by travellers: but the Dutch have farms to the distance of many hundred miles. The people who live at them travel every year to the Cape with the produce of their farms, corn, butter, fruits, &c. &c.; they travel in covered waggons with eight horses, and are three or four weeks upon the road. Notwithstanding these people are unprotected, and every family very distant from any of their own country, they live in peace and safety; without any interruption from the Hottentots.74 At the distance of two or three hundred miles up the country are natural hot baths, which the Dutch hold in high esteem for the cure of almost all disorders; but it seems they have ever been fatal to the English who have tried them. Nothing but real necessity, I think, can induce any person to undertake a journey of so much difficulty and fatigue; the only method of getting there is in covered waggons, with very few conveniencies on the road, partly through a wild country which is infested by tigers, leopards, &c. &c. and some danger from slaves escaped from their masters, who have taken shelter in these wilds, and are rendered desperate by their unhappy situation. I am, &c. &c.  L E T T E R XIV. Cape of Good Hope, Dec. 1764. he Cape is an absolute contrast to the last we came from; and having been there, makes us more sensible of the liberty of doing whatever we please, and going wherever we have a mind. The Dutch police75 is admirable! oeconomy, regularity, and decency, are the effects of it. The chief officers are the governor, deputy, or (as they call it) second governor, and the fiscal;76 a very small number of soldiers, commanded by an officer who has the rank of lieutenant-colonel: the governor has been here abundance of

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years, and has raised by slow degrees from a private soldier to his present rank; most of the inhabitants were born here, and here most of them will be buried: not having, in general, either inclination or abilities to go to Europe: they are most of them connected, and doubly connected here, by marriages and intermarriages; they have houses and land, their gains are not sufficient to enable them to return to the mother-country with fortunes; but certain, and sufficient to enable them to live with comfort here, where they are blessed with a moderate government, and a delightful climate. I never was in a place where people seemed to enjoy so much comfort; few are very rich, none miserably poor; great riches would be useless, as they have no means of spending; those who have just the necessaries of life are therewith content, because they never expected more; their ideas and their wants are few, and there is that happy constitutional dullness in the Dutch, which keeps them perfectly satisfied without either business or pleasures to occupy their minds. The women are rather more active: delicacy is not the characteristic of the Dutch females, but they are decent, plump, healthy, and cheerful. Constantia,77 a place visited by all strangers, is a neat Dutch farm, about eight miles from the Cape, remarkable for making very rich wines both red and white, which are much esteemed everywhere, both on account of the richness and scarcity: The grapes, it seems, of this vine-yard, owing to something particular in the soil, are superior to any other in the country.  L E T T E R XV. Cape of Good Hope, Feb. 1765. othing can be more agreeable to the people of this place, than the arrival of an English ship, as it causes a circulation of money, and indeed it is chiefly by the English that most people in the town are supported; not only by taking the Captains, Passengers, &c. to board at their houses, but by furnishing the ships with provision. A great many French ships likewise stop here, and all the Dutch passing to and from India; but for the last they are obliged to provide according to certain prices, stipulated by the Dutch company, and as neither the Dutch or French spend their money so freely as the English, of course they are not so desirable guests. The custom is to pay a rix-dollar78 daily for each person’s board and lodging, for which they are provided with every thing, the tables are plentiful, the houses are clean, and the people obliging, and what makes it extremely comfortable is, that most of them speak English; French is likewise spoken by many; so that foreigners find themselves more at home in this port than can be imagined.

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L E T T E R XVI. Cape of Good Hope, Feb. 1765. The servants of the Dutch, except a very few Hottentots, are all slaves, brought originally from different parts of the East Indies. What seems extraordinary is, that they do not learn to talk Dutch, but the Dutch people learn their dialect, which is called Portuguese; and is a corruption of that language, some of them are called Malays or Malaynese, brought from the country of Malacca, and the islands to the eastward of India,79 subject to the Dutch company.80 These slaves differ from the others in the flatness of their faces, the length of their eyes, and the distance of the eyes from each other; they are likewise less black, but more of a pale yellow. This cast of people are remarkable for the violence of their passions, and are to the utmost degree revengeful; a melancholy instance of their violence has happened lately. One of them being offended with his master, gave himself up to the fury of his passion, and as the term is, run a muck,81 a thing which is not unusual. The first step he took was to intoxicate himself with opium, then letting his long hair loose about him, he sallied out with a knife in his hand, running strait forward to stab every man, woman, child, or animal which he met with. Fortunately, only one person was killed before he was taken; but the execution which followed, was the most cruel that could be invented by the art of man: a lingering death upon the rack, with the application of burning instruments in a manner too shocking to repeat.  L E T T E R XVII. Cape of Good Hope, March, 1765. have purposely deferred giving you any account of the natives of this country, the Hottentots, till I could be assured that the strange accounts I heard of them were true; my eyes have convinced me, that some of them are, and others I have from good authority. They are by nature tolerably white, and not unhandsome, but as soon as a child is born, they rub it all over with oil, and lay it in the sun; this they repeat till it becomes brown:82 and always break the infant’s nose, so that it lays close to its face; as they grow up, they continue constantly to rub themselves with oil or grease, and by degrees become almost a jet black; this it seems they do to strengthen themselves. Their dress is the skins of beasts quite undressed, one they tie over their shoulders, and another round their waste by way of apron; their wrists, ankles, and wastes, are ornamented with glass-beads, bits of tobacco pipes, pieces of brass, and such kind of trumpery,83 and sometimes even the dried entrails of beasts. Their only riches is in cattle, and their employment feeding them; except the hunting of wild beasts, at which they are exceedingly expert; the skins they

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constantly bring to the town, and barter with the Dutch for trumpery beads, &c. &c. or spiritous liquors, of which they are excessively fond. Drunkenness and gluttony are the vices to which they are most addicted; having no moderation in either eating or drinking, but whenever it is in their power, indulge themselves in either to the greatest excess, devouring as much at a meal, as would be sufficient for days, seldom leaving off while there is any thing left to eat or drink: they then lay down in their hovels till pinched again by hunger. They have no superiority amongst them but the chiefs which are chosen when they make war, which one nation of Hottentots often does against another, though never against the Dutch; but these chiefs have no distinction in their manner of living, for they have not the least idea of the grandeur, or what all other people esteem the necessaries, of life. It is a doubtful point whether they have any notion of a deity, as nothing like a religious ceremony is ever observed amongst them: but most of the Dutch are of opinion that they worship the sun; a very natural conjecture, for although they appear hardly a degree above the brute creation, still one must allow they have the faculty of thinking, consequently must attribute the earth, the sky, and all about them, to some superior power. The sun is the most glorious object we behold, and the most likely to inspire awe and reverence into those who are not informed, and that it is only one, of the many wonderful works of the Almighty. They have no books or letters of any kind, their language consisting chiefly in signs, nodding the head, and an undistinct rattling in the throat. The custom in regard to their old people is truly shocking: whenever they come to such an age as to be unable to support themselves, their relations convey them to some distance, and let them starve to death. In all other respects they are the most quiet inoffensive people in the world. They sometimes become servants to the Dutch, and behave perfectly well; their honesty may be depended upon for any thing but liquor, but they have all, both men and women, such a strong natural propensity to intoxication, that it is never to be conquered: those who are servants alter their appearance, and dress like slaves, but sometimes return among their own people, and to their own manners.  L E T T E R XVIII. Pondicherry,84 June 1765. HE ship we came in stopped at Nagapatam, a Dutch settlement on the coast of Coromandel;85 this first specimen I had of India rather surprised than pleased me; I could not be reconciled to the vast numbers of black people who flocked to the shore on my first arrival; although I must acknowledge, that they were so far from being terrible in their appearance, that at first sight I believed them all to

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be women, from the effeminacy both of their persons and dress, the long white jemmers86 and turbands appear so truly feminine to strangers. But the almost stark-nakedness of the lowest class is still more disgusting. On our arrival, we found the place in the greatest confusion, on account of the elopement of the Governor,87 who had just made his escape on board an English vessel, in which he went to Madrass, and put himself under the protection of the English Governor there: he was scarcely missed, when another Governor arrived from Batavia,88 with full powers to send his predecessor there under guard. On finding he had left the place, the Dutch had the barbarity to treat his lady in the most unkind manner, seized the furniture of her house, and put herself and children in prison under strict confinement. Various were the opinions relative to the merit or demerit of the late Governor, but I shall not trouble you with such uninteresting particulars, further than to observe, that from this conversation I have learned, that his fate is not an uncommon one: and likewise, that the policy of the Dutch company is as follows: whenever a Governor has acquired a great fortune, they call him to account for the manner in which it has been raised; and it has always been in their power to find some heavy charge against their Governors which merited punishment; but the rigidness of justice has always been softened, by a forfeiture of half, or two thirds of the fortune. Judge then, how much these lovers of justice must be mortified! that a delinquent should escape their hands unpunished. The Dutch governments in India are not as the English, independent of each other; but subject to the General of Batavia,89 to whom they are accountable; he is perhaps the greatest and most powerful subject in the world. I am now writing from Pondicherry: the ruinous state of this once fine place,90 fills my mind with a sort of pleasing melancholy; one feels a kind of reverence and pity for ruined grandeur, even in things inanimate: a small part of the palace remains standing, but not more than two houses in the whole town, and those, as well as the noble fortifications, in a shattered condition. I cannot help figuring to myself the situation of its inhabitants during the siege,91 their property destroyed, their houses laid waste, widows bewailing the loss of their husbands, and mothers of their children! But they had this consolation, that when conquered, they fell into the hands of a merciful enemy; the English, ever merciful as brave, never shewed it more than on this occasion. Private property was as much as possible secured, the French families were received at Madrass, and treated with the greatest kindness. They enjoyed likewise another privilege, which they received from heaven; I mean the constitutional gayété de cœur92 peculiar to the French nation, by which they soon forgot their losses and their griefs, and the sound of a fiddle as usual summoned them to the sprightly dance.  47

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L E T T E R XIX. Madrass, or Fort St. George,93 June 1765. OU will congratulate me on being at last arrived in India, and in an English settlement; but it is only for a few days, I shall then return again to the stormy ocean: in the mean while I could not omit giving you some little, though imperfect account it must be, of this town; which it would be unpardonable to pass over without saying something in praise of, as it is without exception the prettiest place I ever saw. Madrass is built entirely by the English; it is strongly fortified; and the walls and works, as well as the barracks for the army, the storehouses, and every other public building, are so calculated as to be both convenient, and an addition to the beauty of the place. The town is laid out in streets and squares; the houses neat and pretty, many of them large; in all the good houses the apartments are up stairs, and all one floor; the rooms are large and very lofty; most of the houses are built with a varendar, which is a terrace on a level with the rooms in the front, and sometimes in the back part of the house, supported by pillars below, and a roof above supported likewise by pillars, with rails round to lean on. The varendars give a handsome appearance to the houses on the out-side, and are of great use, keeping out the sun by day, and in the evenings are cool and pleasant to sit in. But what gives the greatest elegance to the houses is a material peculiar to the place; it is a cement or plaster call’d channam, made of the shells of a very large species of oysters found on this coast; these shells when burnt, pounded, and mixed with water, form the strongest cement imaginable: if it is to be used as plaster, they mix it with whites of eggs, milk, and some other ingredients; when dry, it is as hard, and very near as beautiful, as marble; the rooms, stair-cases, &c. are covered with it. A short distance from the town is a small elegant house and garden, where the Nabób of Arcót94 sometimes resides; the heat of the climate admits of an open airy stile of building, which is pleasing to the eye; a roof supported with pillars is more elegant than a wall with windows and doors; besides, the rooms being unincumbered with chimnies, makes it more easy to lay them out in uniformity: the cook rooms are always at some distance, and they have no servants apartments. A little without the walls of Madrass is the black town,95 where are shops of all sorts, and where all the menial servants belonging to the English reside; for they are such strict observers of their religion, the tenets of which I shall hereafter be better able to inform you of, that they will neither eat nor drink, and are even unwilling to sleep, in their masters houses: and if it happens that they are obliged to remain the whole twenty-four hours, or more, without going home, they fast rather than eat or drink with any but those of their own cast. The English boast much of a delightful mount about ten miles distant, where the Governor and others have garden houses, which they say are both cool and elegant. But let not what I have said lead you to suppose, that any thing here is equal to the noble edifices in England; I only mean, that there is a neatness, and a

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uniform simplicity throughout the whole of this town, which cannot fail of being universally pleasing. The mode of living, from the religion of their servants, the heat of the climate, and other circumstances, is so extraordinary, that I can scarcely believe myself amongst English people: I am not at present qualified to give you a particular account of it: therefore, I shall only say that they are expensive in horses, carriages, palengneens,96 and numbers of servants; are fond of entertainments, dress, and pleasure; sociable with each other, hospitable and civil to strangers. The heat here is excessive, but the climate for India is esteemed healthy, and people frequently come here for the recovery of their health from Bengal;97 for the soil is dry, and the benefit of the sea breeze, which constantly blows from between twelve and one at noon till the same time at night, is a great advantage: as soon as the wind comes from the sea the whole air is changed, and though hot, less so than before. The other twelve hours it blows off the land. The night air is so dry, that people frequently sleep without any cover, on the tops of their houses, which are flat roofed, and find no inconvenience from it. I am detained here by the tremendous surf, which for these two days has been mountains high: and it is extraordinary, that on this coast, even with very little wind, the surf is often so high that no boat dares venture through it: indeed it is always high enough to be frightful. Till I have the pleasure to address you from Bengal, I am, &c. &c.

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L E T T E R XX. Calcutta,98 August 1765. T length I have the satisfaction to inform you of our arrival at Calcutta. The voyage from Madras, short as it is, is a dangerous one;99 for the entrance to the mouth of the Ganges is a very difficult piece of navigation, on account of the many islands, cut out by the numberless branches of the river; many of which branches are really great rivers themselves, and after sweeping through and fertilizing the different parts of several provinces, there disembogue100 themselves, with great force, and the roaring noise of many waters. Besides there are a number of sand banks, which, from the prodigious force of the waters, change their situation. Therefore it is necessary to have a pilot well skilled in the different channels; but as such are not always to be had, many ships are thereby endangered, and sometimes lost.

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 L E T T E R XXI. Calcutta, April 1766. AST night, or rather early this morning, we had for the first time since my arrival, what is called a Northwester, which are very frequent in the hot season; a Northwester is a violent storm of wind from that quarter, attended with thunder, lightning, and rain: the loudness of the thunder, the terrible flashes of lightning, the roaring of the wind, which carries all before it, and the deluge of rain, are altogether tremendous: it appeared as if every crack of thunder must tear the roof of the house I was in from end to end. The tempest being spent, was succeeded by the azure morn, and the radiant sun; which, tempered by the coolness of the earth, formed some hours of the most delightful climate that can be imagined, but was too soon followed by excessive heat, for after every Northwester the heat sensibly increases till the rains commence. Every one now begins to look forward to that season, wishing it was come. The baneful influence of the sun is a melancholy reflection; the number of sudden deaths amongst the English, and the caution they are obliged to use to preserve life, makes this season very uncomfortable; and when it happens, as it sometimes does, that the rains are late before they set in, the mortality exceeds belief. The illness of which most people die, is what is called here, a Pucker fever,101 which frequently carries a person off in a few hours; the physicians esteem it the highest degree of putridity. But some have more lingering illness, such as bile in the stomach, which indeed is a disorder very few are entirely exempt from in these cases: the intense heat relaxes the coats of the stomach so as to prevent digestion, which occasions much illness, and oft-times death. It is frequently said, though very unjustly, that this climate never kills the English ladies; and, indeed, it must be allowed, that women do not so often die of

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violent fevers as men, which is no wonder, as we live more temperately, and expose ourselves less in the heat of the day; and perhaps, the tenderness of our constitutions sometimes prevents the violence of the disorder, and occasions a lingering, instead of a sudden, death. But most English women labor under the oppression of weak nerves, slow fevers, and bile: the disorders I have mentioned, and the continual perspiration, soon destroys the roses on the cheeks of the young and beautiful, and gives them a pale yellow complexion. I sat down to give you an account of the weather and climate, which insensibly led me to the consequences of it: every thing but cold is in extremes here, the heat is intense, the rains floods, the winds hurricanes, and the hailstones I dare not tell you how large, lest you should think I take the licence of a traveller.102 But what I always behold with reverence and awe, and at the same time with pleasure, is the lightning; not an evening passes without it; it is not that offensive glare of light I have been used to see, but a beautiful fire, which plays amongst the clouds, and passes from one part of the heavens to another, in every direction, and in every variety of vibration.

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L E T T E R XXII. Motte Jill,103 September 1766. S the rains were not quite over when we set out from Calcutta on the first of September, our progress up the river was exceedingly slow; we were a fortnight getting to Cossumbuzar,104 where we spent a few days: at Cossumbuzar is an English factory,105 where a vast quantity of raw silk is prepared, a great variety of piece silk106 and handkerchiefs are made, besides stockings, gloves, and other articles; the stockings, gloves, &c. are all knit by men. The company’s servants107 are fond of being appointed to these out settlements, because it is more advantageous than the appointments at Calcutta; otherwise perhaps not so agreeable, as there are sometimes but three or four English amidst a number of black people. Just above Cassambuzar is *Motté †Gill, or the lake of Pearl, one of the prettiest of the Mahomedan108 palaces, and is now the habitation of the English resident at the Durbar:109 the spot has its name from a lake of clear water, which surrounds it on every side, except one small entrance; it was made by a former Nabób of Muxadabád.110 In case of war, this was a place of security for his wives and children to retire to. The buildings are in the stile of the country, along the middle of the ground at certain distances, are different sets of apartments, most of the rooms are small and dark; but what I most disapprove of, is the useless expence they have been at for walls, for from every set of apartments, are extended two long heavy walls, which reach on each side to the water’s edge; this is the taste in most of their palaces; the walls do not answer the purpose of our garden walls in England (for they plant no fruit trees against them) nor any other purpose that I can conceive, but to divide the gardens into smaller parts, and by that means lessen the beauty, and increase the heat. The most pleasing amongst their buildings are those in the open stile, apartments which are not surrounded with a wall, but the roofs supported with double and triple rows of light pillars, which have a very elegant effect. We may easily suppose, that the Nabób who expended such great sums of money to build, to plant, and to dig that immense lake, little foresaw that it should ever become a place of residence for an English Chief, to be embellished and altered according to his taste, to be defiled by Christians, or contaminated by swine’s flesh.111 Much less could he foresee that his successors on the Musnud112 should be obliged to court these Chiefs, that they should hold the Subahship113 only as a gift from the English, and be by them maintained in all the pageantry, without any of the power of royalty. Immediately above Motté Gill is ††Muxadabád, the present capital of the three provinces,114 a vile dirty place: the palaces of the Nabób, and houses of the great

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* Motté, Pearl. † Gill, a Lake. †† The Abad, or City of Muxad.

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people, are built of stone, with more expence than taste: those of the common herd, of straw and bamboo, so low that it is difficult to stand upright in them. In this city reside some of the richest merchants in the world.  L E T T E R XXIII. Mongheir,115 Oct. 1766. Roceeding up the river, we arrived at Mongheir, which is a very large fort, and many good buildings in it in the Indian stile, but the fortifications are a good deal fallen to decay; and as it now serves as quarters for a part of the English army,116 it undergoes daily alterations. The country about it is remarkably fertile, beautiful, and healthy. About two miles distant is a house on the top of a very high hill, which commands a vast extent of country, with every thing that can form a romantic and delightful prospect. On one side, the Ganges, with the near and distant rocks; on the other, the fort, numberless hills and valleys, with woods, villages, corn-fields, and gardens; single houses and mosques scattered here and there; elephants, buffalos, camels, and all kinds of cattle, which, with the people, form a moving landscape of great variety, in miniature. This is a delightful retreat for the commanding officer of the troops; if a breath of air blows from the heavens, one must feel it here.

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L E T T E R XXIV. Patna,117 November, 1766. E found it extremely tedious, and were almost a month from Cassambuzar to Monghier, and to Patna ten days. The method of travelling by water is so singular, that I must give you some account of it. Just before the rains set in, which is about the middle of July, the waters of the Ganges begin to increase, occasioned by the snow on the tops of the hills from whence the river issues (near thirteen hundred miles from the sea) being melted by the sun; as soon as the rains commence it hourly increases, pouring with the most impetuous velocity, and the river has the appearance of a sea. And in some parts, where there happen to be rocks, or very high hills on each side pretty near the river, the water being there pent up, it rises to a prodigious height; and the current is so strong and rapid that it is hardly possible for any boat to stem it. After about two months, when the violence of the rain begins to subside, the water falls almost as suddenly as it arose; and that which was of late one entire sheet of water, except perhaps some tops of trees, now appears to be a fertile country, covered with woods, corn-fields, and other plantations; and the different arms which the river branches into, form many little islands, which in the rainy season one has no idea of. Some of those little islands produce three and four crops yearly; rice, which grows only when it is covered with water; after that, corn; then water-melons, &c. The progress up the Ganges is so exceedingly slow, that the voyage from Calcutta to Allahabád118 takes near three months to perform it in; at the same time that it is common to go from Allahabád to Calcutta in twenty days. When a boat comes down the river it takes the middle of the rapid stream, which carries it down without the help of oars or sail; but it is extremely dangerous, on account of the many turnings, which require a dextrous management; and likewise from the many smaller arms, which discharge themselves into the great river, and cause such an eddy from the meeting of two or three currents, that the largest budgeroo119 cannot stand it, but is whirled round and round like a millsail,120 and sometimes overset; by which misfortune many European lives have been lost; as to the black people, they generally swim so well as to escape to the shore. A budgeroo is not much unlike a city barge; the covered part generally divided into two pretty good rooms, and an open varander, carrying from ten to twenty oars, and as many men, called dandys; the master, who steers, is called a sarang. These fellows are very dextrous in their way, and seem to have the property of fishes; at least I must look upon them as amphibious animals, for the water appears to be as much their element as the land: in the passage up the river they mostly tow; but when they come to a creek, of which there are many very broad, they fasten the rope round their wastes, and, throwing themselves from the land, which is often very high, swim across, dragging the badgeroo after them. When the squalls of wind and rain come on, if they can find no place to lay by, they jump into the river, and hang with their hands upon the edge of the boat,

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to keep it steady, with just their mouths above the water; in this manner they continue till the squall is over. The work of towing, or, as it is called, tracking, is sometimes exceedingly laborious; for the banks, which, when the river is lowered, are the height of a house at least above the water, are so softened by the rains, that the dandies sink mid-leg at every step they take; frequently large pieces of the banks give way, and by their fall boats are sunk or overset. Sometimes they row; then it is they seem to enjoy themselves, singing all together, with great vehemence, some songs peculiar to their employment. A family has frequently two budgeroos besides boats; one of the boats is for cookery, the others for servants, provisions, furniture, and other necessaries; for whenever people remove from one place to another, they are obliged to carry all these things with them, even palenqueens, carriages, and horses, so that the troop of attendants of every kind amounts to a great number of people. When one chooses to dine, &c. the budgeroo is stopped, and the boats which are wanted come round it, and the dinner is served with as much order as on shore; it is surprising how they can cook half a dozen or more dishes, in a boat only defended from the air by a tilt121 made of mats. Except in the squalls, which are frequent in the rainy season, it is a most easy method of travelling, and, when a party of budgeroos go together, very agreeable. When the budgeroos stop at night, the dandies make their fires on the shore, each cast by themselves, and boil their rice, which is all they live upon.

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L E T T E R XXV. Patna, Nov. 1766. Ravelling by land is very inconvenient, and on account of the number of attendants very expensive; for as there are no carriage roads, the only method is in palenqueens. Therefore it is necessary, before any person sets out on a journey, to have relief of bearers laid at certain distances; which is done by giving notice to an officer for that purpose, who sends orders to all the fouzdars,122 which are governors of districts, and are answerable for the behaviour of the people they provide. There are no inns upon the road, or other convenient places to stop at; therefore it is necessary to have two sets of tents, that the one set may be advancing for the reception of the travellers, while they repose themselves in the others. As the journies by land are mostly made in the hot season when the rivers are dry, they generally travel by night, and lay by in the heat of the day.

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 L E T T E R XXVI. Bockapoor,123 March 1767. Ockapoor is a pleasant village on the banks of the Ganges, about three miles above Patna; in it at present are cantonments124 for about a third part of the English army: these temporary cantonments are small houses called bungaloes, made of straw and bamboo. About four miles farther up the river, at a place called Dinapoor,125 the company is carrying on a considerable building, which is to contain barracks and accommodations for the troops, and to be the head quarters in this province. Patna, the capital of the province of Bahar,126 is a very large fortified town, built close on the banks of the Ganges, the town and suburbs not less than five miles in length; but the breadth is in no proportion, being in some parts not more than a single street; for in this climate every one is desirous of being near the river. There is a fort and many large stone buildings in the Indian stile; but the greatest part of the town is composed of straw huts, which make a miserable appearance. The streets are mostly extremely narrow, and as none of them are paved, the town is intolerably dirty in the rainy season, and dusty in the dry. Patna is a place of very great traffic. The English company have one of their most considerable factories there, where they carry on a great trade in salt-petre,127 besides opium,128 salt, bettlenut,129 and tobacco, which are the chief branches of commerce in this part of the country. The French and Dutch have likewise factories there. Carpets are manufactured in the place, and a coarse sort of painted callicos, figured table-linen, and some very ordinary wrought muslins.130 Patna is famous for

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*hookers which are said to be made better here than in any part of India, particularly the part called the chillim, or the cover for the fire; some of them are copper inlaid with silver, of most curious workmanship. They have various other trades, for such manufactories as are useful in the country. The houses being built of straw is the cause of frequent fires in the towns, particularly in the cold season, for then the people make a little fire in their huts to warm themselves by; and from their natural heaviness they fall asleep near it, which often costs not only their own lives, but many others: and this calamity seems more peculiar to Patna than any other place, for fires have not only happened there oftener, but with greater violence. In a late fire, a great number of Mahomedans retired to a mosque, superstitiously believing that it would be an asylum from the flames; but the unhappy victims did not find it so, for although the mosque, which was of stone, did not blaze, it heated to such a degree, that the poor creatures were scorched to death. A Mahomedan of some rank who resides in the town being absent for the day, had the misfortune to have his †zanannah131 burned, wherein were his women and children to the number of twenty persons: the women knew their danger, but, either dreading the jealous rage of their husbands, or the disgrace of being exposed in public, did not attempt to make their escape, and perished. The English factory was burned down, and may suffered in their effects: as to the black people, the destruction was great to their houses and their goods, and several hundreds of them lost their lives. All this calamity seems to give them no caution to guard against the like in future, for still fires are constantly breaking out; and when they find themselves surrounded by the flames, they are so overpowered by the distress it occasions, that they stand looking on each other with terror and astonishment, and are so far from taking any pains to prevent the fire from spreading, that many of them are not able to remove themselves or their children from the danger. The country around Patna is flat and open, a dry soil and tolerably healthy; but the heat is great, and the hot winds particularly disagreeable, coming for some hundred miles over a country, the greatest part of which is burning sand, it increases in heat as it passes, bringing along immense clouds of dust.

* The Indian smoaking-pipe. † The womens apartment, Seraglio.

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L E T T E R XXVII. Allahabad, June 1767. S I have already given you an account of the method of travelling by water, my voyage from Patna to this place can afford you no entertainment. The only considerable city on the way is Benaras,132 in the province of that name. This province is governed by a Hindoo râjah, formerly tributary to the emperor, but now to the subadar Sujah Ul Dowlet;133 and, as is usual in such districts as are governed by râjahs, is peopled almost entirely by Hindoos. The city of Benaras is the famous seat of Eastern learning and science, where particularly the Sancrit language,134 and the principles of the Hindoo Religion, are taught to children of the Brahmin tribe.135 Peace reigns in their territories; even animal blood is not shed. The priests, who are very numerous, are supported in ease and plenty; the rest of the people are mostly manufacturers, such as weavers, &c. The road, for a considerable distance before you enter into Benaras, is through long avenues of lofty trees, planted there as a shade to travelers, from the inclement heat. Spacious *tanks lined with stone, and descended into by stone steps, are made on the road side, where travelers may refresh themselves by bathing, or drinking the water. Many of the houses are covered with red tiles, a peculiarity which gives Benaras more the appearance of an European city than any I have seen in India; for in general they are flat-roofed, and covered with stone, or channam; in other respects, the houses are pretty much in the taste of those built by the Mussulmen;136 the streets are not paved; and, like many other towns and villages in India, great part of it is in ruins; whole streets, with only the walls, or part of the walls of houses, remaining.

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 L E T T E R XXVIII. Allahabad, June 1767. N order to give you some account of the Inhabitants of Hindostan,137 it is necessary to divide them, so as to speak of each people separately; for a general description can convey no just idea, where there is such a variety in religion, customs, and manners. The distinctions I mean are, Hindoos, Mahomedans, and Christians; each of these are again divided, particularly the first, into different tribes; or, according to the Indian term, casts innumerable. The Hindoos, or, as they have been called when we were less acquainted with this country, Gentoos,138 are the original natives, and the people from whom the

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* Large ponds, of which there are many all over India, always called by Europeans tanks; the name given them by the Portuguese.

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country derives its name. It is said, that the people were termed Hindoos by their neighbours from the river Indus;139 and from them the whole country which they inhabited obtained the name of Hindostan, the Stan, or country of the Hindoos. Others assert, that the river, as well as country, first obtained its name from the people, who superstitiously believed themselves descended from the moon; which, in the Sanscrit language, was called Hindoo. The Indians date their chronology numberless ages before the creation of the world; but, without paying any attention to their fabulous and improbable stories of antient times, we have sufficient proof of the very great antiquity of their nation and religion. According to their histories, an Hindoo emperor, named Kirshan,140 reigned two thousand years before the Christian æra; whose posterity continued on the throne near fifteen hundred years; at which time the country was governed by an emperor of the name of Murage,141 who was contemporary with a great king of the Turcomans, called Gustas, undoubtedly the same Gustasp, so celebrated amongst the Persians, in whose time Zoroafter first spread the Magian religion in Persia.142 According to some accounts, the whole country continued under the government of one emperor till the year after Christ 580; at which period, as all things are liable to change, the empire was broken into a variety of independent districts, each governed by a distinct prince, called a Râjah. This situation of affairs gave an opportunity to their Mahomedan neighbors to invade the country. Their lawgiver was Brahma,143 who they say was the most perfect and holy man that ever lived. Amongst other legendary accounts of their prophet, they say, that he left a book of written laws behind him, which was lost; but the Brahmins composed others, called the Shastah,144 written in the Sanscrit, a dead language, known to none but the Brahmins, and not to all of them; there are schools in the country, where this language is taught to children of the Brahmin tribes only. But some of the most enlightened amongst the Brahmins assert, that there never was any such person as Brahma; but that the Shastah was composed by the learned of the early ages, and the laws of Brahma signify the laws of wisdom. In all their accounts of antient times the truths are so blended with fables, that it is extremely difficult to distinguish the one from the other; however, whether their first priest or prophet was named Brahma or not, it is certain that the Shastah, the books which contain all their laws, both religious and civil, and, according to some accounts, all their learning and science, was composed by the Brahmins, and in the early ages. The whole country was divided into four great tribes, or casts; the first are the Brahmins or priests, whom they hold in great veneration; these are again divided, the first in rank are called Goseyns;145 there are likewise many other different ranks or casts of Brahmins, who never marry, eat, or drink, with any but those of their own cast. The next great division is the soldier cast: the third comprehends merchants of all kinds and trades: the fourth, all servants and labourers.146 But each of these four are divided into a number of casts; almost every trade and profession is a distinct one, which they must continue in from generation to 59

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generation; the son of a weaver must be a weaver; the son of a shoe-maker must be of the same occupation, and his daughter must marry none but of the same; nor must they ever eat or drink with any but those of their own cast. If any Hindoo, man or woman, ever breaks through these rules, such a person, as the term is, has lost cast, and can never be received again into their own, or any other, tribe of Hindoos; but go amongst a people I shall hereafter have occasion to mention. The loss of cast is dreaded more than the loss of life; therefore these rules have been observed with such exactness, that the highest and lower casts may be distinguished from each other by their features, complexion, and turn of countenance. There are said to be still, in different parts of Hindostan, families of the Brahmin cast; who, in all the revolutions of the empire, have remained retired, living up to the purity of the antient religion, or the laws of Brahma, without any mixture of modern superstition, well versed in all the antient philosophy. But these, I believe, are easier to be talked of than met with; for it often appears, that these retired persons, who have all the solemnity of wisdom, are found, upon a better knowledge, to be mere superficial pretenders.  L E T T E R XXIX. Allahabad, July 1767. OWEVER pure the system of religion might originally be, it is certain the Hindoos have no reason, at present, to boast; for the whole of it, at this time, consists in absurd unaccountable ceremonies, which the people do not understand the meaning of; nor, I may venture to say, do many of the Brahmins themselves. The number of holidays their religion commands, engross at least one third part of their time: these days are either feasts or fasts, devoted to some or other of their gods, of whom they tell the most ridiculous stories: there is not a god amongst them but some-how or other has signalized himself on some day, which is kept in remembrance of him: many of them, according to their accounts, have descended on earth on particular occasions. It is observable, that in all translations from Eastern manuscripts, both antient and modern, the expressions are figurative: the Shastah is quite in this stile; the power, wisdom, goodness, and other attributes of the Almighty are emblematically described; the Almighty is represented with many heads, many hands, many eyes; wisdom is depicted in the figure of a snake; and, in short, almost the whole class of animals is taken in to represent some or other of his attributes. These emblematical figures have furnished them with a set of inferior gods; and, through a long course of time, the extreme ignorance and credulity of the people, and the Brahmins keeping the knowledge of the Shastah entirely to themselves, are become the essential parts of their worship; and taken, not in a figurative, but a real sense.

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They believe, that the god whom they worship, is the god of the Hindoos, of the Mussulmen, and of the Christians; but that it pleases him to be worshiped different ways; that no one must change his religion, therefore it is a fundamental part of theirs, that no person can become a Hindoo but those who are born such. Whether Pythagoras147 learned any of his opinions from the Brahmins, is, at this distance of time, difficult to determine; but it is certain that the Hindoos have similar opinions concerning the transmigration of souls;148 for which reason, they never eat of any thing which has had life, or ever put any insects, not even those of venomous natures, to death. The effect of this is seen all over the country, particularly in Benaras, a province where only Hindoos reside; the animals are so unused to fear the hand of man, that birds of all sorts will walk into the rooms, alight on the tables where prople are at meals, and feed out of their hands. The approach of death is by no means terrible to the Hindoos, as the soul is immediately to pass into some other animal. Nevertheless, they have an idea of what we call heaven, where the souls of the virtuous are to be received by the Almighty, after they have gone through an infinite number of transmigrations. The beast they have the greatest veneration for, and are said to worship, is the cow; these they cherish and guard with particular care. If they can redeem a cow, a bull, or a calf, which is doomed to be slain by Mahomedans or Christians, it is a meritorious act; and this is not unfrequently done. It would be a vain attempt to enumerate all their superstitious opinions and ceremonies. In some of the fasts they undergo great punishments of their own inflicting, beating themselves with rods of iron, and hanging extended in the air by the flesh of their backs upon iron hooks:149 but the superior casts of people neither put themselves to these tortures, or join in the processions, which have all the appearance of a mad rabble running in crouds along the streets, their faces disfigured with marks of channam, or red powder, which they throw over each other as a sort of compliment or blessing. The Brahmins practise incredible austerities in matters of no importance; at Benaras is one who is revered almost as a god, for keeping a vow he had made many years since, never to sit or lay down, but to stand, with his arms extended above his head; it is not known that he has broke through it. This is one instance, amongst many others of similar kinds, and of equal use to society. It would fill a volume, was I to recount a hundredth part of the variety of punishments and tortures the Brahmins condemn themselves to.

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L E T T E R XXX. Allahabad, July 1767. HE great virtue of the Hindoos is their extensive charity: the Brahmins inculcate, with the utmost zeal, the necessity of building and endowing pagodas150 (where themselves are maintained in ease and plenty), feeding the hungry, relieving the poor, and providing against the distresses of their fellow-creatures, whether of their own religion or strangers. They are simple, and temperate in their diet; the common people live chiefly upon rice; their superiors have the addition of *gee,151 milk, sweet-meats,152 &c.; it is surprising to think how little their usual expence is, but still they are not without extravagance, for although they live in this abstemious manner, they spend vast sums of money in †tamashes: this they do on the marriage of their children, or in honour of their gods; all ranks of people have tamashes, according to their different abilities; the money spent in them is in lights (for they illuminate the houses in the inside), ornaments, music, dancers, and perfumes. They are mild and inoffensive in their manners, even to timidity, and a dastardly submission to superiors: this is the characteristic of the generality of the Hindoos: but the fighting casts, the principal of which are the Rajapoots and Mahrattars, are an exception to this rule; the last of these are a bold, hardy nation;153 and the most formidable of any now in Hindoston. The Mahrattors fight chiefly on horseback, and every man finds his own horse: besides the frequent incursions they have made into different parts of the country, under various pretences, on their own account; armies of them sometimes enter into the service of the Mahomedan powers.154 Notwithstanding the pay they are promised by these powers, and perhaps sometimes receive, their chief aim is plunder; therefore when two armies are engaged, they pour upon the rear of the enemy, amongst the women and baggage, where they cause great confusion, and leave nothing behind them which they can possibly carry off. They are formidable enemies, but unsteady friends; as they follow the constant maxim of all black powers, changing sides as the face of affairs alters, and never keep to any engagement they enter into if they find it more convenient to break it. They are excellent horsemen; and curious in their breed of horses, which are much valued all over India, as being uncommonly hardy and very swift. The Mahrattors, though Hindoos, differ from the other nations in Hindostán, in many material points, and appear to be quite another people; their country is near our settlement of Bombay, on the coast of Malabár,155 but they are scattered across the peninsula almost to the coast of Coromandél. The Hindoos never bury their dead; those whose friends can afford the expence are burned; others are thrown into the nearest river; and it is not uncommon for

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* Gee, made of milk, generally that of buffaloes, almost to the consistence of butter, but will keep much longer. † Tamashes, all kinds of shews, entertainments, or processions.

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them, when very near their end, to be, by their own desire, carried and laid at the water’s edge, especially if the river has any sacred character in the history of their religion, that, when they expire, their bodies may be washed away by the tide. It sometimes happens that the poor creatures lay in this state a day or two; but the apprehension they are under of not being thrown into the river, or their dead bodies being touched by any but those of their own cast, makes them readily undergo this punishment. There is a particular cast who always carry their dying parents and relations to the water’s edge, and fill their mouths, ears, and noses, with mud, and then leave them to their fate.

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L E T T E R XXXI. Allahabad, July 1767. HE Hindoo women we can know little of, as none but the very lowest are visible: they are almost in their infancy married by the care of their parents to some of their own cast. Every Hindoo is obliged to marry once: and polygamy is allowed, but there is generally one wife who is held as superior to the rest. The women have no education given them, they live retired in the zanannahs, and amuse themselves with each other, smoaking the hooker, bathing, and seeing their servants dance. There is one well-known circumstance relative to these women, which is the most extraordinary and astonishing custom in the world; I mean their burning themselves with the dead bodies of their husbands:156 this custom is not at present so frequent as formerly, they cannot burn without permission from the Nabób of the province, and it is much to be hoped, that the English will in future prevent those Nabóbs we are in alliance with, from giving any such permission, but there has been within a very short time at least one instance. I have endeavoured to find out what could give rise (if you’ll permit me the expression) to such a barbarous exertion of virtue; but it is difficult to find out the cause of institutions of so antient a date, therefore I do not depend on either of the following reasons, although they have each their advocates, who insist strongly that their opinion is the right one. The first is, that it was so common for women to poison their husbands, that this institution was necessary to prevent it. The other is, that the Brahmins, to promote their own interest, first persuaded the women that it was for the everlasting good of their families; that their souls would not enter into any groveling insects, but animate a cow, or some such noble animal, and that their term of purgation would be shortened, and they would have the fewer transmigrations to go through, before they become pure enough to be received by the Almighty in Heaven. Whatever may be the cause, it is however certain, that the Brahmins greatly encourage this practice, and that they receive great benefits from it; for the woman, when she is brought out to sacrifice herself, is dressed with all her jewels, which are often of considerable value; when the pile is prepared, and the woman has taken leave of her friends, she throws all her ornaments from her, which the priests take for themselves. It is said, that the strict rule of casts is on this occasion sometimes dispensed with; and the daughter of a mother who has burned, may be married to a man of a higher rank. I cannot myself subscribe to the first opinion of the cause of this custom, because they have many of them more than one wife, and only one is permitted the honour of burning. No people in the world have stricter notions of the honour of their women, particularly those of the higher casts. If any one has an improper connexion, such

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a woman has not only lost her cast, but it is an indelible stain upon the honour of her family: and in case of an elopement, it has been known that the girl has been pursued and recovered by her parents, who have put her immediately to death, to expiate, by her blood, part of the disgrace she has brought upon them. Nevertheless, the retirement of the women does not appear to be a part of the religion, or caused by the jealousy of the men, so much as an idea of delicacy and dignity, in concealing themselves from vulgar eyes.  L E T T E R XXXII. Allahabad, July 1767. HE tribe of Hindoos the English have most connexion with, and are obliged to put most confidence in, are in the third great division, called Banians,157 who are a kind of merchants, or rather brokers in every kind of merchandize. Every European both civil and military, who has either trade, or troops under him to pay, is obliged to have one of them in his service, who is a sort of steward: one of them is likewise necessary at the head of every family, to hire and pay the servants, and purchase whatever is wanting, for nothing can be bought or sold without them. They are exceedingly indolent; crafty, and artful to an astonishing degree; and shew in all their dealings the most despicable low cunning, which makes them not to be depended upon for any thing: they have not only a secret premium out of whatever they pay to servants, tradespeople, &c. but keep them out of their money long after the master supposes they have been paid. They are the most tedious people in the world, for besides the holidays, which they will on no account break through, they have a method of putting every thing off till to-morrow: when it is found out, as it often is, that they have told an untruth, they have no shame for it, but immediately tell another and another; nothing can hurry them, nothing can discompose or put them out of countenance, nothing can make them angry; provided their gains are sure, the master may fret to find his business go on slowly, may abuse them for want of honesty, may argue with them for their ingratitude, may convict them of falshood and double-dealing, it signifies nothing; the same mild and placid countenance remains, without the least symptom of fear, anger, or shame. Those who are concerned with us usually speak pretty tolerable English; they are many of them worth large sums of money, and frequently lend a great deal to their masters, mostly at the interest of nine or ten per cent. By being in the service of an English gentleman, particularly if he has any considerable rank or employment in the company’s service, they have great advantages, not only from all his concerns, out of which they have a profit, but it enables them to carry on their own with the greater security; besides their

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wages, which, according to their master’s situation and their own importance, is from a hundred to ten rupees158 a month, they are many of them of consequence amongst their own people, keep a palenqueen, horses, and a number of servants. Those who act in that capacity to a Governor or Commander in Chief, pretend to a superior rank, and take the title of Duan159 instead of Banian.  L E T T E R XXXIII. Allahabád, July 1767. HE temples of the Hindoos are called pagodas, they are generally square high buildings of brick or stone, but with very little taste. In the Decan and Carnatic160 are many of these pagodas; but in Bengal and up the Ganges very few, except in the province of Benaras. I must observe in favour of the Hindoos, that, in spite of the absurdity and unmeaningness of most of their ceremonies and customs, their strict observation of them does them honor. To sum up their general character in few words, they are gentle, patient, temperate, regular in their lives, charitable, and strict observers of their religious ceremonies. They are superstitious, effeminate, avaritious, and crafty; deceitful and dishonest in their dealings, void of every principle of honor, generosity, or gratitude. Gain is the predominant principle; and as a part of their gains bestowed in gifts to their priests, or charities to the poor, will procure their pardon, they can cheat without fearing the anger of their gods. But for the Brahmins, to whom alone all their learning is confined, it is a circumstance not much to their credit; that while all other nations, those in Europe particularly, have been making constant improvements and new discoveries in science, they have contented themselves with that which has been handed down to them from their forefathers; and still less, that they have made so ill a use of their learning; and, instead of informing those whose casts forbid them to enquire into the laws and religion, in such plain and simple truths as might tend to virtue and happiness, they have encumbered them with forms, and filled their heads with stories, which can tend to no other purpose but to raise their own importance.

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 L E T T E R XXXIV. Allahabád, July 1767. HENEVER a Hindoo has occasion to cross the Carramnassa, or the Accursed River,161 which in the dry season is fordable, he gives a Mahomedan money to carry him over upon his back, that his feet may not be wet with the accursed water, which is a thing forbidden by their religion.162 In this, and

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many other instances, the letter of the commandment is observed, while the spirit of it is lost; for I think one cannot doubt, but that the intention of this law, was to keep them within their own provinces. Their being forbid to eat or drink of what has been touched but by those of their own casts, is likewise a great help to migration, as they cannot always meet with those of their own cast to provide what they want; and is particularly calculated to prevent their taking voyages by sea. It is astonishing with what strictness the Hindoos observe these rules, even to starving themselves to death rather than break through them. The children of the Hindoos are not to be tempted to eat any thing forbidden, either by persuasion, or by offering them the greatest delicacies; which I have often been witness of. It is the first impression their minds receive; they are used to seeing it strictly observed by their own and other casts; it grows up with them as the first, and most absolute law; and is perhaps observed with more strictness than any other law, religious or civil, by any nation under the sun. It must be acknowledged, that the religion of the Hindoos is now so overgrown with absurd and ridiculous ceremonies, that it is difficult to believe there has ever been any degree of common sense in it. And yet, upon a closer examination, one must admit, that the division into casts and tribes promotes subordination. It is not peculiar to this country, but has been observed by other nations in the early ages: amongst the Romans, the sarcedotal office163 was likewise confined to the Patricians;164 as amongst the Hindoos, it is to the Brahmins; and in the Levitical law we are told, that the ark was carried by the tribe of Levi,165 and to them was the priesthood for ever. Something like it likewise exists at present in the ideas of noble blood amongst the French and Germans. The impossibility of rising to any higher cast checks ambition in the bud. Their abstinence from animal food promotes temperance.166 Their being forbid to eat of certain food, and with none but those of their own casts, prevents migration. Their belief in the transmigration of souls makes them tender of the lives of all animals, and produces an aversion and horror at the idea of shedding blood. It is no wonder, that, being taught to revere and preserve a cow on account of its utility, or to admire an elephant for its sagacity and strength; and the river Ganges, as causing the fertility, and facilitating the commerce of their country; and these opinions delivered to them in the lofty and figurative stile of the East; it is no wonder, I say, that they should rank the two first in the number of their demy gods, and believe that the other is able to cure diseases, and wash away sin. When the priests of the Christian religion were first compelled to celibacy, it seems to have been intended, that the acknowledged purity of their characters should gain the most perfect veneration. But long after it was known that this end was not answered by it, it was still held to be a sin for any priest to marry. If this and other institutions in the Christian church, were held sacred after the first intention of them was forgot; it is not at all surprising, that the antient customs 67

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of the Hindoos should be yet observed, although the use of them is either lost, or not understood. No Martin Luther167 has arisen to open their eyes; and was it possible that any Brahmin by translating the Shastah from the Sanscrit to the vulgar tongue, or by explaining it according to common sense, was to endeavour to free them from their absurdities, they are too ignorant, and too indolent, to be benefited by it. Monsieur Montesquieu,168 who has unravelled the causes of different manners, says, “Si avec cette foiblesse d’organes qui fait recevoir aux peuples d’orient les impressions du monde les plus fortes, vous joignez une certain paresse dans l’esprit, naturellement liée avec celle du corps, qui fasse que cet esprit ne soit capable d’aucune action, d’aucune contention; vous comprendrez que l’ame qui a une fois reçû des impressions, ne peut plus en changer, c’est ce que fait que les Loiz, les mœurs, & les manieres, même celles que paroissent indifferentes, come la façon de se vetir, sont aujourd’hui en orient, comme elles étoient il y a mille ans.”169  L E T T E R XXXV. Allahabád, July 1767. EFORE I proceed to give you any account of the Mahomedans of India, perhaps it will not be improper to speak a little of those revolutions by which they became masters of the country. Hindostán, from very early ages, has suffered from invasions; for so long since as three or four hundred years before Christ, it was invaded by Alexander the Great;170 and before that time, it is said, that Darius king of Persia171 had invaded a small part of the country. The writers of Alexander’s life172 mentioned in Hindostán the priests, whom they called Bracmani, and described them as holding some of the same tenets and opinions which we know the Brahmins observe at this time. There is no doubt of their being the same people: the natives are represented as luxurious and timid; the palaces of the kings are said to have abounded in gold and precious stones; the kings voluptuous and effeminate, keeping a great number of concubines; and that, after having crossed the river Indus, when he arrived at a city called Dædala (which, by the situation and similitude of names, perhaps is Delhi), he found that the Barbarians, through fear, had entirely deserted it. After Alexander had indulged his boundless vanity, by conquering part of the country, he left it to the quiet possession of the peaceable Hindoos, who governed Hindostán till the invasion of the Mahomedans, by whom the country has long since been governed, and partly peopled. The Mahomedans are numerous throughout Hindostán, particularly in the great cities; and near the capital they are perhaps equal in number to the Hindoos; for from the first of

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the Mussulmens conquering Hindostán, even to this day, their party has been constantly increasing by shoals of adventurers from Persia, Tartary,173 and other Mahomedan countries.  L E T T E R XXXVI. Allahabád, July 1767. FTER the death of Mahomed, his successors issued forth from Arabia, and conquered the whole country of Persia, where they established different principalities. The Persians were at that time followers of the laws of Zoroaster, and held a veneration for fire, agreeable to the doctrine of that philosopher. When the Mahomedans conquered their country, great numbers of them fled into Hindostán; and their descendants at this day reside on the coast of Malabár, still following their antient religion; they are called Persees,174 and sometimes fire-worshipers. After the conquest of Persia, the Mahomedan faith was embraced by the Afghans, or Patans,175 a people who inhabited the mountainous districts which separate Persia from the river Indus; and in 975 they established a Mahomedan kingdom. The sultans of this new kingdom soon began to make inroads into the neighbouring country of Hindostán. But the Râjahs defended themselves for some time with much bravery. The country, however, as far as Delhi, and from thence to the confluence of the Jumna and Ganges,176 was at length almost entirely conquered by the Patans, about the year 1217; ever since which time the Mahomedan government has spread and increased. The Afghan sultans had but just effected this conquest, when they were themselves expelled from their own original dominions in the mountains by as remarkable a revolution; which was as follows: The Mogule Tartars on the north side of India and China, under their prince Chengis or Zingis Chan, having entered into Persia, and overthrown all the Arabian principalities there, and throughout all Asia; the chan177 sent his generals likewise against the Patan dominions, which they seized,178 and pursued the Patans even into Hindostán; from whence they were repeatedly repulsed, with great slaughter. About the year 1397, Amir Timer, otherwise Tamerlane,179 the conqueror of Persia and Asia Minor,180 a successor of Zingis Chan, taking advantage of the state of the Patan government in Hindostán (which was torn and weakened by internal divisions and factions amongst the great men) invaded the country in person, and soon made himself master of the chief part of the empire. He marked his rout with devastation, fire, and sword; massacred, without mercy, thousands and tens of thousands. After he had subdued the country, he returned again to his

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capital Samarcande.181 Tamerlane was the first of the present race of kings who conquered Hindostán. After the return of Tamerlane to Samarcande, the country was again governed by Afghan emperors: but the power of the empire was soon destroyed by civil discords, through which means it again became a prey to invaders. Sultan Baber king of Indija,182 a descendant in the direct line from Tamerlane, invaded Hindostán; and at last, in 1525, conquered the Pitan kings of Delhi;183 his successors continually extended the empire; and, at the latter end of the reign of Aurenzebe,184 who died in 1707, were become masters of the whole, except a few small principalities on the coast of Malabár. From this summit the Mogul empire began immediately to decline, until Nadir Shaw, known in Europe by the name of Thammas Kouli Khan,185 who, from a soldier of fortune, had raised himself to the throne of Persia, invaded Hindostan in 1738; he laid the country under heavy contributions, and carried such amazing wealth away with him as appears incredible; he obliged the Mogul to cede to him many provinces to the northwest of the river Indus. The last invader was Abdalla,186 a soldier of fortune, who raised himself under Nadir Shaw, and adopted his principles: he now possesses all the provinces which were ceded to Nadir Shaw by the Mogul. Besides these foreign invasions, many internal revolutions have occurred; the country has undergone great distress from incursions of the Mahrattors,187 who, as well as all other enemies, were encouraged by the distraction of the state, which has always been occasioned by the villanies of the *Omrahs, the general depravity and indolence of the people, or the weakness of the emperors. The country has been torn by the intestine wars of the Mogul, or royal family; brothers have contended against brothers for the empire. In most of the wars, treachery and assassination have supplied the want of courage, and decided the contest in favour of the most fortunate villain; who, after his success, has often been assassinated by a cabal of statesmen, or, sinking into the effeminacy of the zanannah, become the tool of their ambition.  L E T T E R XXXV II. Allahabád, July 1767. NDER the reigns of those Moguls who had wisdom, activity, and courage, equal to the task of governing such an immense empire, it was regularly divided into districts, governed by subadárs;188 and under them, nabóbs to the different provinces, subject and accountable to the king; except some provinces and smaller districts, which continued to be governed by Hindoo princes, called

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Râjahs, tributary also to the Mogul. But I must observe, that the Mahrattors never were conquered; and that likewise there are some small districts in distant parts of this immense country, which never submitted to the Mahomedans; and others, who, although they have yielded to the Mogul’s troops, have again revolted. Nevertheless, in these reigns the empire flourished, cities and forts were built, mosques and other public edifices were erected, superb baths were dug, gardens and prodigious woods were planted; the grandeur of the court surpassed imagination, and the fame thereof extended itself around the globe. Agra189 was formerly the largest, richest, and most capital city in the empire; where there was a royal palace, though the chief residence of the Great Moguls was at Lahor:190 but, within this last century, the court has been kept at Delhi. Travellers, who visited those places in the reign of Aurenzebe, have given almost incredible accounts of the grandeur and magnificence of the palaces, the mosques, the pagodas, mausoleums of the Mahomedans, baths, &c. &c. The country was ornamented with pleasure-houses and plantations: particularly between Agra and Lahor, which is the distance of one hundred and forty leagues, it was covered with beautiful plantations, which formed the most delightful avenues almost from one city to the other. But above all, they are lavish in describing the grandeur of the throne at Delhi, which was composed of the most precious gatherings of the Moguls for generations, and contained jewels innumerable, and of incredible value. Were there no vestiges of antient grandeur remaining, one might easily believe, that in the days of prosperity the riches of the Moguls, as well as the nabóbs and other great men, was immense, when one considers the revenue of such a prodigious country, and that, from the nature of the government, the riches are in the hands of a few; a despotic government, a few lords, and many slaves! and that, from the amazing fertility of the earth, it produces all that is useful for its inhabitants, as well as most of those articles which are highly prized as the luxuries of life by all civilized nations. The country is interspersed with numberless rivers, which fertilize the land, and facilitate an internal commerce; and great part of it bounded by the sea, to the ports of which ships resort from all the quarters of the globe.

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L E T T E R XXXVIII. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. ROM the riches of the country we must henceforth speak of it in its decline. The invasion of Nadir Shaw first struck at the grandeur of the Mogul empire. In this and the following wars, and the distraction of the state occasioned by them, the reins of government were slackened: the distant Nabóbs and Râjahs, taking advantage of this imbecillity of the court of Delhi, revolted, refusing to pay the annual subsidies, and asserted their independence by force of arms; till by degrees, many of the subahs191 have become hereditary possessions, though originally only vice-royalties, the governors of which were subject to be recalled at the pleasure of the Mogul. Hence it is, that the Nabób of Arcót, the Nabób of Muxadabád, and indeed I may say all the others, are independent of the Mogul; though some of them are now reduced to a dependence on the English.192 The present imperial family are of the race of Tamerlane, but in a situation truly worthy of compassion; little now remains of the grandeur of that family, which for 200 years governed one of the most rich, populous, and extensive empires in the world. And indeed in the country itself little more remains than the ruins of its ancient grandeur. The late Mogul Allum Gire193 found the country, over which the court had any real authority, reduced to a few small districts round Delhi; I say the court, for he himself had no authority, being kept a prisoner of state by his Vizier or Prime Minister, who at last put him to death, placing on the *Musnud one of his grandsons, a son of Shaw Allum:194 by the most cruel and arbitrary policy, he keeps the young prince in the same subjection he did his grandfather. Shaw Allum,† then called the Shaw Zadah,†† escaped from Delhi before his father’s death, and made many attempts to raise an army, but in all his endeavors he was unsuccessful; reduced to the necessity of going to crave assistance of different Nabóbs, who either had not the power, or the will to serve him, he likewise asked the assistance of the English; and was once joined by the Mahrattors, But the war was too unprofitable for those plunderers to continue their assistance. At length, after various unsuccessful attempts, he became entirely in the power of Sujah ul Dowlat, usually known by the name of Sujah Dowlah, Nabób of Oud.195 The English were at that time at war with Sujah Dowlah, against whom they took up arms on account of his joining, and supporting, Cossim Ali Chan,196 the deposed Nabób of Muxadabád. Sujah was defeated by the English, who made peace with him, upon condition of his yielding up the province of Allahabád (which he had lately usurped) to the Shaw Zadah, who threw himself under our protection.

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The English put the prince in possession of this province, placed him on the throne, and proclaimed him Emperor by the title of Shaw Allum*; the revenues of his province, and a certain annual sum paid to him by the company out of the revenues of Bengal, amount to about thirty lacks197 of rupees yearly, which is equal to 370,000 £. this is the whole he has to support the rank of an Emperor, in a country where money is not of one quarter the value it is in Europe. We are now in alliance with both this prince, and Sujah Dowlah, who has the title of Vizier; but the apprehension the king is in of his Vizier (who is at this time the most formidable Nabób in Hindostán, active, enterprising, deceitful, and unprincipled, bound by no laws divine or human, which can interfere with his interest; supple to the greatest meanness to those he fears; a tyrant in power; in short, a true oriental Great Man) makes the King desirous of having an army of English always near him; he has given up his fort and palace of Allahabád, to accommodate them with quarters, and pays the extra allowance called batta, which is given to the army when out of the provinces†. He resides now with his court and zanannah, and several children, in a few bungaloes, a short distance from the fort on the banks of the Jumna, a dwelling very unworthy of the imperial dignity; where he keeps up a shabby sort of grandeur and parade, and has a few seapoys in his own pay, just sufficient to attend him when he appears abroad, not at most a battalion; they are cloathed after the English custom, but are ill-disciplined, and as ill-paid. This Mogul is one of the darkest of the Musselmen, of a grave deportment bordering upon sadness: of an indolent and inactive life; supposed to be the consequence of repeated disappointments, which have at last left him, perhaps, without even the hope of ever recovering the possession of his empire, or even being seated on the throne of his ancestors at Delhi. His chief amusement is in smoking his hooker, bathing according to the Mahomedan custom, and his ††harram,198 in which he passeth the greatest part of his time: when he goes out, which is but seldom, it is with his whole court, himself generally upon an elephant: he sometimes goes upon the river of an evening, which is a pleasing sight; the boats, which are excessively pretty, are illuminated; and the music, though always barbarous, sounds to advantage upon the water.

* His father being now dead. † The provinces of Bengal, Bahar, and Orixa.199 The company’s troops, who are beyond these three provinces, have an additional daily allowance. †† Seraglio.

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L E T T E R XXXIX. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. HE three provinces of Bengal, Bahar, and Orixah, which the English have now so great an interest in, were formerly distinct vice-royalties; but afterwards united under one Nabób or Soubadár; since which time, remarkable revolutions have happened in this Soubah. It was usurped by a Tartar, one who had been a servant to the Soubadár, and afterwards an officer in his army—his name was Allaverdi. A grandson of his brother, adopted by Allaverdi,200 and called Surajah Dowlah,201 was the first who made war upon the English; the distresses the factory underwent at that time, particularly the black hole,202 the destruction of the Nabób Surajah Dowlah, and the changes of Nabóbs since, have been so particularly published to the world, that it is needless to repeat them. In the time of Surajah Dowlah, the English held a small fort at Calcutta, and had some English houses in the town; carrying on their trade by permission of the Nabób, to whom they paid duties; companies servants were likewise stationed in different parts of the country, to superintend the manufactories. In this situation, the Nabób with his numerous army, could not find it difficult to drive out the English, who were few in number. But on the arrival of a fleet under the command of Admiral Watson,203 from our other settlements in India, and the army under Colonel Clive,204 the face of affairs was suddenly changed: the Nabób was defeated, and his general, who, by favoring the English, was the chief cause of his master’s fall, was by them placed upon the Musnud, but with certain restrictions in favour of his benefactors, and with promise to make full restitution to all the sufferers by the late war with his predecessor Surajah Dowlah. The company’s trade and advantages205 were by this means vastly enlarged, they augmented the army, and the English daily increased in power, riches, and numbers. But the Nabób not keeping his engagements, it was deemed necessary to depose him; another was raised to the Musnud with greater grants to the company, who was afterwards set aside for a third, by whom still more extensive privileges were given than by the former: when the third died, he was succeeded by his son; and his posterity has continued on the Musnud till the present time. By every change the company’s servants gained great advantages for their masters, not to mention their own private emoluments. Insomuch that the English company are at this period entire masters of the three provinces, allowing the Nabób who governs under them a certain sum out of the revenues. Such are the revolutions by which the empire of Hindostan has arrived at its present state.

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L E T T E R XL. Allahabád, August 1767. HE nature of a despotic government is so well understood, and is in all countries so much the same, that it is unnecessary to enter much into the particulars of the government of Hindostán; besides, it would be extremely difficult, since, in all the connexion of the English with the country, they can discover nothing like a regular code of laws, or, indeed, any but those of the Koran; all of which are interpreted different ways. But there is one particular, which seems to differ both from the nature of the government, and from the religion of the Mahomedans, so desirous of making proselytes; I mean the liberty of conscience allowed to the Hindoos; for whether the Mahomedans foresaw that it was impossible to bring about a change, or apprehended danger from making the attempt, it is certain, that, after they had conquered their country, they not only allowed them the free exercise of their worship, but many of them were intrusted with the government of provinces. The will of the superior is the law; but, as in every state there must be some regulations, there are certain officers appointed for the government of different districts; for collecting the revenues; for trying and determining disputes between the natives; for the settling of these disputes, of what nature soever, there are no absolute laws, but certain old customs, which are always abided by, unless it is more convenient to break through them. The prince is subject to no controul from the laws; whilst therefore he can support his authority, to him every one will bow his forehead to the ground, all hands will be clasped in humility before him, every dastardly subject will praise the most infamous of his actions, and tremble at his nod. But, as inferiors expect no justice, they do not think themselves bound to submission, whenever they can extricate themselves from subjection, either by force or fraud. By the constitution, the lands are all the property of the Mogul; and the Nabóbs, who have made themselves independent of the Mogul, claim the same right in their territories, and farm the lands out to the people; therefore the revenues do not arise from taxes on the estates, but the rents of them. The taxes are on merchandises, the imposts on Goods at different ports, &c. The right of testament is allowed, by which the subject is empowered to dispose of his effects and money to his family. The appointments are mostly military: the Nabób is the first military officer in the province or provinces which he governs; the Phousdár206 the next, who generally presides over a very considerable district. Havildárs and Zemindárs207 are appointed to towns or villages. The revenues are collected by military force, or at least the appearance of an army; and every thing is calculated to break the spirit of the subject, and inspire him with the most abject fear.

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L E T T E R XLI. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. S the Mahomedans are all Predestinarians,208 added to the faith they have that whoever is slain in battle goes immediately into paradise, one should expect to find them excellent soldiers. This was undoubtedly the intention of their prophet, who was a martial genius, and founded his empire by conquest. When the Mogul Tartars first conquered Hindostán, they are said to have been a hardy, warlike, active race of people: who carried their conquests through the land with irresistible valor; though most likely that the effeminacy of the people they had to oppose them, helped as much to promote their reputation and conquest, as their own courage. It is a common and just observation, that the nature of this climate is such as to enervate every person who resides in it, and to render the most active after a time indolent; this disposition increases, and every generation becomes more and more slothful, which seems to account for the present degeneracy of the Mahomedans of Hindostán. Nothing can more justly show their present military and political force than the progress of the British arms, since the English, in comparison of the black people, are but as a handful of men. Not but there are still instances of the seapoys,209 under the command of British officers, fighting with the greatest bravery; but under black people, they want that continual attention to discipline, which is as necessary as courage. This general depravity and indolence is the cause, that if one man in a century arises, possessed of common abilities, a daring spirit, resolution and activity; let him be even of the lowest rank in life, he is certain to carry all before him, and become a great man; when his endeavors once meet with success he is looked upon as invincible, and neighboring powers, who oppose him while they think they dare, on his success will join him, till his army becomes immense; but should ever a reverse of fortune happen, he is deserted at the time he stands most in need of assistance—One of these sort of adventurers is Hyder Alli,210 now so formidable in the Decan.

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L E T T E R XLII. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. LTHOUGH the Mahomedans are not so strictly divided into tribes as the Hindoos, nor are they by their laws prevented from raising themselves to a higher rank in life, they have nevertheless the same notion of losing cast, but they do not observe it so strictly. If any one eats swine’s flesh or drinks wine, he ought to lose cast, though they often drink secretly, and to excess; but in public, they stand upon great ceremony in these points; so much that a cook who is a Mussulman will not dress a joint of pork, nor will any servant at table, though perhaps there be a hundred standing round, remove a plate in which pork has been; unless it is a slave, who having no cast cannot be disgraced by this, or any other employment. The Harri or Hallicore cast211 are the dregs of both Mussulmen and Hindoos, employed in the meanest and vilest offices; people whose selves or parents have lost cast. But there is a resource for even the worst of these, which is to turn christians: I mean Roman Catholics; and such are the chief, if not the only proselytes, the Missionaries have to boast of in the east; being mostly such as have committed some very great crimes, or have been made slaves when young, which prevents their ever returning amongst those of their own religion. If any woman has committed a crime so great as to induce her husband, or any other person, to cut off her hair, which is the greatest and most irrecoverable disgrace, she like a thousand others is glad to be received into some society, and becomes a christian: so that most of the black christians are more so from necessity than from conviction. The Portuguese priests, of which there are many in India, receive all, baptize, and give them absolution: as soon as they are made christians they call themselves, and are called, Portuguese; the women change their dress, and wear something like a jacket and petticoat; and the men mostly affect to dress like Europeans. Their language is called Pariar212 Portuguese, a vile mixture of almost every European language with some of the Indian. This is however a useful dialect to travellers in many parts of Hindostán, particularly on the sea coast, and is called the lingua Franca213 of India. These black Portuguese are a numerous people in all those parts of the country which have been long frequented by Europeans. They are mostly in mean situations, and are looked upon with great contempt by all the other Indians, for the reasons I have mentioned; and indeed it is not without some cause that they think them the worst of people; for besides the general depravity, they have if possible more cunning; but at the same time they are most of them more active, and not so stupid as the others. The reason of these black christians being called Portuguese, is from a custom which obtained at the time when the Portuguese were the only Europeans known in India; therefore all the proselytes became of their nation. But the real Portuguese have now almost lost all their trade and influence throughout Hindostán: their principal settlement at present is Goa.214

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L E T T E R XLIII. Allahabád, August 1767. HE Mahomedans, after the death of their prophet, were divided into different sects; these of Hindostán are mostly followers of Ali;215 and their creed, “There is but one God, Mahomed is his prophet, and Ali is his friend”.* This confession of faith is often in their mouths; and in Persia or Turkey, any Christian who should be heard to repeat the confession of the Mahomedan faith, would be obliged to embrace the religion, or lose his life: but whether the Mahomedans who entered Hindostán left the spirit of conversion behind them, or whether they have now been so long used to live amongst people of different religions that they have forgot it, I know not; but it is certain that we hear of no persecutions on that account; or any attempts to bring over either Christians or Pagans to their religion. The precepts of their doctrine are very simple; they are commanded to use frequent ablutions; to pray often; to fast sometimes; to abstain from swine’s flesh and wine; to give tithes of their goods to the poor: as to the pilgrimage to Mecca,216 the distance of the country is a sufficient excuse for their not performing it; but those who have made that journey are looked upon with much reverence. The grandees esteem the commandment concerning wine as intended only for the vulgar; pork indeed they seldom touch, unless it comes under the form of an English ham, which they are very fond of, and evade the law by calling it European mutton: the vulgar have seldom an opportunity of breaking these laws; but when they have, are in general as little scrupulous as their superiors; the only difference is, that they are obliged to be more secret. They say five short prayers daily; and before their prayers are commanded to wash their hands and mouths; they are to be very attentive while they are repeating these little prayers; and if by any chance they are interrupted, or their attention called off, by a person’s speaking to them, the stinging of an insect, or any other accident, which obliges them to change their posture, they begin and repeat the prayer over again: as it is not always convenient to wash at these times, they sometimes content themselves with making the motion of washing, rubbing their hands and lips, which they say is acceptable. Besides this partial washing, they are commanded frequent bathing; a circumstance which, besides its being a religious obligation, cannot fail of being very agreeable in this hot climate. As to the law of giving a tithe to the poor, the state is in such distraction, that there are few but what are either above the law, or have nothing to give. In short, the Mussulmen in India are not such strict observers of their religion, as in the countries nearer the tomb of the prophet. They are all predestinarians; and believe, that whatever is intended must be; more particularly the time of every person’s death is recorded in the book of fate from all eternity. This belief has a most extraordinary influence on their conduct: they meet death with an indifference which is perfectly astonishing; and a man who would beg

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* The creed of the Mahomedans who are not followers of Ali, is, “There is but one God, and Mahomed is his prophet.”

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in the most abject manner to avoid a punishment, or save his goods, will not utter a single word to preserve his life; so firmly are they convinced of their predestiny. They believe likewise that whoever is slain in battle goes immediately into Paradise. It has often been asserted by travellers, that the Mahomedans believe women have no souls; and are, by the prophet, excluded from Paradise; however, the learned in the Arabic language, who take their authority from the Alcoran itself, deny this,217 as an absolute falsity; particularly he promised his own wives, that if they obeyed his laws, they should have a peculiar place assigned for them. Nevertheless, whether the Mussulmen of this time have been led into an error by their doctors218 and commentators on the Alcoran, or whether they have adopted it through policy, I know not: but I may venture to assure you, that many of them (in this country at least), if they do not think the women absolutely excluded, still believe that they will not be admitted to the same supreme degree of felicity as themselves: and some of them on this subject will only say, that those few women who have distinguished themselves on earth by any extraordinary virtues, or illustrious actions, may be admitted. All the Mahomedans have the power of life and death over their own families, their wives, children, and slaves, when any of them commit crimes which the Koran deems capital. The doubtful points of religion do not disturb their peace; not curious to know the truth, it is not here we must look for learning and science: the wise men of the East have disappeared, I believe, throughout the East; at least in Hindostan, philosophy and philosophers are no more! even the princes and ministers are so illiterate that some of them can scarcely write or read. Great riches produced luxury, indolence, rapine, extortion, and injustice, followed. The riches have become the prey of foreigners, and the dignity of the monarch is destroyed by his own subjects. The Mahomedans, although they are forbid to drink wine, are often intoxicated by their great use of opium; which they not only take in large quantities, but mix it with the tobacco they smoak; this does not enliven their spirits, or cause them to commit such irregularities as drunken people are subject to; but makes them sleepy, stupid, and indolent to a great degree; there is likewise a liquor called bang, or bank,219 which they take as a dram; it has the same intoxicating and soporiferous quality as the opium.  L E T T E R XLIV. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. OST of the great men, such as Nabobs, *Niabs,220 or other persons who are in public employments, lay out their riches in jewels; the reason is obvious;

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they are uncertain of the continuance of their dignity, and depriving a man of his employment does not leave him to retire in peace with his fortune, but every species of persecution generally follows. A fallen favorite has every thing to fear. In their prosperity they tyrannize, defraud, and oppress, all under them; seize their property, and take away their daughters: for who shall dare to complain of “the man whom the king delighteth to honour?”221 But no sooner is his disgrace known, than every one prefers his complaint, with exaggeration: the delinquent has nothing for it but flight; happy if he can make his escape; he leaves his post of dignity to be filled by another; who, most likely, follows in the same path. Had he invested his money in trade, his merchandize would have been confiscated; or trusted it with a friend, that friend would have forsaken him. But diamonds are a portable treasure, and easily concealed. All the people of rank keep a great train of servants, to whom they give very little wages; but as they must live, they take advantage of being under their master’s protection; and indemnify themselves by their impositions on all who have any dependance on their master’s favor, extorting presents, &c. and obliging the trades-people to sell them their goods at an under price. In short, “corruption, like a general flood, has deluged all!”222 As to the common people, I cannot speak of them without pain; or ever pass through the Buzars223 of Patna, or any other place, without drawing comparisons between the poor of this country and those of England: these are poor indeed! scarce any covering, their food rice and water; their miserable huts of straw: in the cold season they have a fire made with a little straw in the middle of their huts, which smothers them with smoak; their minds, except what nature gave them, no more informed than the beasts which perish: no liberty, no property, subject to the tyranny of every superior. But what seems to complete their misery is, that whether pinched by cold, or enervated by heat, indolence equally prevails, to such a degree as seems to absorb every faculty; even immediate self-preservation scarcely rouses them from it. One sees, in passing through the streets, men, women, and children, in abundance sitting at their doors unemployed, like statues; and their aversion to action is so extreme, that when themselves or children are in danger of being crushed by horses or carriages, they will neither move themselves, or put out a hand to draw their infants nearer to them till the moment they are forced to it; and then do not withdraw an inch farther than they are obliged, and with an air of dissatisfaction, which plainly shews how disagreeable it is to them to change their posture. Ease with them is the greatest good; and nothing surprizes the Indians so much as to see Europeans take pleasure in exercise; they are astonished to see people walking who might sit still. A great Mussulman, being invited to an English entertainment where there was dancing, said with great earnestness, he was surprized to see the English ladies and gentlemen take the trouble of dancing themselves, to-be-sure they might have people to dance for them. Perhaps you will think this a very extraordinary 80

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observation; nevertheless it is perfectly in character, and not the least surprizing to those who see daily instances of the effects of this climate. And yet, what is very extraordinary, there are certain casts of both Hindoos and Mahomedans, who at times undergo great labour, particularly the Bearers; people whose business it is to carry a Palenqueen. They are generally stout fellows; the Palenqueen is carried by four; and seven or eight, by changing, will carry a person at the rate of four miles an hour for several hours together. The Dandies likewise have a laborious employment; and their constantly plunging into the water in the height of perspiration, would kill any person but those who are used to it. There are other casts who are remarkably swift of foot, particularly Hircarers;224 these people are often made use of as spies, both on public and private occasions; frequently they are kept as a sort of running-footmen, and compose a part of the parade of servants who precede a Palenqueen; they are likewise sent with letters or messages to very distant parts of the country, and their expedition is extraordinary. When one gives a Hircarer a letter to carry to any distance, he takes off his turband, and carefully conceals the letter in the folds of it; he provides himself with a brass pot, for the convenience of drawing water from the wells or rivers he is to pass; and a little parched rice, either in a bag or the folds of his garment, which is generally a piece of coarse linen, from his waist to his knees: thus equipped, with a sort of club in his hand, he will make a journey of three or four hundred miles. The grooms, who are called sices, are tolerably swift; for whenever the horse which a sice takes care of is rode, he constantly attends with it, in quality of footman; and if the sun is up, a bearer will carry an umbrello, and walk equal to the usual pace of riding, which indeed is not very fast in this country. These instances, however, are sufficient to shew, that the natives are not incapable of using exercise; and, although the climate is certainly extremely relaxing, it seems to impair their minds more than their bodies; to which indolence of spirit, a despotical government and its consequences has perhaps not a little contributed.  L E T T E R XLV. Allahabád, August 1767. HE general deportment of the Indians is modest and reserved; their address to their superiors humble to a great degree. The salute, or obeisance, which they call salam225 in the familiar way, is raising their right hand to their forehead; before a superior they incline the body, lowering the right hand almost to the ground, and raising it slowly to their forehead three times: But before a prince they almost lay themselves on the ground; and when they ask mercy, they raise their two hands joined together, waiving them with the most mournful air and

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melancholy countenance; and sometimes, to shew the greater awe and deference, throw themselves into a fit of trembling, as if they were shaken by an ague;226 but this last piece of mummery227 is reserved for great occasions. In short, there is no posture too base, no language too humble, no submission or flattery too gross, to be given to those they fear. The manly sense of human dignity seems lost; and the second man in a despotical government is but the first slave, who repays himself for his submissions to his master by exacting the same servile submissions from others, and the same solemn and respectful behaviour goes down even amongst the common people. No one ever differs in opinion from his superior; or rather, they have learned to allow themselves no opinions. By the law of the Koran, every Mahomedan prince is obliged to attend some hours daily for the public administration of justice to his subjects: and this is observed in India; every Nabób either attends himself, or appoints his Niab, to attend on every day except their holidays; and in every town or village the chief of it takes upon him the same right of trying and determining the disputes, between the people in his jurisdiction. The court of justice, called the Durbar, is a large building, open on one side to admit the multitude: there every one repairs who has any complaint to make. The law is not here a science; no council are employed; no acts of state or books of law are referred to. The complainant repairs himself, without ceremony, to the Durbar, where, with lifted hands, and exalted voice, he cries out for justice, repeating the words *Dwoy Siab! Dwoy Siab! till he is taken notice of by the judge: when he is brought forward he tells his own tale, with all that humility they always shew before a superior; and, as in all disputes no one depends on the justice of his cause, but the favour of the judge, it is no wonder that their submissions are excessive. But flattery alone, however gross, is not sufficient, unless accompanied by bribes, which are given by both parties; presents are made, not only to the judge, but to his favourites, his servants, and all who have any influence with him; and the most generous, generally, triumphs over his adversary. The tediousness of suits (a necessary evil, in governments where the privileges of the subjects are guarded by a multiplicity of laws) cannot here be complained of; the decision is as sudden as it is generally unjust: the verdict of juries is a thing unheard-of, where all depends on one man. The judge condemns and orders the punishment himself. This is the mode of seeking redress between equals: but does a man suffer oppressions from one in power, a retainer to the court, or from the servants or creatures of one in power, he too well knows, ruin would follow his complaints. Patience is his only remedy! and fellow-sufferers his only consolation!  * Justice, my Lord.

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L E T T E R XLVI. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. FEAR that my account of the government and people of Hindostán must appear uncharitable, or you may think, that, with the true spirit of an Englishwoman, I condemn whatever is contrary to the customs of my own country; or perhaps, that I am writing on a subject with which I am only superficially acquainted, especially as it is not uncommon with travellers to “mistake the abuse of laws, for the laws themselves;”228 and I must confess that the extreme depravity of the people, and the tyranny of superiors, appears so incredible to those who are used to contemplate a milder form of government, that I have not confidence to proceed, till I have first transcribed a passage or two on this subject from Mons. Montesquieu, which I hope will serve both as authority and illustration. “Comme il faut de la vertu dans une republique, et dans une monarchie de l’honneur, il faut de la crainte dans un government despotique: pour la vertu elle n’y est point nécessaire, et l’honneur y seroit dangereux. “Le pouvoir immense du Prince y passe tout entier à ceux à qui il le confie, des gens capables de s’estimer beaucoup eux mêmes, seroient en état d’y faire de revolutions. Il faut donc, que la crainte y abbatte tout les courages, et y éteigne jusq’au moindre sentiment d’ambition. “Dans les Etats despotiques la nature du governement demande une obeissance extréme, et la volonté du Prince une fois connue doit avoir aussi infailliblement son effet, qu’une boule jettée contre une autre doit avoir le sien. “Il n’y a point de temperament, de modification, d’accommodemens de termes, d’equivalens, de pour-parlers, de remonstrances, rien d’egal en de meilleur à proposer, l’homme est une créature que obéit à une creature qui veut. “On n’y peut pas plus representer ses craintes pas sur un évenement future, qu’excuser ses mauvais succes sur le caprice de la fortune: le partage des hommes comme des Bêtes, y est l’instinct, l’obeissance, le châtiment. “Il ne fert de rien d’opposer les sentimens naturels, le respect pour une pere, la tendresse pour ses enfans et ses femmes, les loix de l’honneur, l’état de sa santé, on a reçu l’ordre, et cela suffit.”229 Therefore, when a black man receives any order, he does not consider the justice of that order, but the favour of the person who gives it, and obeys accordingly. When the English troops were first in garrison at Allahabád, the Mogul (who resides near) came with his court one night late to the gates and demanded entrance, but without telling who he was; the officer of the guard refused to open the great gates at that time in the night, without which his elephants could not enter. The Mogul returned in great wrath, and next morning sent to the governor of the fort, to desire that the officer might be put to death. The answer he received on this occasion, gave him the first idea of laws, which prevent a superior from taking away the life, or even the liberty of an inferior; and informed him, that it is not by the will of the prince, but the laws of his country, an individual must be tried!

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The point with them is not whether a man has done his duty, but whether the prince is offended with him; if he is, confiscation of effects, imprisonment, and death, are all in his power. I will not pretend to determine (on a point which has been often urged) whether black people are by nature inferior in understanding to white; who can judge of it here, where the nature of the government checks the growth of every virtue? Where property is not secure, what incitement is there to industry? Where knowledge is of no use, who will resign his indolence and ease in endeavors to obtain it? In such a government can we wonder, that the general characteristic of the inhabitants should be stupidity and low cunning?  L E T T E R XLVII. Allahabád, Aug. 1767. HE dress of the men as of the women is unchangeable: it is a dress which appears effeminate, but is calculated for the excessive heat of the climate, being free from all tight bandages which might prevent the circulation of blood, and is composed of muslin; they have long drawers, therefore stockings and their accompaniments garters are unnecessary, a shirt quite open at the neck and wrists, and a long jemma,230 which each reaches down to the ground with long strait sleeves; a sash round their wastes and a turband; the Nabóbs and other great men in this part of India have sometimes their dresses made of shawl in the cold season, and almost every man who can afford it has a shawl which he wears over his head and shoulders; but this is peculiar to the northern provinces, where the cold is severe. The lower casts have only a piece of callico from their wastes to their knees, and a turband. The dress of both Hindoos and Mahomedans is the same, except that the turbands of the first are rather smaller; and indeed their whole appearance is so much alike, that it would be difficult to know which religion they are of, if the Mahomedans and Hindoos, who wear garments, did not tie the strings of their jemmas, the first on the left, the others on the right. And there are some points in which the religion and custom of the Hindoos and Mahomedans bear a resemblance; but in others, no two nations the most distant can be more unlike. Both are commanded frequent ablution, and both are permitted plurality of wives. A Hindoos’s fear of death is lessened by the consideration that his soul immediately passes into some other man or animal; and every change lessens the number of transmigrations the soul has to undergo, before it becomes perfect. The Mahomedans are still more fearless, from their notion of predestination, and from their belief, that whoever is slain in battle goes immediately into paradice.

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But the Hindoos from their faith in the metempsychosis,231 and of consequence their aversion to bloodshed (I speak not of the Rajpoots or Marrattos)232 are inclined to peace. The Mahomedans, believing paradise to be the lot of those who fall in battle, are inclined to war. The employment of the Brahmins ought to be the propagation of virtue, and the cultivation of the sciences; the employment of the people trade and manufactories, for only one division of the people were destined to bear arms. But the Mahomedans, who despise the sciences, and hold trade in contempt, think no profession honorable but that of war. The strong lines in the character of a Hindoo are effeminacy and avarice. Those of a Tartar cruelty and ambition. Not but there may be an ambitious Hindoo, and there are many avaritious Mahomedans; for it is observable, whether from the climate, from example, or from both these causes, that the Mussulmen of India, particularly those of some generations standing, have contracted the effeminacy and avarice of the Hindoos, at the same time that they have retained the cruelty of the Tartars. A Hindoo may acquire riches, though all the art he can use will never advance him to a higher cast. But the meanest cooly of a Moor-man,233 by entering into the army, may become a general, or even a Nabób. Almost all the merchants of the country are Hindoos; but the menial trades are followed by the people of both religions, though more generally Hindoos. They are more perfect, and more successful, in their favorite occupation of trade, than the Moor-men in theirs of war; for although the principles of the Mahomedan faith frees them from the fear of death, their indolence and effeminacy, the consequences of this climate, have left them little more than the parade and name of soldiers, at least when compared with Europeans.

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L E T T E R XLVIII. Allahabád, Sept. 1767. HEN we are told, that a small body of troops, composed of people enervated by the excessive heat of a climate which is not natural to them, distant from every resource, and exposed to all the inconveniencies which an army labors under in an enemy’s country; have conquered whole provinces, and brought immense districts under their subjection: We are ready enough to account for it, by attributing to the enemy the defects of pusillanimity and cowardice. But all this has happened in a country where the people are warlike, where the name of soldier is honorable, where there are immense armies, and where the people meet death with intrepidity and composure. Those who have remarked on the English constitution have observed, that every subject is equally protected by the laws, and equally enjoys the blessing of liberty, except the army; but the moment a man enters into the army, he renounces the privileges of a citizen, to subject himself to the severity of military laws. Even the Roman republicans,234 tenacious as they were of their liberty, submitted to the absolute authority of their military leaders. On the contrary, in this despotical state, where neither the lives, the property, or the liberty of the subject is defended by the laws, where there is in short no law but the will of the Prince, a General has but little authority over his soldiers. They are at once servile in a civil capacity, and mutinous in a military one; and as they do not enter into the army for any certain time, the General has no power to detain them whenever they chuse to quit; and a man by becoming a seapoy, so far from subjecting himself to a more rigid law, obtains by it the privilege of oppressing others. The operations of an army have often been stopt by a mutiny of the seapoys, for want of pay. For an eastern prince, superior to all laws, and unused to having any demand made upon him, does not think it necessary to provide for the payment of his troops, and, from that want of punctuality which runs throughout the whole country in every transaction, the promises which are made to them of pay are seldom kept. In this uncertainty of pay, plunder is the object; and this plunder is not confined to the enemies country, rapine and cruelty mark their steps even in marching through their own provinces; the people endeavor to fly from the villages they are to pass through, with their wives, children, and cattle. The great officers of the army carry their zanannahs, and an infinite number of servants; every common Seapoy has at least a wife and servant, and officers have families in proportion; even their little children are not left behind. An immense travelling buzar or market always follows. So that in fact a Mahomedan army is an unwieldy multitude, which yields to a small body of well-conducted troops, not from want of courage in the soldiers, but of conduct in the leaders.

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L E T T E R XLIX. Allahabád, September 1767. HE Mahomedans, as well as the warlike nations of the Hindoos, are fond of the parade of cavalry, of which most of their armies were composed; but a great and strange defect reigns in these armies. Every soldier finds his own horse; if his horse is killed (as it is generally impossible for him to purchase another), he is no longer a soldier. His livelyhood depends on his horse more than on himself, and according to the value of that he receives his pay. It is astonishing that Mahomedan princes should ever adopt this maxim; for although a Mahomedan, from his faith in predestination, ought not to run away to save his own life, he will most likely avoid all danger to save his horse. The subadar Surajah Ul Dowlet Nabób of Oud, whom I have mentioned in a former letter, has modelled his army after the European manner; he makes constant improvements, he casts cannon, he disciplines his troops himself, and is indefatigable in the improvement of his army, and increasing his infantry; so much that none of the other black powers would be able to resist him. Such a man as Sujah, having none but Hindoos or the Mahomedans of India to contend with, might transmit his name to posterity as a celebrated warrior, and conquer the chief part of the empire. From this perhaps it may be urged, that all the black princes will see the good consequences of a well-conducted army: they will follow the example of the Europeans, will consider their own numbers; and, after being often beat, at last conquer their conquerors. The Romans, without the advantage of numbers, by copying from all their enemies, became their masters. And Charles the twelfth of Sweden, for some time invincible, taught his enemies the art of war.235 But experience alone will never effect this; there were other causes. Every Roman fought for himself, for his lands and his liberty: the love of their country was their predominant principle, even to enthusiasm. And the enemies of Charles the twelfth, with all their experience, would never have been able to oppose him, had not they been governed by a prince236 who had wisdom and fortitude enough to conquer first the superstition, and ignorant barbarism of his country: he led his subjects to a love of virtue, of the sciences, of their country, and their king! A despotical government absolutely prevents the growth of these virtues in Hindostán; which occasions mighty and insurmountable obstacles to their ever conquering the Europeans. No one power, however superior to his neighbours, darcs attempt it alone, and alliances are dangerous to enter into. Every Mahomedan knows within himself, and consequently judges for others, that honour is too weak a tie, when it interferes with ambition. In states, as in private life, who will dare to trust his neighbour? for it has frequently been seen, that where two or more princes, even amongst brothers, have united their forces, the most powerful, or the most cunning, has raised himself at the expence of his allies, and often by assassination.

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If the General of an European army is killed, the next in command supplies his place; and although such an accident is some discouragement, no confusion ensues. But in a Mahomedan army, if the Prince leads them himself and is slain, his soldiers and subjects know not who will succeed; all is anarchy! those who compose the army disperse themselves. There are generally many pretenders to the throne, and a civil war ensues; which makes it impossible to prosecute a national one. If the army is led by the Vizier, or any other General; his death has the same immediate effect upon the army as the death of the Prince, for the order of succession is not marked out to the command of an army, any more than to the throne; and perhaps from the same cause. The General would ever think himself in danger from his successor; and either would devise some plausible or private means to rid him of his rival, or himself fall to his rival’s superior cunning. All these defects being considered, it appears that the Mahomedans in India will never be equal in war to the Europeans, nor will any European army (where there is the least degree of proportion in numbers) be in danger from them, unless they are joined by other Europeans.  L E T T E R L. Allahabád, Sept. 1767. HE army of the English company on the Bengal establishment237 is now very considerable, and if we judge of the future by the past, may be still vastly increased; for about ten years since all the Europeans in the service did not amount to the present number of officers. The army is at present divided into three brigades; each brigade consists of one battalion of ten companies, of European infantry, with their proper officers; one regiment of ten battalions of seapoys,* or black infantry, with their officers to each battalion, and one called Jemautdar, who commands the whole regiment; but all these officers are inferior to the English, for every battalion has an English captain, and an equal number of subalterns as a company of Europeans, and the whole regiment of Seapoys has field officers, the same as a battalion of Europeans. There is no instance (I have heard of) of an European soldier being under a black man, for the serjeants are superior in command to even the first black officer in the army. Therefore although in the bulk of the army the natives are most numerous, the power and command is vested entirely in the Europeans. The artillery is one regiment, of four companies of Europeans, besides black people. One company of artillery is attached to every brigade; to each company of European artillery are four or five companies of Lascárs, fifty in each company. Lascár means a sailor; these people are of the sailor cast, and mostly from the

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* Seapoy in the language of the country means a soldier in general, whether of horse or foot.

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coast of Coromandél. They are cloathed in a uniform of the same make as the Seapoys, only the color is like the regiment they belong to, blue with red; each company of Lascárs is commanded by one of their own people called a *Sarang, they are employed in all the laborious part of the business which in Europe belongs to the Matrosses;238 the climate makes this relief to the soldiers necessary. To each brigade is one troop of black cavalry, commanded by an English lieutenant, and used as a guard to the colonel of the brigade. There are besides the three brigades, some battalions called †purgunna Seapoys,239 commanded by English officers; these are a sort of provincial troops, being under the direction of the chiefs of the English factories. It is unnecessary to be more particular, as I believe this sketch will serve to give you a general idea of the British force at present in this part of India.  L E T T E R LI. Allahabád, Sept. 1767. PON a late great holiday amongst the Mahomedans, by desire of the Great Mogul,240 the English troops were out to be reviewed by him. But it appeared very extraordinary to us, that he did not take the least notice of any thing, or even look on the troops while they were going through their evolutions: if he did look, it was with an eye askaunt, much practised by the Mussulmen; it seems it is inconsistent with dignity to appear to observe. However mortified the soldiers might be at this seeming neglect, we were still pleased with such an opportunity of viewing a shadow of eastern magnificence; for although the parade exceeded any thing I had ever seen, it was but a miniature of former grandeur. All the trappings of dignity were displayed on this occasion; the Mogul himself was on an elephant richly covered with embroidered velvet, the Howder241 magnificently lackered and gilded; his sons were likewise on elephants.—The plain was almost covered with his attendants; the officers of his court, their servants, and their servants servants, Seapoys, Peadars,242 &c. &c. did not amount to less than fifteen hundred people. All except the Seapoys were according to custom dressed in white jemmers and turbands, the principal people were on horseback and well mounted: the train was increased by a great many state elephants, state palenqueens, and led horses richly caparisoned.243 The gilding of the howders and palenqueens, the gold stuffs of the bedding and cushions, the silver and gold ornaments, the tassels and fringe of various colors,

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* Sarang, a sea captain. † Purgunna, a district.

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some of them even mixed with small pearls, the rich umbrellas, trappings of the horses, and all together glittered in the sun, and made a most brilliant appearance. Such is the pomp of eastern kings! and all the Indians of any sort of considetion pride themselves on the number of their attendants. After the review was over, the Mogul had a public Divan or Court. On these occasions he is seated on the Mustnud, which is a stand about the size of a small bedstead, covered with a rich cloth; upon it is an oblong plate of silver gilded and turned up round the edges; in this he sits cross-legged, as is the fashion of the country. In this manner the prince, surrounded by the officers of his court, receives all petitions, and those who have the honor to be presented to him. The petitioner, leaving his slippers at the outside of the door, enters, making three Saláms, and bowing his forehead to the ground, approaches with his petition, and some gold *mohurs244 in his hand, generally says, “take, read this my petition, the day will come when all petitions shall be heard.” If the Mogul gives a nod of approbation, the petition and gold mohurs are received by an officer for that purpose. The English field officers were all presented to him; the officer before he enters the Divan is taken into another apartment, and a Moor’s dress is given him, which is a present from the Mogul: this he puts on, then leaving his shoes at the door he enters the Divan, making three Saláms, after which he advances forward to the Mustnud, and presents some gold mohurs, which the Mogul orders one of his officers to receive, without taking any further notice of the person presented to him. The dress given on these occasions is generally shewy and slight, embroidered with plated gold and colored silks, upon muslin, more or less rich according to the rank of the person to whom it is given; the Sere Peach,245 the jewel which ornaments the forepart of the turband, is composed of emeralds, diamonds, and rubies, but mostly imperfect stones. It is the custom throughout the east, whenever an inferior is introduced to a superior, to approach him with a present of money; the superior’s present is always a dress, a horse, an elephant, or a string of pearl, &c. &c.

* Gold Rupees.

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L E T T E R LII. Fort of Allahabàd, September 1767. AM now entertained and disturbed by the noise of a *Fakir;246 his mother was buried under a large tree, near the walls of this fort, in the bed of the Ganges; and the pious Fakir has made a vow never to leave the spot. As soon as it was known that he had taken this resolution, he was in no danger of starving, being supplied with all necessaries by the piety of those weak people, who began to look upon him as a saint: he had not been long under the tree when the rains commenced; and, as the river increased, and extended itself to that part, he was under a necessity of climbing into the tree, where, by the help of a small piece of board, fixed to the upper branches, on which he sits, he with difficulty keeps himself above the water: exposed, without shelter, and almost without clothes, to the inclemency of the heavy rains. It is astonishing with what resolution these Fakirs keep the vows they have made. As his danger is increased, his reputation is increased also; he is surrounded with boats to bring him provisions, and by those who either wish to satisfy their curiosity with the sight of so holy a man, or to be benefited by his prayers. If his constitution should be able to support him through the changes of the seasons, he is likely to become as great a saint with the Mahomedans, as the Brahmin who holds up his arms at Beneras is with the Hindoos.† The Fakirs are mostly ill-looking wretches, from several causes; they often let their hair and beards grow, without ever combing or washing themselves, and affect a sort of penance, by covering their heads with ashes, turning their eyes across, and distorting their features. At Beneras I saw a company of Fakirs of the fighting cast. These fellows, who join the character of priest, soldier, and beggar, carry terror wherever they go, particularly as they are in large parties: they were armed with a target, a matchlock, and pike;247 a piece of cloth round their middle, and a turband, was their whole dress. I am informed, that there are many of these fighting priests in the distant provinces, who are employed as soldiers; but it is very uncommon for them to strole so far down the Ganges. Bulwant Zing,248 the Râjah of the province of Beneras, is tributary to the Nabób Surajah Ul Dowlet; they are now at great enmity, although not at war: Bulwant Zing has lately been ordered to repair to Oud, to give an account of his administration, and pay his accustomed tribute; which he does not think proper to comply with; but is retired to a strong fort he has upon the banks of the Ganges: whether he has really defrauded the Nabób of his rights, or whether the Nabób only makes it a pretence, in order to pillage him, and perhaps deprive him of his government, is very difficult to know; but which ever it is, the Râjah is too well acquainted with Eastern politics to put himself in his enemy’s power. In revenge for this caution, it seems the Nabób encouraged the Fakirs to overrun the province, in order to distress the Râjah.

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* Fakir, Fakier, or Faquier. † There are Fakirs of both religions.

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L E T T E R LIII. September 1767. T gives me much pleasure that I am now able to give you some account of the Oriental ladies, which would never have been in my power had I remained at Calcutta. I was lately, with much ceremony, introduced into a great Mussulman’s Zanannah; a favour which they are not very fond of granting to Europeans. The great man’s wives were seated on cushions, cross-legged, as is the custom of the country; the rest of the numerous attendants of females were sitting on the carpet, or standing round. Even the handsomest of the Mahomedan women have very disagreeable complexions; and the fairest amongst them may rather be called more yellow than more white; but they are admired in proportion as they are distant from black: a beauty much esteemed in them is the long-cut eye, and long eye-brows, which most of them have naturally; but the female infants have sometimes the skin at the corner of their eyes cut, to increase their length, and give them more room to play: it must be acknowledged, that there is often a wantonness in the rolling of their eyes; but, exclusive of that, many of the Eastern women have so much beauty in their fine long black eyes, eye-brows, and long black eyelashes, that if they were set off by a fine red and white complexion they would be incomparable. They are generally small persons, and delicately made; crookedness is a defect unknown amongst them; and it is said that their black skins have a most delicate softness. The dress, which is not, as in Europe, continually altering to what is called the fashion, but unchangeable, consists of a pair of long straight drawers, of silk, or gold or silver stuff; a sort of gown, called a jemden, mostly of very fine muslin, worked with thread, or gold, or silver; the jemden has very long straight sleeves down to the wrists; and the waist so short that it scarcely reaches below the arms; the skirt is plaited very full, and hangs down upon the ground. It is an exceeding light dress, and scarcely a covering: but the climate requires every thing which contibutes to coolness; beside, they are never seen but by one man; their long black hair is parted on the forehead, combed smooth, and hangs down behind: they generally throw a piece of shawl, or silver gauze, over them, which is a sort of vail or cloak. The jewels they wear are mostly superb; their necks are ornamented with long rows of pearls, mixed with rubies, emeralds, &c.; which jewels are often rough, and holes bored through them, to string as the pearls: they have likewise jewels set as ornaments for their necks, arms, &c.; the workmanship is always clumsy, and the jewels a mixture of bad and good; besides, they mostly spoil their diamonds, by cutting them in flat pieces before they are set; their ear-rings are generally a bunch of loose pearl, which are very ornamental: they wear rings on their

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fingers and toes; but it is mostly the lowest casts of women who have rings in their noses. The Eastern ladies are not strangers to arts which embellish the person; they wash their hair and eye-brows with a leaf which makes them of a perfect black; and use a black powder, which, with a knife, they convey into their eyes; it rests upon the lower eye-lash, and is said to give life to the eye; they stain the nails of their fingers and toes with red, and paint the palms of their hands and bottoms of their feet. Their chief employment is bathing, smoaking the hooker, and seeing the girls dance, while others play upon a sort of drum; for no man is admitted within the walls of the Zanannah; whatever cannot be performed by the girls, is the business of eunuchs. Whenever the ladies go out of the Zanannah, which is very rare, they are in covered carriages, called hackries, drawn by bullocks, with close curtains all round; or else in covered doolies, something like a chair, carried by men; so that it is impossible for them to be seen; and it is necessary they should guard against it, for the jealousy of the Mussulmen exceeds all bounds; and a woman’s being seen by any stranger, particularly an infidel, might cost her no less a penalty than her life. Confinement cannot be reckoned a misfortune to these women, as they have always been accustomed to it; and besides would be degraded to a level with the lowest people were they to appear in public. Many of them have been married, by the care of their parents, even in their infancy; and the others have mostly been purchased when very young, and brought up in the Zanannahs; so that they can know little more of the world than what they see around them. If a man has ever so many favorites and women, they live together in the Zanannah; but sometimes not without jealousy and strife between themselves. Amongst the Nabóbs and other great people, there is always one woman who takes place of the rest, is dressed with more magnificence, treated with greater respect, and is called the Bigum.249 But it is difficult to determine what it is which entitles them to this pre-eminence; sometimes it is the first wife, but oftener the mother of the first male child. As the Mahomedan principles do not allow women any share in religion, so of course they have no public share in government, or any other, except the influence of a beautiful face over an ignorant and voluptuous prince. These poor women, not only are never seen, but, if possible, they are never named out of the Zanannah: a Mahomedan never speaks of his wives; and it is thought a very great affront and indelicacy to enquire after them. The Zanannahs of the people of condition have spacious apartments, and gardens with baths and jet d’eaus;250 but the buildings are heavy and in bad taste: the women enjoy the cool air in the evenings on the terraces; and notwithstanding their aversion to exercise, they sometimes amuse themselves with swinging in the gardens.

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The Indian women have often children at twelve years of age; and by the time they are turned of twenty are thought old women; and are really so in point of beauty; for after fifteen their complexions grow every year darker: the climate, as it hastens their maturity, likewise hastens their decline. The boys, as well as girls, are kept in the Zanannah while they continue young, not however without sometimes going out.

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L E T T E R LIV. Allahabád, October 1767. HE diversions in India are but few; the great Moor-men sometimes amuse themselves with hawking; a pastime not very pleasing to Europeans: the company upon these parties go out on elephants, or on horse-back, till they come to some proper place for the sport, which is generally a piece of water or swamp; here the hawks are unhooded by their keepers, and let fly; when a flight of poor harmless birds are upon the wing, the hawk mounts up in the air, and falls unexpectedly upon one of them, which he brings to the ground; he immediately pierces it with his beak, and draws its blood. This is a very expensive diversion, and fit only for a prince. Every hawk has its separate keeper; and the sum they give for a fine bird is incredible. They have sometimes fights between wild beasts, such as tigers, wild elephants, buffaloes, &c. but these are not very common: it is a barbarous amusement, and can give pleasure to none but those who delight in blood. They have jugglers, posture-masters,251 fire-eaters, &c.; these fellows are surprisingly dextrous in the postures they throw themselves into; but the rest of the performances are poor and childish. But the favorite and most constant amusement of the great, both Mahomedans and Hindoos, and indeed all ranks of people, is called a notch; which is the performance of the dancing girls:252 every man who can afford it has at least one set of dancing girls, who make part of his Zanannah. If they happen to be in favour, they sometimes become of consequence. The mothers of two of the late Nabóbs of Muxadabád were originally dancing girls. It is common to send to Persia, Cashmire,253 and other countries, to purchase the most beautiful female children; these are fairer than the inhabitants of Hindostán; but have none of that beautiful red which animates and gives life to beauty in colder climates. The Eastern ladies, however, are not without such charms as are pleasing to their countrymen; and there are many proofs that Europeans do not think them altogether intolerable;254 time and custom reconciles them to the yellow and the black, which at first appears frightful. When a black man has a mind to compliment an European, he treats him with a notch; but on these occasions his favorite women never appear; for they are equally jealous of their concubines as of their wives. It is difficult to give you any proper idea of this entertainment; which is so very delightful, not only to black men, but to many Europeans. A large room is lighted up; at one end sit the great people who are to be entertained; at the other are the dancers and their attendants; one of the girls who are to dance comes forward, for there is seldom more than one of them dance at a time; the performance consists chiefly in a continual removing the shawl, first over the head, then off again; extending first one hand, then the other; the feet are likewise moved, though a yard of ground would be sufficient for the whole performance. But it is their languishing glances, wanton smiles, and attitudes255 not

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quite consistent with decency, which are so much admired; and whoever excels most in these is the finest dancer. The girl sings, while she is dancing, some Persian or Hindostán song; some of them are really pleasing to the ear, but are almost entirely drowned by the accompaniments: several black fellows stand behind, who likewise sing with all the strength of voice they are masters of, making, at the same time, the most ridiculous grimaces; some of them playing upon a sitar, which is something like a guitar, but greatly inferior even to that trifling instrument; others on a sort of drum, or tamborin, usually called tomtom; but all this, loud as it is, is drowned by those who play with two pieces of bellmetal, which they work between their fingers, and make the same noise as braziers at work upon a large copper. The common people hire dancing girls to perform at their tamashes: companies of them are often the property of men whose trade it is; any person may purchase one of these girls, for they are bought and sold with as little ceremony as animals.  L E T T E R LV. Allahabád, Oct. 1767. HEN we reflect on the extreme slowness of the people in Hindostán, and observe how deficient they are in all the sciences, as well as the polished arts of life: when we see that the generality are little superior in knowledge to the brute creation; and that the most learned amongst them have scarcely an idea beyond the country they live in; it is matter of astonishment to see the children lively, active, and of quick understanding. Little boys and girls are men and women in miniature; their quickness and vivacity is accompanied with a steadiness and sedateness that would do credit to any period of life; from the age of seven or eight, to about fourteen, they appear equally free from the follies of childhood and the heavy stupidity which generally comes upon them afterwards. Indeed one may almost say, that in this country infancy is the age of maturity. The children are brought up here with very little trouble or expence; the heat of the climate nourishes these little ones; scarcely any thing more is required but to wash and give them food. The continual nursing and exercise which is given to infants in cold climates, and the dressing and undressing, is unknown in this; the heat makes clothing entirely unnecessary; for till the age of four or five they are perfectly naked; and the excessive perspiration carries off all humours, and answers the purpose of both exercise and physic.256 In about four months they begin to crawl by themselves; and are, in every respect, as forward as children of twice that age in cold climates.

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The wisdom of Providence has ordained, that the same enervating climate, which renders the women too weak and indolent to endure fatigue in bringing up their off-spring, renders that fatigue unnecessary. And the Indian women seem to be exempt from that part of the curse which the disobedience of Eve brought on our sex: “In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.”257 Education, except with some superior casts of Hindoos, is a thing unthoughtof; therefore food (which, as it is seldom more than rice and water, is extremely cheap) is all the parents have to provide. In this iron government, where the laborer is never certain of his hire, and is hourly liable to be legally pillaged of the small pittance his labor has acquired, were not the necessaries of life confined to a very few things, and the children sooon able to shift for themselves, it would be impossible for any but the rich to maintain even one wife and family. The land would be depopulated, and domestic happiness confined to a few.  L E T T E R LVI. Allahabád, Oct. 1767. OWEVER fatal this climate may be to Europeans, I believe the natives are as free from diseases as the people in any part of the world. They do not live to a great age, but while they live are afflicted with but few disorders; they are weak and enervated, but free from the pain of chronical disorders. Their relaxed frames could not long support them under violent pains, their deaths are generally rather sudden, and mostly occasioned by fevers. The disorders they are liable to are so few, that much study in physic, and great variety of medicines, seems unnecessary. The art of physic, if it can be called an art in India, consists chiefly in the knowledge of simples,258 such as hot and cold herbs, hot and cold seeds, &c. The extreme temperance which, both from the tenets of their religion, and the smallness of their income, the generality of the people are obliged to observe,* saves them from many disorders. The greatest proof of the purity of their blood is the ease with which their wounds are cured, for numberless instances have been seen of Seapoys, and others of the natives following the camp, who have been cured of wounds which to an European would be mortal, or at least extremely dangerous, and that with little more than binding the wound together, to the astonishment of the English surgeons.

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* All the Hindoos.

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Some of the superior casts of Hindoos, who cannot submit to be touched by an European, are cured by their own people that follow the camp, who dress their wounds with the extract of herbs: in short, they are almost self-cured. Many wounds, which in an European would make an amputation necessary, can in them be cured without; which is very fortunate, for surgery is still less understood than medicine. They are so far from studying anatomy, that the Hindoos even conceive horror at the idea of it. They very rarely let blood of their patients, and never but in the greatest extremity.

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L E T T E R LVII. Allahabád, Oct. 1767. FTER the picture I have given you of the indolence and stupidity of the inhabitants of India, it is but just to give some account of that patience and neatness, by which some of their manufactories259 are brought to such perfection, that Europe can boast of nothing to equal them. The most curious of which are the muslins and filligrane.260 Weaving is the employment of the greatest number of the people throughout India; but the greatest manufactory for fine muslins, callicoes, dimities,261 &c. is at a place called Daca,262 in Bengal, and formerly the capital of that province. The exquisite fineness of some of the muslins is inconceiveable; for those which are made for the Mogul and his zanannah are ten times the price of any allowed to be made for Europeans or any other merchants. Embroidery and needlework of all sorts, is likewise brought to the greatest perfection at Daca. The needlework is all performed by men. Their slowness is intolerable, but their patience is without end. This extreme slowness is the cause of all the works being excessively expensive; for although the wages of each person is not more than three or four rupees a month; the length of time they are about every piece of work, makes it costly at the end. They will copy from any pattern you give them with the greatest exactness, but never invent a pattern of their own, nor have they the ingenuity to make any alteration according to the piece they are at work upon; or to dispose of the different sorts of work or colors, so as to form the beauty of the whole. In short, with the most exquisite neatness, they are utterly devoid of taste. The finest filligrane is also made at Dacca: this is work which requires great delicacy and patience; it is not perforated like the filligrane made in Europe, but the gold or silver is cut into long pieces like fine threads, and soldered together with such extraordinary neatness, that it is impossible, upon the most curious examination, to discover by what means it is joined. It is extremely light, but still vastly expensive, for the labor costs about ten times as much as the metal. At Benaras is a great manufactory of gold and silver silks and gauzes: they are very costly from the causes I have before mentioned, and are by no means beautiful in proportion to their price; for they have no method of dressing the silks so as to give them a gloss, nor can they die them of any beautiful colors; therefore all the silks manufactured in Hindostán have a peculiar dulness; the gold and silver in them does not make an appearance equal to the quantity, for they know not the art of drawing it out to the excessive fineness requisite for covering the thread. The chief use made of the silks by the inhabitants is for long drawers, which are worn by both men and women; the silver and gold gauzes are worn by the women in the same manner as they wear a shawl. In the towns where such goods are made as the company trades in, some of their servants are obliged to be stationed: if it is a considerable factory, there is

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generally one of the council,263 and several gentlemen under him, to collect the goods, or rather to get them made; for the work-people seldom begin a piece of cloth, or any other work, till they have part of the money in hand; so that, instead of purchasing the goods of the makers, they are obliged to retain vast multitudes of weavers, &c. advancing money before any thing can be done. The other European companies264 have likewise their factories; and private merchants, both Europeans and black men, are obliged to collect their goods by the same means, if they chuse to have them from the first hand. This is the method with the people of all trades: therefore, whatever a person chuses to have made, they must send for the maker, and advance him about half the price, to purchase materials. If it is a silversmith, one must give him the full weight of the piece of plate he is to make, in rupees, besides paying in part for his workmanship. In this and all other works they are equally tedious; which is occasioned not only by the natural slowness and indifference with which they go about every thing, but also by their want of proper tools. The Indians are very bad mechanics; they do not to this day know the use of a loom, but lay their threads the whole length of the piece of cloth they are to weave. For these reasons, that which might be performed in a few hours, becomes the employment of many days. One is at a loss which to wonder at most, their patience in completing any piece of work with such tools, or their stupidity in not inventing others; or lastly, their obstinacy in refusing to adopt a better method when it is pointed out to them; they content themselves with saying, This is the method my father used, and my grandfather before him; why then should I alter it? Neither Mahomedans or Hindoos ever change their mode, either in dress, furniture, carriages, or any other thing: therefore invention and improvement are no part of their ideas.

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L E T T E R LVIII. Allahabád, Oct. 1767. OU are not to understand that my accounts of the people and customs are to be applied to Hindostán in general, but to the country up the Ganges in particular: for although the whole is the empire of the Great Mogul, and the people are every where partly Hindoos and partly Mahomedans, and there are many customs which are the same throughout, still there are others that are only local, which cannot be wondered at in such an immense country. And if customs, and even laws, both religious and civil, depend much on climate, situation, &c. one may naturally suppose, that as in this very extensive empire there is difference in the climate, the soil, different productions of the earth and the like; various necessities have produced different customs. One material particular is the schism in the Hindoo religion: the Hindoos of the Decan and Carnatic are guided by the books called the Vidiam, as those of the Ganges are by the Shastah;265 and altho’ the forms of religion are here numerous and the faith absurd, they are few and rational, when compared with the ceremonies and fables of the Hindoos in the southern provinces. India below the Ganges being a peninsula, is great part of it sea coast, besides many islands; and that perhaps is the reason, that there are scarcely any casts in those countries except the Brahmins, who are not allowed to eat fish, for there are some parts where, if the poorer sort were not permitted that privilege, they must starve, from inability to purchase other food. The climate both on the Coromandél and Malabár coast, is infinitely more cool and healthy than this inland country, being refreshed with breezes from the sea; to which cause I presume it is owing, that the people are more active and more ingenious. The Hindoo women are less confined, and appear publicly in the streets, even those of considerable rank. There are numberless other deviations, which I am not qualified to particularize; therefore I must again observe, that you are not to apply my accounts to all India. The languages are likewise different, and even upon the Ganges there is some difference in the provinces. In the greatest part of Bengal the dialect is called by the natives Bengalla, which is a corruption of that usually called by the English Moors.266 That which we term Moors, begins to be spoken with propriety about Cossumbuzár and Muxadabád, but still more perfectly the higher one advances up the Ganges. All about this country, it is always called Hindostáney ke boaut, or the Hindostán language, although it is so far from being the universal tongue, that in many parts the natives would not know what Hindostáney ke boaut means, or perhaps, even Hindoo, for on the sea coast, and in the province of Bengal, the word is corrupted into Gentoo,267 and many voyagers, particularly the French, have given them the appellation of Gentiles.268 The Hindostán language, I mean what we call Moors, is the Indian Rajpoot language, mixed with many Arabic, Persian, and Tartar words: it is not surprising, considering the number of Persians and Tartars in this part of India, and the Indian Rajpoot is a corruption of the Sanscrit, as the Italian is of the Latin.

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The universal language in the Mahomedan courts, I believe throughout the empire, is the Persian; in which tongue all business is transacted with the Mogul and Nabóbs; for this reason Persian interpreters are allowed to the Governors, &c. and at present many English gentlemen, both civil and military, apply themselves to the study of that language, which, on account of its great usefulness, is esteemed the sure road to preferment, and will continue so, till numbers make that acquisition less valuable. The men in this part of India are in general much taller and more robust than those in the province of Bengal, and value themselves upon being better soldiers: many of them, particularly the Persians and Tartars, who are numerous in these parts, have so little title to the appellation we give them of black, that if they were dressed as Europeans, they would differ from such as have been long exposed to this climate, rather as being paler than darker. They do not like to be called black men, and those of the highest rank are in general least so; since they have the power to chuse the handsomest wives, and often send for beauties to distant countries, the children naturally partake of their mother’s complexion: therefore it is thought extraordinary that the present Great Mogul should be extremely dark, particularly as it is observed, that the race of Tamerlane are mostly fair. Towards Delhi the people are said to be fairer than here, and continue to grow more so in proportion as they are farther from the sun. They usually call the Europeans lol addama, which means red men; and, indeed, it is no very improper appellation for a sun-burnt English-man.

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L E T T E R LIX. Allababád, Oct. 1767. HE fort, or city, of *Allahabád is a very large fort; it contains a royal palace, agreeably situated, in a fine country; and has on two sides the rivers Ganges and Jumna; a circumstance which one should naturally suppose, would render it tolerably cool; but, partly from its being in a very hot climate, and partly from the mode of building, it is extremely hot. In the middle of the palace is a small square, walled round, in the centre of which is a square building, supported by pillars; by a very narrow stair-case you arrive at a small room in the centre, which has four doors, leading into four little Varandas; by ascending another narrow stair-case you come to a small marble room, which forms a sort of cupola to the building; this is the highest in the palace, and overlooks all the rest. The palace contains apartments for the Mogul, a Durbar, a Zanannah, and an infinite number of different sets of apartments or houses for all the officers of the court and their families. Each of the houses have a court walled round; and most of them are built like two houses joined together; so that the women may be concealed, not only from their neighbours, but from the male domestics of their own family: some of the rooms are large and lofty, and open towards the river; but at the ends of the large rooms are generally two or three very small ones, dark and low, without the least opening for the admission of light or air; these are intended to retire to in the heat of the day, when they sleep; for coolness is not to be expected from admitting the air, but by shutting it out till the sun is down: the houses are flat-roofed, with spacious terraces on the tops, open towards the river; but surrounded on the other sides by a wall high enough to prevent their being over-looked; these terraces are extremely agreeable after sun-set, when you are once upon them; but the staircases which lead to them are so extremely steep and narrow, that they cannot be ascended without much difficulty and fatigue. The palace is entirely built of stone hewn out of the rocks on the banks of a distant part of the Ganges, and brought here at a vast expence; it is something like what we call in England Portland-stone,269 but of a coarser grain, and much more porous. Besides, they have not the method of giving it a polish; so that it is extremely rough and unpleasant to the eye, particularly in the insides of the rooms. Every part of the palace is built with this stone; not only the walls of the houses, but the roofs, the floors, the terraces, the stair-cases, pillars, and supports, of whatever kind, are all cut out of stone: all the squares, passages, &c. &c. are paved with the same; so that, in short, till the English have resided here, there perhaps

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* Allahabàd, the Abàd, or city of Allah, or God, known in most maps by the name of Helebas.

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was not a bit of wood, brick, glass, iron, or any material but stone, to be found throughout the building. You will easily suppose, from this account, that the palace is not, by any means, light and elegant; the walls, in the lightest part, are about four or five feet in thickness; and as many of the rooms are a sort of octagon, and covered at the top, they are in some parts much thicker; most of the large ones have a great number of niches in the walls, intended to hold lamps for illuminations at their notches and tamashes. The thickness of the buildings prevents, for some time, the sun from penetrating; but when it has once penetrated, the stone retains the heat so much, that it is equally hot by night as by day; and after the hot season has been some time set in, every stone contains the heat of a fire, and the reflection from one wall to another renders every part as hot and close as an oven. Besides, all the long passes throughout the different parts of the palace are very narrow, with high walls, which reflect the heat, and prevent the admission of the air. All these circumstances together make the fort of Allahabád, in the months of May, June, and July, the hottest place in this part of India; and, indeed, beyond what can be conceived but by experience: after the rains have cooled every other place, it is a considerable time before it can penetrate so as to cool these walls. Besides the palace, there are apartments for a vast number of soldiers. The only buildings wherein the Mahomedans shew any good taste are the gateways; there are many in this part of the country which have a very handsome appearance. They are lofty enough to admit an elephant with an howder, and wide in proportion; therefore the massiveness of the stone work, which in smaller buildings would be clumsy, in them appears grand. The great gate of this fort, which fronts the country, crowned with turrets and ornaments in proportion to its vastness, is a very striking and noble piece of architecture. Near Allahabád are several gardenhouses and baths, formerly belonging to some of the retainers to the court; and many mosques scattered about: the country round is fertile and pleasant, but extremely hot and unhealthy in the season. After the rains, which are over about October, it begins to grow very cold, which continues for about three or four months; during which time it is a very delightful climate. The natives have a prodigious opinion of this fort; it is surrounded by a very thick wall, and strong fortifications; and, till it was taken by the English,270 was deemed an impregnable place. They say, according to their hyperbolic way of expressing themselves, that the building of it cost three crores, three lacks,271 three thousand three hundred and three rupees, three annas, and three pice.272

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L E T T E R LX. Allahabád, Nov. 1767. F it was always the cold season, who would dislike India? it is really delightful! the rains are over, and not a cloud is to be seen in the sky; the air is fresh, and the sun, which shines without intermission, gives a warmth which is perfectly agreeable; in every part of the country the earth shoots forth its abundance; vegetation is so quick, that the eye may almost perceive it; and the plains, which not a week since appeared to be only sand, are now covered with different kinds of grain, grown up to such a height as entirely to alter the face of the country, as if by the power of enchantment. And the bed of the Ganges, which so lately, from the walls of the fort, as far as the eye could reach, was one entire sheet of water, now shews the ripening corn, almost ready for the reaper’s hand. Health, strength, and vivacity, begin to return to those who lingered through the hot season; and the cold, which in the evenings and mornings is really sharp, braces up the nerves, which the intense heat had relaxed; for although this is the hotest place we know of in the hot season, it is likewise the coldest. In this season the country round Allahabád abounds in variety of fruits and vegetables: the two rivers supply us with excellent fish, and the fields with game in abundance of almost every species and kind; of the quadruped, venison, hares, wild hogs; of the feathered race, peacocks, wild ducks, wild geese, partridges, beccaficos,273 green pigeons, and a variety of others, peculiar to the country, all excellent of their kind, and in great plenty. The weather continues fine for near three months after the rains, when it begins to grow intensely hot; and the face of the earth changes from fertile green to burning sands.

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 L E T T E R LXI. Allahabád, Nov. 1767. HE water of the Ganges, in the belief of the Hindoos, both the followers of the Vidiam and Shastah, is every where holy; but in some parts it is extremely venerated; Beneras is one of these places, perhaps on account of the university of Brahmins274 there; and in general it is more valued the nearer to the pass by which it enters (from the country of Thibit),275 through the mountains which form the barrier to Hindostán, and which the Indians believe to be the source of the river. But particularly the meeting of the two rivers, where the Jumna discharges itself into the Ganges, has for time immemorial been esteemed by the Hindoos a blessed water: happy was the person who could receive a little of it; but supremely so the man who could bathe himself in it: and many were the pilgrimages from the most remote parts of Hindostán.

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But long had the distraction of the empire, the impositions and cruelties of petty tyrants, incursions of Mahrattors, and other causes, deprived them of the power to perform this journey in safety. As the English troops are now dispersed throughout the country, their fear is banished; and it is amazing to see the multitudes who take the opportunity of the cold season to travel on foot from the most distant provinces to enjoy this blessed water. This occasions a sort of fair on the banks of the rivers, where the merchants expose their goods to sale. It is a moving landscape of grotesque figures; for the natives of the southern parts of India, being unused to cold, cannot bear this season at Allahabád; therefore they cover themselves with blankets and quilts of various colours, to defend them from the weather. This superstition of the Hindoos brings in a revenue to the Mogul, who lays a tax on the bathers, and appoints an officer, who presides at the river-side; and when the pilgrims have filled little glass vials which they bring with them, he puts on his seal, that there may be no deceit. These vials of water they carry into their own country, and sell at an advantage.

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L E T T E R LXII. Allahabád, March 1768. EFLECTING on the customs and usages in this country, I cannot help comparing them with many of those in ancient times. There is certainly a great analogy between the present and ancient manners in the east; which undoubtedly the particular religion, and unchangeable customs of the Hindoos, have greatly contributed to preserve. The Mahomedan conquerors of the country are likewise from eastern nations; and their prophet in his laws retained much of the Jewish religion, particularly circumcision, the prohibition of swine’s flesh, and plurality of wives. It was not accounted unto David as a sin to have many wives; but when he took the wife of Uriah the Hittite,276 the anger of the Lord was kindled against him. And in Hindostán, although polygamy and an unlimited number of concubines are allowed, it is contrary to the law of both Hindoos and Mahomedans to take away the wife of another man, and is looked upon as the greatest of transgressions. The women as of old bring no dowers to their husbands, but are often purchased; and a man’s wives are a part of his fortune and estate. The custom of bathing, as we learn from the story of David277 and many others, was usual; and the Mahomedans idea of purifications and uncleanness, are nearly the same as the Jews. The ancient custom of anointing themselves with precious oils is one of the present luxuries, and attended with considerable expence. The oil of roses, of sweet woods, and of all kinds of spices, are brought from Persia. The great men present it to each other in their visits, and rub their faces and beards with it. The ladies in the zanannahs perfume themselves with it, and even the common people rub themselves with oils of inferior sorts. The Indian women, particularly the dancing girls, wear ornaments on their ancles, with little bells, or tinkling pieces of metal; and jewels in their noses; both which ornaments we find were worn by the Daughters of Israel two thousand five hundred years ago. The bedsteads, or rather stands, which are used by the people here, are only made of Bamboo, and bound together with the bark or leaves of trees, so light that a child may lift them; these they carry about, and sleep on them, without any bed-clothes, either in the air or under shelter, according to the season. I cannot help thinking they are exactly the same as were used at Capernaum, when our Saviour said unto the man sick of the palsy, “Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house.”278 When any of the people are disordered in their senses, they do not attribute the cause of it to a fever, or any thing constitutional, or to distress of mind; but call it the devil; the devil tempts a man to commit outrages, to lay violent hands on himself or others, the devil throws him into a fit. I should think it necessary to make an apology for these observations, if I did not look upon them as so many instances of the universality and unchangeableness of many of the customs in the East.

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L E T T E R LXIII. Allahabád, March 1768. HE heat now begins to return, and the fort of Allahabád will soon be intolerable. The freshness of the morning and evening is no more. The moskittos and flies begin to recover their tormenting sting, and perpetually surround and teaze us with their bites; even in the cold season we are not entirely free from them, but in the hot and rainy seasons they abound all over India, more particularly in these parts; it is impossible to sleep in the day-time, or even to dine in comfort without having servants with fans to keep them off. The flying bug is very offensive to the smell; but there are little luminous insects called by the English fire-flies, which are to be seen in multitudes every evening, illuminating the trees, &c. with great beauty. Cock-roaches are numerous and troublesome; and the bats, which are prodigiously large, fly into the rooms, and sometimes alight on people’s heads, fixing their claws in their hair, so that it is impossible to extricate them without taking part of the hair also. The winged creatures are not the only ones we are infested with, venomous animals of various sorts abound here, scorpions, and spiders larger than scorpions, centapieds, &c. A very large species of rats, called bandicoots, run about the houses without fear. The musk-rat is an inoffensive little animal, covered with a white soft down, but is very destructive to wines, tea, &c. which is often spoiled by them in great quantities, for one of them running over a box of tea, or biting the corks of wine bottles, is sufficient to spoil it, so strong is its perfume. The little white lizards with a transparent skin, which are seen in the houses mostly in the rainy season, are harmless, but disagreeable both to the sight and the touch. In some places there are such myriads of little black ants, that it is necessary to set the feet of the bedsteads in pans of water, to keep the beds from being overrun with them. The white ant answers something to a moth; these are most destructive animals to cloaths, furniture, and even buildings. The larger animals, such as elephants, camels, and buffaloes; the tigers, leopards, wolves, &c. which infest the forests, and alligators,279 those monsters of the Ganges, are too well known to need any description.

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L E T T E R LXIV. Calcutta, May 1768. E left Allahabád early in March; a season in which the river is very much fallen; and, after making short visits by the way, to Beneras, Patna, Monghier, Cassambuzár, Chandanagóre, and Chinchura,280 arrived at Calcutta the latter end of April. We travelled all the way in budgeroos, having the good fortune to find the river not too dry to be passable. Chandanagóre and Chinchura, the first a French, and the last a Dutch settlement, are about a day’s journey up the river from Calcutta; and so near each other that the inhabitants are constantly visiting from one town to the other in their palenqueens. Nothing can be more different than these two neighbouring towns, except their inhabitants. Chandanagóre, in the late war,281 was taken by the English men of war282 under the command of admiral Watson, and the town has not yet recovered its appearance, nor have its inhabitants recovered their fortunes: but they are gay, vain, and happy. Chinchura, on the contrary, is an excessive pretty town, regularly built, regularly governed; the inhabitants rich, thrifty, and dull; in short, a Dutch town, and Dutch people. The Dutch despise the frivolity of the French, the French ridicule the clumsiness of the Dutch. But, amongst those who call themselves French and Dutch at these places; very few, amongst the women particularly, are really so, being most of them countryborn; there are likewise many of these who are called English, because they are married to English-men, or live under an English government. These country-born283 women are the descendants of an European father, and what is called a Portuguese mother284 (which people I have before given you some account of); the boys we seldom hear any thing about; but the girls, who are sometimes born in wedlock, and sometimes not, as they are fairer than their mothers, are fond of being called English, French, &c.; and, if pretty, often marry to Europeans, who sometimes arise to be people of consequence; their children, being another remove from black, do not like to have their descent remembered; and nothing is so great an affront as to class them amongst the Portuguese; although, from education and example, and perhaps from constitution, they often retain the indolence and cunning peculiar to the natives of this country.

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 L E T T E R LXV. Calcutta, June 1768. THINK I have never given you any account of the town of Calcutta; indeed, after Madrass, it does not appear much worthy describing; for although it is large, with a great many good houses in it, and has the advantage of standing

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upon the banks of a river*, it is as awkward a place as can be conceived; and so irregular, that it looks as if all the houses had been thrown up in the air, and fallen down again by accident as they now stand: people keep constantly building; and every one who can procure a piece of ground to build a house upon, consults his own taste and convenience, without any regard to the beauty or regularity of the town; besides, the appearance of the best houses is spoiled by the little straw huts, and such sort of encumbrances, which are built by the servants for themselves to sleep in: so that all the English part of the town, which is the largest, is a confusion of very superb and very shabby houses, dead walls, straw huts, warehouses, and I know not what. The most like a street is the Buzar, the name they call every place by where any thing is to be sold; the Buzar is full of little shabby-looking shops, called Boutiques; they are kept by black people. The English seldom visit these places themselves, but depend on their Banians, and other servants, for the purchase of every thing; indeed if they do not it is much the same, for at all events they are sure to be cheated. About the middle of the town, on the river’s edge, stands the old fort, memorable for the catastrophe of the Black Hole,285 so much talked of in England; it was in one of the apartments in it that the wretched sufferers were confined. The fort is now made a very different use of; the only apology for a church is in some of the rooms in it, where divine service is sometimes performed. In a distinct part of the town reside the Armenians,286 and the people called Portuguese; each of these have their own churches; and the Portuguese keep up the processions and pageantry of the Romish church, as far as they are permitted; but are obliged to perform it all within their own walls. The chief connexion we have with these people is, employing some of the women as servants, or the men as writers, or sometimes cooks. The Armenian women we have not the least connexion with; but the men are often employed by merchants to carry on trade, or collect goods in different parts of India; and are called Go-mastahs.287 They trade likewise, by permission of the company, on their own accounts; and some few of them are rich. But their language, appearance, customs, and manners, are so different from ours, that an acquaintance with them is impossible. The dress of the women is something like the Mahomedans, as they wear long drawers, and a sort of gown or vest over them; but their heads are covered with turbands of a prodigious size: one part of their dress is very extraordinary, and, I believe, peculiar to the Armenians; this is called a mouthcloth, a piece of muslin, which comes from under the chin, and is tyed strait above the upper lip: this every woman puts on as soon as she is married. I do not know enough of the Armenians to tell you the origin of this custom; but I am told, that the heat it occasions from the breath being so confined, often

* An arm of the Ganges, called the river Hugly.288

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causes a disagreeable humour about the mouth and chin, and likewise occasions an offensive breath. Here is not, as at Madrass, a black town near for the servants of the English to reside in; therefore Calcutta is partly environed by their habitations, which makes the roads rather unpleasant; for the huts they live in, which are built of mud and straw, are so low that they can scarcely stand upright in them; and, having no chimnies, the smoke of the fires with which they dress their victuals, comes all out at the doors, and is perhaps more disagreeable to the passenger than to themselves. The new fort,289 an immense place, is on the river side about a mile below the town. If all the buildings which are intended within its walls, are finished, it will be a town within itself; for besides houses for the engineers and other officers who reside at Calcutta, there are apartments for the company’s writers,290 barracks for soldiers, magazines for stores, &c. The town of Calcutta is likewise daily increasing in size, notwithstanding which, the English inhabitants multiply so fast, that houses are extremely scarce: as I have given you a description of the houses at Madrass, I need only say, that these are much in the same stile, only they have not the beautiful channam; for although they have had the same shells brought from the coast of Coromondel, and have mixed them with the same materials, and in the same manner, it has not the least of that fine gloss which is there so greatly admired; this is owing to all the water in Bengal partaking so much of the salt-petre with which the earth is in every part impregnated. Paper, or wainscot,291 are improper, both on account of the heat, the vermin, and the difficulty of getting it done; the rooms are therefore all whited walls, but plastered in pannels, which has a pretty effect; and are generally ornamented with prints, looking-glasses, or whatever else can be procured from Europe; the floors are likewise plaster, covered all over with fine matt, which is nailed down; for although carpets are manufactured in some parts of the country, they are such an addition to the heat, that they are seldom made use of; the rooms are few, but mostly very large and lofty; many of the new-built houses have glass-windows, which are pleasant to the eye, but not so well calculated for the climate as the old ones, which are made of cane. Furniture is so exorbitantly dear, and so very difficult to procure, that one seldom sees a room where all the chairs and couches are of one sort; people of the first consequence are forced to pick them up as they can, either from the captains of European ships, or from China, or having some made by the blundering carpenters of the country, or send for them to Bombay, which are generally received about three years after they are bespoke; so that those people who have great good luck, generally get their houses tolerably well equipped by the time they are quitting them to return to England. Beds, or, as they are always called, cotts, are no very expensive part of furniture; the wood-work, which is exceedingly slight, is made to take in pieces; the furniture is either gauze or muslin, made to put on all at once; and people sleep on a thin mattrass or quilt; one sheet, and two or three pillows, complete the bedding; so that when it is taken in pieces the whole lays in a small compass, and is easily 111

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removed from one place to another: whenever people travel, they always carry their beds with them. In the country round the town, at different distances, are a number of very pretty houses, which are called garden-houses, belonging to English gentlemen: for Calcutta, besides its being a large town, is not esteemed a healthy spot; so that in the hot season all those who can, are much at these garden-houses, both because it is cooler and more healthy. A little out of the town is a clear airy spot, free from smoke or any encumbrances, called the Corse,292 (because it is a road the length of a corse, or two miles), in a sort of ring, or rather angle, made on purpose to take the air in, which the company frequent in their carriages about sun-set, or in the morning before the sun is up.

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L E T T E R LXVI. Calcutta, July 1768. HE division of the Indians into casts is the cause of great inconveniencies and expence to the English, as it obliges them to hire three-times the number of servants which would otherwise be necessary; for none of them, even on the greatest emergency, will perform the most trifling office which does not belong to their particular cast. The first servant is called a Banian; he is at the head of all the business, but if it is considerable, he has two or three Banians or *Sarcárs under him. The next is a Butler Connah Sarcár; his office is to take an account of all the money expended for provisions, to pay the butchers, bakers, &c. and answers to a clerk of the kitchen; the next is a Consummah, who is the house-keeper, he has under him a compradóre,293 who goes to market: the compradóre buys all small articles for the table, and gives his account to the butler connah sarcár; the next is a butler, who is an assistant to the consummah. The other servants, who wait at table, or take care of a gentleman’s cloaths, &c. are called Kissmagars. The Peâdars usually called Peons run before your palenqueen and carry messages. The bearers are the chairmen, it is necessary for every person in a family to have six or eight of them, the lower casts of bearers take their turn to carry the †mussall before the palenqueen; but the superior casts who are cleaner and more creditable will not condescend to touch it, therefore to every set of bearers it is necessary to have at least two boys of a low cast called Mussall Chies. The bearers business, besides carrying the palenqueen, is to bring water to wash after dinner, &c. one brings an ewer with water, and pours it over your hands, another gives you a towel, but it must be a Mussall Chie, or a slave, who holds the chillumchee,294 for the bearer would be disgraced by touching any thing which contains the water after one has washed with it. A cook in a family will have at least one assistant, if not more, and every horse you keep must have a scice295 and a grass-cutter. The hooker badár will do nothing but dress a hooker,296 and attend his master while he smokes it. These servants are all men; and often the only woman in a family is the Matrannee, a Hallicore,297 who sweeps the rooms, and does all the dirty offices which the others will not condescend to.

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* Sarcar, a lower cast of Banians, so called. † A sort of Torch.

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The servants who attend in a lady’s apartment are generally slave girls, or Portuguese women; and the nurses for children are Portuguese. The gardeners are called Mollies; like all the other people, many hands do but little work: the men who bring water for the gardens, and other purposes, are called Busties; they carry the water in large leathern bags slung over their backs, at one corner of which there is a sort of spout, which they bring under the right arm; by that means they water the gardens, and throw it wherever else it is necessary. The taylors who make your linen are monthly servants; the slowness of these men can be equalled by nothing but their stupidity. All the linen is washed by men, who are paid by the month. A Derwán’s business is to stand at the outward door, to announce visiters; but they are not generally kept, as a Peon, or Chubdár, will do that office. *Chubdárs are men who carry a long silver stick, and do nothing but go before a palenqueen, carry messages, or announce visitors. Keeping Chubdárs is a piece of state allowed by the black people only to officers of dignity in the state; and by the English is confined to the council and field officers. The Banian’s wages is the most considerable, and depends on the situation of his master. The wages of the other servants differ according to their quality: a Consummah, Cook, &c. have thirty, twenty, or ten rupees a month; the others less; and some of the lowest order not more than three or four rupees. None of the servants ever eat, drink, or sleep, in their master’s house; nor will either Hindoos or Mahomedans eat of any thing which goes from their master’s table. It is impossible to avoid this inconvenience of a multitude of servants; for if you lessen the number but one, they have a thousand tricks to distress you; and from your head Banian to the lowest Mussall Chie in your family, all are combined to oblige you to keep the number which they deem proportioned to your rank. As their master rises in life, they insist upon more Cooks, more Peons, more Kissmagars, more Bearers, &c. The consequence of a refusal is, that those he wants most, particularly Bearers, will run away; and the Banian, who is in the secret, makes so many difficulties in getting others, and has so many well-feigned excuses, and so many artful tricks to make his master feel the want of them, that although people are sensible of the fraud, they are obliged to comply with what their servants call custom, to save themselves the numberless vexations they would otherwise occasion. Most of the servants besides insist upon raising their wages in proportion to their master’s rank. This they likewise tell him is all time custom, a favorite expression with the Banians; and, in their opinion, a sufficient reason for any thing.

* These silver-stick men, who are intended to silence the mob, and impress them with an idea of their master’s dignity, obtain their title of Chubdár from the word Chub, which, in the language of the country means silence.

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L E T T E R LXVII. Calcutta, Sept. 1768. EFORE I take my leave of India,298 you will naturally expect me to say something of the English, who are now so numerous in the country. As the Hindoos were heretofore under the Mahomedan government, both Mahomedans and Hindoos, in the provinces of Bengal, Bahar, and Orixa, are now under the government of the English. Calcutta is the presidency; the governor, assisted by the council, has the direction of all the company’s affairs; which is not merely the superintending of their commerce, but the governing of three rich and extensive provinces; the direction of a powerful army; making alliances with the princes of other provinces, or declaring war against them, as they judge most conducive to the advantage of the company, under whose direction they act; but, on account of the distance from the mother country, much must always be left to their own discretion. The council are twelve in number; the other civil servants of the company are senior and junior merchants, factors,299 and writers, who rise in progression according to their standing in the service. The merchants who have leave to settle in India, without any employment under the company, are called free merchants. It is unnecessary to make any observations on the manners of English people; therefore I shall only mention such customs as, from the heat of the climate, and other causes, are peculiar to this country. As the morning and evening is cooler than the day, it is usual to rise early, and sit up rather late; for after the morning the heat is so intense, that it is difficult to attend to any business, and hardly possible to take any amusement. Ladies mostly retire to their own apartments, where the slightest covering is scarcely supportable. The most active disposition must be indolent in this climate. After dinner every one retires to sleep; it is a second night; every servant is gone to his own habitation; all is silence: and this custom is so universal, that it would be as unseasonable to call on any person at three or four o’clock in the afternoon, as at the same time in the morning. This custom of sleeping away the hottest hours in the day is necessary, even to the strongest constitution. After this repose people dress for the evening, and enjoy the air about sun-set in their carriages, &c. The rest of the evening is for society. Living is very expensive, on account of the great rents of houses, the number of servants, the excessive price of all European commodities, such as wines, clothes, &c. The perspiration requires perpetual changes of clothes and linen; not to mention the expences of palenqueens, carriages, and horses. Many of these things, which perhaps appear luxuries, are, in this climate, real necessaries of life. It is remarkable that those Europeans who have health enjoy a greater flow of spirits than in cooler climates.

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Except when parties are violent, which is sometimes the case, the society and hospitality is general; and there is no other part of the world where people part with their money to assist each other so freely as the English in India.  L E T T E R LXVIII. St. Helena,300 Feb. 1769. HIS is a country different from all others; and of a most singular appearance. A high rock, which seems just started out of the sea, of a vast height, and almost perpendicular on all parts except one, where the ground is low, the shore flat, and the rock open as if it had been cleft in two; so that it forms a little harbour, with good anchorage for the shipping. This opening, which the inhabitants call the valley, continues a considerable way into the island; and in it the town is built, which is clean and pretty; the houses in the English taste; and if it was not for the rock which encloses it, would be even more like an English country town than the Cape of Good Hope. The rock arises on each side of the valley to a prodigious height, and so steep that it appears impossible to ascend it; and really would be entirely so on one side, if the inhabitants had not cut a road; which, by being zig-zag, and the turnings very short, render it less steep than it would otherwise be: but it is still such, that I think it is dangerous for any but the natives to venture upon this road on horse-back. When one stands in the valley, the people who ride up the side of the rock seem (like the figures on a China paper)301 flying in the air; for there is no appearance of a road till you are upon it; and when you are, it is so narrow, that if by any accident your horse was to throw you, you must inevitably be precipitated to the valley: but the little horses which they have here are so used to the path, and so sure-footed, that few accidents happen; and even the ladies ride up with as little fear as on plain ground. Sedan chairs are sometimes made use of, which is an easy method of ascending the hill; but the coming down is extremely disagreeable, unless you are brought backward, which makes it quite easy. The top of the rock, in distinction from the valley, is called the country: but such a country! such a barren desolate appearance, as perhaps no other inhabited place affords; occasioned chiefly by the want of soil, and partly by the multitude of rats. In those parts where there is a sufficient depth of earth, the inhabitants have little farms and gardens, which supply them with fruits and vegetables, though in no great plenty. Corn they have none but what they are supplied with from Europe; although many attempts have been made use of to raise it; but it either does not take root for want of soil, or the rats destroy it. Most of the people usually eat yams instead of bread, which are here very good. The country is so little able to supply its inhabitants with the necessaries of life, that if the ship which annually stops in its way to India, and brings them corn, &c.

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&c. was to meet with any accident, they would be in the greatest danger of famine. Their best resource in such a situation would be the fish, which undoubtedly must be plentiful, as they are surrounded by the sea. On account of the scarcity of fodder, there are but few cattle kept; and those that are, are so far at the disposal of the governor, that no person can kill one of his own beasts without the governor’s order; nor, when it is killed, dispose of it but according to his direction; which is to procure every family on the island a proper quantity. All kinds of provision indeed are obliged to be managed with œconomy, to prevent a scarcity. Whenever any English ship arrives, the island is obliged to provide the captain with at least one bullock for fresh provision: but they often take a greater quantity of salt meat than they give of fresh. Indeed, it is not a place to expect plenty of refreshments; and to those who are just come from the Cape of Good Hope, which is often the case, the contrast in point of plenty and scarcity appears very striking. The India Company are so far from being enriched by this place, that the keeping of it costs them a considerable sum yearly; but, as they have no other possessions in this part of the world, it is of great use for their ships to water at; particularly in time of war, when it might be dangerous for them to put in at the Cape.302 The island is fortified at the landing place; and at another place, a short distance, where they think that an enemy, if it was worth their while might make an attempt, they have lately erected a small fort; but all the rest of the island is better fortified by nature than it could possibly be by art; being the most insurmountable of all rocks. Nevertheless, a little army of three or four companies is always kept here. The governor has a yearly salary of five hundred pounds; and, they say, without any perquisites,303 except that every expence of his family is found him by the company; including a town and country-house, horses, servants, and provisions of every kind whatever. There is a deputy governor, and three or four gentlemen, called the council. Most of the other inhabitants, except the army, live by the produce of their farms, and by boarding the captains, passengers, &c. of the India ships; for there is nothing worthy the name of trade in the place. They are entirely prevented from entering into any foreign trade by an express order from the company at home, which prohibits the building or keeping any ship; not even a bark, or any vessel larger than a common boat, is allowed to belong to the island. Sometimes they gain a little by purchasing goods from one ship, and selling them to others, which come from different ports in India. Although all the people, except the slaves, are called English, I believe the greatest part of them never saw the mother country; and being confined to a small society, with no other variety than what is afforded them by the India ships stopping in the port, their knowledge must consequently be confined, and their ideas but few; nevertheless, there is great decency of manners and appearance; at least while any ships are here, the time in which they all set themselves off to the best advantage. 117

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After what I have said of the sterility of the country, you will not be surprised to hear that the people are in general poor. Their harvest is the time the ships stop, and the greatest advantages they have is from them. The most agreeable circumstance appertaining to this island is the climate, which, notwithstanding its being between the tropics, is really fine: from the height of the rock, and its being surrounded by the sea, the heat is very moderate, and the air perfectly clear and healthy: a proof of it is, that the women have as fine complexions as in any part of the world; a beauty peculiarly striking to all people who are come from India. Another remarkable circumstance, which is likewise in favour of beauty, is, that the small pox is a disorder known only by name: and they tell you, that every native of this island who goes to any other country, and catches it in the natural way, certainly dies; but, by inoculation, they generally recover:304 and I can readily believe, that most of those who are prepossessed with this opinion, will die if they should catch it in the natural way. THE END.

Editorial notes Abbreviations EIC Flood

East India Company G. Flood, An Introduction to Hinduism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography OED Oxford English Dictionary

Notes 1 Santa Cruz, Isle of Teneriffe: Now the capital of the Canary Islands, a seven-island archipelago situated in the Atlantic Ocean west of Morocco and designated an autonomous community of Spain. Tenerife is the largest island of the group. 2 you: The recipient of Kindersley’s letters is not known, and little can be inferred about them from the text. It is possible that the epistolary format here is merely a convention, and that there was no original correspondence or interlocutor. 3 the Downs: A roadstead (i.e. a stretch of sea offering sheltered, safe anchorage) off the Kent coast, in the southern part of the North Sea. 4 the Peak: Mount Teide, a volcano on Tenerife which is the highest peak not only in the Canary Islands but in the whole of Spain. 5 Grand Canaria: Gran Canaria, in fact the third largest of the Canary Islands. 6 reduction: Used here in the sense of ‘subjugation of a place, people, etc’ (OED). 7 A French ship driven amongst these islands . . . taken prisoners by the natives: Here either Kindersley or her source (which has not been identified) are mistaken in their understanding of early European incursions in the Canary Islands. The first European navigator to explore the islands was the Genoese sea-captain Lancelotte

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8 9 10

11 12 13

14 15

16 17 18 19 20

Melocella, who discovered and gave his name to Lanzerote (see note 8), which he reached in the early fourteenth century. There was an abortive French attempt to colonize the islands at the start of the fifteenth century; subsequently the Spanish successfully gained control of the archipelago, though it took them almost a hundred years to do so in the face of fierce opposition from the native Guanche population (see note 11). Lancerota: Lanzerote, fourth largest of the Canary Islands, and as Kindersley rightly notes, the first island to come under colonial control, though this in fact happened in 1402, later than implied here. On the plains of Laguna . . . the city of Laguna, or Sainta de la Laguna: Now San Cristobal de la Laguna. ‘La Laguna’ means literally in Spanish ‘the lake’. descendants of Irish Roman Catholic families: In 1688, the so-called ‘Glorious Revolution’ saw the Catholic James II deposed as King of England, in favour of the Protestant William of Orange. However, James mustered support in Ireland, principally from the Catholic community, and was not finally defeated until 1691; in the aftermath of his defeat, the Irish Parliament – now dominated by Protestants – enacted a variety of punitive measures against Catholics. Guanches: The original, indigenous inhabitants of the Canary Islands. Now thought to have been related to the Berbers of North Africa, they were eventually assimilated by the colonizing Spanish population. Carthage: Capital city of the extensive Carthaginian Empire, which in antiquity rivalled Rome for control of the Mediterranean; located near modern-day Tunis in Tunisia, it was founded by the Phoenicians. Moors: A term with a complex history and shifting application, ‘moor’ could sometimes denote in the early modern period anyone with African ancestry or dark skin. Here however Kindersley seems to be using it more precisely, and in its proper original sense, to indicate the mixed Berber and Arabic population of northwest Africa (the region known to the Ancient Greeks as Mauretania). their own country is but little visited by strangers: Spain lay off the main route of the eighteenth-century Grand Tour, which directed most British travellers to Italy, France and to a lesser extent Switzerland and the German states. the persecutions in America will ever be remembered: From Christopher Columbus’ first voyage onwards, Spain’s conquest and colonization of the West Indies, central America and South America had devastating consequences for the indigenous populations of these regions. Numerous Spanish atrocities, including widespread murder and rape, were documented in Bartolomé de las Casas’s Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias (A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies, 1552). These allegations were also much emphasized and exaggerated by rival European powers to legitimize their own colonial ambitions, which were usually depicted as more humane than Spanish endeavours. This gave rise to what Spanish historians have dubbed the ‘Black Legend’ of Spanish cruelty. It remains a matter of scholarly debate, however, whether Spain was more markedly brutal to its colonial subjects than other European nations in this era. See M. R. Greer, W. M. Mignolo, and M. Quilligan, Rereading the Black Legend: The Discourses of Religious and Racial Difference in the Renaissance Empires (Chicago, IL and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2007). domestics: Domestic servants. laborious: Hardworking. commotions in the earth: Earthquakes and tremors caused by the volcano Mount Teide. the grates: The metal bars – arranged either in parallel or in a criss-crossing mesh – installed in windows and in viewing portals in doors. taking the veil: A colloquial expression, meaning to become a nun.

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21 the court of Madrid has lately published a decree . . . till the age of twenty-five: It has not been possible to ascertain whether any such law was actually passed in Spain; Kindersley should obviously not be regarded as a wholly reliable reporter in this regard. 22 sugar-loaf: The conical form in which sugar was usually produced and sold in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. 23 not more than seventy years since . . . quantities of sulphur and melted ore which issued from it: The years 1704–1706 had seen major eruptions from Mount Teide’s side-vents, though not from the summit itself. 24 Madeira: A type of fortified wine traditionally produced in the Madeira Islands, an archipelago in the Atlantic southwest of Portugal and north of the Canary Islands. 25 The excess of this national virtue . . . Emperor Charles the Fifth . . . although Johanah was absolutely in a state of lunacy . . . exclude her from the throne: Charles V (1500– 1558) was ruler of the Holy Roman Empire from 1519 until his abdication in 1556. He was also from 1516 Charles I of Spain, uniting what had previously been the separate realms of Aragon and Castile. Both titles rightfully belonged to his mother, Joanna of Castile (1479–1555), but in 1509 she had been declared insane and confined. It remains a matter of scholarly debate whether the accusations of lunacy were genuine or fabricated for political reasons. 26 serge: A type of twill fabric, made of either wool or silk, characterized by a diagonal weave on both sides. 27 a queue: A hairstyle in which the hair is pulled back to hang as a long tail, which is sometimes braided. 28 stays: The rigid supports, often made of whalebone, used in corsets and bodices. 29 the oriental pearl: Kindersley refers here to natural marine pearls. 30 paint: Kindersley means they apply cosmetics to their skin. 31 bay of St. Salvador, otherwise Bahia: Now the city of Salvador in the modern Brazilian state of Bahia. Salvador – also sometimes known, as Kindersley indicates, simply as ‘Bahia’, or ‘bay’ in Portuguese – was originally the capital of Portugal’s Brazilian colony; however, this status was transferred to Rio de Janeiro in 1763, a year before Kindersley’s visit. 32 tout ensemble: ‘the whole thing together’ (French). 33 Lisbon: The capital of Portugal. 34 when Portugal first took possession of this coast: In 1494 the Treaty of Tordesillas divided up the newly discovered Americas between Spain and Portugal; in 1500, the Portuguese navigator Pedro Alvares Cabral (c. 1427–1520) made the first European landfall in Brazil, claiming the territory for Portugal. 35 a Bishop, a Colonel, and a Civil Layman: At the time of Kindersley’s visit, colonial Brazil was indeed governed by a three-person council made up in the manner described here. However, what she did not realise – or at least, does not mention here – is that this was a temporary, interim administration. Ordinarily Brazil was governed by a Viceroy appointed by the Portuguese monarch. However, the previous Viceroy had died in 1760, and a successor was not appointed until 1766. See D. Alden, Royal Government in Colonial Brazil (Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press, 1968), p. 6, note 12. 36 no court of inquisition is kept here: The term ‘Inquisition’ denotes the investigative processes and ecclesiastical courts established by the Catholic Church, from medieval times onwards, to counter heresy, and also sometimes to punish other offences against Catholic orthodoxy such as blasphemy and witchcraft. An Inquisition had been established in Portugal in 1536, initially targeting the country’s Sephardic Jewish population; it was later extended to Portugal’s overseas colonies. 37 the Jesuits . . . banish them from Portugal: The Jesuits – or more properly, the Society of Jesus – were a Catholic religious order established in 1534. They soon gained

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38 39 40

41

42 43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

55 56

immense wealth and influence within the Catholic world, and played a prominent role in missionary endeavours in South America and Asia. By the eighteenth century, however, their power along with their allegiance to the Papacy had earned the Jesuits the mistrust of many monarchs in Catholic Europe. In 1759 Portugal became the first of several nations to expel the order. militia: A military force raised from the civilian population, who do their military service whilst also continuing in other occupations rather than being full-time professional soldiers. equipage: Probably used here in the sense of ‘furnishings’, although the word could also apply to the equipment and paraphernalia associated with a horse-drawn carriage. Portugal, whose commerce and navigation once extended itself over both Indies: At their greatest extent in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, Portugal’s overseas colonies encompassed not only Brazil in the Americas but also, in the ‘East Indies’, Goa, parts of Sri Lanka and many of the islands in modern-day Malaysia and Indonesia. the Portuguese throwing off the Spanish yoke: In 1580, the Portuguese throne passed to Philip II of Spain (1527–1598), thereby unifying the Iberian peninsula. In 1640, however, the Portuguese nobility ousted his grandson, Philip IV of Spain (1605– 1665), establishing as monarch the Duke of Braganza (see note 42). the Duke of Braganza’s intention: John, 8th Duke of Braganza (1604–1656), and from 1640, King of Portugal, ruling as John IV. Mrs. R.: Not identified. chintz petticoat: Although petticoats in many periods have been undergarments worn beneath a skirt or dress, eighteenth-century fashions often put the petticoat on show. Hence the use here of chintz, a cotton fabric printed with coloured designs (for example, of flowers or birds). shift: Usually in this period a light undergarment, like a chemise, worn next to the skin. tucker: In eighteenth-century women’s fashion, a piece of cloth worn around the neck and shoulders. drops in her ears: Earrings that drop below the ear lobe. a sort of egret: An egret was usually a piece of jewellery shaped in the form of a feather; Kindersley seems to regard the jewellery she is seeing as a clumsy approximation of this design. these Indians: By ‘Indians’ here, Kindersley means the native peoples of Brazil, such as the Tupinamba tribespeople who were the traditional inhabitants of the region around Rio de Janeiro. Golconda: Golkonda was a territory in south India. Famous for its diamond mines, it comprised parts of the present-day states of Telangana and Andra Pradesh. Cassada pulverized, they call it farina de Pao, which is literally powder of post: The flour derived from the dried root of the manioc or cassava plant (Manihot esculenta). chairs: Sedan chairs. made of camblet and lined with bays: Camlet is a type of woven fabric; baize, a feltlike woollen material. rather for the frigid than the torrid zone: Ancient Greek philosophers such as Parmenides and Aristotle saw the world as comprising the frigid zones (around the poles), the torrid zone of the regions around the equator, and between these regions, two temperate zones (one in the northern and one on the southern hemisphere). This terminology and conceptual framework was well known and widely used by the eighteenth century. a creature of the serpent kind: Presumably a reference to the anaconda (Eunectes murinus), the largest species of snake in the world by weight. Don Ulloa: Antonio de Ulloa (1716–1795), a Spanish explorer who accompanied the French scientific expedition to South America led by Charles Marie de La Condamine

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57

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66

67 68

69 70

71 72

between 1736 and 1744. In 1748 he published Relación histórica del viaje á la América Meridional, co-authored with fellow explorer Jorge Juan; this was translated into English in 1758 as A Voyage to South America. ‘Don’ is an honorific title in Spanish. their treatment of the original natives: Kindersley’s account here rather whitewashes Portuguese treatment of Brazil’s native American population. Although Brazil did not see wholesale enslavement of native peoples, the notorious ‘bandeirantes’ of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries made frequent expeditions into Brazil’s interior in search of slaves as well as gold and silver. frightful marks on their faces, made by their parents when they are young: Some African tribes and cultures have traditionally practised ritual scarification, of the face and sometimes of other parts of the body. Confession itself, was it not abused, is an excellent institution: Kindersley refers here to the Catholic practice of making a regular confession, or acknowledgement of sins, to a priest. Cape of Good Hope: Located almost at the southern tip of the African continent, in what is today South Africa, the Cape of Good Hope served as a vital provisioning point during European voyages to the East Indies. the Dutch: The Dutch East Company, or Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie (VOC), established a permanent settlement of Dutch farmers at the Cape of Good Hope in 1652. the Dutch East India Company: See note 61. mall: A sheltered walk or promenade. espaliers: Trees or shrubs trained to grow flat along a wall or fence. the governor has a curious collection: The Dutch governors of the Cape Colony established and maintained a menagerie; this was still in existence when Maria Graham visited in 1809, although by this later date the Colony was controlled by the British. elks, tigers: Kindersley is probably referring here firstly to elands, a species of antelope sometimes described in the period as the Cape-elk; and secondly to panthers and leopards, two species of big cat often labelled ‘tigers’ in the eighteenth century. Both of these usages of ‘elk’ and ‘tiger’ can be found, for example, in Anders Sparrman’s English translation of Georg Forster’s Voyage to the Cape of Good Hope (1785). any of their governors passing to and from India: As well as the Cape Colony, the Dutch East India Company maintained colonies in Indonesia, India, Sri Lanka and Malaysia for much of the eighteenth century. when this Cape was in possession of the English: It is unclear what period or episode Kindersley is alluding to here. At the time of her visit, the British had never ‘possessed’ the Cape of the Good Hope as a colony. However, prior to the establishment of a Dutch colony in 1652, the British and Dutch both regularly visited the Cape en route to the East Indies, and the two nations were to some extent in competition for the region’s resources. Presumably she refers here (perhaps erroneously) to an incident in this pre-1652 period. Tent: A type of deep-red wine from Spain. the Table-Land, the Sugar-Loaf, and the Lion’s-rump: Mountains and prominent hills surrounding the Cape Colony settlement. Kindersley’s ‘Table-Land’ is today usually referred to as Table Mountain. The Sugar-Loaf was so-called because of its conical shape (see note 22) and is today better known as the Lion’s Head. The mountain Kindersley calls here the Lion’s rump is now usually called Signal Hill. the Bay; which is formed by a little island opposite, called Penguin Island: Table Bay, to the north of modern-day Cape Town and the Cape of Good Hope peninsula; Penguin Island is now better known as Robben Island. Cape Falso, or False Bay: The large bay and natural harbour formed by the Cape of Good Hope, laying to the southeast of the Cape.

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73 œconomists: Used here in the now rare senses recorded by the OED, to indicate either ‘an advocate or practitioner of economy in (esp. personal) expenditure; a thrifty person’, or ‘a person who manages resources, esp. sparingly or effectively’. 74 Hottentots: The Dutch name for the Khoikhoi tribespeople of southern Africa; now generally considered derogatory. 75 the Dutch police: Kindersley here uses the term ‘police’ in a now largely obsolete sense, to indicate ‘the regulation and control of a community; the maintenance of law and order, provision of public amenities, etc’ (OED). 76 the fiscal: The treasurer or official administering financial matters. 77 Constantia: Now a suburb of Cape Town, but in Kindersley’s time an estate located beyond the main colonial settlement at the Cape. 78 a rix-dollar: A silver coin used throughout Europe and in some European colonies in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; known in German as the Reichsthaler, in Dutch as the rijksdaalder. 79 their dialect, which is called Portuguese . . . some of them are called Malays or Malaynese, brought from the country of Malacca, and the islands to the eastward of India: The Malays are an ethnic group originating in the Malay peninsula of South East India. Malacca, a historic state on this peninsula and now a region in modern-day Malaysia, had been subjugated first by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century, and then by the Dutch in the mid-seventeenth century. 80 the Dutch company: See note 61. 81 run a muck: The term ‘running amok’, as it is now more usually spelled, derives from the Malaysian phrase meng-amuck (literally, ‘to make a desperate charge’). This is a phenomenon which early travellers observed in Malay culture, whereby previously law-abiding, restrained individuals – usually men – became suddenly enraged and attacked everyone around them indiscriminately. Traditionally regarded by Malays as possession by an evil spirit, this behaviour is now viewed as a psychopathological condition. 82 as soon as a child is born . . . till it becomes brown: The idea that the Khoikhoi were born white was well-established in eighteenth-century travel literature and natural history. The source seems to have been an account given by the French traveller Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, in his Les six voyages de Jean-Baptiste Tavernier (1676), of a Khoikhoi child adopted by Dutch parents who then allegedly grew up with white skin. Repeated by many subsequent travellers to the Cape, this story was further disseminated by the naturalist Georges Louis Leclerc Buffon in his influential Histoire Naturelle (1749). See L. E. Merians, Envisioning the Worst: Representations of ‘Hottentots’ in EarlyModern England (Newark, DE: University of Delaware Press, 2001), pp. 124–8; R. Wheeler, The Complexion of Race: Categories of Difference in Eighteenth-Century British Culture (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000), pp. 4–5. 83 trumpery: Items that are superficially attractive but in fact of no real value. 84 Pondicherry: Now the city of Puducherry, in the state of Tamil Nadu. 85 Nagatapam, a Dutch settlement on the coast of Coromandel: The Coromandel coast runs along the eastern side of the south Indian peninsula, facing the Bay of Bombay. Modern-day Nagapattinam, now in the state of Tamil Nadu, is in fact a longstanding Indian settlement with a history stretching back to the medieval Chola kingdom; at the time of Kindersley’s voyage, however, it was also the capital of the Dutch Coromandel colony. 86 white jemmers: Jama in Urdu signifies garment; whence pyjama or pay jama (originally, ‘leg garment’ or what were sometimes known in Britain as ‘Mughal breeches’, which evolved into the modern meaning of light garments for sleeping in). 87 the elopement of the Governor: By ‘elopement’ here Kindersley means ‘abscondment’. The Governor of Dutch Coromandel, Christiaan van Teylingen, had fled to

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90 91 92 93

94

95 96 97 98 99

100 101

102

Madras in May 1765 not because of any romantic attachment, but because he was being investigated for corruption by the Dutch East India Company. another governor arrived from Batavia: Batavia (modern-day Jakarta, and now the capital of Indonesia) was the capital of the Dutch colony on the island of Java. The incoming governor was Pieter Haksteen. The Dutch governments in India are not as the English, independent of each other; but subject to the General of Batavia: At the time of Kindersley’s visit, the territories controlled by the Dutch East India Company (VOC) in India comprised Dutch Coromandel (see note 85), Dutch Ceylon (on modern-day Sri Lanka), Dutch Malabar (on India’s southwestern coast), Dutch Suratte (in modern-day Gujarat), and Dutch Bengal. The British EIC administered the ‘Presidencies’ of Bombay, Madras and Bengal; these were as Kindersley suggests independent of each other at the time of her visit, though by the time she published her narrative the 1773 Regulating Act had made Bombay and Madras subordinate to the Bengal Presidency. the ruinous state of this once fine place: During the Third Carnatic War of 1756 to 1763, fought in India between France and Britain and their respective Indian allies, the British army had besieged and subsequently occupied Pondicherry. during the siege: See note 90. gayété de cœur: ‘gaiety of heart’ (French). Madras, or Fort St George: Although there had been earlier Indian and Portuguese settlements nearby, the city of Madras (now Chennai, the state capital of Tamil Nadu) grew up around Fort St George, which was built by the EIC in 1640. This was the first major British settlement in India, and by Kindersley’s visit was the capital of the Madras Presidency. the Nabób of Arcót: Arcot is a historic town now absorbed into the modern city of Vellore in Tamil Nadu. The Nawabs of Arcot ruled the Carnatic region of southern India from the late seventeenth century to 1801, whilst also acknowledging the overlordship of the Nizam of Hyderabad. The Nawab at the time of Kindersley’s visit was Muhammad Ali Khan Wallajah (1717–1795), a close ally of the EIC. the black town: The customary term, across British India, for the part of a city or town chiefly occupied by the local population rather than by Europeans. palengneens: Palanquins, a type of a covered litter supported by horizontal poles, holding one passenger and carried by four or six bearers. Since the word is spelled more accurately elsewhere, this is probably a typesetter’s error. Bengal: The Indian territory of Bengal at this date comprised both the modern Indian state of West Bengal and much of what is now western Bangladesh; it formed one of the EIC’s three Presidencies in India. Calcutta: Kolkata, West Bengal, which would in time become the capital of the EIC’s Bengal Presidency. When Kindersley visited, however, Murshidabad in West Bengal was still the capital (see notes 110 and 114). The voyage from Madras . . . is a dangerous one: According to family legend, the Kindersleys were lucky to survive a shipwreck as they neared Bengal. Jemima’s son Nathaniel Edward would later claim that he was ‘thrown from the sinking ship into my Mother’s lap in the boat in which the crew were saved’. See A. F. Kindersley, A History of the Kindersley Family (privately printed, 1938), p. 92. disembogue: Emerge or flow out. a Pucker fever: According to J. Stockdale’s, Indian Vocabulary (London: John Stockdale, 1788), ‘a putrid fever, generally fatal in 24 hours’. The name may derive from the term puckah (which derives in turn from the Hindi pakka), meaning ‘substantial’ or ‘permanent’. lest you should think I take the licence of a traveller: The tendency of travellers to exaggerate or even fabricate their stories was proverbial in the eighteenth century; as one aphorism had it, ‘travellers may lie by authority’.

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103 Motte Jill: The name Motijhil is applied both to a man-made, horseshoe-shaped lake in West Bengal and to the Mughal palace standing on the banks of that lake. 104 Cossumbazar: Cossimbazar, West Bengal, a settlement further up the Hooghly river from Calcutta. 105 an English factory: Here and in many other colonial contexts at this date, ‘factory’ usually denotes not a ‘manufactory’ where products are made or assembled, but rather a trading post where goods are bought, sold and warehoused. In this case, however, silk goods were evidently prepared and processed at this site. 106 piece silk: Silk in the standard length for transportation and sale. 107 the company’s servants: Kindersley means EIC employees. 108 Mahomedan: An old synonym for Muslim, now considered derogatory. 109 the English resident at the Durbar: ‘Durbar’ signifies a court or civic assembly; in this case, Kindersley is presumably referring to the court of the Nabob of Muxadabád (see note 110). The EIC maintained a representative at many such native Indian courts; the holder of this post was termed the Resident. 110 the Nabób of Muxadabád: Under the Mughals, modern-day Murshidabad in West Bengal was the capital of the province of Bengal. It remained an important administrative centre even after the rise of British power in Bengal, although later in the century (well after Kindersley’s voyage) many of its legal and commercial functions would be transferred to Calcutta. 111 contaminated by swine’s flesh: The eating of pork is forbidden to Muslims. 112 Musnud: Loosely, ‘throne’ (in Urdu); more precisely it denotes the cushion or cushioned seat used by Mughal rulers. 113 the Subahship: In Persian, subah signifies province; by ‘subahship’ Kindersley means the governorship of a province. 114 Muxadabád, the present capital of the three provinces: Murshidabad was properly capital of the province of Bengal, but its rulers under the Mughal Empire also administered the provinces of Bihar and Orissa (modern-day Odisha). The right to act as revenue collectors in all three provinces had recently been secured by the EIC in the Treaty of Allahabad (see note 118). 115 Mongheir: Munger, or Monghyr, in the state of Bihar. 116 the English army: The EIC maintained its own armed forces in India. As Kindersley will later go on to explain in Letter 50, however, this ‘English’ army was chiefly made up of native troops, usually known as ‘sepoys’. For a useful discussion of the EIC’s military forces at this period, see M. H. Fisher, The Travels of Dean Mahomet: An Eighteenth-Century Journey through India (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1997), pp. 4–15. 117 Patna: One of the oldest cities in India, located on the Ganges and today capital of the state of Bihar. 118 Allahabád: After Varanasi, the most ancient of India’s cities; now officially known as Prayagraj. The original Indian settlement was much extended and developed by the Mughals, who valued the city’s strategic location at the ‘sangam’ or confluence of the Ganges and Yamuna rivers in the modern state of Uttar Pradesh. When Kindersley visited, however, control of the city’s fort had recently been secured by the EIC through the Treaty of Allahabad (1765), negotiated after British victory in the battle of Buxar in 1764. 119 budgeroo: Budgerows were large boats with cabins running for much of their length, and rowed at the rear. In Kindersley’s time they were commonly used to transport both goods and people along the Ganges. 120 millsail: The sail on a windmill. 121 a tilt: A tent or canopy. 122 fouzdars: In the Mughal Empire, foujdar was the title given to the administrator of a sarkar, or district, within a larger subah, or province. 123 Bockapoor: Bankipore, Bihar.

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124 cantonments: Barracks or military camps. 125 Dinapoor: Danapur, Bihar, where the EIC would eventually build its largest army barracks in Bengal. 126 Bahar: Now the Indian state of Bihar; see also note 114. 127 salt-petre: Potassium nitrate, an important ingredient in both gunpowder and fertilizer. 128 opium: Harvested from local poppies, opium was one of the EIC’s most lucrative commodities. Substantial quantities were exported from India to China, leading in the nineteenth century to two Opium Wars (between 1839–1842 and 1856–1860) in which the EIC defeated Chinese attempts to curtail the trade. 129 bettlenut: Kindersley refers here to the nut of the areca tree (Areca catechu), which is chewed as a mild stimulant across much of South Asia. 130 painted callicos, figured table-linen . . . ordinary wrought muslins: Callico is a fabric woven from unbleached and sometimes not fully processed cotton; muslin is a similarly plain and often very lightweight cotton fabric. By ‘figured table-linen’, Kindersley presumably means table cloths bearing patterns or images. 131 zanannah: In Mughal and Persian Muslim culture at this date, the zenana was the part of the household reserved for women. 132 Benaras: Now Varanasi, in the modern state of Uttar Pradesh. 133 This province is governed by a Hindoo rajah . . . the subadar Sujah Ul Dowlet: Subadar here signifies a provincial governor within the Mughal Empire. For Shuja ud-Daulah, see note 195; for the ruler of Benaras at the time of Kindersley’s visit, see note 248. 134 Sancrit: Sanskrit, the ancient Indo-European language in which many of Hinduism’s oldest and most sacred texts are written. 135 the Brahmin tribe: Brahmins constitute the highest caste in Indian society. Their traditional role was as priests and guardians of sacred knowledge, although in practice Brahmins have historically undertaken many other roles as well. 136 Mussulmen: Another synonym, in the early modern period, for ‘Muslim’. 137 Hindostan: A term which had traditionally denoted just northern India and the upper reaches of the Ganges; by the time of Kindersley’s visit, however, it was commonly applied to the whole of the Indian subcontinent. 138 Gentoos: An old term for Hindus, already going out of use in Kindersley’s time; see Letter 58 for an explanation of the derivation of this name. 139 the river Indus: One of the longest rivers in Asia, the Indus originates in Tibet then flows south through what is now Pakistan, passing through (in its northern reaches) the Punjab, then (to the south) Sindh, before flowing into the Arabian sea near Karachi. Cities existed in the Indus valley as early as 3300 BC. 140 an Hindoo emperor, named Kirshan: Probably a variant form of Krishna, the mythical prince depicted in early Hindu texts such as the Mabharata and the Bhagavad Gita. See also Alexander Dow’s History of Hindostan (1768), which identifies ‘Krishen’ as the first monarch of India. 141 Murage: In Alexander Dow’s History of Hindostan (1768), ‘Maraja’. For Dow, however Maraja’s rule came some 400 years after Krishna, rather than 1,500 years later as Kindersley suggests. No source has been identified for Kindersley’s alternative dating. 142 a great king of the Turcomans, called Gustas . . . in whose time Zoroaster first spread the Magian religion in Persia: The Iranian prophet Zoroaster, or Zarathustra, established the Zoroastrian religion. He is thought to have been a historical figure but early accounts of him are significantly overlaid with legend; it is accordingly difficult to identify precisely when Zoroaster lived, with the most likely dates being at some point between either 1700–1000 BC or 650–520 BC. The same sources suggest that Zoroaster lived during the ruler of a Persian ruler called Gustasp, or Vishtaspa, who became a follower and patron of Zoroastrianism; however, it is again not possible to

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145

146

147 148 149

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identify the latter with any known historical figure. Kindersley here seems to accept the later dating of both figures. Brahma: Kindersley or her source (who has not been identified) is confused here. Brahma is generally regarded not as a mortal man, but as one of the primary deities in Hinduism; see Graham, note 172. Shastah: The term shastra or sutra means literally ‘teachings’ or ‘a treatise’. Strictly speaking it signifies Hindu instructional texts used to explain ancient works like the Vedas (see Graham, note 60). However, Kindersley like many contemporaries may be encompassing the Vedas themselves in this term. Goseyns: The term ‘gossain’ can have a variety of meanings and applications in Indian culture; in one usage it denotes a lineage of especially honoured priests within Hinduism’s Vaishnavite tradition, and this seems to be the sense in which Kindersley uses the word. The next great division is the soldier caste: The third comprehends merchants of all kinds and trades: the fourth, all servants and labourers: Traditionally, Indian society recognized four main castes (each subdivided, as Kindersley notes, into further caste groupings). In hierarchical order, going from highest to lowest caste, these were the Brahmins (see note 135); the Kshatriya, made up of the ruling and military elite; the Vaishya, traditionally agriculturalists but over time increasingly associated with trade and banking; and the Sudras or Shudras, comprising artisans and labourers. Below these four castes sat a further grouping of communities or professions without caste, often referred to in colonial times as ‘untouchables’ or pariahs (see note 212) but in modern India named the Dalit or Scheduled Castes. Pythagoras: (c. 570–c. 495 BC), Greek philosopher and mathematician most famous today for his geometrical theorems and for his belief in metempsychosis, the idea that the soul migrates at our death to inhabit other beings. the transmigration of souls: See note 147. beating themselves with rods of iron, and hanging extended in the air by the flesh of their backs upon iron hooks: Some religious festivals in India feature self-flagellation and other forms of ritual suffering; for example, the celebration and observance of Charak Puja in Bengal has traditionally often included devotees hanging by hooks in the manner described here by Kindersley. pagodas: Temples. gee: Ghee, a form of refined butter much used in Indian cooking. sweet-meats: Confectionary. the Rajapoots and Mahrattars . . . the last of these are a bold, hardy nation: The Rajputs and Marathas are two Hindu ethnic groups or communities famous for their martial spirit and fighting prowess. The Rajput clans emerged in the sixteenth century through the coalescence of a variety of earlier ethnicities and regional tribes; by the time of Kindersley’s visit, numerous Rajput kingdoms existed, located principally in northern India. The Marathas, who originated from the Deccan plateau in southern central India, established in the late seventeenth century a kingdom centred on Pune in Maharashtra. In succeeding decades they significantly extended their power and territory, and by the 1760s the Maratha Empire was a major rival to both the Mughal Empire and the EIC. the Mahomedan powers: Kindersley presumably alludes both to the Mughal Empire, and also to the independent Muslim regimes, separate from the Mughal Empire or only loosely connected with it, which have also existed historically in India. our settlement of Bombay, on the coast of Malabar: In Kindersley’s time, Bombay – modern-day Mumbai – was one of the EIC’s three main territories in India. The Malabar coast is India’s southwestern coastline, facing the Arabian Sea to the west and running from Konkan (see Graham, note 292) to the tip of India’s southern peninsula.

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156 I mean, their burning themselves with the dead bodies of their husbands: Kindersley refers here to the practice of sati or suttee, the self-immolation of widows on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands. This tradition attracted much attention from European visitors and became a stock topic for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travel accounts. The practice was eventually banned by the British in 1829, after a campaign in which Indian reformers also played a major role. However, there is considerable scholarly debate as to how common sati actually was in Indian society; it seems to have been an elite Hindu practice, practised in some regions but not others. For a range of views, see L. Mani, Contentious Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1992); A. Major, Pious Flames: The European Encounter with Sati, 1500–1830 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); N. G. Cassels, Social Legislation of the East India Company: Public Justice versus Public Instruction (Los Angeles, CA and London: Sage, 2010), pp. 88–112. 157 the third great division, called Banians: Originally denoting a tradesman or merchant, the term banian was by Kindersley’s time widely used for the principal native agents and brokers employed by European companies and households. Kindersley correctly associates them with the third strata of Indian castes, the Vaishya, as outlined in Letter 28 (see note 146). 158 rupees: India’s traditional silver coinage. 159 Duan: A variant spelling of diwan or dewaun, signifying in this context a high-ranking official concerned with a regime’s financial affairs. 160 In the Decan and Carnatic: The Deccan is a vast plateau in southern India located between two mountain ranges, the Western Ghats and the Eastern Ghats; the Carnatic is a region in southern India, stretching inland from the Coromandel Coast (see note 85) on the eastern side of the Indian peninsula and comprising much of the modern states of Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, and Andhar Pradesh. 161 the Carramnassa, or the Accursed River: The Karmanasa river, a tributary of the Ganges that for much of its length forms the boundary between the modern states of Uttar Pradesh (to the west) and Bihar (on its eastern bank), before joining the Ganges at Chausa. The name means literally ‘destroyer of religious merit’ and it is still sometimes described as the ‘cursed river’. 162 his feet may not be wet with the accursed water, which is a thing forbidden by their religion: Some Hindu castes seem to have recognized such a taboo in crossing water; a linked proscription is that of kala pani (literally, ‘black water’) which prevented voyaging by sea. These taboos were not universal, however, but principally applied to upper-caste Hindu communities. 163 the sacerdotal office: The role or position of priest. 164 Patricians: The elite class or aristocracy in Ancient Roman society. 165 in the Levitical law . . . the ark was carried by the tribe of Levi: The Levites, descended from the patriarch Levi, are one of the 12 Israelite tribes recorded in the Old Testament. In that text, the Books of Leviticus and Numbers – the third and fourth books of the Bible respectively, after Genesis and Exodus – are chiefly concerned with establishing the rules and rituals of Jewish religious observance: hence Kindersley’s reference to the ‘Levitical law’. In Numbers 1:50 the Levites are assigned the duty of carrying into battle and protecting the Ark (or Tabernacle) of the Covenant, which contained the stone tablets bearing the Ten Commandments handed down to Moses. 166 Their abstinence from animal food promotes temperance: It was widely believed in the eighteenth century that eating meat led to greater irritability and bellicosity, while vegetarianism conversely encouraged a more sanguine, pacifist outlook. See T. Morton, Shelley and the Revolution in Taste: The Body and the Natural World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995).

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167 Martin Luther: (1483–1546), priest and religious reformer; his attempts to reform the Roman Catholic church gave rise to Protestantism. 168 Monsieur Montesquieu: Charles-Louis de Secondat, Baron de La Brède et de Montesquieu (1689–1755), French philosopher and man of letters; most famous for De l’esprit des lois (The Spirit of the Laws, 1748), which considered the evolution of political structures, customs and manners across different societies. 169 “Si avec cette foiblesse d’organes . . . comme ells étoient il y a mille ans”: Kindersley here quotes (with a few small grammatical inaccuracies) from Montesquieu’s De l’esprit des lois, Book 14, Chapter 4: ‘Cause of the Immutability of Religion, Manners, Customs and Laws in the Eastern Countries’. In a contemporary translation, this extract reads: If to that delicacy of organs which renders the eastern nations so susceptible of every impression you add likewise a sort of indolence of mind, naturally connected with that of the body, by means of which they grow incapable of any exertion or effort, it is easy to comprehend that when once the soul has received an impression it cannot change it. This is the reason that the laws, manners, and customs, even those which seem quite indifferent, such as their mode of dress, are the same to this very day in eastern countries as they were a thousand years ago. (C. de Secondat and B. Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws, trans. T. Nugent (Dublin: Ewing and Faulkner, 1751), vol. 1, p. 279) 170 Alexander the Great: In 326 BC the Macedonian king Alexander the Great (356– 323 BC) crossed the Indus river and led his army into northwest India. He defeated the Paurava kingdom in the Punjab but discontent amongst his troops meant he was not able to push further into the subcontinent. Alexander’s army therefore followed the route of the Indus to the coast, before departing India and sailing back to Persia. 171 Darius king of Persia: Darius I (c. 550–486 BC), ruler of the Achaemenid Empire in Persia (Iran). In 516 BC he sent his army into the Indus valley (see note 139), establishing the Punjab as the Achaemenid Empire’s eastern boundary. 172 the writers of Alexander’s life: Key accounts of Alexander the Great’s expedition to India such as Strabo’s Geography (c. 20 BC–23 AD) and Arrian’s The Anabasis of Alexander (second century AD) include references to the ‘Bracmani’ or priests encountered by the Macedonians. 173 Tartary: The name traditionally given in Europe to the expanse of central Asia stretching from the Caspian Sea to the Pacific. 174 Persees: Between the eighth and tenth centuries AD, a substantial Zoroastrian community (see note 142) migrated from Persia (modern-day Iran) to India. They became known as Parsees or Parsis (an adaptation of ‘Persian’). Fire plays an important ritual role in Zoroastrianism; hence Kindersley’s reference to ‘fire-worshippers’. 175 the Afghans, or Patans: The Pashtun or Pathan tribes, native to Afghanistan and what is now western Pakistan. 176 the confluence of the Jumna and the Ganges: The Yamuna is the second largest tributary of the Ganges, flowing from the Himalayas and merging with the Ganges at Allahabad. 177 chan: ‘Khan’, signifying emperor or ruler. 178 the Mogule Tartars . . . under their prince Chengis or Zingis Chan . . . likewise against the Patan dominions which they seized: Kindersley refers here to Genghis Khan (1162–1227), commander of the Mongol army from ‘Tartary’ (see note 173). In the early thirteenth century he conquered Persia (modern-day Iran) and Afghanistan. For the ‘Patan dominions’, see note 175.

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179 Amir Timer, otherwise Tamerlane: Timur or Tamerlane (1336–1405), who became ruler of one of the Khanates established by Genghis Khan, and from that base conquered much of the Middle East and South Asia. He invaded India in 1398, capturing Delhi in the same year. 180 Asia Minor: A geographic label given to the portion of southwest Asia south of the Black Sea. Today this region is roughly coterminous with the nation-state of Turkey but historically it has been made up of multiple states such as Thrace, Phrygia and Troy. 181 Samarcande: Samarkand, in modern-day Uzbekistan. 182 Sultan Baber, king of Indija: Babur (1483–1525), founder of the Mughal Empire in India. He was born in Andijan in modern-day Usbekistan but ruled Osh, in what is now Kyrgyzstan. 183 the Pitan kings of Delhi: In 1526 Babur defeated Ibrahim Khan Lodi, the Sultan of Delhi, at the first battle of Panipat. The Lodi dynasty, which had ruled Delhi since 1451, was of Afghan and more specifically Pashtun (or ‘Pathan’) descent. 184 Aurenzebe: Aurungzeb (1618–1707) was the sixth Mughal emperor, reigning from 1658 to 1707. Arguably the last effective ruler of that dynasty, he expanded the Mughal Empire to its greatest extent, until it encompassed almost the entirety of the Indian subcontinent. After his death, Mughal power began to decline, under pressure from Nader Shah of Persia, the growing Maratha Empire and eventually the British EIC. 185 Nadir Shaw, known in Europe by the name of Thammas Kouli Khan: Nader Shah Afshar (1688–1747), who as Shah of Persia invaded the Mughal Empire, defeating the Mughal army and capturing Delhi in 1739. 186 Abdalla: Ahmed Shah Durrani (1722–1772), also known as Ahmad Khan Abdali, ruler of Afghanistan and founder of the Durrani Empire. He invaded India on multiple occasions between 1748 and 1767, each time gaining further territory and plunder from the declining Mughal Empire. When Kindersley visited India, he had recently won a substantial victory over the expanding Maratha Empire at the battle of Panipat in 1761. 187 incursions of the Mahrattors: Over the course of the eighteenth century, the Maratha Empire expanded greatly from its southern Indian base around Pune to take in much of northern and Gangetic India. 188 subadárs: See note 113. 189 Agra: Located in the modern state of Uttar Pradesh on the banks of the river Yamuna, Agra was the capital of the Mughal Empire between 1556 and 1648. It is the site of the Taj Mahal, commissioned in 1632 by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan to commemorate his wife. 190 Lahor: Lahore, now located in the Punjab province of Pakistan. 191 subahs: See note 113. 192 now reduced to a dependence on the English: In many regions of India at this date, the local rulers remained nominally independent but were in fact supported financially and militarily by the EIC, who were accordingly the de facto rulers: see, for example, note 201. 193 the late Mogul Allum Gire: Alamgir II (1699–1759), the fourteenth Mughal emperor, ruling between 1754 and 1759. His assassination was arranged by his minister Imadul-Mulk, who then manoeuvred on to the throne Shah Jahan III (1711–1772). The latter reigned for just a few months before being supplanted by Allam II (see note 194). 194 Shaw Allum: Shah Allam II (1728–1806), 16th Mughal emperor, ruling between 1759 and 1806. His reign saw a dramatic decline in Mughal power. Attempts to quash the rebellious governors of the Mughal Empire’s eastern provinces brought him into conflict with the EIC, who had allied themselves with the rebels. A series of military defeats culminated with the battle of Buxar (1764), after which Allam was obliged

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195 196

197 198 199 200 201

202

203 204 205 206 207

208 209 210 211

to sign the Treaty of Allahabad in 1765. This represented a major advance in British power in eastern India, with the EIC being granted the right to act as revenue collectors in the provinces of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa (Odisha). The British also occupied the strategically important fort at Allahabad, the Mughal capital of Bengal. Allam himself, although still nominally ruler of the province of Benares (Varanasi), became a pensioner and virtual prisoner of the British, obliged to live within the fort at Allahabad. Sujah Dowlah, Nabob of Oud: Shuja ud-Daulah (1732–1775), Nawab of Oudh (modern-day Awadh in Uttar Pradesh). In alliance with Shah Allam II (see note 194) he fought against the EIC at the battle of Buxar (1764) and was defeated. Cossim Ali Chan: Mir Qasim (d. 1777), who was installed as Nawab of Bengal by the British in 1760, before subsequently being deposed by the EIC. He allied himself with Shuja ud-Daulah and Shah Allam II, and with them was defeated by the EIC at the battle of Buxar in 1764. thirty lacks: See note 271. haram: See Graham, note 92. the provinces of Bengal, Bahar and Orixa: See note 194. Allaverdi: Alivardi Khan (1671–1756), Nawab of Bengal from 1740 until his death. Surajah Dowlah: Siraj ud-Daulah (1733–1757), who in 1756 became the last independent Nawab of Bengal. Concerned at growing British power in the region, he attacked and occupied Fort William in Calcutta (an episode which gave rise to the notorious story of the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’; see note 202). He was subsequently defeated by the EIC’s army at the battle of Plassey and executed in 1757. This victory established the EIC as the dominant force in Bengal, and subsequent Nawabs of the province were essentially puppets of the British. the black hole: When Siraj ud-Daulah captured Fort William in 1756, a large number of British survivors were imprisoned overnight in the fort’s tiny gaol, nicknamed the ‘black hole’. Conditions were so cramped that by next morning a substantial number had died. The overall number of both prisoners and fatalities cannot be determined precisely; one contemporary estimate suggests 43 of 64 prisoners died. The incident was subsequently much mythologized in British culture; see P. Chatterjee, The Black Hole of Empire: History of a Global Practice of Power (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). Admiral Watson: Vice Admiral Charles Watson (1714–1757), Commander-in-Chief of the British Navy’s East India Station from 1754. Colonel Clive: Robert Clive (1725–1774). As a colonel, in 1756 Clive led the EIC’s army to recapture Calcutta from the Nawab of Bengal Siraj ud-Daulah, before going on to defeat the Nawab decisively at the Battle of Plassey in 1757. The company’s trade and advantages: The EIC’s trade, etc. the Phousdár: See note 122. Havildárs and Zemindárs: Havildars were officers in the Mughal army commanding the defence of forts and small settlements; later the term came to mean a sepoy noncommissioned officer in the British army. Zemindars under the Mughals were tax collectors and public functionaries often overseeing extensive tracts of territory; in the Permanent Settlement Act of 1793, the British made many zemindars the owners of these territories. Predestinarians: Believers in predestination, the belief that events and lives are predetermined by God’s will. seapoys: See note 116. Hyder Alli: Hyder Ali Khan (1720–1782), ruler of the kingdom of Mysore in southern India from 1761 to 1782. By the latter stages of Kindersley’s visit, the British were at war with Hyder Ali, in the first of four Anglo-Mysore wars. The Harri or Hallicore cast: See Graham, note 134.

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212 Pariar: Strictly speaking this term denotes members of the low-status Paraiyar caste in southern India; however, in European usage it was also used to refer collectively to all the lowest ‘untouchable’ castes, who today are properly referred to as the Dalit or Scheduled Castes. 213 lingua franca: Literally meaning ‘the language of the Franks’ in Latin, this term signifies more loosely a common language. 214 Goa: A region (and now a state) on India’s southwestern coast, Goa was a Portuguese colony from 1510 to 1961. 215 The Mahomedans . . . divided into different sects; these of Hindostán are mostly followers of Ali: Islam is divided into two main denominations (along with several smaller sects): these are Sunni Islam and Shia Islam. Shiites regard Ali, Mohammed’s son-in-law, as the legitimate successor of the prophet. 216 the pilgrimage to Mecca: Pilgrimage, or hajj, to Islam’s most holy site, Mecca in modern-day Saudi Arabia, is in theory a mandatory duty for all Muslims, although it is understood that it will not always be feasible for everyone to undertake the journey. 217 It has often been asserted by travellers . . . the learned in the Arabic language, who take their authority from the Alcoran itself, deny this: It was widely and persistently believed in Europe that Islam did not regard women as having souls. However, this misconception had been refuted in George Sales’s 1734 translation of the Qur’an (or as it is here named, the ‘Alcoran’); it is presumably Sales who is alluded to in Kindersley’s reference to ‘the learned in the Arabic language’. 218 doctors: Used here in the sense of ‘learned men’, rather than medical doctors. 219 bang, or bank: The Hindi word for cannabis leaves, when used as a narcotic. 220 Niabs: Literally, any sort of deputy, but most commonly used in the sense of a deputy governor. 221 “the man whom the king delighteth to honour”: Quotation from the Bible, Esther 6.6. 222 “Corruption . . . deluged all”: A loose quotation from Alexander Pope’s ‘Epistle to Bathurst’ (1733), ll. 135–7. 223 Buzars: Markets. 224 Hircarers: Messengers or emissaries. 225 salam: In Arabic, ‘peace’. 226 an ague: A fever. 227 mummery: Play-acting. 228 “mistake the abuse of laws, for the laws themselves”: Source not identified. 229 “Comme il faut de la virtue dans une republique . . . et cela suffit”: Quotation from Montesquieu’s Esprit des lois (see note 168). The first two paragraphs are taken from Book 3, Chapter 9: ‘Of the Principle of Despotic Government’; Kindersley then elides a section on less despotic forms of government, before continuing with the opening paragraphs of Book 3, Chapter 10: ‘Difference of Obedience in Moderate and Despotic Governments’. In Thomas Nugent’s contemporary English translation, these passages are rendered as: As virtue is necessary in a republic, and in a monarchy honour, so fear is necessary in a despotic government: with regard to virtue, there is no occasion for it, and honour would be extremely dangerous. Here the immense power of the prince devolves entirely upon those whom he is pleased to entrust with the administration. Persons capable of setting a value upon themselves would be likely to create disturbances. Fear must therefore depress their spirits, and extinguish even the least sense of ambition. In despotic states, the nature of government requires the most passive obedience; and when once the prince’s will is made known, it ought infallibly to produce its effect.

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Here they have no limitations or restrictions, no mediums, terms, equivalents, or remonstrances; no change to propose: man is a creature that blindly submits to the absolute will of the sovereign. In a country like this they are no more allowed to represent their apprehensions of a future danger than to impute their miscarriage to the capriciousness of fortune. Man’s portion here, like that of beasts, is instinct, compliance, and punishment. (Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws, trans. T. Nugent, vol. 1, pp. 32, 33–4). 230 231 232 233 234 235

236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245

a long jemma: See note 86. metempsychosis: See note 147. Rajpoots or Marrattos: See note 153. the meanest cooly of a Moor-man: A coolie is a labourer or low-status workman; by ‘Moor-man’ Kindersley means Muslim. the Roman Republicans: After expelling its early kings in the sixth century BC, ancient Rome rose to regional dominance initially as a republic, governed by its senate, until Augustus established himself as emperor in 27 BC. Charles the twelfth of Sweden, for some time invincible: Charles XII of Sweden (1682–1718), who in the Great Northern War of 1700–1721 initially won an impressive series of victories against Russia and its allies, before finally being defeated by Russia’s much larger army. Interestingly, Kindersley here seems to be drawing on, yet contesting, the argument of John Zephaniah Holwell’s Interesting Historical Events, Relative to the Provinces of Bengal and the Empire of Indostan, 3 vols (1765–1771). Holwell had argued that the EIC needed to establish a more peaceful relationship with the Mughal Empire, suggesting that EIC’s current military superiority could not be taken for granted since Indian rulers were rapidly learning European military techniques. He made a comparison with the conflict between Sweden and Russia, writing that ‘the Russians, when first attacked by Sweden, did not possess a tenth part of the courage and discipline that these our enemies have now acquired, and yet the event [i.e. outcome] is known to the world’ (vol. 1, p. 184); Kindersley for her part argues that the two situations should not be seen as comparable. a prince: Peter the Great (1672–1725), Tsar of Russia during the Great Northern War. The army of the English Company on the Bengal establishment: The military forces maintained by the EIC’s Bengal Presidency; the Madras Presidency had its own, separate army. Mastrosses: A matross (thought to be derived from the French matelot, or sailor) was an artillery soldier whose role was assisting the gunner with the loading and firing of artillery pieces. purgunna Seapoys: A perganna is a sub-district within the administrative structure adopted in India by the Mughal Empire (see note 122). For sepoys, see note 116. the Great Mogul: The Mughal Emperor, who ruled over numerous subsidiary Mughal and Hindu rulers. At the time of Kindersley’s visit, this was Shah Allam II (see note 194). Howder: A seat, usually covered with a canopy, used on the backs of elephants; nowadays usually spelled howdah. Peadars: Footmen. caparisoned: Dressed in decorative finery, such as ribbons; usually used to describe horses so dressed. mohurs: Gold coinage first introduced by the Mughals in the seventeenth century. the Sere Peach: This piece of jewellery, clearly very elaborate in design and comprised of multiple gemstones, has not been further identified; however, Indian courts, especially those of the Mughals, were famed for their magnificence in this regard. Sere means dry or withered.

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246 a Fakir: A type of wandering, mendicant priest, renowned for their asceticism. 247 a target, a matchlock, and pike: A target in this context is a small, round shield; a matchlock is a type of musket; a pike is a long spear. 248 Bulwant Zing: Balwant Singh (1711–1770), ruler of Benares (Varanasi) from 1738 until his death. In 1764 he fought alongside Shah Allam and Shuja ud-Daulah (see notes 194 and 195 respectively) against the EIC. 249 Bigum: More commonly spelled begum and signifying a princess or lady of rank. 250 jet d’eaus: ‘water jets’ or ‘fountains’ (French). 251 posture-masters: Contortionists. 252 a notch; which is a performance of the dancing girls: More commonly spelled nautch; a performance of traditional Indian dancing. 253 Persia, Cashmire: Modern-day Iran; and Kashmir, a region in northern India, between the Great Himalaya and Pir Panjal mountain ranges. 254 there are many proofs that Europeans do not think them altogether intolerable: An allusion to the many mixed-race children born this period. 255 attitudes: Used here in the sense of poses or postures. 256 physic: Medicine. 257 “in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children”: Quotation from the Bible, Genesis 3:16. 258 simples: Medicinal herbs. 259 manufactories: Used here in the sense of ‘manufactures’. 260 filligrane: Ornamental jewellery fashioned from gold or silver wires and threads, which are woven together to form elaborate tracery designs. 261 dimities: Dimity is a type of lightweight cotton fabric. 262 Daca, in Bengal: Dhaka, now the capital of Bangladesh, but in Kindersley’s time located in Bengal. 263 one of the council: A senior EIC official, a member of the governing council created in each of the EIC Presidencies. 264 the other European companies: For example, the French, Dutch and Danish East Companies, all of which were still active in the subcontinent at the time of Kindersley’s visit. 265 the schism in the Hindoo religion: The Hindoos of the Decan and Carnatic are guided by the books called the Vidiam, as those of the Ganges are by the Shastah: Kindersley is here correct in highlighting significant regional differences in Hinduism; however, her understanding of those differences is much simplified and/or inaccurate. In the Deccan and Carnatic regions of South India (see note 160) the Hindu beliefs emanating from northern India fused with a rich Tamil tradition of devotional literature and practice. The latter tradition was often more mystical, sensual and emotive than the incoming forms of Hinduism (see Flood, pp. 128–32), and these tendencies continued in the new schools of Hinduism that emerged from this fusion of influences: this may be what Kindersley means when she subsequently stresses the greater irrationality and (in her eyes) absurdity of Hinduism in South India. However, most Hindu traditions whether originating in southern or northern India still revere the body of ancient texts known collectively as the Vedas (see Graham, note 60), rendered here as ‘the Vidiam’. However, in South India greater recognition is given to a distinctive Tamil Veda, the Tiruvayaymoli (Flood, p. 132), which may be what Kindersley is referring to. And most schools or traditions of Hinduism, whatever their geographical location, recognize the authority of the shastah or shastra (see note 144). 266 the dialect is called by the natives Bengalla, which is a corruption of that usually called by the English Moors: Kindersley’s ensuing discussion shows that by ‘Moors’ here she means Hindostani, which remains – in its variant Hindi and Urdu registers – the most widely spoken language in India. By ‘Bengalla’, Kindersley presumably means Bengali, which is not a corrupted version of Hindostani but a separate (though related) language.

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267 Gentoo: See note 138. 268 Gentiles: Strictly speaking, the Jewish term for non-Jews, but also sometimes used by Christians to signify non-Christians. 269 Portland-stone: Lime-stone quarried on the Isle of Portland in Dorset, and historically much used in British public buildings. 270 till it was taken by the English: The EIC’s army had captured Allahabad in 1765, in the aftermath of the battle of Buxar; however, the city and fort were subsequently returned to Shah Allam. 271 three crores, three lacks: In the Indian numbering system, a crore signifies 10 million, and a lakh 100,000. 272 annas . . . pice: In Indian currency, an anna signified one 16th of a rupee, and a pice was a quarter of an anna. 273 beccaficos: the figpecker bird, Sylvia hortensis. 274 the university of Brahmins: It is unclear if Kindersley is here referring to a specific institution in Varanasi, but the city has been for centuries an important centre of religious scholarship and education, hosting numerous ‘ashrams’ where not only Hindus but also Buddhists and Jains might receive instruction. 275 Thibet: Tibet. 276 David . . . Uriah the Hittite: As recorded in the Bible, King David took multiple wives but was punished by God when he committed adultery with Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite; see 2 Samuel 11–12. 277 the custom of bathing, as we learn from the story of David: As recounted in the Bible (2 Samuel 11), King David first sees Bathsheba when she is bathing. 278 at Capernaum, when our Saviour said unto the man sick of the palsy, “Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house”: This story is told in Matthew 9; the quotation is from verse 6. 279 alligators: Kindersley here uses this term loosely. The Ganges is in fact home to two species of what are now classed as crocodiles, the mugger crocodile (Crocodylus palustris) and the saltwater crocodile (Crocodylus porosus), and also to the closely related gharial (Gavialis gangeticus). 280 Chandanagóre, and Chinchura: Chandannagar and Chinsurah, both in the modern state of West Bengal. 281 the late war: Kindersley refers here not to the 1764 Battle of Buxar, but to the Third Carnatic War (1756–63) fought between Britain and France (and their Indian allies). Although principally located in southern India, hostilities also spread to Bengal, and in 1757 Admiral Watson (see note 203) captured Chandannagar. 282 English men of war: Kindersley means here Naval fighting ships. 283 country-born: That is to say, born in India. 284 a Portuguese mother: See Letter 42, where Kindersley discusses this usage of the term ‘Portuguese’. 285 the old fort, memorable for the catastrophe of the Black Hole: Calcutta to a large extent grew up around the first Fort William, built on the banks of the Hooghly by the EIC at the start of the eighteenth century and named after King William III. It was this fort that was captured by the Nawab of Bengal Siraj ud-Daulah in 1756, and that housed the notorious ‘Black Hole’ (see note 202). After recapturing Calcutta, the British began building a new Fort William (see note 289) about a mile further south along the Hooghly. The old fort was converted into a customs house. 286 the Armenians: From medieval times and throughout the colonial era, India was home to a substantial Armenian community, who were Christian in faith and worked chiefly as merchants. 287 Go-mastahs: Agents or factors. 288 the river Hugly: The Hooghly river (sometimes also spelled ‘Hugli’), a branch of the Ganges in West Bengal which flows into the Bay of Bengal.

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289 The new fort: After the EIC’s recapture of Calcutta in 1757, construction began on a new and substantially larger Fort William, which was eventually completed in 1781. 290 the company’s writers: The EIC’s clerks and other junior employees. 291 Paper, or wainscot: Wallpaper, or wooden panelling on walls. 292 the Corse: Kindersley here probably refers to the Maidan, the extensive open parkland now in central Kolkata but in the 1770s just to the south of the main settlement at Calcutta. Previously jungle, this area was cleared after 1757, and became the site for the new Fort William (see note 289). 293 compradóre: A buyer or agent (from the Portuguese comprador). 294 chillumchee: A metal washbasin. 295 scice: Groom. 296 a hooker: A hookah, or pipe for smoking tobacco, in which the smoke passes through a water basin. 297 a Hallicore: See Graham, note 134. 298 Before I take my leave of India: In characteristic fashion, Kindersley offers no personal information about why she left India. One motivation was probably to place Nathaniel Edward, who was now six years old, in a British school: this was a common Anglo-Indian practice. Another factor may have been Kindersley’s own health; her son later recalled ‘In India . . . my mother lost her health and never quite recovered it’ (Kindersley, History of the Kindersley Family, p. 94). Her husband Nathaniel remained in India and died the following year, in 1769. 299 factors: Agents who buy and sell goods. 300 St Helena: Island in the South Atlantic, which served as a provisioning port for ships sailing to and from the East Indies. 301 like the figures on a China paper: The vogue for chinoiserie in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had introduced Europeans to Chinese visual and decorative arts such as watercolour paintings and wallpaper. It is not clear which specific medium Kindersley is alluding to here, but she is evidently referencing the tendency of many Chinese artists in this period to eschew perspectivism. 302 the Cape: The Cape of Good Hope (see note 60). 303 perquisites: Entitlements customarily associated with a specific job or employment; or in its modern, abbreviated form, ‘perks’. 304 but by inoculation, they generally recover: A method for inoculating against smallpox was brought back to Britain in the early eighteenth century by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, who had witnessed the technique in Turkey. However, it remained a controversial and not widely adopted practice for most of the century; this may explain the slightly confused account Kindersley gives here, which in its phrasing suggests she thought patients were inoculated after they had been diagnosed with the disease. Survivors of smallpox were often disfigured by facial scars, which is why Kindersley describes inoculation as a practice contributing to the beauty of St Helena’s women.

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Maria Graham (1785–1842), née Dundas, embarked for India in H.M.S. Cornelia in December 1808, accompanying her father George Dundas when he was appointed to a senior Naval post at the Bombay Dockyard; Maria’s younger sister and brother also travelled out. En route to India the Cornelia visited the island of Madeira and the Cape of Good Hope in Africa: however, neither visit is recorded in Graham’s later published narrative, which begins with its author’s arrival in Bombay (Mumbai) in May 1809. During the voyage, Maria Dundas (as she then was) had also fallen in love with one of the lieutenants on the Cornelia, Thomas Graham; the couple were married in Bombay in December 1809. Maria initially resided at the home of Sir James Mackintosh, who held the post of Recorder (or judge) in the Bombay court. In this period, she explored Bombay and visited local Hindu antiquities such as the cave temple at Elephanta. Excursions were also made to Pune, capital of the Maratha Empire (which had recently been defeated in the second Anglo-Maratha War of 1805–1806) and to the Buddhist shrines of the Karla cave complex in the Western Ghats mountain range. In February 1810 another excursion was made to Ceylon (Sri Lanka); then after a final month in Bombay, Graham sailed back to Ceylon and on to Madras (Chennai), where she arrived in July 1810. For this portion of her travels, she seems to have been accompanying her husband, whose ship, the Hecate, was stationed at Madras; before and after this period, however, contact with Thomas occurred more sporadically, during his spells of leave from Naval duty. After two months in Madras, Graham sailed on to Calcutta (Kolkata). Arriving in September 1810, she spent four months in and around British India’s principal city, dividing her time between Calcutta itself (where she lived, at the Governor-General of India’s invitation, at Government House) and nearby Barrackpore, site of the Governor-General’s country residence. She also visited the Danish colony of Serampore. Leaving Calcutta in December 1810, Graham called again at Madras and then visited the Hindu antiquities at Mamallapuram, before embarking for Britain in February 1811; after visits to the Cape Colony in South Africa and to St Helena in the South Atlantic, Graham reached Britain in June 1811.

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Graham’s Journal of a Residence in India appeared in 1812, published jointly by Archibald Constable in Edinburgh and Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown in London. The volume was for the most part well reviewed. The Monthly Magazine judged it ‘the most pleasing volume that has, for a long time, passed under our notice’, and praised Graham’s ‘elegance, taste, and correct feeling’.1 For the Eclectic Review, Graham stood ‘very high in the rank of travellers’, and had spent her time in India ‘far more actively . . . collecting knowledge than most of the male residents’.2 The volume was also reviewed in France and Germany.3 Such notices, combined with healthy sales, led to a second edition in 1813; for this reissue, Graham mostly made minor revisions but also included a letter from an informant at the Cape of Good Hope (probably her brother-in-law Colonel John Graham) which gave more information about the ‘Hottentots’ (Khoikhoi) and ‘Bosjemen’ (San tribespeople) of that region. A French translation of the Journal, entitled Journal d’un séjour fait aux Indes orientales pendant les années 1809, 1810 et 1811, was later published by the firm of J.J. Paschoud in Geneva in 1818. The success of Journal of a Residence in India encouraged Graham to publish in 1814 Letters on India, a more comprehensive and scholarly primer on the subcontinent’s history, religion and culture. Considering the Journal and Letters in tandem, the Monthly Review expressed a wish that the two volumes had been combined, but nevertheless concluded by comparing Graham favourably to another famous woman of letters, Madame de Stael. For the Monthly, Graham was ‘the more original, judicious, and penetrating commentator’.4 These early publications were Graham’s stepping stone to a long-running literary and intellectual career, which produced further travel accounts and some noteworthy works of art history and children’s literature. Graham’s India journal also seems to have retained its popularity and currency for several decades. Reviewing William Huggins’s Sketches in India in 1824, the Oriental Herald commented that there had been ‘no popular work on the manners of the European inhabitants of that country’ since Graham’s journal, and added, ‘our estimation of the book now before us, is not such as to induce a belief that this will ever become as popular as that of Mrs Graham’s’.5 It was only in the 1830s, Rosemary Raza has suggested, that Journal of a Residence in India ceded its position as a well known, highly regarded introduction to India, being supplanted in this role by the more up-to-date works of Emma Roberts.6

Notes 1 Monthly Review 34 (1813), p. 362. 2 Eclectic Review 10 (1813), pp. 370, 379. 3 See the reviews in the Journal général de la littérature étrangère (1813), pp. 366–8; Allgemeine geographische Ephemeriden (1815), p. 253; Intelligenzblatt der Jenaischen Allgemeine Literatur-Zeitung (1817), p. 34. 4 Monthly Review 77 (1815), p. 279.

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5 Oriental Herald 2 (1824), p. 61. 6 See R. Raza, In Their Own Words: British Women Writers and India 1740–1857 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 61. Emma Roberts (1794–1840) was the author of Oriental Scenes, Dramatic Sketches and Tales (1830), Scenes and Characteristics of Hindostan (1835) and The East-India Voyager, Or, Ten Minutes Advice to the Outward Bound (1839).

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Ibrahim A Malay Moonshee From a Native Drawing.

JOURNAL OF

A RESI D EN CE I N INDIA. BY

MARIA GRAHAM.

I L LU ST R AT E D B Y E N GRAVI NGS.

E D I N B U R G H: PRI NT E D BY GE ORGE RAMS AY AND CO MPA N Y,

FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COM PA N Y, E D I N B U R G H ; A N D LONGM AN, HURST, REES, ORM E, A N D B R O WN , LONDON.

1812.

PREFACE 

THOUGH India has certainly been visited by a greater number of intelligent Englishmen than any other foreign country, and has been the subject of innumerable publications, it is remarkable that there is no work in our language containing such a popular and comprehensive view of its scenery and monuments, and of the manners and habits of its natives and resident colonists, as we are commonly furnished with by travellers in countries incomparably less deserving of notice. The chief reason of this probably is, that few people go to this remote region as mere idle or philosophical observers; and that of the multitude of well-educated individuals who pass the best part of their days in it, the greater part are too constantly occupied with the cares and duties of their respective vocations as statesmen, soldiers, or traders, to pay much attention to what is merely curious or interesting to a contemplative spectator. Having for the most part, too, the prospect of a long residence, they rarely think, on their first arrival, of recording or digesting the impressions which they receive from the spectacle that is spread before them, and wait so long to mature and extend their information, that the interest of novelty is lost, and the scene becomes too familiar to seem any longer worth the trouble of a careful delineation. The fact accordingly is, that almost all our modern publications on the subject of India, are entirely occupied with its political and military history,— details and suggestions upon its trade and commercial resources,—and occasionally with discussions upon the more recondite parts of its literary or mythological antiquities. Notwithstanding the great number of these books, therefore, and the unquestionable excellence of many of them, there still seemed to be room for a more popular work on the subject of this great country,—a work which, without entangling its readers in the thorny walk of politics or commercial speculation, should bring before them much of what strikes the eye and the mind of an observant stranger,—and addressing itself rather to the general reader than to those who are professionally connected with the regions it describes, should perform the same humble but useful office as to India, which tolerably well written books of travels have done as to most of the other countries of the world. This purpose it has been suggested to the writer of the following pages might be accomplished in some degree by their publication,—and it is with these, and with no higher pretensions, that they are now offered to the Public. They were 142

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really and truly written, nearly as they now appear, for the amusement of an intimate friend,1 and without the remotest view to the destiny they have now to encounter, having been prepared for publication merely by the omission of such private details and trifling anecdotes of individuals as could not with propriety be obtruded on the world. The writer is afraid that she secretly means this statement to be received as a kind of apology for some of their imperfections. But the truth is, that she is extremely doubtful whether she could have made the work much better by digesting it with more labour. Its merit, if it have any, must consist in the fidelity and liveliness of a transcript from new impressions,—and this she has found it would have been in great danger of losing, if she had ventured to change the character of her original sketch, by attempting (perhaps after all not very successfully), to reduce its redundancies or to strengthen its colouring. In one particular she is sensible that the changes she has made in her original manuscript, have both lessened its authority and tasked her self-denial; she alludes to the obligation she has imposed upon herself, of suppressing the names of those individuals to whom she has been so greatly indebted both for kindness and information, but whom she does not think herself entitled to bring before the Public without their express permission. She may be allowed, however, to mention, that at Bombay, at Madras, and at Calcutta,2 she had the good fortune to be acquainted with many individuals distinguished for oriental learning and research, and that in their society she had opportunities of acquiring much information with regard to the civil and religious habits and opinions of the natives, which she must otherwise have sought in vain. How far she has availed herself of these advantages the Public must now judge; all she pretends to is the merit of a correct description of the scenery of the country, and, as far as her powers and opportunities permitted, a faithful delineation of the manners of the inhabitants. It may be proper to add, that she went to India early in 1809, and the first months of her residence in that country were spent in Bombay, which, besides its importance as the third British presidency3 in India, is interesting from its neighbourhood to some of the most ancient and magnificent monuments of Hindoo art. Of these the cave of Elephanta4 is the most interesting, and perhaps it has been most frequently described. The island of Salsette5 is also rich in antiquities of the same kind, but it has attracted less notice; and the excavations of Carli, in the Mahratta mountains,6 are in comparison recently discovered. Curiosity induced her to visit all these places, and, when at the latter, to continue her journey to Poonah, the Mahratta capital.7 On her return to Bombay, she embarked for Ceylon, where she arrived at Pointe de Galle, and travelled along the coast as far as Negombo; afterwards visiting Trincomale8 on the east side of the island on her voyage to Madras. From Madras the writer went to Calcutta, which terminated her travels in India, as she only returned to the Coromandel coast9 to embark for England, in the beginning of 1811; where, after touching at the Cape of Good Hope and St Helena,10 she arrived in the summer of the same year. With the exception of the town of Poonah and the visit to Calcutta, the Journal consequently only describes the country and the people immediately on the coast. 143

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This perhaps may account in some degree for her character of the natives being more unfavourable than that of some other writers; and most certainly she did not go far enough to meet with any of those remnants of the age of gold—any of those combinations of innocence, benevolence, and voluptuous simplicity, with which the imaginations of some ingenious authors have peopled the cottages of the Hindoos.11 What she saw certainly suggested the materials of a very opposite picture;—and, though aware that, among a people whose laws, whose religion, whose arts, whose habits of reasoning and notions of politeness, all differ from ours, as radically as their language or complexion, it was natural to expect some variation from our standards as to the morals and the charities and decencies of social life, she must confess that the difference was greater than she found it easy to reconcile to herself, even by these considerations. In the sketch which she has attempted to exhibit, therefore, of this singular people, she flatters herself that she may have afforded some entertainment, and some matter of useful meditation even to the reflecting reader; and ventures to hope that she may perhaps contribute, in some instances, to direct the attention of those in whose hands so much of their destiny is placed, to the means of improving their moral and intellectual condition, as well as of securing them from political or civil injuries.

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Publish’d July 1 1812 by A Constable & Co. Edinburgh.

Temple of Maho Deo in Bombay.

JOUR NA L OF A

S H O RT R E S I D E N C E I N I N D I A .  Bombay May 28, 1809. MY DEAR FRIEND, N compliance with your parting request, that during my absence from England I would make notes and journals for you of whatever appeared to me worthy of remark, either as curious in itself, or as differing from the customs, manners, and habits of Europe, I shall endeavour faithfully to describe whatever I see, and carefully to report whatever I learn, for your amusement, warning you that I mean to paint from the life, and to adhere to the sober colouring of nature. After a voyage from England of twenty weeks, we landed here on the 26th of this month,12 in a thick fog, which presaged the coming on of the rainy-season in this part of India. On the new bunder, or pier, we found palankeens waiting to convey us from the shore. These palankeens13 are litters, in which one may either lie down or sit upright, with windows and sliding doors; the modern ones are little carriages, without wheels; those anciently used were of a different form, and consisted of a bed or sofa, over which was an arch just high enough to admit of sitting upright; it was decorated with gold or silver bells and fringes, and had a curtain to draw occasionally over the whole. The palankeen-bearers are here called hamauls, (a word signifying carrier); they for the most part wear nothing but a turban, and a cloth wrapped round the loins, a degree of nakedness which does not shock one, owing to the dark colour of the skin, which, as it is unusual to European eyes, has the effect of dress. These people come chiefly from the Mahratta country,14 and are of the coombee or agricultural caste.15 Their wages are seven or eight rupees a month; they are a hardy race, and, if trusted, honest, but otherwise they consider theft innocent, if not meritorious. Leaving the bunder we crossed the esplanade,16 which presented a gay and interesting scene, being crowded with people in carriages, on horseback, and on foot. A painter might have studied all the varieties of attitude and motion in the picturesque figures of the koolies17 employed in washing at their appropriate tanks or wells which are numerous on the esplanade, each tank being surrounded by broad stones, where groupes of men and women are continually employed in beating the linen, while the better sort of native women, in their graceful costume, reminding one of antique sculptures, are employed in drawing, filling, or carrying water from the neighbouring wells. The Hindoo women

I

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wear a short boddice with half sleeves, which fastens behind, and is generally made of coloured brocade.18 The shalie,a a long piece of coloured silk or cotton, is wrapped round the waist in form of a petticoat, which leaves part of one leg bare, while the other is covered to the ancle with long and graceful folds, gathered up in front, so as to leave one end of the shalie to cross the breast, and form a drapery, which is sometimes thrown over the head as a veil. The Mussulman19 and Parsee20 women have nearly the same clothing, in addition to which they wear long loose trowsers. The hair is drawn back from the face, where the roots are often stained red, and fastened in a knot behind. The hands and feet of the native women are in general delicately shaped, and are covered with rings and bangles or bracelets, which sometimes conceal the arm as far as the elbow, and the leg as far as the calf. As the food, lodging, and dress of the lower class of natives cost very little, it is common to see both the men and women adorned with massy rings and chains of gold and silver, round their necks, arms, waists, and legs, and the toes and fingers decked with fine filigree rings,21 while the ears and nose are hung with pearls or precious stones. The vanity of parents sometimes leads them to dress their children, even while infants, in this manner, which affords a temptation, not always resisted, to murder these helpless creatures for the sake of their ornaments or joys. The custom of laying out the whole, or at least the greater part of their wealth, in ornaments for the person, has probably arisen among the natives of India from the miserable state of society for so many ages. Where the people were daily exposed to the ravages of barbarous armies, it was natural to endeavour to keep their little wealth in that form in which it could with most ease be conveyed out of the reach of plunderers; for this purpose, jewels were certainly the best adapted; and though the necessity for the practice has in a great measure ceased, custom, which has perhaps more influence in India than in any other country, continues it. On entering the Black Town,22 which is built in a coco-nut wood, I could not help remarking the amazing populousness of this small island;23 the streets appear so crowded with men, women, and children, that it seems impossible for the quiet bullock hackrays, or native carriages, to get along without doing mischief; much less the furiously driving coaches of the rich natives, who pride themselves upon the speed of their horses, which are more remarkable for beauty and for swiftness than for strength. I was informed that Bombay contains upwards of two hundred thousand inhabitants. The Europeans are as nothing in this number, the Parsees from six to eight thousand, the Mussulmans nearly the same number, and the remainder are Portuguese and Hindoos, with the exception of about three or four thousand Jews, who long passed in Bombay for a sect of Mahometans, governed by a magistrate called the cazy of Israel;24 they willingly eat and converse with the Mussulmans. A number of them are embodied among the marine sepoys,25 but most of them are low traders. The dwellings of the rich natives are surrounded by virandas,26 equally necessary to guard against the intemperate heat of the sun and the monsoon rains; they are generally painted in flowers and leaves of a green or red colour; those of the Hindoos have usually some of the fables of their mythology 147

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represented on their walls. The houses are necessarily of great extent, because, if a man has twenty sons, they all continue to live under the same roof even when married; and uncles, brothers, sons, and grandsons, remain together till the increase of numbers actually forces a part of the family to seek a new dwelling. The lower classes content themselves with small huts, mostly of clay, and roofed with cadjan, a mat made of the leaves of the Palmyra or coco-nut tree,27 plaited together. Some of these huts are so small, that they only admit of a man’s sitting upright in them, and barely shelter his feet when he lies down. There is usually a small garden round each house, containing a few herbs and vegetables, a plantain tree and a coco-nut or two. The coco-nut is the true riches of a native Indian. The fruit forms a chief article of food during several months in the year, and from it the oil for the lamp is expressed, after being dried in the sun. The fibrous covering of the nut is steeped, and becomes like hemp, though more harsh; it is then called coier, and is used for making cordage of all kinds. The tarry, or toddy (which is a juice procured from the tree, by making an incision in the bark near the top, or cutting off one of the lower leaves, and applying an earthen pot to the aperture in the bark), when distilled, furnishes arrack;28 that which flows in the night is the sweetest, and, drank before sun-rise it is very wholesome. The leaves cover the houses, and two of them plaited together form a light basket-work cloak, which the peasants wear in the rainy season while transplanting the rice. When no longer capable of yielding fruit or tarry, the wood makes excellent water-pipes and joists and beams for houses. The Palmyra, another tree of the family of palms, here called the brab, furnishes the best leaves for thatching, and the dead ones serve for fuel. The trunk is applied to the same purposes as that of the coco-nut, and is said to resist the attacks of the white ant. The brab grows on hills and stony places. The coco requires a low sandy soil, and much water. In the outskirts of the Black Town we saw the fields already flooded for the rice; they are ploughed in this state; the plough consists of a piece of crooked stick which is drawn by an ox or a cow, or sometimes both. The buffaloes make good draught cattle,29 and are commonly used for drawing water; the other cattle are of the kind which has a hump on the shoulders; they are used by the natives to draw carriages called hackrays, to which they are only fastened by a beam, which is at the end of the pole, and lies across their necks; they use no traces. As there is but one tavern in Bombay, and as that is by no means fit for the reception of ladies, the hospitality of the British inhabitants is always exercised towards new-comers, till they can provide a place of residence for themselves. We have the good fortune to be under the hospitable roof of Sir James and Lady Mackintosh, at Tarala,30 about three miles from the fort and town of Bombay.31 Sir James possesses the best library that ever doubled the Cape; it is arranged in a large room like the cell of a temple, surrounded with a viranda inclosed by Venetian shutters, which admit and exclude the light and air at pleasure. As the apartment is at the top of the house, which is built on an eminence, it commands on all sides charming views; in short, it combines all the agrémens32 that one can look for in a place of studious retirement, and we feel its value doubly from having been so long confined to the cabin of a frigate. 148

Pubd. by A Constable & Co. Edinburgh June 1 1812.

Banian Tree.

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August 10th.—The rainy season, which began in the middle of May, still continues, but we have sometimes intervals of several days of dry fine weather, so that we have been able to visit most of the villages within the island of Bombay. The first walk we took was to Mazagong, a dirty Portuguese village,33 putting in its claim to Christianity, chiefly from the immense number of pigs kept there. It is beautifully situated on the shore between two hills, on one of which is Mazagong house, a leading mark into the harbour. It is interesting to the admirers of sentimental writings, as the house from which Sterne’s Eliza eloped,34 and perhaps may call forth the raptures of some future pensive traveller, as strongly as the sight of Anjengo does those of the Abbé Raynal, when he remembers “that it is the birth place of Eliza.”35 Mazagong has, however, more solid claims to attention; it has an excellent dock for small ships, and is adorned with two tolerably handsome Romish churches;36 but its celebrity in the East is owing to its mangoes, which are certainly the best fruit I ever tasted. The parent tree, from which all those of this species have been grafted, is honoured during the fruit season by a guard of sepoys; and in the reign of Shah Jehan,37 couriers were stationed between Dehli and the Mahratta coast, to secure an abundant and fresh supply of mangoes for the royal table. Our next excursion was to Sion,38 nine miles from the fort of Bombay, and at the opposite extremity of the island. We drove through a country like an English park, where I first saw the banian, or Indian fig-tree.39 It is a large spreading tree, from the branches of which long fibres descend to the ground, and there taking root become new trunks, and thus spread over a very great space*. The banian is sacred, and is usually to be found near the Pagodas, as the Europeans call the Hindoo temples. I have seen the natives walk round it in token of respect, with their hands joined, and their eyes fixed on the ground; they also sprinkle it with red and yellow dust, and strew flowers before it; and it is common to see at its root stones sculptured with the figures of some of the minor Hindoo gods. Sion Fort is on the top of a small conical hill; it commands the passage from Bombay to the neighbouring island of Salsette, and was of importance while the Mahrattas possessed that island,40 but it now only serves to beautify the scene. It is manned with a few invalids, and commanded by General Macpherson, a Highlander, who was in the battle of Culloden,41 on the losing side, and who, at the age of forty, came to Bombay as a cadet in the Company’s army.42 He retains so strong a recollection of his early years, that when the Culloden, with Sir Edward Pellew’s flag,43 was in Bombay harbour, no entreaties could prevail on him to go on board of her,—he always shook his head, and said he had had enough of Culloden. At the foot of the little hill of Sion is a causeway, or vellard, which was built by Mr Duncan, the present governor,44 across a small arm of the sea, which separates * See the Plate. In the histories of Alexander’s expedition to India45, it is mentioned that the natives bent down the branches of the trees, which then took root and grew again. Is not this a description of the banian tree?

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Bombay and Salsette. It is well constructed of stone, and has a draw-bridge in the middle, but it is too narrow for carriages to go along with safety in bad weather; however, it is of great advantage to the farmers and gardeners who bring in the daily supplies of provisions to the Bombay market. The vellard was begun A. D. 1797, and finished in 1805, at the expence of 50,575 rupees, as I learnt from an inscription over a small house at the end next Bombay, where a guard is kept to prevent the introduction of contraband articles from Salsette, which, though under the English government, is still subject to the Mahratta regulations with regard to taxes. From Sion we went to Mahaim,46 passing in the way several neglected Portuguese churches, Mussulman tombs, and Hindoo temples, but nothing very interesting till we reached the coco-nut wood near the village, where there are two beautiful temples, with large tanks surrounded by trees. These tanks are the great luxuries of the natives; one sees people bathing in them from morning till night, all ages and sexes together; but they wear as much clothing in the water as out of it. There is at Mahaim a Pir’s kubber, or Mussulman saint’s tomb, with a fine mosque attached to it, both under the guardianship of a Mahometan47 family of the Sooni sect*. The Portuguese church at Mahaim is close to the sea, and is surrounded by trees. Attached to it there is a college for native Catholic priests; but those who pretend to learning, usually study at Goa,48 where they learn to speak barbarous Latin, and have the advantage of occasionally seeing priests from Europe. A small premium is given at the church for every native child who is baptized, consequently a number of Hindoo women present their offspring for that purpose, who never think farther of Christianity. From Mahaim a good causeway leads to Parell,49 the governor’s country house, which was formerly a Jesuits college.50 It is said that the holy fathers employed their penitents in the construction of this useful work.b August 15th.—A longer continuance of fine weather than usual tempted usc yesterday to go to Malabar Point,51 at the south-west extremity of the island, formerly a place of singular sanctity, and where a number of pilgrims still annually resort. We left our carriage at the foot of the hill, and ascended a long flight of irregular steps to the top. Near the summit there are a multitude of small temples, and a few Bramins’ houses, whose inhabitants generally beg from the passengers and strangers whom business or curiosity lead to the hill. After walking nearly two miles through gardens, or rather fields of vegetables, we came to a small bungalo, or garden-house, at the point of the hill, from which there is, I think, the finest view I ever saw. The whole island lay to the north and east, beautifully green with the young rice, varied with hills and woods, and only separated from Salsette and the Mahratta shore52 by narrow arms of the sea, while the bay and harbour to the south, scattered with beautiful woody islands, reflected the grand monsoon clouds, which, as they rolled

* The Soonis and the Sheeas are the two Mahomedan sects most prevalent in India. The Soonis are the most numerous on this side of the peninsula; they are divided into Hunafis and Shafeis53.

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along, now hid and now discovered the majestic forms of the ghauts54 on the mainland. Within a few yards of the bungalo is a ruined temple; from what remains, it must have been a fine specimen of Hindoo architecture; almost every stone is curiously carved with groupes of figures, animals, and other ornaments. Tradition says that the Portugueze, in their zeal for conversion,55 pointed cannon against this temple, and destroyed it with its gods; its widely scattered remains seem to countenance the report. Close to the ruin there is a cleft in a rock, so narrow, that one would wonder how a child could get through it, nevertheless, there are multitudes of pilgrims who annually come to force themselves through, as a certain method of getting rid of their sins. Half a mile from the old temple I saw a most beautiful village, entirely inhabited by Bramins.56 In the centre is a large tank, on the banks of which are some pine trees and high pyramidical pillars, which are lighted up on festivals. A broad road round the tank separates it from the temples, which are more numerous than the houses; they are mostly dedicated to Siva, under the name of Maha Deo, and to his wife Parvati.57 The sacred bull Nandi58 is placed in front of all Siva’s temples in Bombay, and I have generally observed a tortoise at his feet. The Bramins of this village speak and write English; the young men are mostly parvoes, or writers, and are employed in the public offices and merchants’ counting-houses, while the elders devote themselves to their sacerdotal59 duties, and the study of the Vedas;60 but I am tempted to believe that the Bramins of Bombay are very ignorant, even with regard to their own sciences. The road from Malabar Hill to the Fort of Bombay lies along the beach of Back-bay, a dangerous bay formed by the point of Malabar on one side, and by Old Woman’s Island, or Coulaba,61 on which is the light-house, on the other. The shore is the general burial-place of all classes of inhabitants. That of the English is walled in and well kept; it is filled with pretty monuments, mostly of chunam,62 and contains many an unread inscription, sacred to the memory of those who, to use the oriental style, “had scarcely entered the garden of life, much less had they gathered its flowers.” Next to the British cemetery is that of the Portuguese, after which follow those of the Armenians,63 the Jews, and the Mahomedans, with the few Hindoos who bury their dead, in regular succession; they are all overshadowed by a thick coco-nut wood, and the ride among the monuments, placed between the grove and the sea, would be far from unpleasing, were it not that the tide continually washes in the skulls and bones of the Hindoos who are burnt on the beach at low water. After passing the burying-grounds, we saw several pretty country-houses along the sea-shore, as we approached the esplanade in our way to the fort. The Fort of Bombay is said to be too large to be defended, if ever an European enemy should effect a landing on the island, and no part of it is bomb-proof; besides which, the native houses within the walls are closely crowded together, very high, and mostly built of wood. The fort is dirty, hot, and disagreeable, particularly the quarter near the bazar-gate, owing to the ruins of houses which were burnt down some time ago, and have never been removed; but new buildings 152

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are in many places rising on the broken fragments of the old, so that the streets are become so uneven as to render it disagreeable, if not dangerous, for carriages to pass through them. The most important and interesting object in the fort is the dock-yard,64 where a new dock is nearly finished, consisting of two basons, in the inner one of which there is already a seventy-four gun ship on the stocks.65 The old dock is still serviceable, though much out of repair, and too small to admit a large ship; it was found a few inches too short to receive the Blenheim, so that she could not receive the repairs she required previous to her leaving India. The new dock is said to be complete and excellent in its kind; it is the work of Captain Cooper of the Company’s engineers.66 There is a steam-engine for pumping it dry, as it is sunk too low to be left dry by the tide at any season. Bombay is the only place in the East where the rise of tide is sufficient to construct docks on a large scale, the highest spring-tides having never been known to be above seventeen feet, and rarely more than fourteen. The docks are the Company’s property, and the King pays a high monthly rent for every ship taken into them. Near them is the castle, now used as an arsenal; it belongs to the King,67 and the governor of Bombay is also styled the governor of the King’s castle of Bombay. The harbour is filled with vessels from all nations, and of all shapes, but the largest and finest of the foreigners are the Arabs. Our trade with them consists in horses, pearls, coffee, gums of various kinds, honey, and ghee, which is butter clarified and put into leathern jars. Besides these articles from Arabia, the Persian Gulf also furnishes dried fruits, itturd of roses,68 tobacco, rose-water, a small quantity of Schiraz wine, with a few articles of curiosity and luxury, as books, worked slippers, and silk shawls. The principal export from Bombay is raw cotton, which is chiefly drawn from the subject province of Guzerat,69 which likewise supplies us with wheat, rice, and cattle, besides vessels of earthen ware and metal for cooling liquors, carnelians, and other rare stones. The Laccadive and Maldive islands70 furnish the greatest quantity of coco-nuts for oil and coier for cordage; and from the forests of Malabar71 we get timber and various drugs and gums, particularly the Dammar,72 which is used here for all the purposes of pitch. In return for these things, we furnish British manufactures, particularly hardware, and a variety of Chinese articles, for which Bombay is the great depôt on this side of India. While in the fort, we went to see the screwing-houses, where the bales of cotton are packed to go on board ship. The presses consist of a square frame, in which the cotton is placed, and a large beam of great weight, which is fixed to the end of a powerful screw. This screw is worked by a capstan, in a chamber above, to each bar of which there are often thirty men, so that there would be about two hundred and forty to each screw. They turn the screw with great swiftness at first, shouting the whole time, the shouts ending in something like loud groans, as the labour becomes heavier. Hemp is packed in the same manner, but it requires to be carefully laid in the press, for the fibres are apt to break if they are bent. The only English church is in the fort; it is large, but neither well served nor attended. The Portuguese and Armenian churches are numerous, both within and without the walls, and there are three or four synagogues, and mosques and 153

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temples innumerable. The largest pagoda in Bombay is in the Black Town, about a mile and a half from the fort. It is dedicated to Momba Devee, or the Bombay goddess,73 who, by her images and attributes, seems to be Parvati, the wife of Siva. Within a large square, inclosed by high walls, there is a beautiful tank, well built of freestone,74 with steps to accommodate the bathers, according to the height of the water. Round the tank are houses for the Bramins, choultries75 for the reception of travellers, and temples to a variety of deities. One of these contains a well carved trimurti, or three formed god; it is a colossal bust with three faces, or rather three heads joined together; the centre represents Brahma the creator, the face on the right hand Siva the destroyer, and that on the left Vishnu the preserver.76 Offerings of rice, fruit, milk, and flowers, are daily made to these deities, and they are constantly sprinkled with water. The priests are of an olive complexion, being very little exposed to the sun; their dress consists of a linen scarf wrapped round the loins, and reaching nearly to the ancles, whose folds fall very gracefully: their heads are shaved, excepting the crown, where a small lock of hair is left; and over the shoulder hangs the braminical thread or zenaar.77 The zenaar must be made by a Bramin; it is composed of three cotton threads, each ninety-six cubits,78 (forty-eight yards) long. These are twisted together, then folded in three, and again twisted; after which it is folded in three again without twisting, and a knot made at each end; it is put over the left shoulder, and hangs down upon the right thigh. The Bramins assume it with great ceremony at seven years old, the Xetries at nine, and the Vaisyas79 at eleven. In the English settlements, when the Bramins go out of their houses, they usually put on the turban and the Mussulman jamma or gown. I saw at Momba Devee’s temple some soi-disant80 holy men; they were young and remarkably fat, sprinkled over with ashes, and their hair was matted and filthy. I believe they had no clothing, for, during the few minutes I remained in the temple, they held a veil before them, and stood behind the Bramins. My expectations of Hindoo innocence and virtue are fast giving way, and I fear that, even among the Pariahs,81 I shall not find any thing like St Pierre’s Chaumiere Indienne.82 In fact, the Pariahs are outcasts so despicable, that a Bramin not only would refuse to instruct them, but would think himself contaminated by praying for them. These poor creatures are employed in the lowest and most disgusting offices; they are not permitted to live in any town or village, or to draw water from the same well as the Hindoos. It is therefore not to be wondered at, that their minds are degraded in proportion to their personal situation. Near every Hindoo village there is commonly a hamlet of Pariahs, whose inhabitants pay a small tax to the kalkurny, or village-collector, for permission to reside near a bazar83 and wells, and they earn a subsistence by acting as porters and scavengers. They are filthy in all their habits, and do not scruple to use as food any dead animal they find; it is even said that, in some places, they do not reject human bodies*.

* Thevenot says, that, when he was in India, (A. D. 1665), human flesh was publicly sold in the market at Debea, about forty leagues from Baroche.84

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September 19th 1809.—We have spent our forenoon to-day very agreeably, in conversing with two well-informed natives, one a Hindoo, the other a Mussulman. They both speak English well, and are thoroughly informed in all that concerns the laws, religion, and customs of their own nations. The Pundit Bapoogee85 is a Brahmin of the Vedanti sect;86 he seems to take pleasure in giving us information concerning the mythology of the country, though he is very careful to convince us that he is superior to the belief of the popular superstitions, which he affects to deride as inventions to keep the lower classes of society, or, as he calls them, the inferior castes, in subjection. He is a man of about twenty-two years of age, elegant in his person and manners, and has an uncommon share of shrewdness and quickness of perception. I find him of the greatest use in explaining the customs, prejudices, and belief of his countrymen, and, in return, I do not find it very easy to satisfy his curiosity respecting England, to which country he has a great desire to travel, were it not for the fear of losing caste, or rather the privileges and honours attached to his own. Our Mussulman friend, the Cazy Shahab o’dien Mahary,87 is a sincere Mahometan, and therefore a great bigot; however, he sometimes drinks tea with us, and does not scruple to eat bread, pastry, and fruit in our house. He is only two or three years older than Bapoogee, and though I doubt if his natural parts are so good, he is, I believe, a man of more learning; his manners are correct and gentleman-like, but not so refined as those of his Hindoo friend. He accompanied us the other day to several mosques in the neighbourhood, but, as they only differ from each other in size, I shall content myself with describing the largest. It is a square building, capable of containing five or six hundred people, supported by highly pointed arches, finished with cinquefoil88 heads, in rows from the front, which is open. The only interior ornament is a plain stone pulpit, for the imaum;89 the outside is adorned with carved work like that of the Gothic style.90 The whole building is raised on arches over a large tank of excellent water, and surrounded by a paved court, in which there are a few tombs. Attached to each mosque there is a school where Arabic is taught; the master only attending to the elder boys, while the others are taught by their more advanced school-fellows; instead of books, there are alphabets and sentences painted on wood for the younger scholars. My sister91 and I paid a visit to Shahab o’dien’s harem,92 but could by no means prevail on the cazy to admit any of the gentlemen of our family. In the lower part of his house we saw a number of Mussulmans sitting cross-legged, with cushions at their backs, in the different apartments, perfectly idle, and rarely even speaking, and seeming hardly able to exert themselves so far as to put the betel93 into their mouths. We ascended to the women’s apartment by a ladder, which is removed when not in immediate use, to prevent the ladies from escaping, and were received by the cazy’s wife’s mother, a fine old woman dressed in white, and without any ornaments, as becomes a widow. Shahab o’dien’s mother, and the rest of his father’s widows, were first presented, then Fatima his wife, to whom our visit was paid, and afterwards his sisters, some of them fine lively young women. They all crowded round us to examine our dress, and the materials of which it 155

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was composed. They were surprised at our wearing so few ornaments, but we told them it was the custom of our country, and they replied that it was good. I was not sorry that they so openly expressed their curiosity, as it gave us a better opportunity of gratifying our own. The apartment in which we were received was about twenty feet square, and rather low; round it were smaller rooms, most of them crowded with small beds, with white muslin curtains; these were not particularly clean, and the whole suite seemed close and disagreeable. Most of the women were becomingly dressed. Fatima’s arms, legs, and neck, were covered with rings and chains; her fingers and toes were loaded with rings; her head was surrounded with a fillet of pearls,94 some strings of which crossed it several ways, and confined the hair, which was knotted up behind. On her forehead hung a cluster of coloured stones, from which depended95 a large pearl, and round her face small strings of pearl hung at equal distances. Her ear-rings were very beautiful; but I do not like the custom of boring the hem of the ear, and studding it all round with joys, nor could even Fatima’s beautiful face reconcile me to the nose-jewel. Her large black eyes, the cheshme ahooe of the eastern poets,96 were rendered more striking by the black streaks with which they were adorned and lengthened out at the corners, and the palms of her hands, the soles of her feet, and her nails, were stained with hinna, a plant,97 the juice of whose seeds is of a deep red colour. Fatima’s manner is modest, gentle, and indolent; before her husband she neither lifts her eyes nor speaks, and hardly moves without permission from the elder ladies of the harem. She presented us with perfumed sherbet,98 fruit, and sweetmeats,99 chiefly made of ghee,100 poppy-seeds, and sugar; some of them were tolerably good, but it required all my good manners to swallow others. Prepared as I was to expect very little from Mussulman ladies, I could not help being shocked to see them so totally void of cultivation as I found them. They mutter their prayers, and some of them read the koran, but not one in a thousand understands it. Still fewer can read their own language, or write at all, and the only work they do is a little embroidery. They thread beads, plait coloured threads, sleep, quarrel, make pastry, and chew betel, in the same daily round; and it is only at a death, a birth, or a marriage, that the monotony of their lives is ever interrupted. When I took leave, I was presented with flowers and paung,101 (chunam and betel-nut wrapped in the leaf of an aromatic plant,) and sprinkled with rose-water. As visits in the East are matters of ceremony, not of kindness, they are considered as a burden on the visitor, from which the person visited relieves him, as soon as he is satisfied with his company, by ordering refreshments, or offering the paung, which is a signal to depart. The highest affront one can offer to an Oriental, is to refuse his betel. Bernier102 tells a story of a young noble, who, to prove his loyalty, took and swallowed the paung from Shah Jehan, though he knew it to be poisoned. October 20th.—Having gone through the ceremony of receiving and returning the visits of all the ladies of the settlement, I have had an opportunity of seeing most of the European houses; and as I think our own the most agreeable residence I have seen, I shall content myself with a description of it, in order to give an idea 156

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of an Indian dwelling. It is pleasantly situated on the side of a hill, on the west side of Bombay, and commands a view of the greatest part of the island. On the summit are the ruins of a bungalo, once inhabited by Ragabhoy, during his exile from Poonah,103 which, with the clefts in the surrounding rocks, afford shelter to a few half-starved hyenas, who do no other mischief than stealing poultry and kids, and to innumerable jackalls, whose barking in the night is the greatest, I had almost said the only, inconvenience we feel here as to situation. The bases of the rocks are concealed by the wood, which reaches quite down to the plain, and is composed of the brab,104 the tamarind, and mango trees, while here and there a little space is cleared for a garden, in which there are usually two or three gardeners houses. In our walk last night, we discovered one of these little hill colonies, which had till then escaped our observation. We found, at the principal hut, three very pretty children playing round their grandmother, who was sitting on the ground in a little viranda at the end of the house, grinding rice for the evening meal of the family. The mill consists of two round flat stones, in the lower one of which there is a groove to let out the flour; the middle of the upper one is inserted into a hollow in the other, and is turned by a wooden peg stuck into it, about one-third of the diameter from the edge. Three or four goats, with their kids, were tied to stakes round the door, and a few fowls were running about in the garden. We sat by the old woman while she made her bread, but at a sufficient distance not to pollute her cooking utensils or her fire. Every vessel she used, though apparently clean before, she carefully washed, and then mixed her rice-flour with milk, water, and salt, when she beat it between the palms of her hands till it was round and thin, and baked it on a round iron plate, such as is used in Scotland for oat-cakes. Besides these cakes, she prepared a few heads of maize, by rubbing off the chaff and laying them in the fire to roast for the family supper. At the next hut, the woman was grinding missala or curry stuff,105 on a flat smooth stone, with another shaped like a rolling-pin. Less than an English halfpenny procures enough of turmeric, spice, salt, and ghee, to season the whole of the rice eaten in a day by a labourer, his wife, and five or six children; the vegetables and acids he requires are found in every hedge. The curry was cooked with as much cleanliness as the bread, and the inside of both the huts was beautifully neat. In one corner in each, a large stone, with red powder sprinkled on it, stood as a household god, and before it were laid a few grains of rice and a coco-nut as offerings. But to return to the description of the house. You enter it at one end of a viranda, which goes round four sides of a large square hall where we dine; on each side of the inner apartment are large glass doors and windows, so that we can admit or exclude the air as we please. The viranda keeps off the too great glare of the sun, and affords a dry walk during the rainy season. It is about twenty feet wide, and one side of it is one hundred feet long; the roof is supported by low arches, which are open to the garden. At one angle of the square formed by the viranda is the drawing-room, which has likewise a viranda on three sides, the fourth having a large bow-window overlooking the garden. The offices are connected with the house by a covered passage, and are concealed by thick shrubbery. Most of 157

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the country-houses in Bombay have but one story; ours has two. The bedrooms above are well lighted and aired, and have glass windows within the Venetian shutters, which are only used in the rainy season, or during the land winds, which are cold and dry, and are said to give rheumatisms and cramps, with swelling, if they blow upon one while sleeping. Our garden is delightful; the walks are cut in the wood on the side of the hill, and covered with small sea-shells from the beach of Back Bay, instead of gravel, which, besides the advantage of drying quickly in the rainy season, are said to keep off snakes, whose skins are easily wounded by the sharp edges of the broken shells. On each side of the walks are ledges of brick, chunamed over,106 to prevent them from being destroyed by the monsoon rains. We are always sheltered from the sun by the fan-like heads of the palmyras, whose tall columnar stems afford a free passage to the air, and serve to support an innumerable variety of parasite and creeping plants, which decorate their rough bark with the gayest hues, vying with the beautiful shrubs which flourish beneath, and affording shelter to birds more beautiful than themselves. Some of these build in the sweet-scented champaka107 and the mango; and one, small as the hummingbird, fixes its curious nest to the pointed tips of the palmyra leaf, to secure its young from the tree-snake, while flights of paroquets daily visit the fruit-trees, and with their shrill voices hail the rising sun, joined by the mina, the kokeela,108 and a few other birds of song. At the lowest part of the garden is a long broad walk, on each side of which grow vines, pamplemousses,109 figs, and other fruits, among which is the jumboo, a species of rose-apple,110 with its flowers, like crimson tassels, covering every part of the stem. Our grapes are excellent, but we are obliged to make an artificial winter for them, to prevent the fruit from setting at the beginning of the rainy season, which would destroy it. Every leafy branch is cut off, and nothing is left but the stump, and one or two leading branches; the roots are then laid bare and dry for three or four weeks, at the end of which a compost of fish, dead weeds, and earth, is heaped round them, the holes filled up, and the plants daily watered. At one end of this walk are chunam seats, under some fine spreading trees, with the fruit-walk to the right hand, and to the left flower-beds filled with jasmine, roses, and tuberoses, while the plumbago rosea, the red and white ixoras, with the scarlet wild mulberry, and the oleander, mingle their gay colours with the delicate white of the moon-flower and the mogree.111 The beauty and fertility of this charming garden is kept up by constant watering from a fine well near the house. The water is raised by a wheel worked by a buffalo; over the wheel two bands of rope pass, to each of which are tied earthen pots, about three or four feet from each other, which dip into the water as the wheel turns them to the bottom, and empty themselves as they go round, into a trough, communicating with chunam canals, leading to reservoirs in different parts of the garden. In short, this would be a little paradise, but for the reptiles peculiar to the climate. One of them, a white worm of the thickness of a fine bobbin,112 gets under the skin, and grows to the length of two or three feet. Dr Kier113 thinks the eggs are deposited in the skin by the wind and rain, as they are seldom found to attack those who never expose their legs 158

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or feet to the external air, and generally appear in the rainy monsoon. If they are suffered to remain in the flesh, or if they are broken in taking out, they occasion unpleasant sores. The native barbers extract them very dexterously with a sharp pointed instrument, with which they first remove the skin, then gradually dig till they seize the animal’s head, which they fasten to a quill, round which they roll the worm, drawing out eight or nine inches daily, till the whole is extracted. Snakes, from the enormous rock-snake,114 who first breaks the bones of his prey, by coiling round it, and then swallows it whole, to the smallest of the venomous tribe, glide about in every direction. Here the cobra-capella,115 whose bite is in almost every instance mortal, lifts his graceful folds, and spreads his large many-coloured crests; here too lurks the small bright speckled cobra-manilla,116 whose fangs convey instant death*. November 3.—The weather is now extremely pleasant; the mornings and evenings are so cool, that we can take long walks, but the middle of the day is still too hot to venture into the sunshine. The vegetable fields are in great beauty; I saw last night at least two acres covered with brinjaal, a species of solanum;117 the fruit is as large as a baking pear, and is excellent either stewed or broiled; the natives eat it plain boiled, or made into curry. The bendy, called in the West Indies okree,118 is a pretty plant, resembling a dwarf holyhock; the fruit is about the length and thickness of one’s finger; it has five long cells full of round seeds. When boiled, it is soft and mucilaginous,119 and is an excellent ingredient in soups, curries, and stews, though I prefer it plain boiled. All sorts of gourds and cucumbers are in great plenty, but this is early in the season for them. Several plants produce long pods, which being cut small, are so exactly like French beans, that one cannot discover the difference, and they are plentiful all the year round, as are spinach, and a kind of cress which is boiled as greens.f The common and sweet potatoes are excellent; but our best vegetable is the onion, for which Bombay is famous throughout the East. The peas and beans are indifferent, and the cabbage, carrots, and turnips, from European seed, are still scarce; sallad, parsley, and other pot-herbs, are raised in baskets and boxes in cool shady places, but celery thrives well, and is blanched by placing two circular tiles round the root. Twenty years ago the potatoe was scarcely known in India, but it is now produced in such abundance, that the natives in some places make considerable use of it. Bombay is supplied chiefly with this excellent root from Guzerat, which province also furnishes us with wheat. The bread is the best I ever tasted, both for whiteness and lightness; the last quality it owes to being fermented with coco-nut toddy, no other being equal for that purpose. A little cheese is made in Guzerat, but it is hard and

* Some experiments were tried on wild dogs exposed to the bite of the cobra-manilla. Their ears were pressed between two boards, and the tips then presented to the snake, who bit them; the parts were cut off as expeditiously as possible, but the dogs died in a few seconds. The eau de luce120 has sometimes cured the bite of the cobra-capella, but I have seen it fail, though applied within five minutes of the time of the bite.

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ill-flavoured, though the milk of the Guzerat cattle is very good, and yields excellent butter. The market at Bombay is mostly supplied with buffalo milk and butter; the latter article is insipid, and has a greenish hue, not very inviting to strangers. Our beef is tolerably good, though not fat; immediately after the rains, that of the buffalo is the best, though its appearance is unfavourable before it is dressed, and Europeans are in general strongly prejudiced against it. The mutton we get in the bazar is lean and hard, but either Bengal or Mahratta sheep, fed for six or eight weeks, furnish as good meat as one finds in the English markets. The kid121 is always good, and the poultry both good and abundant. The fish is excellent, but the larger kinds are not very plentiful. The bumbelo is like a large sand-eel; it is dried in the sun, and is usually eaten at breakfast with kedgeree, a dish of rice boiled with dol122 (split country peas), and coloured with turmeric. The prawns are the finest I ever saw, of an excellent flavour, and as large as craw-fish; they are frequently shelled, pressed flat, and dried. The island is too small to furnish much game, but the red-legged partridge is not uncommon, and we sometimes see snipes. Among other articles of food, I ought to mention frogs, which are larger here than I ever saw them, and are eaten by the Chinese and Portuguese, but not, I believe, by any of the other inhabitants of Bombay. The lower classes of natives drink a great deal of arrack and bhang,123 an intoxicating liquor made from hempseed; there is also a strong spirit extracted from a kind of berry which I have not seen, called Parsee brandy; it has a strong burnt taste, which I think particularly disagreeable, but of which the people are very fond. The other evening I followed a pretty child into a hut, where I found a native still at work. It is simply constructed. Round a hole in the earth, a ledge of clay, four inches high, is raised, with an opening about half a foot wide, for the purpose of feeding the fire. Upon the clay a large earthen pot is luted;124 to its mouth is luted the mouth of a second pot; and where they join, an earthen spout, a few inches long, is inserted, which serves to let off the spirit condensed in the upper jar, which is kept cool by a person pouring water constantly over it. When I went into the cottage, I found a woman sitting with a child in one arm, and with the other she cooled the still, pouring the water from a coco-nut shell ladle. She told me that she sat at her occupation from sunrise till sunset, and scarcely changed her position. While I was talking to her, her husband came home laden with toddy for distilling. He is a bandari, or toddy-gatherer. On his head was the common gardener’s bonnet, resembling in shape the cap seen on the statues and gems of Paris, and called, I believe, the Phrygian bonnet;125 and at his girdle hung the implements of his trade. It is curious to see these people climbing the straight stems of the palms. Having tied their ancles loosely together, they pass a band round the tree and round their waist, and, placing their feet to the root of the tree, they lean upon the band, and with their hands and feet climb nimbly up a tree without branches, fifty feet high, carrying with them a bill or hatchet to make fresh incisions, or to renew the old ones, and a jar to bring down the toddy, which is received in a pot tied to the tree, and emptied every twelve hours. 160

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Before I left the cottage, its inhabitants dressed themselves in their finest jewels, for the purpose of attending a marriage. I accompanied them a little way to join the procession, which at a distance looked like the groupes we see on antique bas-reliefs; in short, I every day find some traces of the manners and simplicity of the antique ages; but the arts and the virtues that adorned them are sunk in the years of slavery under which the devoted Hindoos have bent; these people, if they have the virtues of slaves, patience, meekness, forbearance, and gentleness, have their vices also. They are cunning, and incapable of truth; they disregard the imputations of lying and perjury, and would consider it folly not to practise them for their own interest. But, ________________________where Easily canst thou find one miserable, And not enforc’d oft-times to part from truth, If it may stand him more in stead to lie, Say, and unsay, fawn, flatter, or abjure?

PAR. REG. B. i. 1 470.126

With regard to the Europeans in Bombay, the manners of the inhabitants of a foreign colony are in general so well represented by those of a country town at home, that it is hopeless to attempt making a description of them very interesting. However, as it may be gratifying to know how little there is to satisfy curiosity, I shall endeavour to describe our colonists. On our arrival we dined with the governor,127 and found almost all the English of the settlement invited to meet us. There were a good many very pretty and very well dressed women, a few ancient belles, and at least three men for every woman. When dinner was announced, I, as the stranger, though an unmarried woman,g,128 was handed by the governor into a magnificent dining-room, formerly the chapel of the Jesuits college, at one end of which a tolerable band was stationed to play during dinner. We sat down to table about eight o’clock, in number about fifty, so that conversation, unless with one’s next neighbour, was out of the question. After dinner, I was surprised that the ladies sat so long at the table; at length, after everybody had exhibited repeated symptoms of weariness, one of the ladies led the way into the saloon, and then I discovered that, as the stranger, I was expected to move first. Does not this seem a little barbarous? I found our fair companions like the ladies of all the country towns I know, under-bred and over-dressed, and, with the exception of one or two, very ignorant and very grossière.129 The men are, in general, what a Hindoo would call of a higher caste than the women; and I generally find the merchants the most rational companions. Having, at a very early age, to depend on their own mental exertions, they acquire a steadiness and sagacity which prepare their minds for the acquisition of a variety of information, to which their commercial intercourse leads. The civil servants to government being, in Bombay, for the most part young men, are so taken up with their own imaginary importance, that they disdain to 161

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learn, and have nothing to teach. Among the military I have met with many wellinformed and gentleman-like persons, but still, the great number of men, and the small number of rational companions, make a deplorable prospect to one who anticipates a long residence here. The parties in Bombay are the most dull and uncomfortable meetings one can imagine. Forty or fifty persons assemble at seven o’clock, and stare at one another till dinner is announced, when the ladies are handed to table, according to the strictest rules of precedency, by a gentleman of a rank corresponding to their own. At table there can be no general conversation, but the different couples who have been paired off, and who, on account of their rank, invariably sit together at every great dinner, amuse themselves with remarks on the company, as satirical as their wit will allow; and woe be to the stranger, whose ears are certain of being regaled with the catalogue of his supposed imperfections and misfortunes, and who has the chance of learning more of his own history than in all probability he ever knew before. After dinner the same topics continue to occupy the ladies, with the addition of lace, jewels, intrigues, and the latest fashions; or if there be any newly-arrived young women, the making and breaking matches for them furnish employment for the ladies of the colony till the arrival of the next cargo. Such is the company at an English Bombay feast. The repast itself is as costly as possible, and in such profusion that no part of the table-cloth remains uncovered. But the dinner is scarcely touched, as every person eats a hearty meal called tiffin, at two o’clock, at home. Each guest brings his own servant, sometimes two or three; these are either Parsees or Mussulmans. It appears singular to a stranger to see behind every white man’s chair a dark, long bearded, turbaned gentleman, who usually stands so close to his master, as to make no trifling addition to the heat of the apartment; indeed, were it not for the punka, (a large frame of wood covered with cloth), which is suspended over every table, and kept constantly swinging, in order to freshen the air, it would scarcely be possible to sit out the melancholy ceremony of an Indian dinner. On leaving the eating-room, one generally sees or hears, in some place near the door, the cleaning of dishes, and the squabbling of cooks for their perquisites.130 If they are within sight, one perceives a couple of dirty Portuguese (black men who eat pork and wear breeches)131 directing the operations of half a dozen still dirtier Pariahs, who are scraping dishes and plates with their hands, and then, with the same unwashen paws, putting aside the next day’s tiffin for their master’s table. The equipage that conveys one from a party, if one does not use a palankeen, is curious. The light and elegant figure of the Arab horses is a strong contrast with the heavy carriages and clumsy harness generally seen here; the coachman is always a whiskered Parsee, with a gay coloured turban, and a muslin or chintz132 gown, and there are generally two massalgees, or torch-bearers, and sometimes two horse-keepers, to run before one. On getting home, one finds a sepoy or peon133 walking round the open virandas of the house, as a guard. We have four of these servants, two of whom remain in the house for twenty-four hours, when they are relieved by the two others. These men carry messages, go to market, and 162

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attend to the removal of goods or furniture, but will carry nothing themselves heavier than a small book. The female servants are Portuguese, and they only act as ladies-maids, all household work being done by men, as well as the needlework of the family. The derdjees, or taylors, in Bombay, are Hindoos of a respectable caste, who wear the zenaar. My derdjee, a tall good-looking young man, wears a fine worked muslin gown, and a red or purple turban bordered with gold. He works and cuts out beautifully, making as much use of his toes as of his fingers in the last operation; his wages are fourteen rupees a-month, for which he works eight hours a-day; inferior workmen receive from eight to twelve rupees. Besides the hamauls for the palankeens, we have some for household-work; they make the beds, sweep and clean the rooms and furniture, and fetch water; on any emergency they help the palankeen-bearers, and receive assistance from them in return. For the meaner offices we have a Hallalcor or Chandela,134 (one of the most wretched Pariahs), who attends twice a-day. Two Massalgees clean and light the lamps and candles, and carry torches before us at night. One of these is a Pariah, so that he can clean knives, remove bones and rubbish, which his fellow-servant Nersu, who is of a good caste, will not do. Nersu fetches bread and flour, carries messages, and even parcels, provided they be not large enough to make him appear like a kooli or porter, and takes the greatest share of preparing the lamps, which are finger-glasses or tumblers half filled with water, on which they pour the coco-nut oil, always calculating it exactly to the number of hours the lamp has to burn; the wick is made of cotton twisted round a splinter of bamboo. The native masons, carpenters, and blacksmiths, are remarkably neat and dexterous in their several trades. There is plenty of stone on the island for building, but a good deal of brick is used. All the lime here is made from shells; it is called chunam, of which there are many kinds, one of which the natives eat with the betel-nut. They are very particular in gathering the shells, no person taking two different sorts; they are burnt separately, and it is said that the chunam varies according to the shell it is made from. The Indian carpenter’s tools are so coarse, and the native wood is so hard, that one would wonder that the work was ever performed. Almost every thing is done with a chissel and an axe. The gimlet is a long piece of iron wire with a flat point, fixed into a wooden handle consisting of two parts, the upper one of which is held in one hand, while the other is turned by a bow, whose string is twisted twice round it. The plane is small, but similar to that of Europe, excepting that it has a cross stick in the front, which serves as a handle for another workman, two being generally employed at one plane. As the comforts of a carpenter’s bench are unknown, when a Hindoo wants to plane his work, he sits on the ground, with his partner opposite to him, steadying the timber with their toes, and both plane together. I have seen two of them working in this manner on a bit of wood a foot square, with a plane three inches long. Even the blacksmiths sit down to do their work; they dig a hole eighteen inches or two feet deep, in the centre of which they place the anvil, so that they can sit by it with their legs in the hole. A native of India does not get through so much work as an European; but the multitude of 163

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hands, and the consequent cheapness of labour, supply the place of the industry of Europe, and in most cases that of its machinery also. I saw the teak main-mast of the Minden,135 a weight of not less than twenty tons,h lifted and moved a considerable distance by the koolis or porters. They carried it in slings fixed to bamboos, which they placed on their heads crosswise, with one arm over the bamboo, and the other on the shoulder of the man immediately before; in front of the whole marched one to guide and to clear the way, for, when they have once begun to move, the weight on the head prevents them from seeing what is before them. In Bombay there are a good many Banyans, or travelling merchants, who come mostly from Guzerat, and roam about the country with muslins, cotton-cloth, and shawls, to sell. On opening one of their bales, I was surprised to find at least half of its contents of British manufacture, and such articles were much cheaper than those of equal fineness from Bengal and Madras. Excepting a particular kind of chintz made at Poonah, and painted with gold and silver, there are no fine cottoncloths made on this side of the peninsula; yet still it seems strange, that cotton carried to England, manufactured, and returned to this country, should undersell the fabrics of India, where labour is so cheap. But I believe this is owing partly to the uncertainty and difficulty of carriage here, although the use of machinery at home must be the main cause. The shawls are brought here direct from Cashmeer,136 by the native merchants of that country, so that we sometimes get them cheap and beautiful. The Banyans ought to be Hindoos, though I have known Mussulmans adopt the name, with the profession; their distinguishing turban is so formed as to present the shape of a rhinoceros’ horn in front, and it is generally red. The Borahs are an inferior set of travelling-merchants. The inside of a Borah’s box is like that of an English country shop, spelling-books, prayer-books, lavender-water, eau de luce, soap, tapes, scissars, knives, needles, and thread, make but a small part of the variety it contains. These people are Mussulmans, very poor, and reputed thieves. The profits on their trade must be very small; but the Banyans are often rich, and most of them keep a shop in the bazar, leaving one partner to attend it, while the other goes his rounds, attended by two or three koolis, with their loads on their heads. It reminds one of the Arabian nights entertainments,137 to go through the bazar of an evening. The whole fronts of the shops are taken down and converted into benches, on which the goods are disposed, and each shop is lighted with at least two lamps. Here you see grain of every description heaped up in earthen jars; there, sweetmeats of all sorts and shapes, disposed in piles on benches, or hung in festoons about the top and sides of the shop, which is commonly lined with chintz or dyed cotton. Farther on, fruits and vegetables are laid out to the best advantage; then you come to the paung, or betel leaf, nut, and chunam, ready for chewing, or the separate materials; beyond are shops for perfumes, linens, oils, toys, brass, and earthen ware, all set out in order, and the owner sitting bolt upright in the middle of his sweetmeats or grain, waiting for custom. The shops of the schroffs, or bankers, are numerous in the bazar; you see the master sitting in the middle of his money table, surrounded by piles of copper and silver money, with scales for 164

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weighing the rupees and other coins presented for change. But it is the barber’s shop that is always most crowded, being, particularly at night, the great resort for gossip and news;i the barbers themselves seem to enjoy a prescriptive right to be lively, witty, and good story-tellers. I have seen some excellent buffoons among them, and a slap given to a bald new-shaven pate, in the proper part of a story, has set half a bazar in a roar. The barbers keep every body’s holidays,—Hindoos, Jews, Mussulmans, Armenians, Portuguese, and English,—and reap a good harvest at each by their comic way of begging. On first coming here, one would imagine that none of the people ever slept at night; for, besides that the coppersmiths and blacksmiths generally work all night, and sleep all day, on account of the heat, there are processions going about from sunset till sunrise, with tom-toms, (small drums,) kettle-drums, citarrs,138 vins,139 pipes, and a kind of large brazen trumpet, which requires two people to carry it, making altogether the most horrible din I ever heard. These processions, with the picturesque dresses of the natives, and their graceful attitudes, the torches carried by children, and the little double pipe blown by boys, whose wildness might make them pass for satyrs, put one strongly in mind of the ancient Bacchanals.140 It is usually on account of marriages that these nocturnal feasts are held; when they are in honour of a god they take place in the day, when the deity is carried on a litter in triumph, with banners before and behind, and priests carrying flowers, and milk and rice, while hardly any one joins the procession without an offering. All this looks very well at a distance, but when one comes near, one is shocked at the meanness and inelegance of the god, and at the filth and wretchedness of his votaries. With one procession, however, I was much pleased; it took place a month ago in the breaking up of the monsoon, when the sea became open for navigation. It is called the coco-nut feast, and is, I believe, peculiar to this coast. About an hour before sunset, an immense concourse of people assembled on the esplanade, where booths were erected, with all kinds of commodities for sale. All the rich natives appeared in their carriages, and the display of pearls and jewels was astonishing. At sunset, one of the chief Bramins advanced towards the sea, and going out a little way upon a ledge of rock, he launched a gilt coco-nut, in token that the sea was now become navigable; immediately thousands of coco-nuts were seen swimming in the bay; for every priest and every master of a family was eager to make his offering. The evening closed as usual with music, dancing, and exhibitions of tumblers, jugglers, and tame snakes. The tumblers are usually from Hydrabad,141 the jugglers from Madras, and the exhibitions of snakes are common in every part of India. The agility and strength of the tumblers, particularly the women, surpassed every thing I ever saw; but the sight is rather curious than pleasant. The tame snakes are mostly cobra capellas; at the sound of a small pipe, they rise on their tails, and spread their hoods, advance, retreat, hiss, and pretend to bite, at the word of command. The keepers wish it to be believed that they have the power of charming this animal, and preventing the bad effects of its bite; but I looked into the mouths of several, and found the teeth all gone, and the gums 165

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much lacerated. The method sometimes used to extract the teeth, is to throw a piece of red cloth to the snake, who bites it furiously; the keeper then takes him by the head, and holding his jaws forcibly together, tears out the cloth, and with it the teeth. The cobra-capella is from six to twelve feet long; it is held in great veneration by the natives, who call it a high caste snake, and do not willingly suffer it to be destroyed. There is a yearly feast and procession in honour of the snakes, when offerings of milk, rice, and sugar, are made to them, and money given to the priests, who, on these occasions, build rustic temples of bamboos and reeds in the fields. November 20th.—A few days ago I was fortunate enough to make one of a party, assembled for the purpose of hearing from the Dustoor Moola Firoze142 an account of the actual state of the Guebres or Parsees143 in India. The Dustoor is the chief-priest of his sect in Bombay; he is a man of great learning; he passed six years in Persia, or, as he more classically calls it, Iraun, two of which were spent at Yezd,144 the only place where the Mussulman government tolerates a Guebre college. His manners are distinguished, and his person and address pleasing. He is a tall handsome man, of the middle age, with a lively and intelligent countenance; his dress is a long white muslin jamma, with a cummerbund or sash of beautiful shawl; another shawl was rolled round his high black cap, and a band of crimson velvet appeared between it and his brow. The fragments of the ancient books of Zoroaster or Zerdusht,145 still extant, have been introduced in Europe by M. Anquetil,146 under the name of the Zendavesta; and there is a good deal of interesting matter concerning the establishment of Pyrolatry147 in Persia, in the Chevalier D’Ohsson’s Tableau Historique de L’Orient,148 chiefly on the authority of the Shah Nameh of Firdousi.*,149 But I do not know that there is any account of the present state of such of the Guebres as are settled in India; and as these people form the richest class of inhabitants in Bombay, I have taken some pains to collect what information I could concerning them, both from Moola Firoze and other individuals of the nation. It appears that there have been two legislators of the name of Zoroaster,150 one of whom lived in times of such remote antiquity, that no dependence can be placed on the traditions concerning him. The last flourished as late as the reign of Darius the son of Cambyses.151 He appears to have reformed the religion of his country, which there is reason to think was till that time the same with that of India, to have built the first fire temples, and to have written the books of Guebre laws, of which only some fragments remain†. The Parsees acknowledge a good principle under the name of Hormuzd, and an evil principle under that of Ahrimane.152 Subordinate to Hormuzd, the ferishta,

* For an account of the Shah Nameh, see Appendix. † See a curious traditional account of Zerdusht in Herbert’s Travels, pp. 48. to 54. This amusing traveller gives an account of the Parsees of Guzerat, as he found them when he accompanied Sir Robert Shirly on his last embassy to Persia.153

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or angels, are charged with the creation and preservation of the material world. The sun, the moon, and the stars, the years, the months, and the days, have each their presiding angel; angels attend on every human soul, and an angel receives it when it leaves the body. Myrh, or Mithra, is the ferishta to whom this important charge is assigned, as well as that of judging the dead; he is also the guardian of the sun, and presides over the sixth month, and the sixth day of the month. The good ferishta have corresponding evil genii, who endeavour to counteract them in all their functions; they particularly encourage witchcraft, and willingly hold converse with enchanters of both sexes, sometimes revealing truly the secrets of futurity for malicious purposes. As in other countries, the old, the ugly, and the miserable, are stigmatized as witches, and the Indian Bramins are regarded by the Guebres as powerful magicians. Fire is the chief object of external worship among the Parsees. In each atshkhaneh, or fire-house, there are two fires, one of which it is lawful for the vulgar to behold, but the other, atsh-baharam, is kept in the most secret and holy part of the temple, and is approached only by the chief dustoor; it must not be visited by the light of the sun, and the chimneys for carrying off the smoke are so constructed as to exclude his rays. The atsh-baharam must be composed of five different kinds of fire, among which I was surprised to hear the dustoor mention that of a funeral pile, as the Guebres expose their dead; but he told me that it was formerly lawful to return the body to any of the four elements; that is, to bury it in the earth or in the water, to burn, or to expose it, but that the latter only is now practised; consequently, if the atsh-baharam goes out, they must travel to such nations as burn their dead, to procure the necessary ingredient to rekindle it. When the last atsh-khaneh was built in Bombay, a portion of the sacred fire was brought from the altar at Yezd, in a golden censer, by land, that it might not be exposed to the perils of the sea. The sun and the sea partake with fire in the adoration of the Guebres. Their prayers called zemzemé, are repeated in a low murmuring tone, with the face turned towards the rising or the setting sun, and obeisance is made to the sea and to the full moon. The Parsee year is divided into twelve lunar months, with intercalary days,154 but there is no division of time into weeks. The festivals are the nowroze, or day of the new year, and six following days; the first of every month; and the day on which the name of the day and that of the month agree, when the same ferishta presides over both. A Parsee marries but one wife, excepting when he has no children; then, with the consent of the first, he may take a second. An adopted child inherits equally with legitimate children, but, if there be none, before all other relations. The death of a father is observed as an annual festival. The body must not touch wood after death; it is accordingly laid upon an iron bier, to be conveyed to the repository for the dead, where it is left exposed to the air till it is consumed. In Bombay these repositories are square inclosures, surrounded by high walls; the vulgar Parsees superstitiously watch the corpse, to see which eye is first devoured by the birds, and thence augur the happiness or misery of the soul. 167

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The sacred books are in the Zend and Pehlavi languages,155 both ancient dialects of Persia. The fragments of these which escaped during the troubles that followed the Mahomedan conquest of Persia,156 are all that the Guebres have to direct either their practice or their faith; and where these are found insufficient, the dustoors supply rules from their own judgment. The chief doctrines of the remaining books respect future rewards and punishments, injunctions to honour parents, and to marry early, that the chain of being be not interrupted, and prohibitions of murder, theft, and adultery. When the Guebres were driven from their own country by the Mussulmans*, a considerable body of them resolved to seek a new land, and accordingly put to sea, where they suffered great hardships. After attempting to settle in various places, they at length reached Sunjum in Guzerat,157 and sent their chief dustoor, Abah, on shore, to ask an asylum. This was granted by the Rajah on certain conditions, and a treaty to the following effect was drawn up: The Guebres shall have a place allotted to them for the performance of their religious and burial rites; they shall have lands for the maintenance of themselves and their families; they shall conform to the Hindoo customs with regard to marriages, and in their dress; they shall not carry arms; they shall speak the language of Guzerat, that they may become as one people with the original inhabitants; and they shall abstain from killing and eating the cow. To these conditions the Parsees have scrupulously adhered, and they have always been faithful to their protectors. The Parsees in British India enjoy every privilege, civil and religious. They are governed by their own panchaït, or village council. The word panchaït literally means a council of five, but that of the Guebres in Bombay consists of thirteen of the principal merchants of the sect; these were chosen originally by the people, confirmed by the government, and have continued hereditary. This little council decides all questions of property, subject, however, to an appeal to the recorder’s court;158 but an appeal seldom happens, as the panchaït is jealous of its authority, and is consequently cautious in its decisions. It superintends all marriages and adoptions, and inquires into the state of every individual of the community; its members would think themselves disgraced if any Parsee were to receive assistance from a person of a different faith; accordingly, as soon as the children of a poor man are old enough to marry, which, in conformity to the Hindoo custom, is at five or six years of age, the chief merchants subscribe a sufficient sum to portion the child; in cases of sickness, they support the individual or the family, and maintain all the widows and fatherless.

* The conquest of the kingdom of Fars, or Persia, took place in the seventh century, when Yezdegerd, the last king of the dynasty of Sassan, was overcome by the Calif Omar159, and forced to take refuge in the mountains of Khorassan, where, after maintaining himself for some time, he died, A. D. 652. A. H. 32. and in the 21st year of the Yedegerdian æra. His grand-daughter became the wife of the Mussulman ruler of Persia, who thus claimed the right of inheritance, as well as that of conquest, over the kingdom.j

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The panchaït consists both of dustoors160 and laymen; all religious ceremonies and festivals come under its cognizance, together with the care of the temples, the adjusting the almanack, and the subsistence and life of the dogs. I could not learn with certainty the origin of the extreme veneration of the Parsees for this animal; every morning the rich merchants employ koolis to go round the streets with baskets of provision for the wild dogs; and, when a Parsee is dying, he must have a dog in his chamber to fix his closing eyes upon. Some believe that the dog guards the soul, at the moment of its separation from the body, from the evil spirits; others say that the veneration for the dogs is peculiar to the Indian Guebres, and that it arose from their having been saved from shipwreck in their emigration to India, by the barking of the dogs announcing their approach to the land in a dark night. The Parsees use some solemnities when they name their children, which is done at five or six months old; when the muslin shirt is put on the first time, a sacred fire is lighted, prayers are repeated, and the name is given. Since their intercourse with Europeans, they persist in calling this ceremony christening, because it is performed when the first or proper name is given; the second name is a patronymic; thus, Norozejee Jumsheedjee, is Norozejee the son of Jumsheedjee. The Parsees are the richest individuals on this side of India, and most of the great merchants are partners in British commercial houses. They have generally two or three fine houses, besides those they let to the English; they keep a number of carriages and horses, which they lend willingly, not only to Europeans, but to their own poor relations, whom they always support. They often give dinners to the English gentlemen, and drink a great deal of wine, particularly Madeira. The Guebre women enjoy more freedom than other oriental females, but they have not yet thought of cultivating their minds. Perhaps this is owing in great measure to the early marriages which, in compliance with the Hindoo customs, they contract. By becoming the property of their husbands in their infancy, they never think of acquiring a further share of their affection, and, with the hope of pleasing, one great incitement to mental improvement is cut off. Some days ago, we all spent an evening with the family of Pestenjee Bomanjee,161 for they admit men as well as women to the ladies’ apartments. The women were fair and handsome, with pleasing manners; they were loaded with ornaments, particularly the largest and finest pearls I ever saw. Pestengee’s grandson, a child of seven years old, with his little wife, two years younger, appeared with strings of pearls as large as hazel-nuts, besides five or six long rows of the size of peas, and beautifully regular, given to them on their marriage, which happened a few months ago, on a lucky day and in a lucky month; for the Parsees, like the Hindoos, regulate all their actions by the motions and configurations of the stars, or rather by the interpretations of the astrologers. It is not uncommon for a rich man to spend a lack162 of rupees, (about twelve thousand five hundred pounds sterling) at the marriage of a child. Streets both carpeted and canopied with cotton cloth, confectionary and fruit scattered among 169

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the populace, feasting for several days for all ranks of people, processions and fire-works all night, and whole bazars illuminated, besides gifts to relations and dependents, account for the immense sums spent on these occasions. The little bride and bride-groom, borne on an ornamented palankeen, covered with jewels and flowers, preceded by banners and musical instruments, and followed by crowds of people, seem like little victims going to sacrifice, at least I cannot help considering them in that light. The grandfather of Pestengee was Lowjee,163 who came from Guzerat to work in the dock-yard as a day-labourer; but having genius and perseverance, he made himself master of the art of ship-building, and was employed by the Company as master-builder. He has transmitted his talents with his place to his grandson Jumsheedjee,164 who is now at the head of the dock-yard, where I visited him, and was conducted by him all over the Minden, the first line of battle ship he ever built, with the pride of a parent exhibiting a favourite child. It was singular enough at first to see all the ship-wrights in white muslin dresses, caulking the ship with cotton instead of oakum.165 All the workmen in the yard are Parsees, and the greater number come from Guzerat, where they leave their families, and come to Bombay for a few months or years, saving their wages carefully, and mostly subsisting on what they earn by chance-work, till they have amassed a sufficient sum to go home and set up a trade for themselves. Jumsheedjee is a clever workman, but his son Norozejee166 has more science, and I am told that his draughts167 have very great merit. This young man testifies the greatest desire to visit the great English yards, but his father cannot spare him from Bombay. The whole family, including Pestengee and Hormuzdjee, the brothers of Jumsheedjee, speak and write English so well, that if I did not see their dark faces and foreign dress, or read their unusual names at the end of a letter, I should never guess that they were not Englishmen. The Parsees are in general a handsome large people, but they have a more vulgar air than the other natives; they are extremely active and enterprising, and are liberal in their opinions, and less bigotted to their own customs, manners, and dress, than most nations. Of their hospitality and charitable dispositions, the following is an instance. During the famine that desolated India in the years 1805 and 1806,168 the Parsee merchant Ardeseer Dadee,169 fed five thousand poor persons for three months at his own expense, besides other liberalities to the starving people. The Parsees are the chief landholders in Bombay. Almost all the houses and gardens inhabited by the Europeans are their property; and Pestengee told me that he received not less than L. 15,000 a-year in rents,170 and that his brother received nearly as much. November 24.—At length we have accomplished a visit to Elephanta and its wonderful excavations;171 but as a description of these, and the sculpture that adorns them, would not be intelligible without at least a slight previous acquaintance with the principal gods of Hindostan, I shall set down a brief account of them before I describe the cavern.

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The ancient system of religion in India, seems to have been far from admitting the multitude of persons now worshipped.* Brehm172 was the only one, the eternal, the almighty. His energy exerted, divided, and personified, became, Brahma to create, Vishnu to preserve, and Siva to destroy; thus the three greatest and most striking operations of nature, became the offices of peculiar gods. But as things once created are never wholly destroyed, and their elements appear again in other forms, Siva the destroyer is also the god of reproduction, and the creating power of Brahma lies dormant till it shall be exerted in a new formation of the world. Accordingly his temples are fallen into decay, and I believe that he is seldom or never now adored. Each of these three gods is provided with a sacti or wife, who partakes of the nature and offices of her husband, and is considered as his active power or energy. Having advanced so far towards polytheism, it was natural to multiply the gods, as the operations of nature and the wants of mankind came to be observed and felt; and while the legislators and priests might adore but one god in spirit and in truth, his personified attributes would indubitably be worshipped as independent deities by the vulgar. In the common mythological accounts of the creation, Vishnu is fabled to have slept on the serpent Annanta or eternity, floating on the face of the milky ocean. When the work of creation was to be performed, Brahma sprang from a lotus growing on the navel of Vishnu, and produced the elements, formed the world, and gave birth to the human race. From different parts of his body he produced the Bramins or priests, the Xetries or warriors, the Vaisyas or merchants, and the Soodras or husbandmen173; which four original castes, by intermarriages, and by the adoption of different trades, have multiplied exceedingly. Brahma is often represented with four faces, when he is called Choturmooki; he is sometimes seen studying the vedas, which he holds in one hand, while the other three are employed holding his beads† and sacrificial utensils; he generally sits on a lotus.

* “It is universally known that the Hindoos are divided into various sects, but their characteristic differences are not perhaps so generally understood. Five great sects exclusively worship a single deity; one recognizes the five divinities which are adored by the other sects respectively; but the followers of this comprehensive scheme mostly select one object of daily devotion, and pay adoration to the other deities on particular occasions. Even they deny the charge of polytheism, and repel the imputation of idolatry; they justify the practice of adoring the images of celestial spirits, by arguments similar to those which have been elsewhere employed in support of image worship. If the doctrines of the Vedas, and even those of the Puranas,174 be closely examined, the Hindoo theology will be found consistent monotheism, though it contains the seeds of polytheism and idolatry.” COLEBROOK, Note on 9th Art. Vol. 7. As. Res.175 The five great sects176 are; Saivas, adoring Siva or Maha Deo; the Vaisnavas, adoring Vishnu; the Sauras, Surya or the sun; the Ganepatyas or Gosseins, Gundputti or Ganesa; and the Sactis, Bawanee or Parvati. The Bhagavates177 ought to recognize all these deities as subordinate to the Supreme Being, or rather as his attributes, but the greater part of them are real polytheists. There is an inconsiderable sect of gymnosophists, called Lingis,178 who adore Siva exclusively. † Both the Hindoos and Mussulmen use strings of beads for the purpose of counting their prayers.

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The wife of Brahma is Seraswati,179 also called Brahmanee; she is the goddess of arts and eloquence, and is often invoked with Ganesa180 at the beginning of books. As the patroness of music, she is sometimes represented with a vin* in her hand. Menu,181 and ten other lawgivers, are the children of Brahma and Seraswati; from Menu and his wife the earth was peopled, and Menu gave to his descendants excellent laws, but they did not abide by them; therefore other Menus have at different times been born, to recall mankind to the belief and practice of their ancestors. Among the animal creation, the goose, the emblem of wisdom, is sacred to Seraswati, who, as well as Brahma, is often seen riding on it, when it is called their vahan or vehicle. Siva is worshipped more generally than any of the other deities. His principal names are, Doorghatti, Isa, Iswara, Hurr, Rudra, and Maha Deo. Under the last name, all his temples on this side of India are dedicated to him as the god of reproduction. As Rudra he is terrible, and delights in sanguinary sacrifices, particularly the aswa-medha or horse sacrifice, and the nara-medha, or human sacrifice.182 The wife of Siva is Parvati, or the mountain-born. Her celestial name is Doorga or active virtue; as Bhawani, she is female nature on earth; and as Kali, she is an infernal goddess, delighting in human sacrifice, and, like Rudra, wearing a chaplet of skulls round her neck. The residence of Siva and Parvati is Kaylassa;183 their constant attendant is the bull Nundi, who is usually placed at the gates or in the courts of their temples. In the character of Doorga, Parvati is always attended by a lion. Kartikeya,184 or Swammy-kartic, and Ganesa, are the children of Siva and Parvati. Kartikeya is the god of war, and leader of the celestial armies; he is mounted on a peacock. He has six faces, and is fabled to have been nursed by the six Kritikas, or stars of the Pleïades, who are the wives of the Rooshis, or stars of the constellation of the Great Bear.185 Ganesa is the god of wisdom; he is often the god of fortune, and presides over the limits of fields. He is represented very fat, with the head of an elephant, having sometimes two and sometimes four faces. He holds in his hands a cup containing round cakes, which he appears to be eating, and the ankasa, or hook used by the drivers of elephants, which has been taken for a key, and supposed to confirm the identity of this god with Janus.186 Ganesa is invoked the first in all sacrifices, and all writings begin with his name. He is always attended by a rat, the emblem of forethought. Vishnu, the preserving deity, exclusive of his names in his several awatars,187 is Narayun, or moving on the ocean, Shreedher, Govinda, and Hari. His wife is Luckshemi,188 the goddess of fortune, called also Kamala, or the lotus-born, having sprung on a lotus from the ocean. She is the goddess of beauty, and presides over marriage. Her son Camdeo189 is the god of beauty and of love. It is related in the Ramayuna,190 that Camdeo or Kundurpa, having presumed to wound

* Vin, a musical instrument played like the guitar; it consists of a long board, on which the strings of iron wire are placed, with a hollow gourd at each end, as a sounding-board.

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Siva, while with uplifted arm he was engaged in sacred austerities, the incensed god consumed his body with lightning from his eyes. Hence Camdeo is called Ununga, bodyless, and he is the only person in the Hindoo mythology who is ever said to be immaterial. He is sometimes called Muddun, and rides on a fish, with a banner in his hand. Vishnu is often seen riding on the shoulders of Garuda,191 a youth with the wings and beak of a hawk; but he is more frequently represented reposing on the great many-headed serpent of eternity, floating on the milky ocean; in which case Luckshemi is generally sitting at his feet. The Hindoos believe that the four yougs* must revolve seventy-two times in every kalpa,192 (creation or formation), at the end of which all things are absorbed into the Deity, and that, in the interval of another creation, he reposeth himself on the serpent Shesha (duration), who is called Ananta (endless).† Many of the offices of Vishnu are common both to Brahma and to Siva; and the names of all three are frequently used for the sun, for fire, and for water. Each deity has weapons peculiar to himself; those which always distinguish Vishnu are the chakra or discus, and the chank or wreathed shell, on which the note of victory is sounded. The paradise of Vishnu is Vaikontha;193 he is often painted of a dark blue colour, on which account he is called Nielkont. The awatars of Vishnu, by which are meant his descents upon earth, are usually counted ten, though some writers make them much more numerous. The first is the Mutchee or fish awatar, when, in the form of a huge fish, he conducted and preserved the boat of Styavrata the 7th menu,194 while the earth was deluged in consequence of the loss of the vedas, and the subsequent wickedness of mankind. The holy books had been stolen by Hyagriva, king of the demons; Vishnu undertook to recover them; and, after a severe combat with Hyagriva, he destroyed him, restored the sacred books, and caused the waters to subside. The second awatar is Koorma, or the tortoise. In order to recover some of the advantages lost to mankind by the deluge, Vishnu became a tortoise, and sustained on his back the mountain Meru,195 while the gods and genii churned with it the milky ocean, and produced seven precious things, among which were, the moon, a physician, a horse, a woman, an elephant, and Amrita, or the water of life, which was drank by the immortals. The third awatar is Varaha, or the boar. Prit’hivi, the earth, having been overcome by the genius of the waters, Vishnu, in the shape of a man, with the head of a hog, descended and supported her on his tusk, while he subdued the waters and restored her. In the fourth awatar, Vishnu, in the form of a monstrous man, with a lion’s head, sprang from a pillar

* The first, or the Kruty-youg; it lasts 17 lacks and 25,000 years. The second, or Treta-youg, 12 lacks and 296,000 years. The third, or Dwapar-youg, lasts 8 lacks and 64,000 years: And the 4th, or Kaliyoug, 4 lacks and 32,000 years. In this we now live. PUNDIT BAPOOGEE.k † See Notes to the Heetopadesa.

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to destroy an impious king who was on the point of murdering his own son. He is called Narasinha, or lion-headed. Vishnu, in his fifth descent, is called Vamuna, or the Brahmin dwarf. Beli196 having, by his meritorious austerities, obtained the sovereignty of the world, neglected to worship the gods; the Dewtahs,197 alarmed lest he should deprive them of their celestial habitations, entreated protection from Vishnu, who descended in the form of a Bramin dwarf, and having obtained from Beli a promise, confirmed by an irrevocable oath, to grant whatever he should ask, he demanded as much space as he could compass in three steps. The boon being granted, his form dilated to its divine dimensions; the eight celestial weapons appeared in the eight hands of the god, whose first step compassed the earth, his second the ocean, and his third heaven, leaving only Patala or hell to Beli. Vamuna is sometimes called Tri-vikrum, or three-stepper. In the sixth awatar, Vishnu, as Parashu Rama, the son of the Bramin Jemadagni, is fabled to have destroyed all the males of the Xetrie or fighting caste, on account of the wickedness of their chief Sahasrarjum, who oppressed the Bramins, particularly Jemadagni. The seventh descent of Vishnu is sung in the epic poem of Valmiki,198 called the Ramayuna, from Rama the divine hero, the son of Dusharuthra, king of Uyodhya or Oude, who led a life of adventure in the woods and forests of India, attended by his brother Lakshmana, and by his faithful friend Hanuman the divine monkey, the son of Pavana, god of the wind. Sita, the wife of Rama, having been stolen by Rawana the ten-headed tyrant of Lanka (Ceylon), Hanuman discovered the place of her concealment, and with the assistance of Soogreeva and other divine baboons, he built the bridge of Rama (Adam’s bridge,) from the continent of India to Ceylon, to facilitate the passage of Rama and his army to that island, where he destroyed the tyrant and recovered Sita. Krishna, the person in whom Vishnu was incarnate in his eighth awatar, is said to have been born of the sister of a tyrant, who, to secure the death of his nephew, caused all the young children in his dominions to be put to death; but, in the mean time, the young Krishna was concealed and brought up among some herdsmen, whence he is considered as the peculiar patron of herds, and is often represented as attended by nine Gopia or dairy-women. He is the god of poetry and music, of wrestlers and of boxers. The adventures of Krishna, and the wars in which he was engaged, are described in the Bhagavat.199 The ninth awatar is Bhûd,200 who reformed the rules of the vedas, and forbid the destroying animal life. The tenth awatar, called Kalkee, is to come. He will be a warrior on a white horse; in his days the world shall be at peace, all enmity shall be destroyed, and men shall have but one faith. Of the religious sects worshipping Vishnu, the Vaishnavas201 adore him alone, as comprising in his person the greatest number of the attributes of the deity. The Goclasthas and the Ramanuj202 are in fact worshippers of deified heroes; the first pay respect to Vishnu in the awatar of Gocal or Krishna, and the second in that of Rama Chandra. Besides the great deities above-mentioned, there are multitudes of inferior divine persons, over whom Indra, the thousand-eyed lord of the dewtahs203 presides. 174

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He dwells with his wife Indranee in the forest Nundana, and with her is often seen mounted on an elephant with three trunks. He presides over delusions. Agni, the god of fire, is represented with two faces and three legs, riding on a ram. He is said to have married the goddess Gunga (Ganges,) the sister of Parvati. Gunga is fabled to have rested on the head of Siva, or that of Vishnu, in her descent from heaven, and to have flowed thence in three streams, called triveni, or three locks, and running to the sea, to have filled up its bason, which, although dug before that time, was empty. Her union with Agni produced the metals. The range of mountains among which the Ganges takes its rise, abounds with mines; hence the mythological union of the deities of heat and of water is fabled to have produced the metals. Surya, the god of the sun, is drawn in a chariot by a many-headed horse; he represents truth, and has a numerous sect of worshippers called Sauras. Chandra, the moon, is drawn in a car by an antelope; the twenty-seven lunar stations, called Nukshutras, into which the Hindoos divide the heavens, are considered as his wives. Viswakarman is the artificer of the gods; Koovera is the god of riches, and resides in the forest of Chitra-ruthra; and Pavana204 is the god of the wind. Eight guardians preside over the eight quarters of the world; and all nature is crowded with deities. In making this slight sketch of the Hindoo mythology, I have forborne to point out the striking similarity of many of the deities to those of Greece and Rome, as it is too obvious to escape your attention. A remarkable proof of their identity with the gods of Egypt occurred in 1801, when the sepoy regiments who had been sent into that country, fell down before the gods in the temple of Tentyra,205 and claimed them as those of their own belief. The coarseness and inelegance of the Hindoo polytheism, will certainly disgust many accustomed to the graceful mythology of ancient Europe; but it is not incurious, nor perhaps useless, to examine the various systems of religion which the feelings natural to the mind of man have produced,—to observe how they have been modified by climate or other circumstances,—and to trace, “under all these various disguises, the workings of the same common nature; and in the superstitions of India, no less than in the lofty visions of Plato, to recognize the existence of those moral ties which unite the heart of man to the Author of his being*” For my own part, living among the people, and daily beholding the prostrate worshipper, the temple, the altar, and the offering, I take an interest in them which makes up for their want of poetical beauty. Nor can I look with indifference upon a system, however barbarous and superstitious, which has so strong a hold of the minds of its votaries, and which can bring them to despise death and torture in their most dreadful forms. But to return to my journal. We got into our boat at Mazagong a little before sunrise, and had the pleasure of marking the gradual increase of day as it broke over the Mahratta mountains. First the woody tops of Caranja206 and Elephanta became illuminated, then Bombay, with its forts and villages stretching along the * Stewart’s Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind.207

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north of the bay, while the bases of the rocky islands to the south, slowly became distinguishable from the reflecting waves. After an hour’s row, during which we passed Butcher’s Island,208 called by the natives Deva Devi, or holy island, we arrived at Elephanta, a mountain isle with a double top, wooded to the summit. Opposite to the landing-place is the colossal stone elephant, from which the Portuguese named the place, which is nowl cracked and mutilated, as tradition says, by the Portuguese; it must have been carved out of the rock on which it stands, for it appears too large to have been carried to its present situation. After passing a village which, as well as the whole island, the natives call Gharipoori, we ascended the hill through romantic passes, sometimes overshadowed with wood, sometimes walled by rocks, till we arrived at the cave. We came upon it unexpectedly, and I confess that I never felt such a sensation of astonishment as when the cavern opened upon me. At first it appeared all darkness, while on the hill above, below, and around, shrubs and flowers of the most brilliant hues were waving in the full sunshine. As I entered, my sight became gradually more distinct, and I was able to consider the wonderful chamber in which I stood. The entrance is fifty-five feet wide, its height is eighteen, and its length about equal with its width. It is supported by massy pillars carved in the solid rock; the capital of these resembles a compressed cushion bound with a fillet;209 the abacus210 is like a bunch of reeds supporting a beam, six of which run across the whole cave; below the capital the column may be compared to a fluted bell resting on a plain octagonal member placed on a die, on each corner of which sits Hanuman, Ganesa, or some of the other inferior gods. The sides of the cavern are sculptured in compartments representing the persons of the mythology; but the end of the cavern opposite to the entrance is the most remarkable. In the centre is a gigantic trimurti, or threeformed god. Brahma the creator is in the middle, with a placid countenance; his cap is adorned with jewels. Vishnu, the preserving deity, is represented as very beautiful; his face is full of benevolence, his hand holds a lotus, the same sacred flower is placed in his cap, with the triveni or triple-plaited lock,211 signifying the rivers Gunga (Ganges), Yamuna (Jumna), and Seraswati,212 and other ornaments referring to his attributes. Siva frowns, his nose is aquiline, and his mouth half open; in his hand is his destructive emblem, the cobra-capella, and on his cap, among other symbols, a human skull and a new-born infant mark his double character of destroyer and reproducer. These faces are all beautiful but for the under lips, which are remarkably thick. The length from the chin to the crown of the head is six feet, the caps are about three feet more. No part of the bust is mutilated but the two hands in front, which are quite destroyed. Concealed steps behind Siva’s hand lead to a convenient ledge or bench behind the cap of the bust, where a Bramin might have hidden himself for any purpose of priestly imposition. On each side of the trimurti is a pilaster,213 the front of which is filled up by a figure fourteen feet high, leaning on a dwarf; these are much defaced. To the right is a large square compartment, hollowed a little, carved into a great variety of figures, the largest of which is sixteen feet high, representing the double figure of Siva and Parvati, called Viraj or Ardha Nari, half male half female, the right side of 176

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which is Siva and the left his wife; it is four-handed; the two lower hands, one of which appears to have rested on the Nundi,214 are broken; the upper right hand has a cobra-capella, and the left a shield. On the right of the Viraj is Brama, fourfaced, sitting on a lotus; and on the left is Vishnu on the shoulders of Garuda. Near Brahma are Indra and Indranee on their elephant, and below is a female figure holding a chamara or chowree.* The upper part of the compartment is filled with small figures in attitudes of adoration. On the other side of the trimurti is a compartment answering to that I have just described; the principal figure I take to be Siva; at his left hand stands Parvati, on whose shoulder he leans; between them is a dwarf, on whose head is one of Siva’s hands, and near Parvati is another. Over Siva’s shoulder hangs the zenaar, and he holds the cobra-capella in one of his four hands. He is surrounded by the same figures which fill up the compartment of the Viraj; his own height (which we measured by a plumb-line dropped from his head,) is fourteen feet, and that of Parvati is ten. All these figures are in alto-relievo,215 as are those of the other sides of the cavern, the most remarkable of which is one of Siva in his vindictive character; he is eight-handed, with a chaplet216 of skulls round his neck, and appears in the act of performing the human sacrifice. On the right hand, as you enter the cave, is a square apartment with four doors, supported by eight colossal figures; it contains a gigantic symbol of Maha Deo, and is cut out of the rock like the rest of the cave. There is a similar chamber in a smaller and more secret cavern, to which there is access from the corner next to the Viraj; the covering of the passage has fallen in, but, on climbing over the rubbish, we found ourselves in a little area which has no outlet, and is lighted from above, the whole thickness of the hill being cut through; the cavern to which it belongs contains nothing but the square chamber of Maha Deo, and a bath at each end, one of which is decorated with rich sculpture. When we had tired ourselves with examining the various wonders of the cavern of Elephanta, I sat down to make a sketch of the great compartments opposite to the entrance, and on our return to Bombay, comparing the drawing with those in Niebuhr,217 we were satisfied that its resemblance to the original is the most correct.† I am sorry to observe, that the pillars and sculptures of the cave are defaced in every part, by having the names of most who visit them either carved or daubed with black chalk upon them; and the intemperate zeal of the Portuguese, who made war upon the gods and temples, as well as upon the armies of India, added to the havock of time, has reduced this stupendous monument of idolatry to a state of ruin. Fragments of statues strew the floor; columns, deprived of their bases, are suspended from the parent roof, and others without capitals,

* The chamara is a whisk to keep off flies, made either of a cow’s tail or peacock’s feathers, or ivory shavings, set in a handle two feet long. They are always carried behind persons of rank. † From this sketch the annexed plate is copied. The trimurti is imperfect; that having been separately drawn by a friend, from whom I have not been able to procure a correct copy.

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and sometimes split in two, threaten to leave the massy hill that covers them without support. The temple of Elephanta, and other equally wonderful caverns in the neighbourhood, must have been the works of a people far advanced in the arts of civilized life, and possessed of wealth and power; but these were lodged in the hands of a crafty priesthood, who kept science, affluence, and honour for their own fraternity, and, possessed of better ideas, preached a miserable and degrading superstition to the multitude. It would be curious to follow out the advancement and fall of the arts which produced such monuments; but not a trace of their history remains, and we are left to seek it in the natural progress of a people subtle and ingenious, but depressed by superstition, and the utter impossibility of rising individually, by any virtues or any talents, to a higher rank in society than that occupied by their forefathers. The local histories* of the Braminical establishments, which could have thrown light on these and other curious subjects, have long been destroyed. Many of them perished during the contentions between the followers of Siva and those of Vishnu, prior to the Mahomedan conquest of India,218 and probably many more when the Hindoo temples were pillaged by those fierce conquerors. It is said that there are some other caves on the island of Elephanta, but I have never met with any one who had explored them, and I conclude that they are insignificant. We remained all day in the great temple, enjoying its coolness, while the burning tropical sun shone most fiercely above; but as soon as the day began to close we left it, to the great regret of the hamauls who had accompanied us, and who, after cooking and eating in one corner of the cave, had employed themselves in pouring water over the gods, and in sprinkling them with flowers. The little village of Gharipoori has a few rice fields, and its inhabitants rear poultry and mutton. The island abounds with springs of excellent water, and the luxuriant growth of the wood gives it a more fertile appearance than any part of Bombay; nevertheless it is almost a desert. We intended to have visited Butcher’s Island on our way home, but we had stayed too long in the cave, and were obliged to pass its low green plain and tufts of trees, just as the setting sun threw his last beams across the bay. Panwell, Dec. 14th 1809.—I am writing in a tent pitched in the rice fields of Panwell,219 a little Mahratta village on the coast. Taking advantage of the cool season, we have joined a small party on a tour to Poonah, the Mahratta capital. Our company consists of one lady, two gentlemen, and three children, besides

* Stala Puranas220 are literally the church books; they are registers belonging to the temples, in which are marked all benefactors, and their donations to the sacred establishments, and in general the dates of such donations. But even these documents are filled with fables. For instance, a pious prince who would build a temple, is usually directed to the exact spot by an apparition or a dream; the idols he sets up are discovered to him in the same miraculous manner, and most of these are heavendescended for the occasion!

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ourselves, but our attendants are near two hundred; we are obliged to carry tents, furniture, cooking utensils, and food, so that our train cannot consist of fewer persons. Besides, we must have koolis to carry our baggage, lascars to attend to and pitch our tents, servants to dress our food, others to take care of the horses and the beasts of burthen, and hamauls for our palankeens. Having sent on the baggage and servants the preceding day, we embarked at the bunder in the fort of Bombay, and after a three hours sail we reached Panwell, situated two miles inland, on a branch of the sea, the entrance to which is marked rather than defended by the little ruinous fort of Bellapoor.221 This fort was built in 1682 by the Mahratta Rajah Sambagee,222 to protect the Corlahs,223 or low districts in this neighbourhood, from the irruptions of the Siddees,224 then in the service of the Mogul,225 and who used to land from their numerous vessels, and carry off or burn the rice, in which the Corlahs were then more fertile than any of the Mahratta provinces. On our arrival here, we found our tents pitched in some dry paddy (rice) fields, by the side of a large tank surrounded by Mango trees. On one side is a Pirs Kubber, or Mahomedan saint’s tomb, of a beautiful form, with an arcade, the arches of which are like the Gothic, with cinquefoil heads; the cell within contains the tomb, covered with a piece of brocade; over it is a canopy, from which a number of lamps and ostrich eggs are suspended. The village is well peopled, its inhabitants look comfortable, and the fields cultivated. Here is a large pagoda by a tank, nearly a mile in circumference, on the water of which float multitudes of the beautiful red lotus; the flower is larger than that of the white water-lily, and is the most lovely of the nymphæas226 that I have seen. The natives of Panwell have a more martial air than those of Bombay. In the shops, every artizan has his sword and spear by him while he works, and the cultivators plough with their arms girded on. At present their weapons are of more use to defend them against the wild beasts than against any human enemy, but a few years ago the case was otherwise. Dec. 16th. Compowli.227—This village is two stages from Panwell; the first, to Chowk,228 we travelled last night, but reached our tents too late to write. We passed through a very beautiful country, among hills that form the outskirts of the Ghauts*. Rich valleys, now wide now narrow, closed in by amphitheatres of hills, some wooded up to the top, and others exposing their weather-stained rocky summits to the skies, are here and there crossed by streams, that though now scarcely more than rills, bear evidence that they were mighty torrents during the monsoon. Upon the bank of one of these, we encamped under the shade of widespreading banian trees, opposite to the little bazar of Chowk. Immediately facing us, a troop of Brinjarees229 had taken up their residence for the night. These people travel from one end of India to the other, carrying salt, grain, and asafœtida,230

* A ghaut means a pass; and though it literally applies only to the accessible passes through the mountains, the name is given to the range of mountains that reach from Cape Comorin231 nearly to Guzerat, along the west coast of India.

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almost as necessary to the natives as salt. They are never molested by any army. I have seen at least five hundred bullocks belonging to one troop. You can imagine nothing more picturesque than our station: the Brinjarees fires were reflected in the stream between us; and our own hamauls, in about a dozen different parties, were cooking their food along the bank, while at a little distance some of our people were keeping up a blaze with straw, to keep the flies from the horses, the bright light from which falling on our tents illuminated them, while the under branches of the trees remaining in shadow, formed a striking and beautiful contrast. When we went to rest, our dining tent was struck, that it might go on before, in order to be ready for breakfast at the next stage, where we now are. When we left Chowk at day-break this morning, the thermometer was at sixtyeight232 in my palankeen, but before we arrived at Compowli it had risen more than twenty-two degrees. We were nearly four hours on the road, although the distance is not more than twelve miles; the way lies through the same kind of country as that between Chowk and Panwell, only that it is more picturesque and wild, and reminded me of Scotish Highland scenery. Our tents are pitched in a tope or grove of mango trees, by the side of a spacious tank, overhung by a fine old banian tree. Behind us is a hill wooded to the top; immediately opposite is a beautiful little pagoda, which, as well as the tank, was built by Nana Furnavese, the late Mahratta minister,233 though himself a Pundit, and therefore, in all probability, a secret unbeliever. But in India, where the long continued droughts render water an object of such importance, he who builds a tank is a benefactor to his country; and unless it be rendered sacred by being attached to a pagoda, the first army that passes would in all probability break down its dikes, and thus cause the destruction of men and cattle by drought and famine, for the fields produce no crops without constant irrigation. At the back of Nana’s pagoda the ghaut rises perpendicularly, and seems almost to overhang it; and a few coco-nuts and plantains in its garden, make an agreeable variety with the tufted foliage of the mountain-forest. The temple is dedicated to Maha Deo; and the Nundi is in a pretty detached building in the court. These objects, with the choultries and some cottages, are opposite to my tent door, and nothing but the intense heat prevents me from walking among such beautiful scenery; but though not a sun-beam passes through the shade under which we are encamped, it is impossible to think of taking any exercise till near sunset. Great Cave at Carli, Dec. 17th 1809.—I am told that we are now at least six thousand feet above the level of the sea, and the greatest part of that height we have ascended to-day. We left Compowli in the dark at five o’clock, and reached the foot of the ghaut at sunrise. The ascent was so steep and rugged, that I soon left my palankeen, and with one of my companions walked up the mountain. It is impossible to describe the exquisite beauty of the landscape. High mountains and bold projecting rocks, overhang deep woods of trees unknown to Europeans. Flowering shrubs of most delicious perfumes, and creeping-plants of every various hue, form natural bowers as they hang from tree to tree, and now shewing, now concealing the distant ocean, delight the eye at every step; while here and 180

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there an opening like a lawn, with herds of antelopes, makes you forget that the tiger prowls through the overhanging forest, and that the serpent lurks beneath the many-coloured bower. At Condowli,234 a pretty village just above the ghaut, the hamauls stopped to bathe and drink, and to claim the fee for coming up the mountain, which is a sheep; it costs from one to two rupees, and is divided between the twelve hamauls, who belong to one palankeen, for very few Hindoos abstain entirely from animal food, although none eat of the cow or of the hog. Here I got into my palankeen, and went on to the foot of the hill where the cave of Carli is situated. As it was near twelve o’clock when we reached the village below the cave, we heartily wished that we had ordered our breakfast to await us there, for we had half a mile to climb up a rugged rock on foot, in the eye of the midday sun of India; and having tasted nothing since dinner yesterday, we were so exhausted when we reached it, that we could hardly raise our eyes to observe the wonders of the cavern. When at length we looked round, we almost fancied ourselves in a Gothic cathedral. Instead of the low flat roof of the cave of Elephanta, this rises to an astonishing height, with a highly coved roof, supported by twenty-one pillars on each side, and terminating in a semicircle. Opposite to the entrance is a large temple (if I may call it so,) not hollowed, with a dome, on which is fixed a huge teak umbrella, as a mark of respect. Without the pillars there is a kind of aisle on each side of about six feet wide; the length of the cave is forty paces, and its breadth is fourteen. Here are no sculptures within the cavern except on the capitals of the pillars. The columns are mostly hexagons, though the number of angles varies; the bases are formed like compressed cushions; the capitals resemble an inverted flower, or a bell, on the top of which are two elephants, with two riders on each; and on several of the columns there are inscriptions in a character not hitherto decyphered. There is a very curious circumstance in this cavern, which is, that the roof is ribbed with teak wood, cut to fit the cove exactly, and supported by teeth in the timber fitting to corresponding holes in the rock; I imagine this to be a precaution against the destruction of this beautiful work by the monsoon rains. The cave of Carli is really one of the most magnificent chambers I ever saw, both as to proportion and workmanship. It is situated near the top of a wooded mountain, commanding one of the finest prospects in the world; its reservoirs cut, like itself, out of the living rock, overflow with the purest water, and the country around it is fertile enough to supply every thing in abundance for human subsistence. The cave is a temple, and on each side there are corridores, with cells proper for the residence of priests and their families. But the most laboured part of the work is the portico of the temple. One-third of its height is filled up by a variety of figures, one of which, in a dancing posture, is remarkable for gracefulness of design, and the ends are occupied to the same height by gigantic elephants; above these is a cornice235 of reeds, bound together by fillets236 at equal distances, and the space over it is filled by small arched niches, finished with the same cornice. The centre is occupied by a horse-shoe arch, with a pointed moulding above, and below there is a square door of entrance to the cave. To protect the portico from the injuries 181

Interior of the Great Cave at Carli. Pubd. by A Constable & Co. Edinburgh June 1 1812.

Entrance to the Great Cave of Carli. Pubd. by A Constable & Co. Edinburgh June 1 1812.

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of the weather, a rude screen was left at the entrance, part of which has fallen in; before it there is an enormous pillar, crowned with three animals, and now overgrown with moss and grass. The difference between the cavern temples of Carli and of Elephanta is striking. Here are no personifications of the deity, no separate cells for secret rites; and the religious opinions which consecrated them are no less different. The cave of Carli is a temple dedicated to the religion of the Jines,237 a sect whose antiquity is believed by some to be greater than that of the Braminical faith, from which their tenets are essentially different, though many of their customs agree entirely with those of the Bramins, as might be expected from natives of the same country. As the Braminical books represent the history of the gods as a series of awatars or descents, the Jine worship supposes men raised to the rank of divinities; but unlike the deified heroes of other nations, it is not on the warrior, but on the contemplative sage, that it bestows immortality; thus, besides the Great Deity, answering to the Brehm of the Bramins, the Jines worship their twenty-four first Gooroos, or spiritual teachers.238 They describe God as all-wise, all-seeing, allproductive, all-happy, without name, without relation, without shape, immortal; he is exempt from ignorance, mental blindness, name, tribe, love, and weakness. The man who attains to these perfections, and overcomes these evils, obtains, 1st, A station for beholding God at a distance; 2d, He is in the presence of God; 3d, He is equal in likeness to God; and, 4th, He becomes united to God, or rather is absorbed into the divine essence, when he is adored. The Jines have fourteen sacred books in the Sanscrit and Pracreat languages.239 It is not ascertained whether some of these be not also used by the Bramins; if so, they are probably such as concern the sciences, for the great reproach which they throw on the Bramins is, that they are hearers, that is, believers, of the fables of the Vedas. The Jines believe that the world is of itself eternal, and that its changes are the effects of necessity.240 They hold, that to abstain from slaughter is grace, and that to kill any thing is sin. They accordingly abstain from animal food, from the fruit of trees giving milk, and from honey. Adultery and theft are forbidden; they burn the dead, and throw their ashes into the water, but pay no honours to the deceased. They are divided into four classes, but in what respects they agree with or differ from the Braminical castes I have not learnt; like the Bramins, they worship fire, and have sixteen ceremonies in common with them. The Jines once possessed a large and powerful kingdom, under several dynasties of kings; but their long and violent wars against the Braminical powers of India, had exceedingly reduced them, when the Mahomedan kings of Beejnugger destroyed them as a nation,241 about the thirteenth century, and since that time they have only existed in a few detached bodies, extremely shy of confessing their religion. The few Jines I have seen seem poor and miserable; their appearance is like that of the other natives of India: the poroohit or priests do not shave their heads, nor do they wear a turban. The priests are all subject to the Gooroo of Sravana Bellagoola,242 where the most sacred temples of the Jines now exist; they were built by Rajah Nulla, a Jine king of Madura;243 the first of that name reigned 184

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A. D. 776–800, and the second A. D. 900. Great part of the revenues of these temples were confiscated by Hyder-Ally,244 and the East India Company has still further impoverished them, by selling part of the lands which maintained them. The principal stations of the remaining Jines are at Pennaconda, Conjeveram, Dehli, and Collapore.* But to return to my Journal. While we were all seated at breakfast, we were surprised by the entrance of a Choabdar, that is, a servant who attends on persons of consequence, runs before them with a silver stick, and keeps silence at the doors of their apartments, from which last office he derives his name.m He came to announce the arrival of Mr—–,n the British resident at the court of Poonah,245 who, hearing of our intention to visit that capital, had come so far to meet us; and as neither he nor any of his party had visited the caves of Carli before, we examined them together. To some of the caves on the right of the great temple we ascended by winding steps in the rock, now almost worn away, and to others still higher, by ladders which the priests had placed for us. These chambers are square, having cells round them, each cell about ten feet by six, and at one end a high bench or bed-place is left in the stone; in front of the largest there is an open corridor, ornamented with pillars resembling those at Elephanta; the others are only lighted by windows cut in the rock. To the left of the great temple the small caves are occupied by the wives and children of the priests, who live in a little modern building close to them; and, not thinking it right to disturb them merely to gratify our curiosity, we did not visit their chambers. We shall remain in the cave till the cool of the day, when we shall descend the hill by a longer path than that by which we came up, to meet our palankeens, and shall then join the resident’s party at the village of Carli, where there is a large tank and a good bazar. The hamlet at the foot of the hill, though two miles nearer, is less convenient, as it is almost in ruins, and its tank and pagoda are in a state of melancholy decay; it is named Ekvera, and the cave is often called by the same name. There are some other caverns begun in the hill, but none have yet been seen that are finished. Tulligong,246 Dec. 18.—We came this stage of eighteen miles to breakfast. The scene at decamping in the morning was very picturesque; our people had lighted great fires among the trees to see to strike the tents and to pack the furniture; every thing was in motion; already half the bullocks and koolis were on their march; some of the palankeens had also left the camp, and we saw them by the light of their torches long after the songs of the bearers were out of hearing; the lascars247 were striking the last of the tents, and the very horses seemed impatient to begin the journey. The morning air was really cold, but as the sun rose it became so hot,

* Pennaconda, on a branch of the Godavery, called Narsipoor river, lies in 15° 30′ N. lat. and 80° 50′ E. long. Collapore, in Berar, is in 20° 55′ N. lat. and 78° 10′ E. long. Dehli, on the Jumna, is in 28° 42′ N. lat. and 77° 8′ E. long. Conjeveram, celebrated for its Hindoo pagodas, as well as for its Jina antiquities, is in 12° 50′ N. lat. and 79° 40′ E. long.

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that, after riding ten miles, I was obliged to get into my palankeen. The country through which we passed is dreary and bleak; it is only where a village grove rises here and there, that the sameness of a moor-like plain, with distant hills, is interrupted. The grains I saw were mostly gram* and bageree,† but near one of the villages there were some fine fields of wheat. Round Tulligong the country presents melancholy traces of the ravages of war and famine. The camps of Scindia and Holkar248 are everywhere discernible, and the march of their soldiers is marked by ruined houses and temples, and drained tanks. Tulligong is just recovering from the effects of the dreadful famine of 1805–6.249 It is said that, in this town alone, eighty thousand persons perished; and one of my fellow-travellers says, that when he was here last year, the bones strewed the fields around. The inhabitants of many towns and villages emigrated, hoping to find elsewhere that sustenance which failed at home; thousands perished on the road side, and many, at the very moment when they stretched forth their hands to receive the means of life which the charity of the British afforded, sunk to death ere the long wished-for morsel reached their lips. A mother, with five children, on her way from Hydrabad to Bombay, had reached Salsette; there she was too weak to proceed, and, to preserve herself and four of her offspring, she sold the fifth for a little rice; but it was too late; she and her infants perished the next morning; and instances of the like were numerous. Yet such was the patience of the Hindoos, that they saw the waggons of rice sent by the English at Bombay to the relief of Poonah,250 pass through their villages without an attempt to stop them. But the fields of Tulligong are again cultivated, new houses are rising to replace the old ones, and the town seems full of children. We visited the Rajah CunterowTeravaly-Sinhaputty,251 who is hereditary general of the Mahratta forces, and his family held other great offices; but they are now superseded in the Peishwa’s252 favour, and the general has nothing of his former consequence but the name, and a huge state elephant which is kept at his palace gate. He is the guardian of the pagoda; and by his permission we were furnished with excellent fish from the tank. The Rajah is a plump stupid-looking man, but good-natured and hospitable. He begged our friends to let the children visit him, for he had never seen an European child, and the Mahrattas say proverbially, when they would praise beauty, “As lovely as a white child.” Our encampment is on the side of the tank, half a mile from the town; the scenery is pretty, but not to be compared with that at Compowli and Chowk. Chimchore,253 Dec. 19, 1809.—I have just seen what I thought I should never have met with on this side of Thibet,254 namely, an alive god, called the Deo of Chimchore, who is nothing less than Ganesa himself,255 incarnate in the person

* Gram, a kind of pea, which is used as provender for cattle. † Bageree, a coarse grain, of which the natives make a cake resembling barleymeal bannocks.

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of a boy of twelve years old, the eighth of his family honoured as the vehicle of the deity’s appearance on earth. The first was Maraba, a Gosseyn,256 whose piety was so exemplary, that Ganesa rewarded it by becoming incarnate in his person, at the same time committing to his care a sacred stone, and the guardianship of his own temple, promising the same favours to his descendants for seven generations. These are now passed away; but as the piety and superstition of the Deo’s neighbours has enriched the family by grants of lands, and towns, and villages, the holy Bramins have decreed, that the god is still incarnate in the family of Maraba; and to the objection that the promise was only to seven generations, they answer, that as the deity was able to grant that favour to the seven immediate descendants of the holy Gosseyn, it would be impious to doubt his power of continuing it to their posterity. The Deo’s palace or bara is an enormous pile of building, without any kind of elegance, near the river Mootha,257 on which the town stands. As we entered the court, we saw a number of persons engaged in the honourable and holy office of mixing the sacred cow-dung to be spread on the floors of the bara. The whole palace looked dirty, and every window was crowded with sleek well-fed Bramins, who doubtless take great care of the Deo’s revenues. We found his little godship seated in a mean viranda, on a low wooden seat, not any way distinguished from other children, but by an anxious wildness of the eyes, said to be occasioned by the quantity of opium which he is daily made to swallow. He is not allowed to play with other boys, nor is he permitted to speak any language but Sanscrit, that he may not converse with any but the Bramins. He received us very politely, said he was always pleased to see English people; and after some conversation, which a Bramin interpreted, we took leave, and were presented by his divine hand with almonds and sugar-candy perfumed with asafœtida, and he received in return a handful of rupees. From the bara we went to the tombs of the former Deos, which are so many small temples inclosed in a well paved court, planted round with trees, communicating with the river by a handsome flight of steps. Here was going on all the business of worship. In one place were women pouring oil, water, and milk over the figures of the gods; in another children decking them with flowers; here devotees and pilgrims performing their ablutions, and there priests chaunting portions of the vedas; yet all going on in a manner that might beseem the inhabitants of the Castle of Indolence.258 As I passed one of the tomb-temples, I caught a glimpse of a large highly-polished stone, which I suppose is the Palladium259 of Chimchore, but I was desired not to approach it, so that I could not gratify my curiosity. I returned to our tents, filled with reflections not very favourable to the dignity of human nature, after witnessing such a degrading instance of superstitious folly. If I could be assured that the communication with Europe would in ever so remote a period free the natives of India from their moral and religious degradation, I could even be almost reconciled to the methods by which the Europeans have acquired possession of the country.

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Our tents are opposite to the Deo’s bara, on the other side of the river, in a grove of mango, banian, pepil,260 and babool trees*. The scene before us is beautiful; the town towards the river is a groupe of temples, in whose courts are magnificent trees, overhanging flights of steps of hewn stone, which lead to the river, and on which you see crowds of people coming from or going to the bath. Sungum Poonah,261 Dec. 20.—We arrived here last night at five o’clock. The residency262 is two miles from Poonah, at the junction of the rivers Moolha and Mootha, on which account it is called the Sungum or junction.263 The apartments are a groupe of bungalos or garden-houses, placed in a most delightful garden, where the apple, the pear, and the peach, the orange, the almond, and the fig, overshadow the strawberry, and are hedged in by the rose, the myrtle, and the jasmin. When dinner was announced we assembled in the garden; two choabdars264 walked before the resident, to make way for the great man, according to the oriental custom; but he dispenses with the ceremony of their proclaiming his titles as he walks into his own apartments. The dining bungalo is close to the river, on a little height; the view from its windows is very pretty; to the right is Poonah, surrounded with gardens on the banks of the river; to the left is the place where the suttees†,265 are performed, rendered picturesque by a number of tombs of a very pretty style of architecture, and a few trees; and the whole country round is highly cultivated. It was late ere we left the dining-room, for our party was such as does not often assemble in India. For once we forgot rupees and bales of cotton, and enjoyed a flow of polished conversation, rational cheerfulness, and urbanity, which it would be ungrateful not to mention, and which it is impossible to forget. We experienced some disappointment this morning, for we were to have seen and conversed with a Nusteek philosopher,266 who sent word that he was too ill to come to us. These sages are abhorred by the Bramins, who call them atheists, because they assert that the soul can be assured of nothing but its own existence, and that therefore we cannot be certain whether there be a God or no. The books of this sect are proscribed, nor dare any Bramin give or lend them, or even discover where they may be found. The Vedantis267 are not so unfavourably thought of; they deny the existence of matter, and affirm that our life is the effect of Maya268

* “Acacia Arabica, in Hindui Babul, in Sanscrit Burbura. The gum is called Babulka Gund. The Acacia vera, or Mimosa Nilotica, which produces the gum-arabic, is not found among the numerous species of Acacia that are natives of Hindostan; but the gum of the babul is so perfectly similar to gum-arabic, that for every purpose, whether medicinal or economical, it may be substituted for it. The bark of the tree like that of most of the Acacias, is a powerful astringent, and is used instead of oak-bark for tanning, by the European manufacturers of leather in Bengal.”—Catalogue of Indian Medicinal Plants and Drugs, by JOHN FLEMING, M. D.269 The flower of the Babul is a bright yellow ball, very sweet-scented, and the wood is both hard and tough; it is the best in India for wheels and axle-trees, and grows in great abundance all over the Deckan. † Suttees, the burning of Hindoo women with their husbands.

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or delusion, produced by Brehm, the eternal energy; they compare it to a glass bubble filled with water, floating on the ocean; when the bubble bursts, the water is lost in its parent source; so, when the delusion of existence ends, man is as if he had never been. A Pundit of this sect, to whom I once mentioned Bishop Berkeley’s system,270 smiled, and, alluding to the popular belief, said, He must have been a Vedanti Bramin in his pre-existent state. But I must leave these eastern speculations, and return to objects of common sight and hearing. To-day, for the first time, I rode on an elephant; his motions are by no means unpleasant, and they are quick enough to keep a horse at a round trot to keep up with him. The animal we rode is eleven feet high; his forehead and ears are beautifully mottled; his tusks are very thick, and sawed off to a convenient length for him to kneel while his riders mount. On his back an enormous pad is placed, and tightly girt with chains and cotton rope; upon this is placed the howda, a kind of box divided into two parts; the front containing a seat large enough for two or three persons, and the back a space for the servant who bears the umbrella. The driver sits astride on the animal’s neck, and with one foot behind each ear he guides him as he pleases. On our return we saw him fed; as soon as the howda is taken off, he is led to the water, where he washes and drinks; he is then fastened by the heels to a peg in his stable, where he lies down to sleep for a few hours in the night only. His food is rice, grass, leaves, and young branches of trees, but he is most fond of bread and fruit, especially the plantain. Our evening excursion was to see the ground prepared for the new palace, to be built for the Peishwa by the British, his highness paying for the same. The design is handsome; but I have some doubts as to the propriety of a Grecian building271 for the residence of a Mahratta Bramin. The site and ground-plan are already marked out, and consecrated, by being plastered over with the sacred compost of cow-dung and ashes. Dec. 21.—This morning the gentlemen of our party joined those of the residency in a fox-chase, a favourite amusement of the young Englishmen here, although the heat always obliges them to quit the field by nine o’clock. The great sport of the Mahrattas is ram-fighting. The animals are trained for the purpose, and some of them which we saw were really beautiful; but as these were not spectacles for ladies, we dismissed them without a combat, much to the disappointment of their owners, whose fondness for these shews is only exceeded by their love of gambling, which so possesses the Hindoos, that they sometimes play away their wives and children, and even their own liberty. In the afternoon the resident escorted us through the town of Poonah, to the sacred mount of Parbutty or Parvati, about two miles from Poonah. On each side of the road are gardens, fields, and country-houses; and at the foot of Parbutty the Peishwa has a pleasant palace, with extensive gardens, in which there is a beautifully winding lake, whose banks are clothed with trees; and in the middle of the bason, opposite to the palace, is a small island with a temple, and two or three Bramins’ houses, in a grove of fruit-trees. Near a pretty bridge which crosses the lake, we got off the elephant, and ascended the hill by a handsome flight of stone steps. Near the top are six small brass guns 189

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for firing on festivals, and a little way above there are temples to various gods, which we were permitted to enter, but they contained only the common coarse gods, and pictures equally void of taste and design, executed in gaudy colours, on the walls. The temple of Parbutty, which crowns the hill, we were not allowed to approach, nearer than the outer gate, so that we saw nothing but the Nundi in the court. The view from Parbutty is fine; it commands the town, with its gardens and plantations, the cantonments272 of the British subsidiary force, and the Sungum.273 Near the foot of the hill is a large square field inclosed with high brick walls, where the Peishwa assembles the Bramins, to whom he gives alms at the great Mahratta feast at the close of the rainy season. They are shut up in it till all are assembled, and as they come out one by one, they receive the gratuity, of which, but for this precaution, some would get too many shares. On this occasion the Bramins come from all parts of India, and beg their way to and from Poonah, so that they have the pleasure of the festival, and gain a few rupees by their journey. I am sorry the Peishwa is now absent on a pilgrimage, as I should like to see a native prince. I am told that he is a man of little or no ability, a great sensualist, and very superstitious. His time is spent in making pilgrimages, or buried in his zenana.274 Hardly a week passes without some devout procession, on which he squanders immense sums, and consequently he is always poor. The Peishwa’s family is Braminical,o but of so low an order that the pure Bramins refused to eat with him; and at Nassuck, a place of pilgrimage near the source of the Godavery,275 the Peishwa was not allowed to descend into the water by the same flight of steps used by the holy priests. This enviable privilege the predecessors of the Peishwa had been endeavouring to obtain ever since the year 1726; but he lately threatened to give up the holy temple for a barrack for the English soldiers, in case of the further obstinacy of the Bramins, who, to save their gods from pollution, have at length granted to their master the whole of the privileges of their order. We returned from Parbutty through the town. I saw nothing to distinguish the bazar of the capital from those of the villages, excepting a greater number of female ornaments. The houses are very mean, only the better ones are painted as in Bombay. As we went along, I saw a number of women pouring jugs of water before a door, and was told it was the custom to do so when a child (I think only the first) is born, as an emblem of fertility. The ancient palace, or rather castle of Poonah, is surrounded by high thick walls, with four large towers, and has only one entrance, through a highly pointed arch; here the Peishwa’s brother and other members of his family reside; but he has built a modern house for himself in another part of the town. It is square, with four turrets, and is painted all over with pale green leaves. We stopped opposite to the windows, and saw several of the Peishwa’s ladies. One of them was pointed out as the reigning favourite. She was the wife of one of his Highness’s subjects, and had the reputation of being the most beautiful woman in his dominions, on which account he sent for her to court, and took her to himself. After making our salams before the palace, we returned to the Sungum, crossing the river a little below the wooden bridge, for though in the rainy season the Moolha is a large river, it is now scarcely knee-deep. 190

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Dec. 22.—We took a long and beautiful ride through the country this morning; but the scenes of nature, however charming to the eye, must tire in description, for want of a sufficient variety and precision in the language we must use. We visited some small excavations near the Sungum, which I should have admired more, had I not seen those of Carli and of Elephanta. They are below the plain, and not visible till one is within them. We entered through a natural cleft in a low rock, and found ourselves in a small area, in the centre of which is a round temple, with six pillars, containing the Nundi; beyond it is a square cave, supported by several plain pillars, which do not appear to have been finished. Compartments in the sides of the cavern seem to have been designed for figures, but we found no gods, excepting a small figure of Hanuman,276 which seems to have been lately placed there, and before which lay some dry flowers and leaves. Panwell, Dec. 26.—We left Poonah on the 23d, at day-break, and arrived here yesterday afternoon. As we returned by the same road that we travelled before, we had nothing new to see, and therefore we only stopped as long as was absolutely necessary at each stage. As we were walking down the ghaut, we met several horsemen from Scind277 and Guzerat, on their road to Poonah, in search of military service. They were very handsomely dressed and accoutred, and were walking, while their horses, richly caparisoned, were led. Their arms are swords, shields, and spears, painted and gilt. One warrior had a bow and arrows; his bow hung by his side, in a case covered with tissue; his arrows were light and delicately made, the heads of various shapes, pointed, barbed, or cut into crescents, and his quiver, slung over his shoulder, glittered with gilding and foil. When we reached Panwell our tents were not arrived, so that we were obliged to keep Christmas-day in the Mahomedan saint’s tomb; luckily the apathy of the Mussulmans prevented their being offended. I am delighted at having accomplished this visit to the Mahratta country; for though there is little interesting in Poonah itself, yet, as the capital of a nation whose period of glory, bright and short, is so recent, it is at least an object of curiosity. Till the time of Sevajee,278 Poonah was an inconsiderable village, but during his reign it became the capital of the Mahratta states, and has since continued so.* Shahjee,279 the father of Sevajee, was descended from the ancient Ranas of Oodipore,280 but was himself an adventurer, and the son of an exile, who was a common horseman, in the service of one of the Mahomedan kings of the Deckan.281 By his intrigues and talents he raised himself to consideration, and became agent to one of the last of the Nizam Shahs.282 Being besieged in Caliane283 by the enemies of his master, and reduced to the greatest extremities, he fled to Bejapore,284 and left his wife in the hands of the enemy. Shortly afterwards his

* Lieutenant-Colonel Mackenzie,285 of the Madras establishment, informed me that, long before the Mahomedan conquest of India, a little commonwealth of Arabs existed on or near the spot where Poonah now stands. Whether they were pirates, or resorted there for the purposes of commerce, is not ascertained.

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son, Sevajee, was born, and sent to Poonah, then an inconsiderable village, where Shahjee had a house, and where he was carefully brought up by a Bramin. At the age of nineteen, Shahjee being then employed in the service of Bejapoor, Sevajee seized his treasures, and, collecting a body of troops, began those incursions by which he harassed the neighbouring powers, and at length raised the Mahrattas to their highest glory. The miserable condition of the five Mahomedan kingdoms that had established themselves upon the ruins of the Bhamanee monarchy,*,286 was extremely favourable to his enterprizes, and he succeeded in it notwithstanding every effort of Aurengzebe,287 then newly established on the throne of Dehli, to prevent him. His first conquests were the hill forts, situated among the ghauts, places of strength adapted for receiving his plunder and securing his women, during his incursions into the adjacent country. His troops consisted of light and swift horsemen, and were always ready, on the cessation of the rains, to plunder, before any army could be assembled to oppose them. In this manner he twice pillaged Surat,288 carrying off immense treasures. At length, however, partly by force and partly by stratagem, he was obliged to yield himself up to Aurengzebe, and, with his son Sambajee,289 was carried prisoner to Dehli, whence he soon found means to escape. He had established a custom of distributing among the populace immense quantities of confectionaries, which were brought in large baskets. After continuing this practice for some weeks, he concealed his son in one of those baskets, and himself in another, and ordering a slave to lie down in his bed and counterfeit sickness, he thus left his prison. Sambajee was entrusted to the care of an old Bramin, who conveyed him in safety to Rairi,290 where Sevajee soon joined them, after passing through Muttra, Benares, and Ghya.291 After this adventure he recovered all the forts he had lost, and acquired new possessions, particularly in the Kokun,292 or low country, between the ghaut and the sea, besides the ports of Dundra-Rajepoor, Sevendroog, and Coulaba.293 About 1668, we find Poonah mentioned as the residence of Sevajee, where he received his father Shahjee with great respect and affection, not even sitting

* The Bhamanee dynasty of Deckanee kings begins with Sultaun Alla O’Dien Houssem Kangoh Bhamanee, A. H. 748, A. D. 1347. Koolburga was new named by him Ahssunabad, and became his capital. The name Bhamanee is derived from Kangoh, a Bramin, who had been the benefactor of Alla O’Dien, and was the first Hindoo who became the minister of a Mussulman prince. A century had scarcely elapsed when the kingdom was embroiled in civil dissensions, and was finally split into five different monarchies, founded by the great officers of state. These were the Adil Shahee, established at Beejapoor, Nizam Shahee, at Ahmednuggur, Kuttoob Shahee, at Golconda, Bureed Shahee, at Bider, Ommaid Shahee, in part of Berar,

– – –

}

A. H. 895, A. D. 1489. A. H. 895, A. D. 1489. A. H. 918, A. D. 1512. About A. D. 1540.

All these monarchies were subdued by Aurengzebe, and most of their kings were either put to death or imprisoned for life by that conqueror.

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down in his presence; and where, in 1674, his coronation took place, and he first struck coins in his own name. Three or four years afterwards he made an incursion into the Carnatic,294 where his brother Ekojee295 had made himself an independent kingdom, passed near Madras, and took Ginjee;296 but on the whole his success was inconsiderable, though he carried off a great booty. Sevajee died at Rairi, A. D. 1680. His character is very striking. Born in an obscure station, he not only raised himself to the command of a powerful people, but he actually made the nation he governed; and although the Mogul arms were employed against him for nineteen years, he continued to advance his own projects, and ultimately succeeded. It must be confessed, that he employed treachery to forward many of his designs; but his enterprizes were always formed with sagacity, and executed with promptness and vigour. In modelling his government, he supposed the Mahratta state to be always at war, and the king at the head of his army; the affairs of the state were to be conducted by a Prudhee Nedhee, or viceroy, and eight Pradhans or counsellors, the first of which was the Peishwa; these ministers were to be chosen from all ranks of people, and removeable at will. Under Sambajee, the son and successor of Sevajee, the consequence of the Mahrattas continued to increase; the greater part of the Kokun was subdued, forts were built, and the Mahratta fleet sustained two or three naval engagements with the Siddees, then in the service of the Mogul. In the midst of this good fortune, Sambajee was surprised by the artifices of Aurengzebe, and murdered with tortures. He was succeeded by his brother Rama,297 during whose reign the Mahrattas maintained their character and conquests, although they met with some severe checks from the Mussulmans. On the death of Rama, Shahoo,298 the son of Sambajee, succeeded to the throne, and in his reign began the degradation of the house of Sevajee, and the rise of the power of the Peishwas. Cannojee Angria,299 a pirate, having made himself master of several sea-ports in the Kokun, Shahoo sent the Peishwa Balajee Wiswunaut300 to treat with, or to conquer him. He preferred the former, brought Angria to a peaceable agreement with the Mahratta court respecting his forts and ships; and, from his success in this negotiation, he became the chief director of the Mahratta affairs. Shahoo remained shut up in the fortress of Sitarrah,301 while Balajee held his court at Poonah, and by his victories obliged the Mogul ministers to consent to the payment of the chout or fourth, and the desmookhee or tenth of the produce of the Deckan to the Mahrattas. Balajee was succeeded in the Peishwaship by his son Bajee Rao Bulal,302 during whose government the families of Scindia and Holkar first distinguished themselves. In 1735, Bajee Rao Bulal was succeeded by his son Balajee Bajee Rao;303 and the same year his other son, Ragonaut Rao, with Mulhar Rao Holkar and Dulajee Scindiah,304 ravaged the whole of the Mogul empire, pillaging Dehli, Agra, and Lahore, overrunning Bengal and the Bundlecund, and seizing Berar and Orissa,305 while Gwyckwar,306 another Mahratta, took possession of Guzerat. Meantime the Rajah Shahoo died, and was succeeded in his prison of Sitarrah, A. D. 1749, by Rajah Ram Rajah,307 in whose reign the Mahrattas, not content with ravaging the northern provinces of India, descended from their 193

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mountains like torrents, and poured into the Carnatic and Mysore, under Ragonaut Rao, and his nephew Mhadoo Rao,308 who had succeeded his father Balajee Bajee Rao in the Peishwaship. It was against these chiefs that Hyder Naïk309 made his first campaigns, and perhaps the whole splendour of his military career is owing to their invasion of his country, which called forth the hitherto dormant energies of his mind. While the Peishwa’s army was engaged in the south, the Mahratta forces under Sadasho Bhow, Wiswas Rao, and Junkojee Scindiah, were defeated with incredible slaughter at Paniput,*,310 A. D. 1761, by Ahmed Shah,311 the Mogul general; and this defeat, together with the check the southern army met with from Hyder, seems to have given the death-blow to the Mahratta conquests. In 1772, Mhadoo Rao was succeeded by Narryn Rao,312 who was shortly afterwards murdered by his uncle Ragonaut Rao, commonly called Raghabhoy. The Mahratta chiefs refused obedience to a murderer, and a civil war ensued, when the English supported Raghabhoy, but ineffectually. Tukojee Holkar, and Mahajee Scindia,313 declared themselves independent, and the son of Narryn Rao was made Peishwa, but was shortly after accidentally killed. The present Peishwa is the son of Raghabhoy, whom the victories and intrigues of the English have placed on the Musnud,314 and have reduced to a state little more enviable than that of the prisoner Rajah at Sitarrah, who is the grandson of Sevajee.315 The Peishwa still keeps up the farce of going to Sitarrah to receive the insignia of his office from the hand of the Rajah, but is himself so completely under our dominion, that he pays a subsidy to maintain the three thousand troops which surround his capital and keep him a prisoner. Pointe de Galle, Island of Ceylon, Feb. 16, 1810.—Having been very unwell for some time,316 I was advised to take a short voyage for the recovery of my health. This is a remedy which seldom fails in this climate, and is found particularly useful in the intermittent fevers of the country. Accordingly, as some of our friends were sailing for England,317 we thought we could not do better than accompany them thus far on their passage. We came here in an eight hundred ton country-ship,318 where every thing is as new to me as if I had never been on board of a large vessel before. All the sailors are lascars, and the only Europeans are the captain, three officers, and the surgeon; the gunners and quarter-masters, of whom there are ten, are Indian Portuguese; they are called secunnies. The best lascars are Siddees, a tribe of Mahomedans, inhabitants of Gogo in Guzerat.319 They live chiefly on rice and salt fish, but occasionally they take tea, sugar, and fruit, as preventives or cures for the scurvy. The ship is built of teak-wood, which lasts much longer than oak; it does not shrink, so that little caulking is required; and it contains so much oil, that the iron bolts and nails driven into it do not rust; it is however inconveniently heavy. The masts are of poon,320 which, though lighter than the teak, is cumbrous compared with European timber. The rigging is of coier rope, which is made of the coco-nut husk, * Paniput is in 29° 23′ N. lat. and 76° 50′ E. long. and is 40 geographical miles from Delhi.

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steeped till the woody part decays, when the fibres are beaten, washed, and laid by hand, as they are too stiff to be spun. The coier rope is very strong, and does not shrink; fresh water rots it, so that the standing rigging is served over with waxcloth and hempen-yarn; but salt water preserves it, and coier cables are found to answer particularly well. Another kind of rope, brought from Manilla,321 is both softer and stronger; it is made from the long fibres of the stalk of a species of wild plantain. Hempen rope is also made in India, and canvas of excellent quality is manufactured in Bengal from the hemp* which grows plentifully all over Hindostan, but of which one-third is lost for want of proper management. We were seventeen days on the passage from Bombay to Pointe de Galle, during which time we had very fine weather, with land and sea breezes. In crossing the gulf of Manar, between Cape Comorin and Ceylon,322 we experienced the usual fresh winds, which blow in or out of the gulf according to the season. The appearance of the land about this place is beautiful; the hills and valleys, mountains and woods, with the projecting rocks about the road-stead, the old Dutch fort, and the shipping, make a most delightful landscape. We had scarcely anchored when we were surrounded by a number of little boats, containing vegetables, fruit, and bread. These boats are curiously constructed; a hollow tree forms the bottom, in the shape of a canoe; on each side of this a plank is sewed with coier thread, and the interstices are filled up with dammar;323 across the boat two poles are fixed, to one end of which, at the distance of twice the breadth of the boat, an outrigger is fastened to balance the boat, and to prevent its oversetting. On one of these poles the mast of bamboo is usually set up; an old mat, or a piece of coarse cotton, serves as a sail, and the rudder is an oar or paddle, sometimes tied to the boat, but oftener held by its master. The fishermen and boatmen of Ceylon are chiefly Mahomedans, called Moplahs, from the Malabar coast. Pointe de Galle is an old Dutch fort, very much out of repair, and not worth making better. It is very neatly kept, and has a cheerful air from the rows of trees planted on each side of the streets. There are not above six English families resident here, but at present a much greater number are collected, as the fleet assembles here for convoy,324 and to take in spices on the voyage home. I walked to the beach this morning, to see the last of the homeward-bound ships; two-and-twenty sail got under way at day-break, and many an anxious wish went with them. Many a mother had trusted her darling child to the waves, nay, much more, to the care

* “Cannabis sativa; in Hindui, Bhang and Ganja; in Sanscrit, Gunjica. Lamarck is of opinion, that the Indian Ganja is a different species of Cannabis from the Cannabis sativa, and names it ‘Cannabis Indica foliis alternis,’ (Encyc. Bot. I. 695). But Wildenow, after remarking that the European species has also alternate leaves, assures us, that, on comparing it with many specimens of the Indian plant, he could not perceive any difference between them. See Sp. Pl. IV. 763. Neither could Dr Roxburgh, on comparing plants raised from Europe hemp-seed with the Ganja plant, discover in the latter the slightest distinction, not even enough on which to found a variety.”—A Catalogue of Indian Medicinal Plants and Drugs, by JOHN FLEMING, M. D. Calcutta, 1810.

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of strangers, in the conviction that, depriving herself of the delight of watching over it, was to secure its permanent advantage. And many a fond husband, unable to accompany his wife, had sent her to breathe her native air, as the last resource to preserve a life so dear. Feb. 18.—We intended to have left Pointe de Galle yesterday, but were prevailed on to make an excursion to see a celebrated Bhudhist temple at Bellegam,325 about twenty miles south-east from this place. None but open carriages are used in Ceylon; we therefore went in bandies, in plain English gigs,326 to the village of Bellegam, where we breakfasted in the rest-house on the seashore. At every station round the island there are rest-houses for travellers under the care of the Modeliar, or head-man of the place, in which are tables and chairs, but beds and table-furniture are provided by the travellers. As we accompanied one of the principal servants of government, the Maha Modeliar, or overseer of all the headmen of the island, attended us, and provided our breakfast; the table was covered with costly plate, which I found was all his property. The rest-house was decorated with white and coloured calico tied up in roses, and coco-nut leaves split so as to form fringes and festoons; the pillars of the viranda were covered with palm leaves tied up in bunches, and a gateway at a little distance was dressed in the manner of a triumphal arch, with leaves and many-coloured flowers. After breakfast we walked to the temple, through some of the prettiest fields I have seen in India. A flight of rude stone steps leads to the building, which is low and mean, but near it are the ruins of an older and much handsomer structure. Opposite to the temple is a large solid conical building, supposed to cover the ashes of a Bhudhist saint, one of which ornaments the court of every temple to Bhud. Near it are two large trees, both sacred, one is the Peepil, a species of the banian, and the other bears large sweet-scented yellow flowers, something like a cistus.327 Within the temple is a recumbent figure of Bhud, twenty-eight feet long; his countenance is broad and placid, his hair is curled like that of a negro, and on the crown of his head is a flame-like ornament, such as I have seen in Montfaucon and Denon,328 on the heads of the Egyptian deities. The dress of the statue is like that of the priests of the temple, and, as well as the figure, is painted of a bright yellow colour, excepting a scarf which is red. Another Bhud is seated in a corner on a cobra-capella, coiled up as a seat, whose hood forms a canopy over his head. There is besides a gigantic four-handed statue of Vishnu, of a dark-blue colour, which appears to be of porcelain. The walls within the temple are covered with painted figures of Bhud, as they are called here, but which strongly resemble the Jine figures I have seen elsewhere; they are sitting with one leg over the knee of the other, and the fore-finger of the right hand applied to the thumb of the left, in the attitude of contemplation. The outer walls are painted with an immense number of figures, among which I noticed several exactly resembling one in Denon’s 40th plate, of a conqueror holding the hair of a number of enemies at once with one hand, while the other is raised, apparently with the design of cutting off all the heads. The priests were all either unable or 196

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unwilling to give any explanation of these pictures, which appear to refer to the history or the mythology of the island, or both. Among the Bhudhists there are no distinct castes; any man may obtain the honours of the priesthood who can read the common service of the temple, who has no bodily infirmity, who is strong enough to beg, and who will take a vow of celibacy; however, should he afterwards wish to marry, he is at liberty to do so on quitting the priesthood. These priests shave their heads entirely, and never cover them; they are clothed in yellow; the robe is very full, it is thrown over one shoulder, and leaves the other bare; they carry in their hands a small oval fan made of the leaf of the talipot, a species of palm. A spacious garden and some rice-fields belong to the temple, for the maintenance of the priests. The path from the temple to the garden crosses a shelving rock, on which there is an inscription, which neither the Maha Modeliar, who was with us, nor the priests, could read. The sacred books of the Bhudhists are in the Pahli language,329 which it is said has a great resemblance to the Sanscrit, Pracreat, and Pehlavi tongues. Formerly there was an annual importation of books and priests from Siam, the great seat of Bhudhism;330 but of late years the intercourse between that country and Ceylon has nearly ceased, and the priests are consequently become extremely ignorant in the Cingalese331 territory; nor is it probable that those of the Candian country332 are much more enlightened, for the king being of a Hindoo family, Bhudhism has ceased to be the religion of the court, and is therefore much neglected. The popular account of Bhudhism which follows, I regard with some distrust, as it reached me through the translations of some missionaries, who seem to have falsified, or at least exaggerated, some of the absurdities of that system, in order to obtain a stronger hold over the minds of their proselytes, very few of whom are learned enough to have recourse to their books in the originals for information, and therefore quietly acquiesce in the belief that Bhud and Satan are one and the same person; while their spiritual guides impress on their minds the sinfulness of worshipping the devil. Even the Maha Modeliar, who is a Dutch Protestant, though a man of sense,p is so possessed with this idea, that he would fain have dissuaded us from going into the temple, where there were only some devils, as he called the images of the gods. The Bhudhists are accused of absolutely denying the existence of a supreme being,333 and of looking to annihilation after death as supreme happiness; yet they have temples and a system of worship! They believe that there have been four Bhuds born in different ages and nations, to better the condition of mankind, by promulgating laws and destroying tyrants and oppressors. Having accomplished the benevolent end of their existence, they withdrew into woods and deserts, where they led lives of contemplation for thousands of years, and obtained command over millions of spirits who inhabit heaven and earth. The last Bhud is accounted the author of the sacred books, and of the present system of religion. He forbid the slaying of animals, either for food or sacrifice, and thus agrees in character with Bhud the ninth awatar of the Hindoo Vishnu.334 Like the Jines, the Bhudhists believe that, after death, the spirits of the virtuous 197

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will be raised through different degrees of happiness, with this difference, if my information be correct, that the Jines suppose individual existence to end by the absorption of the soul into the divine essence, while the Bhudhists believe in total annihilation as the consummation of felicity. About two miles from the temple of Bellegam there is a large fragment of rock, on which is sculptured a figure twelve feet high; he appears armed, and one hand is held up and one down, as is usually seen in the statues of Vishnu. The country people call it the Cotta Rajah,335 who it seems was a conqueror from the main-land of India, but whose adventures are so blended with magical wonders, that I cannot venture to repeat them.q An annual feast was formerly celebrated in honour of this figure, and in a small rock before it are holes, in which the Modeliar told me the people were wont to plant spears on that festival. Although the village people are sufficiently accustomed to the sight of English travellers, as the governor or some of the superior officers of government go round the island twice or thrice a-year to inspect both its military and civil concerns, we had a crowd round us wherever we moved. The general appearance of the Cingalese is coarser than that of the natives of Bombay and the adjacent coast, and they wear less clothing in general. The Maha Modeliar being the principal native, I shall describe his dress first. Although a Christian, he conforms to the custom of his ancestors in wearing a piece of chintz wrapped round him like a petticoat, but the rest of his dress is in the Portuguese form. His stock336 and waistcoat of fine white cotton, are buttoned with rubies; his coat is of fine English broad-cloth, the buttons of embossed silver, and the button-holes embroidered with the same. Across his shoulders hangs a rich gold lace sword-belt, fastened with a cluster of precious stones; the sword hilt and scabbard are chassed gold,337 and the eyes and tongues of the lions heads on the hilt are of rubies. The Modeliar’s hair is combed tight back from the face, and fastened in a knot behind; a square tortoiseshell comb ornaments the top of the head. The common people wear their hair dressed in the same manner, excepting that the women deck the knot behind with long pins of gold and silver set with precious stones. Neither sex wears any clothing above the waist, excepting when they become household servants to Europeans, when they put on a jacket; the clothing of the better sort descends to the heels, the common people are only covered to the knee. The Cingalese houses are better constructed than those of the same class of natives in Bombay, owing perhaps to the necessities of the climate, which is more damp and variable. I am unwilling to think the natives of any country naturally inferior to those of another, and I therefore endeavour to account to myself for the great moral disparity between Europeans and Asiatics, by supposing that the severities of the northern climate, and the difficulty of raising food, give a spur to industry and invention, to surmount the disadvantages of nature, and to procure property and comforts, which are valued in proportion to the difficulty with which they are attained. But no such incitements to exertion exist in this climate, and the mind sinks in proportion to the inactivity of the body. 198

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Schools for English, Dutch, and Cingalese, have been established in different parts of Ceylon. Those who are brought up in them are mostly baptized by the Dutch Protestant ministers, which opens to them small offices under government; hence they are becoming ambitious, and of course industrious. They build better houses, eat better food, and wear better clothes than their ancestors, and I am happy to find that their number is daily increasing. We returned to Pointe de Galle late in the evening, and I was again charmed with the country we passed through. The road lies along the sea-shore, through coco-nut woods, in which there is here and there an opening, where you discover fields and lakes, forests and mountains, melting away in the distance. It became dark before we reached home, when suddenly the wood seemed in a blaze; eighteen or twenty of the inhabitants of a village, concealed by the brushwood, ran out of their houses with bundles of lighted coco-nut leaves, and preceded us to the next hamlet, where they were relieved by others, and so on to Pointe de Galle. The effect of this illumination surpassed that of any I ever saw. Sometimes the straight tall trunks of the palm-trees, whose fan-like heads remained in shadow, seemed to represent a magnificent colonade; sometimes, where the creeping plants had entwined themselves round them, and hung in festoons from tree to tree, they appeared like some enchanted bower, dressed by fairy hands; while the graceful figures of the torchbearers, scarcely clothed, yet glittering with barbaric gold and pearl, with their joyous shouts, recalled to our imagination the triumphs of Bacchus.338 This evening I went to see a little colony of Chinese near the fort; they were brought here by the government as gardeners; for none of the Europeans who have possessed Ceylon have yet been able to raise vegetables in the island; the patience of the Chinese has however succeeded, and I saw not only esculent339 vegetables of every kind, but thriving sugar-canes under their management. The gardeners have built themselves very neat houses in the garden. At each end of the principal room in every house there is a high table, over which is hung a tablet containing Chinese characters; I am told that these are the names of the forefathers of the families; and before each tablet a lamp was burning. The rest of the furniture consisted of cane couches or beds, and pieces of carpet for covers, which are folded up in the day-time. At every door there were two or three chairs, and a low table with tea-pots and cups upon it. The dress and air of the Chinese is so exactly what we see on every China cup and dish, that it is needless to describe them. Columbo,340 Feb. 28, 1810.—I am writing in a bungalo lent us by a friend, on the margin of the beautiful lake of Columbo. It is divided into basons by projecting points, and interspersed with islands; its banks are dotted with villas, and fringed with as great a variety of trees as you see in England; it is only where, on some steep bank, the slender betel lifts its graceful trunk, that we are reminded of being in the East Indies. We left Pointe de Galle on the nineteenth. Our party consisted of ourselves and three friends, one of whom we accompanied from Bombay, and the other two, Mr and Mrs—–,341 are inhabitants of Columbo, upon whom the Maha Modeliar always attends on their journeys; and the whole road from Pointe de Galle to Columbo was 199

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decorated in the same manner as the rest-houses. The dressing the road for persons of consequence in the government, is a tribute from the fishermen of this coast, and so is the providing lights at night in the manner described in coming from Bellegam. Under the Dutch government,342 the inhabitants of the villages were required to furnish provisions, and koolis to carry both the palankeens and baggage of travellers without hire; but the English pay punctually for every thing of this kind. The dressing the road and rest-houses, as it is seldom required, and is performed chiefly by the women and children, is no heavy burden, and is merely exacted as a mark of respect to the officers of government. Our first stage was from Pointe de Galle to Heccadua, a considerable village, near which there is a broad river, which we crossed on a stage erected on three small boats, with a canopy of white cotton ornamented with leaves and flowers. We spent the heat of the day under the shade of the young coco-nut wood on the beach at Heccadua. In the afternoon we proceeded to Ambolamgodda, and stopped about half a mile from it to look at a magnificent lake, formed by a large river which descends from the Candian country. The Candians frequently come down this river to barter betel-nut, rice, and precious stones, for salt and some other necessaries,—a traffic that no jealousy of their government can prevent, for, as the English possess the whole of the coast of Ceylon, they have no salt but what they obtain in this manner. There is a long wooden bridge over the stream between the lake and the sea, on which we were met by all the dancing men and musical instruments of the village, to which they conducted us dancing and playing before us all the way. At the entrance of Ambolamgodda we found what I suppose is the militia of the place drawn up to receive us. Three or four old bayonets stuck upon sticks, as many old bearspears, old pikes, and weapons without names, composed the ragged armour of the ragged crew; and a Madras bed-cover, fluttering on a pole, served for a standard. At the head of this band marched the village Modeliar, who led us to the rest-house, where, after dressing ourselves, we sat down to an excellent dinner of the fish of the coast, part of a wild hog, of which there are great numbers in the island, and other good things; but as I do not mean to record our daily bill of fare, I shall mention at once all the provisions that may be had without going out of Ceylon. The coast abounds with a variety of good fish; domestic quadrupeds require feeding at great expense, owing to the scarcity of fodder, but the poultry is excellent, and the woods occasionally furnish wild hogs, venison, and jungle fowl, besides wild ducks and teal. The fruits are the best I have seen in India of their kind; they are, the pine-apple, the pamplemousse or shaddock, the plantain, and the orange. The coco-nuts are remarkably good, particularly a large kind of a golden colour, called the Rajah’s coco-nut. The common people eat great quantities of the Jack-fruit, which they slice and curry while unripe; I, of course, prefer them ripe, but they require to be nicely prepared and steeped in salt water, for the eatable part, when ripe, is bedded in a slimy substance, the smell of which is intolerable. The bread here is extremely good, and the butter made in private houses is only inferior to that in England. The supply of vegetables is very scanty; potatoes and onions are imported from Bombay; and sometimes, but very rarely, cabbage and peas are brought from Bengal. 200

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When I went to my room at night, I found a lamp, of probably a more ancient form than any antique; a solid lump of wood, with a long stick inserted into it, supported half a coco-nut shell, which contained the oil and the wick. The hand of art only was wanting to convert this rude lamp into an elegant piece of furniture; for the log was an unplaned piece of ebony, the stick a fresh bamboo, and the shell itself, whose form as a lamp is beautiful, takes a fine polish. The next morning after breakfast we went to Cossgodda, a small village, the only stage where we were not on the sea-shore. As we went through the wood, I saw one of the large baboons, called here Wanderows, on the top of a coco-nut tree, where he was gathering nuts, with which he run along the tops of the trees with surprising agility. I at first took him for a man, but I discovered my mistake when he peeped at my palankeen through the leaves, by the large grey ruff he has round his face. From Cossgodda we proceeded to Bentot, where there are the remains of a Dutch fort and town. It is on the side of a very beautiful river, which we crossed in the same manner as we did that near Heccadua. Before breakfast the next morning, Captain—343 and I walked round the neighbouring fields, and were delighted with the beauty of the scenery. There is a little promontory jutting out into the sea, covered with flowers and shrubs, and charmingly shaded; there we sat and watched two small vessels as they sailed at a distance, while the murmurs of the ocean were but now and then hushed enough to allow us to hear the songs of the fishermen on the beach. I cannot sometimes help comparing the different ways in which the same objects affect minds accustomed to different trains of association. The low rocks on the shore, which cause a continual boiling of the water round them, and the stupendous clouds that roll over the main, changing its hue to every various tint as they roll, I have always admired as among the most interesting circumstances of a seaview; but my companion, though fully sensible of their beauty, feels at the sight of these objects the secret horror that the forerunners of storms and shipwrecks are calculated to inspire. We left Bentot after breakfast, and arrived at Barbareen about two o’clock, where we found that the provident Modeliar had erected a beautiful rest-house for us, and had prepared an excellent collation. There is a bold projecting rock, nearly insulated, on the top of which is a Mussulman saint’s tomb,—a mean little building, overshadowed by four or five coco-nut trees; here the Modeliar had built our bungalo of bamboos, covered with cotton cloth, and decorated with leaves, flowers, and bunches of coco-nuts by way of capitals to the pillars; and across the chasm which separates it from the village, a temporary bridge was thrown, covered with cotton, and decorated like the bungalo. At the foot of the promontory the fishermen sometimes lay up their boats and spread their nets; and the whole scene was so picturesque that I made a sketch of it, after which I joined the party in the rest-house, and enjoyed the freshness of the breeze, which ruffled the open sea, but left the inner bay smooth and clear as a mirror. Barbareen is a Mussulman village, and the Modeliar is also a Mussulman; the inhabitants are chiefly artizans, who work in all kinds of metals; we saw several 201

Published by A Constable & Co. Edinburgh. July 1 1812.

Temporary Bridge & Bungalo at Barbareen

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swords and dirks, with their scabbards, of very good workmanship. The next stage to Barbareen is Caltura, where there is an old Dutch fort, commanding a most beautiful view. A broad river flows from the eastern forests, which extend almost as far as the eye can reach, where they are lost, together with the distant mountains, in the horizon. Westward the river empties itself into the ocean, amidst rocks and groves, where the fishermen shelter their boats and build their huts. As I was attempting to sketch the scene, a violent storm of rain, thunder, and lightning came on, with all the grand circumstances peculiar to tropical climates, and forced us to take shelter in the rest-house, where we remained till the next morning, when we crossed the river before day-break. First our palankeens and servants went over in two or three small boats lashed together, and with them a number of people carrying lights; then all the village musicians in separate boats, having also their lights; and lastly our boat, dressed with white cotton, flowers, and leaves, and illuminated with the dried coco-nut leaves. I really never saw so gay a scene; and it was with no small regret that I reached the opposite shore, to shut myself up in my palankeen, and to listen to the monotonous song of my palankeen-bearers. After breakfasting in a small bungalo on the sea-shore, we reached our friend’s house on the lake of Columbo, about two o’clock, and were well pleased to find ourselves settled quietly in a comfortable bungalo, after spending so long a time in wandering, the last four days of which were passed either in travelling in a palankeen, or in a rest-house preparing for it. The distance from Pointe de Galle to Columbo is only seventy-two miles, and might be accomplished in little more than twenty-four hours; but it is fatiguing to travel so fast, and is attended with considerable expense, as in that case you must have more than double the number of bearers for your palankeen. March 1.—We have now been at Columbo some days; and I am so delighted with the place, and with the English society here, that if I could choose my place of residence for the rest of the time of my absence from England, it should be Columbo. We generally drive out before breakfast in a bandy, and go sometimes through the fort, which is extremely pretty. It is immediately between the sea and the lake, and only joined to the main-land by a causeway on each side of the water; and sometimes we go through the cinnamon gardens, which lie at the opposite end of the lake. The cinnamon is naturally a tall shrub, or rather tree, but it is kept low in the gardens for the sake of the young bark, which is gathered at two different seasons, though the same plants are not cut every season. When the sticks are cut, the bark is taken off with a little instrument, which peels the whole at once; it is then laid in the sun to dry, when it rolls of itself in the manner in which we see it in the shops. Great nicety is required in laying together a sufficient number of pieces for one roll, and in sorting the different qualities, the finest spice being always at the extremity of the branch. The soil in the gardens is fine white sand. Besides the cinnamon, I saw there the cashew-nut, two kinds of datura,344 the ixora,345 and a variety of plants with the names and properties of which I am not acquainted. 203

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A few days ago we joined a large party in an excursion to the governor’s country-house, Mount Lavinia.346 It is a charming residence; it literally overhangs the sea, and has all the beauty that hill and valley, wood and rocks, with a beautiful beach and a fine open sea, can give. The interior, though not large, is very pleasant; a long gallery looks towards the sea; the rooms on the other side command some pretty hills, the sides of which form fine lawns; and in the valley are palm-trees, which hide all the farm-offices, and afford shelter to a collection of animals of the deer and elk kind,347 from the interior of the island, and from the opposite coast of India. Feeding by himself, we remarked an animal not less beautiful than terrible, the wild bull, whose milk-white hide is adorned with a black flowing mane. Here I saw specimens of several beautiful kinds of wood in the furniture of the house. The jack-wood,348 which, at first yellow, becomes on exposure to the air of the colour of mahogany, and is of as fine a grain; the toon, or country mahogany,349 which comes from Bengal; the ebony, whose black vies with the native jet of the island; the satin-wood,350 with its silky lustre; the calaminda,351 whose dark and light veins alternately shew each other to the greatest advantage; and some others of more ordinary appearance, and in more common use. March 9.—We have been highly gratified by an excursion to Negumbo, whence we went into the jungle to see the manner of taking elephants. We left Columbo early on the sixth; and after breakfasting in a pretty bungalo on the way, we reached Negumbo to dinner, where we were joined by the collector of the district, a learned and ingenious man,352 and Mr Daniel the painter,353 whose printed views of Ceylon you must have seen. Negumbo has a ruinous fort situated on the sea-shore near a small lake. Like most of the old towns in Ceylon, it is very picturesque, being interspersed with trees and fruit-gardens. We slept in the rest-house; and next morning early we set off for the elephant craal, or trap,354 which is sixteen miles from Negumbo, and within half a mile of the Candian frontier. The first eight miles the bandies conveyed us over very good roads; but the marshy ground we had to pass afterwards, obliged us to get into our palankeens, which had been sent on to await us near a talipot tree we wished to see. The talipot355 is a species of palm like the palmyra, when not in blossom; but when it is crowned with its flower, it is the most magnificent of vegetables. From the centre of its bushy head rises a stem of twelve or fifteen feet, which puts out on every side a number of small branches, covered with a delicate straw-coloured flower, having the appearance of one grand blossom on the top of the tall palm, whose graceful stem, like a pillar crowned with fan-like leaves, form the most beautiful support for its elegant superstructure. When we reached the craal it was near ten o’clock, and we found the collector and Mr Daniel awaiting us in the breakfast bungalo, where the attention of the former had literally spread a feast in the wilderness. The craal is in the shape of a funnel, the wide part of which extends several hundred feet into the forest, leaving the trees within standing. It is composed of strong posts made of whole trunks of trees driven well into the ground, and lashed to others, placed horizontally, with 204

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strong coier ropes. To defend this wall from the fury of the elephants, small fires are lighted near it on the outside, which intimidate the animals so that they do not approach it. The trap is divided into three parts, the outer one of which is only inclosed on three sides, and communicates with the next by a gate made of strong poles, fastened together by ropes so as to permit it to roll up. When the elephants are once driven into the outer chamber, they are prevented from retreating by men stationed at the entrance with different kinds of weapons, but chiefly sticks, on the ends of which are bundles of lighted straw. When a sufficient number are thus collected in the outer inclosure, the hunters close in upon them, and drive them by their shouts and weapons into the second chamber, the gate of which is immediately let down, and they are there confined till it is convenient to take them out. When every thing is prepared for that purpose, the animals are driven into the third and last inclosure, which is also the smallest. One end of it terminates in a long passage, just wide enough for a single beast; and the moment one of them enters it, the hunters thrust strong poles through the interstices in the walls of the craal, and close him in so that he cannot move backwards or forwards. Two tame elephants are then stationed one at each side of the outlet, and putting in their trunks, they hold that of their wild brother till the hunters have passed several bands of rope round his neck, and fastened nooses to each of his feet. A rope is then passed through his neck bands and those of the tame animals; the stakes in front are gradually removed; the ropes drawn tighter; and the prisoner is led out between his two guards, who press him with their whole weight, and thus lead him to the tree or the stake where he is to be fastened. If he be refractory, they beat him with their trunks till he submits; he is sometimes tied by one leg, sometimes by two; if he be very strong and furious, he is fastened by the neck and by all his limbs. I never saw grief and indignation so passionately expressed as by one of these creatures; he groaned, tried to tear his legs from their fetters, buried his trunk in the earth, and threw dust into the air. Not even the choicest food, the plantain tree, or the leaf of the young palm, could tempt him to eat or to forget his captivity for several hours. It sometimes happens that they starve themselves to death; but a few days generally suffices to calm their fury, and their education is immediately begun. The elephants here are used for drawing timber out of the jungle, and for other public works; but the greater number of those caught in Ceylon are sold to the continent of India. The elephant-keepers teach their beasts a number of tricks, such as walking upon two legs, taking up people with their trunks, tearing up trees, and picking pins or small coins out of the sand. Yet, tame as they are, they are extremely sensible to injuries. One of those we saw, though habitually gentle and obedient, formerly killed a keeper who had been cruel to him. The number and variety of stories concerning the sagacity of the elephant told by those most in the habit of seeing and observing that animal, if they do not prove the truth of each anecdote, are yet strongly presumptive of his wisdom and docility. I was told by a gentleman, that, not long ago, a considerable body of troops had to cross the Kistna,356 then much swoln by the rains, in doing which, one of the artillery-men 205

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who was mounted on a gun fell off in the middle of the stream, immediately before the wheel of the gun-carriage; his comrades gave him up for lost; but an elephant attending on the artillery had seen him fall, and putting his trunk to the wheel, raised it so as to prevent its crushing the man, and then lifted him out of the water unhurt. After seeing the process of taking the elephants we walked about the jungle till our palankeen boys were sufficiently rested to carry us back to Negumbo, and amused ourselves with the gambols of swarms of red monkeys that were playing in the trees over our heads, and who seemed highly delighted with their unusual company. I saw in the forest innumerable trees and plants which were new to me, among which I was delighted to find the pitcher-plant, Nepenthes distillatoria, or, as it is here called, the monkey-cup. It creeps along the ground, and is mostly found in sandy soils; the flower grows in a spike, and is as little attractive in its appearance as the common dock. The horn or cup grows at the end of the leaf, from which it is separated by a tendril of five or six inches long; it contains, when full, about two gills of water357 of an excellent pure taste: whether it is dew, or a secretion from the plant, I do not know. A circular cover to the cup flies open when it is nearly at its full growth, and shuts again when it is filled with water. The country people say that, when the monkeys are in want of water, they seek for this plant and drink its contents. I imagine this to be the plant which Campbell, on the authority of Chateaubriant, introduces in his charming poem of Gertrude, as the “lotus-horn;”358 but it has no resemblance either to the sacred lotus of the east, or to the numerous tribe of lotuses whose flowers are papilionaceous.359 All the kinds of cane, from the lofty bamboo to the creeping ratan, adorn these forests; the pepper twines round every tree; and the thick underwood is composed of flowering shrubs and gaudy parasite and creeping plants. As we were walking about, we found that the ground was covered with leeches, which stuck to the bare legs of the natives, and which we only kept off by great caution. Unless you choose to submit to a regular bleeding when they have once fastened themselves, you run the risk of getting disagreeable sores in taking them off. They are striped brown and yellow, and have a very wide mouth; they answer the same purposes as the common leeches in England.360 The moment our palankeens were ready we began our journey to Negumbo, fearing that we should scarcely get through the jungle before sunset, the night air in the woods occasioning intermittent fevers. We however left Mr Daniel at the craal, where he intended to stay some time in search of subjects for his pencil. To defend himself from the bad effects of his sylvan life, he smokes, and lights great fires within and without his tent. On our road I saw the curious spectacle of an extensive burned forest. Many of the massy trunks had fallen down, and, by stopping the water from running off after the rains, had formed little swamps, where aquatic plants and moss had begun to grow, but the greater part were erect, bare, and bleached, with here and there a creeping plant beginning to grace their barrenness with a foreign verdure. We returned yesterday to Columbo, and find with regret that we must leave it on our return to Bombay to-morrow. The coast of Ceylon is generally extremely 206

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healthy, but none of our troops have been able to stand the noxious effects of a campaign in the jungle. The natives are subject to leprosy and other cutaneous diseases, and I saw many persons afflicted with the Cochin leg or Elephantiasis; the patients walk about apparently without pain for several years, with their legs swoln to the size of their bodies, and the skin stretched and shining; but they often die in great agony at last. The Cingalese are ingenious workmen in gold and silver; their more useful manufactures are, hemp and coier rope, coarse cotton cloths for domestic consumption, ratan mats and baskets, and cane-work of all kinds. The products of the island, besides timber, elephants, and cinnamon, are hemp, coier, coco-nuts, arrack, precious stones, pearls, and drugs; among which are, Columbo-root,361 gamboge,362 and the Datura fastuosa,363 which the natives use as a cure for the spasmodic asthma, by cutting the root in small pieces, and smoking it like tobacco; the Datura metel,364 which is most plentiful about Columbo, is said to possess the same qualities. On board the I I. C. Cruiser,365 Prince of Wales, March 12, off the Malabar Coast.—As this is the season when the land and sea breezes become less constant, previous to the setting in of the northerly winds, we are creeping slowly along the coast, and so close to it that we see perfectly well the situation of every place as we pass. Cape Comorin, and the islands in its neighbourhood, make, from sea, like a high rocky point, and from thence the mountains rise as we advance towards the north. In some places they are so near the shore, that they literally seem to overhang it; in others they recede a few miles, leaving space for towns, villages, and fields. They are almost clothed to the top with “majestic woods of every vigorous green;”366 and it is only here and there that a wide tract of jungle-grass, or a projecting rock, interrupts the deep hue of these ancient forests. At the foot of the ghauts, the white churches of the Christians of St John’s367 and of the Portuguese, appear now and then among the coco-nut woods which fringe the coast, and mix agreeably with the fishermen’s huts, the native pagodas, and the ruined forts of decayed European settlements. The night scenery is not less beautiful; it is the custom to burn the jungle-grass before the rains, in order to fertilize the soil; and though the smoke only is visible in the day, at night you see miles of country glowing with red embers, or blazing with vivid flame. March 18.—Our breezes continue to decrease, and we are consequently obliged to economise our books, that we may make them last till our arrival at Bombay. Our cabin being small and close, we have screens on deck where we spend the day. Our breakfast hour is nine o’clock, after which some one of the party reads aloud till twelve, when we play an hour at whist or backgammon. I then study till half past two, when we dress for dinner. The evening is spent in reading and walking as much as the short quarter-deck of our vessel will allow, and after sunset in conversation. Yesterday our captain, an old seaman, who has been many years in the Company’s service, and who has been in every port from the Bocca Tigris in China368 to the extremities of the Red Sea, was giving us an account of some 207

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Indian government expedition, and, endeavouring to fix the date, he said, “Aye, that must have been when we lay in the river.” I, thinking naturally of the Thames, exclaimed, ‘I thought you were then in India.’—“Well, so I was.”—‘What river do you mean, then?’—“Why, the Tigris, Bussora river,369 to be sure.” Now, to hear “far Tigris and Balsorah’s haven,”370 spoken of with such familiarity by such a man, so completely disenchanted them, and took off the kind of religious respect one acquires for places far off, especially when consecrated by history or fable, that I felt as if the places themselves had been annihilated when the illusions connected with them were destroyed. I should be curious to try if places immortalised by heroic deeds, and the abode of science and philosophy, could thus become uninteresting by a nearer inspection; whether, when the erugo371 is brushed from the medal, it becomes a common shilling. Surely the plains of Marathon, the Portico and Academy, Pireus and Salamis,372 could not, on the most intimate acquaintance with their present state and their modern inhabitants, degenerate into common fields, schools, and fishing-towns! But I forget that I am only familiarized with places famed in oriental story, celebrated indeed for conquests and for magnificence, for luxury and for superstition, but not illustrated by virtue or by patriotism. The sacredness of the shades with which the imagination so readily peoples the banks of the Tiber and the Ilyssus,373 must surely preserve the holiness of their aspect uncontaminated by modern associations, and leave the soul at liberty to follow the visions of heroism, of virtue, of philosophy, which the scenes once inhabited by heroes and sages are calculated to excite. March 20, off Calicut.374—We spent the afternoon of yesterday ashore at Calicut, where we busied our imaginations, endeavouring to trace the scenes of the first landing of Europeans in India, the meeting of the Zamorim and Vasco de Gama,375 the treachery of the prince, and the bravery and presence of mind of the admiral; but the place has passed so often through the hands of conquerors, that every trace of former grandeur and importance is swept away. About four miles north of Calicut is a creek, where some have conjectured that the town of Calicut formerly stood, and where the Portuguese fleet must have lain during the monsoon. There are a few heaps of stones and old walls near the spot; but if it be really the scite of old Calicut, the creek must have been much deeper than it now is, before it could have admitted even one of the ships. We had no time to visit any thing but the town, as it now stands. In its neighbourhood there are the remains of extensive brick walls, and an old gateway, now overgrown with shrubs. The bazar is extensive, but looks ruinous, owing to the precaution taken here against fire, which is, to uncover all the houses during the dry season, so that nothing but the rafters are left. This custom must frequently expose the inhabitants to great inconvenience, as storms frequently come down with violence from the mountains, as was the case the night we were ashore. About eight o’clock, tremendous thunder and lightning came on, with a deluge of rain which lasted the whole night, and from which not one of the natives had a shelter for himself or his children. 208

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The next morning we walked a few miles into the country to see an English gentleman’s house, situated in the bosom of the ghauts. We wandered “Through palmy shades and aromatic woods, That grace the plains, invest the peopled hills, And up the more than Alpine mountains wave.”376 On our way we saw one of the Zamorim’s houses; but he was absent at a more favoured residence at Paniany, a few miles to the south of Calicut, where there is a river sufficiently large, during the rains, to float the timber from the mountain-forests to the sea-shore, and where, in consequence, the government timbervessels are stationed. Near Calicut we saw the walls of a Nyar’s house.377 These people were the nobles of Malabar, whose brave and turbulent spirit gave so much trouble, not only to the first Portuguese settlers, but to their own sovereigns. Each Nyar’s house was a castle surrounded by a bank or wall, and all ingress and egress was by a ladder, drawn up when not in immediate use. But the spirit of the Nyars is broken; and though the wall is still built round the habitation, the ladder is left standing day and night, and of their former fame nothing remains but the reputed beauty of their women. In our walk we only saw two pagodas, and these are in ruins; worship is however performed in the only remaining apartment of one of them, which is covered with cadjan. These ruins are monuments of Hyder and Tippoo Sultan,378 the latter of whom caused beef broth to be poured down the throats of several thousand Bramins of this coast, who thus lost their caste, and all the possessions they enjoyed as ministers of the gods,—an involuntary loss of caste being attended with the same fatal consequences as if it were incurred by the commission of a crime. A number of these poor creatures were starved to death, and many put an end to an existence, rendered miserable by the privation of their privileges and dignities. May 4.—After passing slowly by Telichery, the Anjedive islands, and the picturesque point of Cape Ramas, we came in sight of the fortress of Aguada,379 at the entrance of the harbour of Goa, and I entertained hopes of landing the next morning to see the old city, with its marble churches and magnificent monasteries, and to pay my respects to the tomb of St Francis Xavier;380 but a contrary breeze sprung up in the night, and blew us far from the shore, so that I was obliged to reconcile myself to the disappointment, by reflecting on the present misery of that once flourishing colony, which would have embittered any pleasure I could hope for in admiring its exterior beauties. The old town is so unhealthy that a new one has been built at some distance, and the unpeopled streets of the ancient city echo only to the unfrequent tread of some religious procession. The colony is almost abandoned by the mother-country,381 and its inhabitants scarcely speak their native tongue intelligibly. Their poverty is such, that the women of the best families earn their subsistence by making lace, or artificial flowers, and working muslin. 209

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We are now within sight of the light-house of Bombay, a handsome building on a point of land running south-west from the island, called Colaba, or Old Woman’s Island; the passage between it and Bombay is fordable at low water. To the south of the harbour’s mouth are the two small islands of Henery and Kenery:382 the anchoring ground is between Butcher’s Island and Bombay fort; but there is a fine bay above Elephanta, where the Portuguese used to lay up their fleet during the monsoon, and which is nearly land-locked. Bhandoop, Island of Salsette,383 May 20, 1810.—I am glad to find myself in a quiet country residence, free from the noise and the clouds of dust of Bombay. I cannot better describe the country of Salsette than by the following extract of a letter from the friend with whom I am now living;384 it was written during the rainy season, so that some of the finest features are now deficient. “The hills were already covered with verdure, except near the tops, which, still black and bare, exhibited a striking and agreeable contrast. The torrents were rapid and large, and their roaring, as they fell down the sides of the precipices at a great distance, mixed with the rustling of the palms, was grand, and gave me a clearer idea of the circumstances of a mountainous country than I ever had before. The travelling home through the more cultivated part of Salsette, the green and exquisitely beautiful paysage,385 transported me in imagination to happier countries. In one situation, an old bridge of seven arches, constructed by the Portuguese, and appearing in an oblique direction across the landscape, with a ruined tower in its neighbourhood, a fine rapid stream passing under it, the most luxuriant tamarind and mango trees hanging over its extremities, and bandaries driving their cattle in the fore-ground, recalled to my mind the pictures of Claude Lorraine.”386 Bhandoop is about twenty miles from Bombay, and six from Tannah, the capital of Salsette. The country round it is beautiful; but I scarcely walk out without seeing some traces of the devastations caused by war, and perpetuated by a narrow policy.387 It is grievous to see whole tracts, once cultivated by the Portuguese, utterly abandoned, and covered with jungle. On the sides of many of the hills may be traced terraces one above another, raised to facilitate cultivation, now gone to ruin, and the vines they supported run wild; and though the fruit forms, it never comes to maturity. Salsette now scarcely produces a hundredth part of what it might supply, and it is in proportion thinly inhabited. I have heard several native merchants in Bombay say, that if the government would let the uncultivated lands at such a rent as might not be grievous to the occupier, while bringing it into cultivation, or even if the taxes were subject to the same regulations as in Bombay, they would be glad to farm large portions of the island; but that at present, Salsette being subject to the method of taxation used by the Mahrattas, and the anxiety of the government to get a high present rent for its farms, blinding it to the future advantages to be derived from the encouragement of husbandry, the rents are so excessive that they are afraid to undertake any improvements of the soil. 210

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My friend Mr A.388 inherited a considerable estate in Salsette, which he lets to native cultivators on easy terms, and is at the expense of making wells, absolutely necessary for all kinds of crops, as the ground requires constant irrigation, and many kinds of grain must be flooded for some weeks, leaving several inches of water upon the surface. The lands are thus easily brought into cultivation; and Mr A.’s tenants find an immediate market at his distillery of Bhandoop, where an immense quantity of spirits of different kinds is made. Besides the sugar-cane and rice, the immediate produce of Salsette, dates from Arabia, and other fruits, with tary of every kind of palm-tree, are used in the distillery. The work is usually stopped in the hot season, as the evaporation takes place so slowly at that time, that the operation is carried on at great loss. I found the overseer, a sensible Chinese, busy at the door of the distillery writing his daily accounts, which he first calculated, with astonishing quickness, by means of a square frame, crossed by wires, on which are strung moveable balls. His writing materials are the common Indian or Chinese ink, which we use for drawing, and fine hair pencils. The Chinese paper is extremely brittle, and the best is composed of two or more sheets pasted together, pressed and glazed. On the overseer’s table stood a tea-pot and cup, with cold strong tea, and he shewed me a packet of clothes and eatable delicacies he had just received from Canton;389 the former consisted only of loose trowsers, long jackets, and shoes of various stuffs. As the weather grows warmer or colder, a Chinese increases or diminishes the number of his coats, so that I have seen them sometimes with only one, and sometimes with nine or ten. The eatables consisted of dried sharks fins, birds nests, and a variety of gelatinous sea-weeds, none of which appeared at all inviting. But as I wish to remark all that is uncommon in my travels, I must not omit the character of my hostess, if indeed I can do justice to it. I have seen women in India pretend that, on account of the climate, they were too sickly to nurse their own children, too weak to walk in their own gardens, too delicate to approach a native hut, lest they should be shocked by the sight of poverty or sickness. But Mrs A.390 with the face and the heart of an angel, is received like one by the poor and the wretched. I have followed her in admiration through a village where her appearance made every face to smile. She is blessed alike by the old and the young; she knows all their wants, and listens to all their complaints. There is no medical man within many miles, and I have seen her lovely hands binding up wounds which would have sickened an ordinary beholder. The work of charity over, she enjoys a walk amidst these beautiful scenes with all the gaiety natural to her age. She says, “Qui fait aimer les champs, fait aimer la vertu;”391 and one of her chief pleasures lies in the contemplation of the beauties of nature. Her family consists of the daughter of a friend, whom she instructs with the diligence of a mother, a little black boy whom she rescued from famine, and whom she is bringing up as a mechanic,392 and her own two infants. Mrs A.’s accomplishments are above those of most women. Her drawing is that of an artist, and her delineations of the costume of the natives are beautiful; her judgment in music is exquisite, and her taste correct in both ancient and modern literature. Her language is pure and elegant; 211

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her voice in speaking is charming, and her manner is gentle and unembarrassed. She puts me in mind of those gems which bear the highest relief and the deepest intaglio, and that yet take the brightest polish. Would that there were a few more such European women in the East, to redeem the character of our country-women, and to shew the Hindoos what English Christian women are. Toulsi,393 May 24, 1810.—I came here yesterday with Dr and Mrs S.394 who are encamped near the village of Toulsi, for the convenience of visiting the caves of Canary,395 which were about two miles off. Mrs S. is a very pretty and highly accomplished woman, who has travelled a good deal in India, and possesses a considerable share of information on most subjects relating to this country. The landscape all around us is grandly wild, and increases in boldness on approaching the caverns, where we went yesterday. The first that we came to resembles that of Carli in the interior, but it does not appear to have been so highly finished. Besides, the Portuguese having formerly fitted it up as a church, thought it no doubt incumbent on them to deface the most pagan looking parts. The fine teak ribs for supporting the roof, are almost all gone; but the holes in the rock for receiving them, still mark where they have been. The portico is not near so fine as that at Carli; but there are some not inelegant figures. On the two sides are two gigantic statues of twenty-five feet high, standing erect, with their hands hanging close to the body, and the heels close together. They resemble extremely the figures of Bhud I saw in Ceylon, only that, instead of the flame-like ornament on the top of his head, there is a cushion of the same curly appearance with the rest of the hair. The rough screen in front of the cave is like that of Carli, but is in better preservation; before it are two pillars attached to the rock, one finished with a capital of grotesque figures, and the other plain. About fourteen paces from the screen are the remains of a low highly ornamented rocky fence. On each side of the great cave there are smaller ones, apparently unfinished. That on the right hand is occupied by one of the solid temples I mentioned, as occupying the circular end of the Carli cave; and there is also one in the same situation in the great cave here. Leaving this groupe of caves, we ascended the hill by a very rude396 path, which leads to steps cut in the rock; and found not a few caves, as I expected, but a whole city excavated in the mountain, which is perfectly bare, but surrounded by woody hills. Some of the caves are small, and seem adapted for private dwellings; to each of these there is a reservoir of excellent water; others are large, and I could imagine them the residence of priests or persons of distinction. One in particular has a long viranda in front; the chamber within is about forty feet square, its sides are covered with figures of Jine saints, four of which are standing, the others sitting in the posture of meditation, or reasoning, with the fore-finger of the right hand applied to the thumb of the left. Narrow door-ways in three sides of the cave lead to cells of ten feet by six, in each of which there is a raised seat; the fourth side has one door, and several windows looking into the viranda. The small caves are in a variety of shapes, and the pillars that support them are not less various; yet I think none of them are ugly, and many are very elegant, The large square cave is in a ravine, where there are shrubs and trees; over it the stones dug from other 212

Pub by A. Constable & Co. Edinburgh June 1 1812.

Entrance to the Great Cave at Henary

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caves are piled, so as to support earth, where a few trees flourish, and render the spot cooler than any other part of this subterraneous city; for, excepting here, there is no vegetation but now and then an euphorbia, which seems to root in the stone itself. The top of the mountain commands a fine prospect over woods and mountains, and arms of the sea, to the continent of India on the one hand, and to the ocean on the other. Here are reservoirs of excellent water, and baths dug in the rock, the access to which, as well as the communication between the caves, is facilitated by flights of steps cut in the mountain. The caves of Canary, like that of Carli, contain inscriptions in an unknown character. At Ambola,397 a mountain at the west end of Salsette, there are some caverns of the same appearance as that of Elephanta, and decorated, like it, with figures referable to the Brahminical superstitions; but I fear I shall not have time to visit them this year. Bhandoop, May 28–I left Toulsi the day after our expedition to the caves, in time to reach Bhandoop by day-light, as the tigers in the hills are so numerous as to render travelling after sunset very dangerous. The following afternoon an additional party of friends arrived from Bombay, and I accompanied them to Caliane. We slept at Doncala, a country house belonging to the judge of the district, and the next morning we got into a pleasure-boat at Tannah398 to proceed to Caliane. The river, or rather arm of the sea, at that place, is very narrow, I should think hardly more than a furlong across; the fort is upon the beach, and on the opposite side are the rocks and hills of the Mahrattas, with houses and meadows below them close to the water’s edge. The morning was delightful, but the breeze gradually died away, and it became the hottest day I ever experienced. Our rowers exerted themselves to reach Caliane before the tide should turn, and we accordingly got there about one o’clock. One of our party had an idea that we might discover some ruin or vestige of Grecian antiquity at this place, as many authors affirm that the Greeks, the Egyptians, and the Romans, traded with this port, formerly a considerable city, though now a poor Mussulman town. We landed in high spirits, determined to see antique Greece at every turn; but after a fatiguing walk of two hours in the burning sun, we gave up the search as fruitless. I believe the natives thought us mad, when we told them we wished to see old houses and broken walls, of which they shewed us plenty, but not one of the kind of which we were in search. Indeed, if any such ever existed, the numerous sieges sustained by the town from the Mahomedans and from the Mahrattas, must long since have swept them away. It is only lately that Caliane has ceased to be a place of considerable trade; it is still a populous town, and carries on some traffic in coco-nuts, oil, coarse cloths, brass, and earthen ware. Disappointed in the objects of our search ashore, we would have got into the boat, and taken what refreshment we had brought with us; but here the tide was against us, the bar was dry,399 and we had to wait under a banian tree for three hours before the boat could float. On examining our provisions, we had the mortification to discover that the sun had spoiled one half of them, and on the rest we were now obliged to make our dinner, and, as it turned out, our supper also. However, the good humour of the party got the better of their misfortunes; but repeated 214

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repartee is always stupid, and to you, in the midst of the wits of our Scotish Athens,400 jokes from the Mahratta country must be dull indeed! At five o’clock we got into our bark; but at the bar, half a mile from Caliane, were obliged to get out to lighten her, and walked down the banks of the river through a wood, where we found great quantities of the corinda berry,401 which in taste resembles a fine plumb, but in size and appearance is like the berry of the laurel, to which the whole plant has a great resemblance. About sunset we were again able to embark, but we got aground four times on different ledges of rock. Meantime the sky began to lower, large drops of rain fell, and about ten o’clock vivid flashes of lightning ushered in the first monsoon squall. The wind, the rain, and the thunder, soon put an end to the exertions of the rowers, and for the next two hours they lay under their benches, excepting when, by the boat’s drifting on the rocks, they were obliged to jump overboard to shove her off. By this time the rain had made its way through the roof of our cabin; we were in utter darkness but for the flashing of the lightning, and heard no sound but that of the storm, or, when it lulled, the roaring of the wild beasts. From this disagreeable situation we were relieved by a calm, which enabled the boatmen to reach Tannah at one o’clock, where we were glad to find our palankeens, and, in spite of the fear of tigers, my hamauls brought me to Bhandoop in an hour, fully resolving never again to undertake an expedition by water at the beginning of the monsoon. Trincomale, June 20, 1810.—Once more I find myself in Ceylon, or, as my great predecessor Sinbad the sailor402 calls it, Serendib. I left my friends at Bhandoop on the 31st of May, and on the first of June I sailed from Bombay in H. M. ship Illustrious, commanded by Captain Broughton, who accompanied Vancouver in his voyage round the world.403 We stood out to sea for two days, to look for a favourable wind, as the monsoon was already set in in the neighbourhood of Bombay, and on the twelfth day from our departure we anchored in the Back-bay of Trincomale, a distance of between twelve and thirteen hundred miles. Here we found the commander-in-chief, Admiral Drury,404 with seven ships of war, so that we seemed almost to have arrived at a British port. The scenery of Trincomale is the most beautiful I ever saw; I can compare it to nothing but Loch Catrine405 on a gigantic scale. The ships are now lying in Back-bay, but the inner harbour is safe at all seasons; it is so land-locked, that it appears like a lake. Yesterday we rode before breakfast to fort Osnaburg,406 on a high point of land, commanding both divisions of the inner harbour. The bay, gleaming with the rising sun, seemed like a sheet of liquid gold, broken into creeks and bays, studded with verdant isles, and inclosed by mountains feathered with wood to the summit; while from the nearer crags the purple convolvulus, the white moon-flower,407 and the scarlet and yellow gloriosa, floated like banners in the wind. The outer bay is formed by a bold projecting rock, at the extremity of which are the remains of a Hindoo temple. Six pillars, beautifully carved, and supporting a cornice and roof, now form the portico of a British artillery hospital; and a seventh pillar is placed on the summit of a rock opposite. We were told that some 215

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caves exist in the neighbourhood, but whether natural or artificial we could not ascertain, neither could we procure a guide to them. Trincomale was formerly considered very unhealthy, but there does not appear to be any local circumstance to render it so, and the complaints of it on that head are daily decreasing. Like the rest of the coast of Ceylon, the soil had been found unfit for raising vegetables; but, by the exertions of Admiral Drury, a colony of Chinese, similar to that at Pointe de Galle, has established a large garden, whose products are already such as to promise the fairest success. The admiral has also been at pains to import cattle and poultry, and to distribute them among the natives, so as, if possible, to secure a supply for the fleet. Timber is in great plenty, and easy of access, and there are many coves where ships may be hove down with the greatest safety at all seasons; so that repairs can be performed here at less cost than at any other place in India, though the rise of tide is not sufficient at any season for the building of docks. The first account of Trincomale, as an European settlement, is, that in 1672, De la Haye, a Frenchman, attempted an establishment here, but being opposed by the Dutch governor of Ceylon, Richloff Van Goen,408 he abandoned it, and went to the coast of Coromandel,409 and settled at St Thomé,410 then belonging to the king of Golconda. The Dutch forts now remaining are out of repair; they seem never to have been strong, and the town is small and mean. There are but few European inhabitants, so that the society is composed almost exclusively of the officers of the regiments stationed there. The lower people are chiefly Hindoos from the opposite coast; the only native Cingalese I saw were a few gold and silver smiths, whose chains and other ornaments equal those of Tritchinopoly.411 The troops now here are divisions of two Malay regiments,412 and his majesty’s 66th regiment, besides a company of artillery. The other day the officers gave a ball and supper to their naval brethren. The colours of the regiment were suspended over the supper table, and the whole was decorated with flowers and branches of trees. In return, parties are constantly going off to the ships; and yesterday we had a grand spectacle; every ship in the bay (among which were two seventy fours and four frigates,) fired two broadsides. I never saw any thing so beautiful as the effect of the clouds of smoke, as they first obscured the whole horizon, and then gradually rolling off, left the ships brightly reflected in the water, which was clear and smooth as a mirror. Nor were the thundering reverberations from the rocks less striking, amidst the grand silence and calmness of nature around. Madras, July 12, 1810.—When our fleet at Trincomale dispersed, each ship to her station, by the admiral’s permission I accompanied Captain Graham in the Hecate413 to this place, where we arrived on the third day from our departure, the distance being between two and three hundred miles. I do not know any thing more striking than the first approach to Madras. The low flat sandy shore extending for miles to the north and south, for the few hills there are appear far inland, seems to promise nothing but barren nakedness, when, on arriving in the roads, the town and fort are like a vision of enchantment. The beach is crowded with people of all colours, whose busy motions at that distance, make the earth itself seem alive. The 216

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public offices and store-houses which line the beach, are fine buildings,414 with colonnades to the upper stories, supported by rustic bases arched, all of the fine Madras chunam, smooth, hard, and polished as marble. At a short distance FortGeorge, with its lines and bastions, the government house and gardens, backed by St Thomas’s Mount,415 form an interesting part of the picture, while here and there in the distance, minarets416 and pagodas are seen rising from among the gardens. A friend who, from the beach, had seen our ship coming in, obligingly sent the accommodation-boat417 for us, and I soon discovered its use. While I was observing its structure and its rowers, they suddenly set up a song, as they called it, but I do not know that I ever heard so wild and plaintive a cry. We were getting into the surf; the cockswain now stood up, and with his voice and his foot kept time vehemently, while the men worked their oars backwards, till a violent surf came, struck the boat, and carried it along with a frightful violence; then every oar was plied to prevent the wave from taking us back as it receded, and this was repeated five or six times, the song of the boatmen rising and falling with the waves, till we were dashed high and dry upon the beach. The boats used for crossing the surf are large and light, made of very thin planks sewed together, with straw in the seams, for caulking418 would make them too stiff; and the great object is, that they should be flexible, and give to the water like leather, otherwise they would be dashed to pieces. Across the very edge of the boat are the bars on which the rowers sit; they are naked all but a turban, and a half handkerchief fastened to the waist by a pack-thread. They are wild-looking, and their appearance is not improved by the crust of salt left upon their bodies by the sea-water, and which generally whitens half their skin. At one end of the boat is a bench with cushions and a curtain, for passengers, so that they are kept dry while the surf is breaking round the boat. We were hardly ashore when we were surrounded by above a hundred Dubashis419 and servants of all kinds, pushing for employment. The Dubashis undertake to interpret, to buy all you want, to change money, to provide you with servants, tradesmen, and palankeens, and, in short, to do every thing that a stranger finds it irksome to do for himself. We went immediately to our friend’s garden-house; for at Madras every body lives in the country, though all offices and counting-houses, public and private, are in the fort or in town. The gardenhouses are generally of only one story; they are of a pretty style of architecture, having their porticos and virandas supported by pillars of chunam; the walls are of the same material, either white or coloured, and the floors are covered with ratan mats, so that it is impossible to be more cool. The houses are usually surrounded by a field or compound, with a few trees and shrubs, but it is with incredible pains that flowers or fruit are raised. During the hot winds, tats (a kind of mat), made of the root of the koosa grass*, which has an agreeable smell, are placed against

* Koosa grass, Poa cynosuroides. This grass is considered as sacred, and is used in sacrifices. Devotees generally hold it in their hands. In the Heetopadesa420 there is a story of a tiger who held a blade of koosa grass in order to pass for a holy person, and to conceal his evil and cruel designs.

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the doors and windows, and constantly watered, so that as the air blows through them, it spreads an agreeable scent and freshness through the house. July 16.—I went the other day to see the naval hospital here, a large handsome building, with an excellent garden, and very well appointed. On the top is a large platform, where the convalescents take exercise and enjoy fresh air, with the view over all Madras, its petah or Black-town, and garden-houses, to the shipping in the roads. There is a rope-walk421 attached to the hospital, but it wants air and is rather short; it however furnishes employment for the invalids. From the hospital I went to see the garden which the late Dr Anderson422 had planted as a botanical garden, at a vast expense, but it is now in a sad state of ruin. I remarked there the Saguerus Rumphii, a kind of palm, from which an excellent kind of sago is made. It is also valuable on account of the black fibres surrounding the trunk at the insertion of the leaves, which afford a cordage for ships, said to be stronger and more durable than that made from any other vegetable substance. I saw also the Nopaul, a kind of prickly pear,423 on a species of which the cochineal insect424 lives, and which is now cultivated in Madras as an esculent vegetable. It was brought here merely as a curious exotic, but was discovered by Dr Anderson to be a valuable antiscorbutic,425 and has since been used in all men of war on the Indian station, which are now almost free from that dreadful malady the scurvy. The nopaul keeps fresh, and even continues to vegetate long after it is gathered; it makes an excellent pickle, which is now issued to the ships of war. We had heard so much in Europe of the slight of hand practised by the Madras jugglers, that we were very curious to see some of them. Accordingly we yesterday procured an excellent set to exhibit before us. After shewing the common tricks with the cups and balls, which were changed so as to elude the most narrow observation, and making me start at finding a serpent in my hand when I was sure I received a pebble, the principal exhibitor took up a pinch of white sand between his finger and thumb, and scattering it gently before us, dropped it of a red, blue, or yellow colour, as we required; but that which pleased me most was throwing up eight balls into the air, so as to keep them in a ring at equal distances for a considerable time. He performed a variety of other tricks, in which, being naked from the waist upwards, he could derive no advantage from the concealment of any of his implements in his dress. The small exhibitions being over, the juggler took a round stone, as large as his head, between his heels, and making a spring with it, he threw it to a considerable height, and caught it on his shoulder, whence, by another effort, he threw it and caught it on his back, and so on, receiving it on his sides, the inner part of his elbow, his wrist, or his stomach. But the most curious, though disgusting sight, was the swallowing the sword, and in this there is no deception, for I handled the weapon both before and after he performed the operation. I should have thought that this exercise would have injured him, but he is the healthiest looking native I have seen, well made and proportioned. They begin this trade when very young, the children exercising with short bits of bamboo, which are lengthened as the throat and stomach are able to bear them,—a curious proof of the power of education over the body. 218

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August 1.—I have just returned from a week’s excursion to Ennore,426 a fishing village eight miles north of Madras, where there is a small salt-water lake, with abundance of fine fish and excellent oysters. These attractions have induced a party of gentlemen to build a house by subscription on the edge of the lake, where there is a meeting every week to eat fish, play cards, and sail about on the lake in two little pleasure-boats, a diversion which cannot be enjoyed anywhere else near Madras on account of the surf. We went to Ennore by the canal which is cut from Madras to Pulicat,427 and met a fleet of thirty-six boats from the latter place laden with charcoal, for the use of the kitchens of Madras. Ennore is a flat sandy place, with about a hundred huts and two European houses, besides the subscription-house. I walked to the beach to see the catamarans of this coast; they are formed of two light logs of wood lashed together, with a small piece inserted between them at one end, to serve as a stem-piece; they are always unlashed, and laid to dry in the sun when they come out of the water, as dryness is essential to their lightness and buoyancy; when ready for the water, they hold two men with their paddles, who launch themselves through the surf to fish, or to carry letters and provisions to ships, when no boat can venture out. These men wear a pointed cap made of matting, in which they secure the papers with which they may be entrusted, though they should themselves be washed off their catamarans a dozen times before they reach the place of their destination. A particular police regulates the catamarans, accommodation-boats, and bar-boats,428 which last only differ from the accommodation-boats in being smaller and less convenient. Medals are given to such of the boatmen as have saved drowning persons, or have distinguished themselves by fidelity in carrying papers or conveying papers or passengers through the surf in dangerous weather. August 10.—I have been much pleased with a visit to the female orphan assylum.429 It seems admirably conducted, and the girls neat, and very expert at all kinds of needle-work. It is really gratifying to see so many poor creatures well brought up, and put in the way of gaining a livelihood. There is likewise a male orphan asylum, where the boys are brought up to different trades. If such establishments are wanted anywhere, it is in India, where the numbers of half-caste,430 and therefore (if I may use the expression), half-parented children, exceed what one could imagine. I cannot but think it a cruelty to send children of colour to Europe, where their complexion must subject them to perpetual mortification. Here, being in their own country, and associating with those in the same situation with themselves, they have a better chance of being happy. The language spoken at Madras by the natives is the Talinga, here called Malabars.431 The men-servants are all Hindoos, but the women are mostly Portuguese. The palankeen-bearers are called Bhoïs, and are remarkable for strength and swiftness. They have a peculiar song, or cry, with which they amuse themselves on a journey; at first it sounds like the expression of pain and weariness, but it presently breaks out into sounds of exultation. I have not seen any banians at Madras, but there are a number of hawkers who resemble the borahs. I often see natives of Pondichery, French converts,432 going about with boxes of lace and 219

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artificial flowers, made chiefly by the ladies of the decayed French families in that settlement. There is something in the gaiety of the French character that communicates itself to all around. I have seen a black man from Pondichery, handle a lace, a flower, a ribbon, with all the air of a fine gentleman, and in his rags shew more politeness and gallantry, than half our Madras civil servants are possessed of. Besides these French pedlars, there are a set of Mahomedans, who go about selling moco stones, petrified tamarind wood, garnets, coral, mock amber*, and a variety of other trinkets, and who are, in their way, as amusing as the Frenchmen. The manner of living among the English at Madras has a great deal more of external elegance than at Bombay; but the same influences operating on the society, I find it neither better nor worse. I am told that it was once more agreeable. I do not wonder that it should have altered, for, during the late unhappy disputes between the government and the army,433 everybody sided with one party or the other, which of course begot a jealousy still rankling in the minds of all. I am happy that we were not here at the crisis; for though every good citizen must wish, where the civil and military powers come to an open rupture, that the former should prevail, I cannot help feeling that, in this instance, the army was in the outset the injured party, and as some of my friends were of the same way of thinking, I am glad I was not here to countenance, by participating, feelings of which it was so necessary to get the better. August 18.—I was two evenings ago at a public ball in the Pantheon,434 which contains, besides a ball-room, a very pretty theatre, card-rooms, and virandas. During the cold season there are monthly assemblies, with occasional balls all the year, which are very well conducted. The Pantheon is a handsome building; it is used as a free-masons lodge of modern masons,435 among whom almost every man in the army and navy who visits Madras enrols himself. The only other public place at Madras is the Mount Road, leading from Fort-George to St Thomas’s Mount. It is smooth as a bowling-green, and planted on each side with banian and yellow tulip trees. About five miles from the fort, on this road, stands a cenotaph436 to the memory of Lord Cornwallis.437 It has cost an immense sum of money, but is not remarkable for good taste; however, I love to see public monuments in any shape to great men. It is the fashion for all the gentlemen and ladies of Madras to repair, in their gayest equipages, to the Mount Road, and after driving furiously along, they loiter round and round the cenotaph for an hour, partly for exercise, and partly for the opportunity of flirting and displaying their fine clothes, after which they go home, to meet again every day in the year. But the greatest lounge at Madras is during the visiting hours, from nine o’clock till eleven, when the young men go from house to house to retail the news, ask commissions to town for the ladies, bring a bauble that has been newly set, or one which the lady has

* The petrified tamarind wood is found in the sand near Madras. It takes a beautiful polish, and makes pretty ornaments. The mock amber is the gum of a tree in the Malabar forests, which so much resembles the gum copal438 that the coachmakers in Bengal use it as a varnish.

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obliquely hinted, at a shopping party the day before, she would willingly purchase, but that her husband does not like her to spend so much, and which she thus obtains from some young man, one quarter of whose monthly salary is probably sacrificed to his gallantry. When all the visitors who have any business are gone to their offices, another troop of idlers appears, still more frivolous than the former, and remains till tiffin, at two o’clock, when the real dinner is eaten, and wines and strong beer from England are freely drank. The ladies then retire, and for the most part undress, and lye down with a novel in their hands, over which they generally sleep. About five o’clock the master of the family returns from his office; the lady dresses herself for the Mount Road; returns, dresses, dines, and goes from table to bed, unless there be a ball, when she dresses again, and dances all night; and this, I assure you, is a fair, very fair, account of the usual life of a Madras lady. Calcutta, Sept. 8, 1810.—Business of a most distressing nature439 requiring my presence at Calcutta, I left Madras, on the 26th of August, in his Majesty’s ship Illustrious, and arrived here so late as to make it impossible to return to Madras before the month of December, as the monsoon is set in on the coast; and I have, moreover, missed the friend to whom I came, so I am here a stranger, and in a manner a prisoner. From the time of my embarking the weather was cloudy and hot. After sailing slowly along the low coast, which was constantly obscured by haze, and passing the Jagernauth Pagoda,440 which stands by itself on a beach of sand, that seems to have no end, the first land we made was Point Palmyras, or rather the tops of the trees which give their name to this low sandy cape. On anchoring in Balasore Roads,441 the breakers, and the colour of the water, told us that we were in the neighbourhood of land, though none was visible in any direction. The water looked like thick mud, fitter to walk upon than to sail through. Here we left the ship, and proceeded in a pilot’s schooner. Nothing can be more desolate than the entrance to the Hoogly.442 To the west, frightful breakers extend as far as the eye can reach, and you are surrounded by sharks and crocodiles; but on the east is a more horrible object, the black low island of Saugor.443 The very appearance of the dark jungle that covers it is terrific. You see that it must be a nest of serpents, and a den of tigers; but it is worse, it is the yearly scene of human sacrifice,444 which not all the vigilance of the British government can prevent. The temple is ruined, but the infatuated votaries of Kali445 plunge into the waves that separate the island from the Continent, in the spot where the blood-stained fane446 once stood, and crowned with flowers and robed in scarlet, singing hymns to the goddess, they devote themselves to destruction; and he who reaches the opposite shore without being devoured by the sacred sharks, becomes a pariah, and regards himself as a being detested by the gods. Possessed by this frenzy of superstition, mothers have thrown their infants into the jaws of the sea monsters, and furnished scenes too horrible for description; but the yearly assembly at Saugor is now attended by troops, in order to prevent these horrid practices, so that I believe there are now but few involuntary victims. As we advanced up the river, the breakers disappeared, the jungle grew higher and lighter, and we saw sometimes a pagoda, or a village between the trees. The river was covered with 221

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boats of every shape, villas adorned the banks, the scene became enchanting, all cultivated, all busy, and we felt that we were approaching a great capital. On landing, I was struck with the general appearance of grandeur in all the buildings; not that any of them are according to the strict rules of art, but groupes of columns, porticoes, domes, and fine gateways, interspersed with trees, and the broad river crowded with shipping, made the whole picture magnificent. Sept. 16.—On my arrival at Calcutta, I went to the house appointed by the Indian government447 for captains of the navy,r intending to stay there till I procured a lodging to remain in till I could return to Madras; but I had not been many hours onshore, before I received several invitations from the hospitable inhabitants of Calcutta, to live in their houses till I could rejoin my friends. Among the first of these the governor-general, the only person with whom I had been acquainted at home, called, and kindly insisted on my taking up my abode in the government-house,448 which I did accordingly the next day, when I was introduced to his daughter-in-law and the other ladies of the family. Never was a stranger more kindly received, and never did attentions come in so welcome a time, or in a form so agreeable. Oct. 22.—The English society of Calcutta, as it is more numerous, affords a greater variety of character, and a greater portion of intellectual refinement, than that of either of the other presidencies. I have met with some persons of both sexes in this place, whose society reminded me of that we have enjoyed together in Britain, when some of the wisest and best of our countrymen, whose benevolence attracted our attention, as their talents commanded our esteem, loved to relax from their serious occupations in the circle of their friends. Among the few here who know and appreciate these things, the most agreeable speculations are always those that point homeward to that Europe, where the mind of man seems to flourish in preference to any other land. If we look round us, the passive submission, the apathy, and the degrading superstition of the Hindoos; the more active fanaticism of the Mussulmans; the avarice, the prodigality, the ignorance, and the vulgarity of most of the white people, seem to place them all on a level, infinitely below that of the least refined nations of Europe. Oct. 25.—This is the season of festivals; I hear the tomtoms, drums, pipes, and trumpets in every corner of the town, and I see processions in honour of Kali going to a place two miles off, called Kali Ghaut,449 where there has long been a celebrated temple to this goddess, which is now pulled down, and another more magnificent is to be erected in its place. In all the bazars, at every shop door, wooden figures and human heads, with the neck painted blood-colour, are suspended, referring, I imagine, to the human sacrifices formerly offered to this deity, who was, I believe, the tutelary goddess of Calcutta. Three weeks ago, the festival of Kali, under the name and attributes of Doorga,450 was celebrated. On this occasion her images, and those of some other divinities, were carried in procession with great pomp, and bathed in the Hoogly, which, being a branch of the Ganges, is sacred. The figures were placed under canopies, which were gilt and decked with the most gaudy colours, and carried upon men’s heads. Several 222

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of these moving temples went together, preceded by musical instruments, banners, and bare-headed Bramins, repeating muntras (forms of prayer). The gods were followed by cars, drawn by oxen or horses, gaily caparisoned,451 bearing the sacrificial utensils, accompanied by other Bramins, and the procession was closed by an innumerable multitude of people of all castes. This feast lasted several days. I received a printed card on the occasion, which I transcribe:—“Maha Rajah, Rajhissens Bahaudur,452 presents his respectful compliments to Mrs Gram, and requests the honour of his company to a nautch (being Doorga Poojah),453 on the 5th, 6th, and 7th of October, at nine o’clock in the evening.” Having never seen a nautch, I did not decline the Maha Rajah’s invitation; but on the evening of the fifth I went, with a small party, to the assembly, and received more amusement than I expected. The Maha Rajah has a fine house at the end of Chitpore bazar.454 The room into which we were ushered was a large square court, covered in for the occasion with red cloth, to which a profusion of white artificial flowers was fastened. Three sides of the court are occupied by the dwelling-house, the walls of which are adorned by a double row of pillars in couplets, and between each couplet is a window. The fourth side is occupied by the family temple, of a very pretty architecture; the arches which support it are not unlike those used in England in Henry VII.’s time,455 with cinquefoil heads. A flight of steps leads to the viranda of the temple, where Vishnu sat in state, with a blaze of light before him, in magnificent chandeliers. When we entered there were some hundreds of people assembled, and there seemed to be room for as many more. The dancing was begun, but as soon as our host perceived us he led us to the most commodious seats, stationed boys behind us with round fans of red silk, with gold fringe, and then presented us with bouquets of the mogree456 and the rose, tied up in a green leaf, ornamented with silver fringe. A small gold vase being brought, the Maha Rajah, with a golden spoon, perfumed us with ottur,457 and sprinkled us with rose-water, after which we were allowed to sit still and look on. The first dancers were men, whom by their dresses I took for women, though I was rather surprised at the assurance of their gestures, which had nothing else remarkable in them. These gave way to some Cashmerian singers, whose voices were very pleasing. They were accompanied by an old man, whose long white beard and hair, and fair skin, spoke a more northern country than Bengal. His instrument was a peculiarly sweet-toned guitar, which he touched with skill and taste, to some of the odes of Hafiz458 and some Hindostanee songs. I was sorry when they finished, to make way for a kind of pantomime, in which men personated elephants, bears, and monkeys. After this some women danced; but though they were pretty, and their motions rather graceful, I was disappointed, after hearing so much of the nautchgirls of India. One of them, while dancing in a circle, twisted a piece of striped muslin into flowers, keeping each stripe for a different coloured flower. The last amusement we staid to partake of, was the exhibition of a ventriloquist (the best I ever heard), although the Maharajah pressed us to remain, saying that he had different sets of dancers, enough to exhibit during the whole night. I was pleased with the attention the Rajah paid to his guests, whether Hindoos, Christians, or 223

Published by Constable & Co. Edinburgh July 2, 1812.

S. W. View of the Government House Calcutta.

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Mussulmans; there was not one to whom he did not speak kindly, or pay some compliment on their entrance; and he walked round the assembly repeatedly, to see that all were properly accommodated. I was sorry I could not go to his nautch the next night, where I hear there was a masquerade,459 when several Portuguese and Pariahs appeared as Europeans, and imitated our dances, music, and manners. I grieve that the distance kept up between the Europeans and the natives, both here and at Madras, is such, that I have not been able to get acquainted with any native families as I did at Bombay. There seems however to be little difference in their manner of living. Their houses appear to be more commodious at Calcutta than at either of the other presidencies, and in general they wear fewer ornaments than on the Mahratta coast, though in other respects they appear richer and more at their ease. Of the public buildings of Calcutta, the government-house, built by Lord Wellesley,460 is the most remarkable. The lower story forms a rustic basement,461 with arcades to the building, which is Ionic.462 On the north side there is a handsome portico, with a flight of steps, under which carriages drive to the entrance; and on the south there is a circular colonnade with a dome. The four wings, one at each corner of the body of the building, are connected with it by circular passages, so long as to secure their enjoying the air all around, from whichever quarter the wind blows. These wings contain all the private apartments; and in the north-east angle is the council-room, decorated, like the family breakfast and dinner rooms, with portraits. The centre of the house is given up to two rooms, the finest I have seen. The lowest is paved with dark grey marble, and supported by Doric463 columns of chunam, which one would take for Parian marble.464 Above the hall is the ball-room, floored with dark polished wood, and supported by Ionic pillars of white chunam. Both these fine rooms are lighted by a profusion of cut-glass lustres465 suspended from the painted ceilings, where an excellent taste is displayed in the decorations. Besides the government-house, the public buildings are, a town-house, which promises to be handsome when finished, the courthouse, a good-looking building, and two churches, the largest of which has a fine portico, and both have handsome spires. The hospital and jail are to the south of the town, on that part of the esplanade called the course, where all the equipages of Calcutta assemble every evening, as those of Madras do on the Mount Road. The houses now occupied by the orphan schools being ruinous, there are handsome designs for erecting new ones. The writers buildings, to the north of the government-house, look like a shabby hospital, or poors-house;466 these contain apartments for the writers newly come from Britain,467 and who are students at the college of Fort-William,468 which is in the centre of the buildings, and contains nothing but some lecture-rooms. At stated seasons general examinations take place at the college, and public disputations are held by the students in Persian, Hindui, and Bengalee, in the government-house, in presence of the governor-general, who usually makes a speech on the occasion, setting forth the advantages of the college, the anxiety he feels for its success, the liberality of the Company with respect to it and the college at Hertford,469 225

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blaming the slothful in general, but commending the diligent by name, and medals are distributed to such as have distinguished themselves. For my part, as I do not understand these languages, I amused myself during the time of one of these disputations at which I was present, with observing the various figures among the auditors. All the college and private moonshis470 were present, with all the native and foreign eastern merchants who pretend to any learning, and crowds of Europeans. The most singular figure of this motley groupe was a Malay moonshi, whom Dr Leyden had brought to the assembly.471 A few days afterwards I received from Dr L. a curious paper, containing an account of the Malay’s visit to the palace, and of all he had seen there, written by himself, and translated by Dr Leyden.* Ibrahim’s representation of the country, the buildings, the people, and the customs of the English in Bengal, looks almost like a caricature on travellers’ representations of new countries and customs; but poor Ibrahim, though the most learned of the Malays, has no taste of European literature, so that the satire being unintentional, is the more severe. Calcutta, like London, is a small town of itself, but its suburbs swell it to a prodigious city, peopled by inhabitants from every country in the world. Chinese and Frenchmen, Persians and Germans, Arabs and Spaniards, Americans and Portuguese, Jews and Dutchmen, are seen mixing with the Hindoos and English, the original inhabitants and the actual possessors of the country. This mixture of nations ought, I think, to weaken national prejudices; but, among the English at least, the effect seems diametrically opposite. Every Briton appears to pride himself on being outrageously a John Bull;472 but I believe it is more in the manner than in the matter, for in all serious affairs and questions of justice, every man is, as he ought to be, on a footing. Oct. 30.—I was spending a few hours yesterday with Mrs M.473 an accomplished and agreeable, as well as a very beautiful woman. I know of no place where I am better pleased to spend my mornings than in her dressing-room. She possesses excellent talents, which she carefully cultivates, a lively and engaging manner, much discrimination of character, a turn for description, and an acute perception of the ridiculous, but which never degenerates into ill-natured satire. When I am with her, our conversation most frequently turns on England. Every new book that reaches us, every poem, especially if it recal the legends of our native land, is an object of discussion and interest beyond what I could have thought possible, till I felt in a foreign country how dear every thing becomes that awakens those powerful associations, “Entwined with every tender tie, Memorials dear of youth and infancy.”474 Yesterday Mrs M. gave me the following little poem, translated from the Sanscrit by the late Mr Paterson.475 It is a description of one of the Raguis,t mythological * See Appendix.

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nymphs, who, in conjunction with the Ragos, or male genii of music, preside over the musical expressions of the passions. GUNCARRI RAGUI Guncarri mourns in misery supreme, Forsaken love and faithless man her theme; Wild as her speech, distracted as her mind, And like her roving fancy unconfin’d. Her hollow eye, her daily wasting cheek, The inward fever of her soul bespeak. Despair hath mark’d the victim for her own, And made the ruins of her heart his throne: Loose to the wind her ebon tresses flow, And every look participates her woe. On a shrunk chaplet of neglected flow’rs, In pensive grief she counts the weary hours; And as her fond imagination strays O’er the past pleasures of once happy days, She bends on vacancy her sleepless eyes, And memory bids the pearls of sorrow rise. Scenes of delight, and soothing sounds of mirth, Serve but to call new anguish into birth. In vain the soul of melody inspires The gourded vin, and breathes upon its wires; Nor dhole nor vin have magic to remove The hapless torment of rejected love. Tired of the tedious day’s too cheerful light, She waits impatient the return of night; Night long expected comes, but comes in vain, The shadowy gloom but aggravates her pain. Her wearied soul no transient respite knows, Broods o’er its grief, and feeds upon its woes: Silent she mourns, and like a picture wears The melancholy dignity of tears! Nov. 1.—Returning last night from my evening’s drive, I passed the English burying-ground476 for the first time. There are many acres covered so thick with columns, urns, and obelisks, that there scarcely seems to be room for another; it is like a city of the dead; it extends on both sides of the road, and you see nothing beyond it; and the greater number of those buried here are under five-and-twenty years of age! It is a painful reflection, yet one that forces itself upon the mind, to consider the number of young men cut off in the first two or three years residence in this climate. How many, accustomed in every trifling illness to the tender 227

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solicitude of parents, of brothers, and of sisters, have died here alone, and been mourned by strangers! I do not know why, but it seems more sad to die in a foreign land than at home; and it is a superstition common to all, to wish their ashes to mingle with their native soil. Barrackpore,477 Nov. 20.—It is delightful to be once more in the country, and to be able to ramble about at all hours without restraint; and the weather is now so cool, that one really enjoys a walk. We came here a few days ago by water, and I was charmed with the scenery on the river. Close to Calcutta, it is the busiest scene one can imagine; crowded with ships and boats of every form,—here a fine English East Indiaman, there a grab or a dow from Arabia, or a proa from the eastern islands.478 On one side the picturesque boats of the natives, with their floating huts; on the other the bolios479 and pleasure-boats of the English, with their sides of green and gold, and silken streamers. As we came up the river, the scene became more quiet, but not less beautiful. The trees grow into the water, and half hide the pagodas and villages with which the banks of the river are covered on both sides. It was late ere we arrived here, and some of the pagodas were already illuminated for a festival; fire-works, of which the natives are very fond, were playing on the shore, and here and there the red flame of the funeral fires under the dark trees threw a melancholy glare on the water. When we came to the port of Barrackpore, the tamarind, acacia, and peepil trees, through whose branches the moon threw her flickering beams on the river, seemed to hang over our heads, and formed a strong contrast to the white buildings of Serampore,480 which shone on the opposite shore. We landed at the palace begun by the Marquis Wellesley, but discontinued by the frugality of the Indian Company; its unfinished arches shewed by the moon-light like an ancient ruin, and completed the beauty of the scenery. The old village of Achanock stood on the ground which the park of Barrackpore now occupies; and the irregularities occasioned by the ruins have been improved into little knolls and dells, which in this extremely flat country pass for hill and dale. A little nulla or rivulet supplies several fine tanks in the park, which embellish the scenery, and furnish food for a number of curious aquatic birds kept in the menagerie. The pelican, whose large pouch contains such an abundant supply of food, the produce of her fishing for her young; the syrus, or sarasa,481 a species of stork, whose body is of a delicate grey colour, and whose head, which he carries above five feet from the ground, is of a brilliant scarlet, shading off to the pure white of his long taper neck; and the flamingo, whose bill and wings are of the brightest rose-colour, while the rest of his plumage is white as snow,—are the most beautiful of those who seek their food in the water. Among their fellowprisoners are the ostrich, whose black and white plumes attract the avarice of the hunter; the cassowary, whose stiff hard feathers appear like black hair; and the Java pigeon, of the size of a young turkey, shaped and coloured like a pigeon, with a fan-like crest, which glitters in the sun like the rainbow. The quadrupeds in the menagerie are only two royal tigers, and two bears, one a very large animal, precisely like the bears of Europe; the other was brought here from Chittagong,482 where it is called the wild dog. His head is shaped like that of 228

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a dog, but bare and red about the muzzle; his paws are like those of the common bear, but his coat is short and smooth; he refuses to eat any kind of vegetable food, which the large bear prefers to flesh, and is altogether the most ferocious creature I ever saw. Nov. 25.—The north winds are now so cold, that I find it necessary to wrap up in a shawl and fur tippet483 when I take my morning’s ride upon one of the governor-general’s elephants, from whose back I yesterday saw the Barrackpore hounds throw off in chase of a jackall; but here, as at Poonah, the hunters usually return from the field before nine o’clock. The other day, in going through a small bazar near one of the park gates, I saw five ruinous temples to Maha Deo, and one in rather a better state to Kali. As I had never been in a pagoda dedicated to her by that name, I procured admittance for a rupee. Her figure is of brass, riding on a strange form that passes here for a lion, with a lotus in the place of a saddle. Her countenance is terrific; her four hands are armed with destructive weapons, and before her is a round stone sprinkled with red dust. The sacrificial utensils are mostly of brass; but I observed a ladle, two lamps, and a bell of silver; the handle of the bell was a figure of the goddess herself. The open temple in the square area of the pagoda has been very elegant, but is now falling into ruin, as are the priests houses and every thing around, except the ghaut, or flight of steps leading to the river, which is handsome and in good repair. There is something in the scenery of this place that reminds me of the beauty of the banks of the Thames; the same verdure, the same rich foliage, the same majestic body of water; here are even villas too along the banks: but the village and the cottage are wanting, whose inhabitants cannot suffer oppression unredressed, and to whom every employment is open of which their minds are capable, or their hearts ambitious enough to undertake. Perhaps there is something of pride in the pity I cannot help feeling for the lower Hindoos, who seem so resigned to all that I call evils in life. Yet I feel degraded, when, seeing them half-clothed, half-fed, covered with loathsome disease, I ask how they came into this state, and what could amend it, they answer, “It is the custom;”—“it belongs to their caste to bear this;”—and they never attempt to overstep the boundaries which confine them to it! Calcutta, Nov. 30.—As Barrackpore is only sixteen miles from Calcutta, I find little difficulty in going from one place to the other, when either business or the prospect of amusement induces me to leave the country for this place. I came here just now in order to go to the botanical garden, where I went yesterday with my friend Dr Fleming, who introduced me to Dr Roxburgh484 and his family, with whom we breakfasted. Before breakfast we walked round the garden, and I was delighted with the order and neatness of every part, as well as with the great collection of plants from every quarter of the globe. The first that attracted my attention was a banian tree, whose branches Dr Roxburgh has clothed with the numerous parasite plants of the climate, which adorn its rough bark with the gayest colours and most elegant forms. In another part of the garden the giant mimosa spreads its long arms over a wider surface than any tree, except the banian, that 229

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I remember to have seen. The Adamsonia,485 whose monstrous warty trunk, of soft useless wood, is crowned with a few ragged branches and palmated leaves, seems to have been placed here as a contrast to the beautiful plants that surround it. Among the immense collection of palms, I saw several varieties of the talipot, which I first met with in Ceylon, and the true sago tree. Carefully preserved there is a cajeput, from the leaves of one species of which (Melalucca cajeputi,) the famous cajeput oil is extracted, which is used by the inhabitants of Malacca and the eastern isles, of which the tree is a native, as a sovereign remedy for rheumatisms, swellings, and bruises; the tree resembles a willow, but the bark is ragged, and hangs loose in strings. The garden contains specimens of all the spices, and of the breadfruit; the latter succeeds worse than any other tree, being usually killed by the cold and damp of the winter. The plant on which the cochineal feeds is placed in the midst of several of its own family, from which, especially the nopaul and the common prickly pear, it seems difficult to distinguish it; but the insect will not be induced to live on any but its own plant. I will only mention one other tree, the Norfolk island pine, which reminds me in every one of its habits of the firs of Northern Europe, but that it seems inclined to grow higher and lighter, which may be the effect of the heat and moisture of this climate. The botanical garden is beautifully situated on the banks of the Hoogly, and gives the name of Garden-reach to a bend of the river. Above the garden there is an extensive plantation of teak, which is not a native of this part of India, but which thrives well here; and at the end of the plantation are the house and gardens of Sir John Royds,486 laid out with admirable taste, and containing many specimens of curious plants. After having visited the garden, Dr Roxburgh obligingly allowed me to see his native artists at work, drawing some of the most rare of his botanical treasures; they are the most beautiful and correct delineations of flowers I ever saw.487 Indeed, the Hindoos excel in all minute works of this kind. I saw in Dr Fleming’s possession a drawing, representing the inside of a zenana: the two favourite sultanas488 are playing at chess; the nurses are sitting round with the children; guards are in waiting, and the apartment opening to a garden, with a mosque in the back-ground, seems to denote that the zenana belongs to a person of distinction. The whole of this picture is finished like an exquisite miniature, and the perspective is admirably preserved. Dec 5.—We are in the midst of the Calcutta gaieties of the cold season. There are public and private balls and masquerades, besides dinners and parties innumerable. The public rooms are very pretty, but too small for the climate, and for the number of European inhabitants. In three weeks all the gay world will be assembled at Barrackpore, on account of the races, which are run close to the park-gate. This year there will be little sport, as the horses are indifferent, but I am told the scene will be very gay, “with store of ladies, whose bright eyes rain influence.”489 The course at Calcutta is abandoned, as the government discountenances racing, so that it only serves for an evening drive for the inhabitants. Returning from it the other night, after sun-set, I saw some of the trees on the esplanade so covered with the fire-fly, as to appear like pyramids of light. This beautiful little insect is 230

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about a fourth of an inch in length; its body and wings are of a dark ash-colour; the luminous part is that immediately under the tail, and occupies about one-third of the body; it is not constantly bright, but the insect seems to have the power of becoming luminous at pleasure. Talking of insects, I must not forget two, of which I saw drawings the other day, the Meloë cicorëi, and the Meloë trianthema, both of which are excellent substitutes for the Spanish blistering fly,490 which frequently spoils on the voyage to this country. The first abounds in various districts of Bengal, Berar, and Oude, particularly in the rainy season, during which it is found on the flowers of the cucurbitaceous plants,491 and also on those of the numerous species of Hibiscus and Sida. The three transverse undulated black bands on its yellow wing-cases, distinguish it from the other species of Meloë. The Meloë trianthema is found in great quantities in the Doab,492 and the districts on the right of the Jumna. It appears early in the rainy season, generally running on the ground, particularly in fields overrun with the Trianthema decandria;493 it is sometimes seen feeding in the flowers of the Solanum melosigena.494 The red orange colour of the abdomen, with the black dot on each of the segments, form its discriminative specific character. The flies should be gathered in the morning or evening, and immediately killed by the steam of boiling vinegar, after which they should be dried by the sun, and put in bottles, to preserve them from moisture.495 Barrackpore, Dec. 20, 1810.—I am once more at this charming place, but notwithstanding its beauties, I look anxiously forward to returning to my friends at Madras. The other night, in coming up the river, the first object I saw was a dead body, which had lain long enough in the water to be swollen, and to become buoyant. It floated past our boat, almost white, from being so long in the river, and surrounded by fish; and as we got to the landing-place, I saw two wild dogs tearing another body, from which one of them had just succeeded in separating a thigh-bone, with which he ran growling away. Now, though I am not very anxious as to the manner of disposing of my body, and have very little choice as to whether it is to be eaten by worms or by fishes, I cannot see, without disgust and horror, the dead indecently exposed, and torn and dragged about through streets and villages, by dogs and jackals. Yet such are the daily sights on the banks of the Hoogly. I wish I could say they were the worst; but when a man becomes infirm, or has any dangerous illness, if his relations have the slightest interest in his death, they take him to the banks of the river, set his feet in the water, and, stuffing his ears and mouth with mud, leave him to perish, which he seldom does without a hard struggle; and should the strength of his constitution enable him to survive, he becomes a pariah; he is no longer considered as belonging to his family or children, and can have no interest in his own fortune or goods. About thirty miles from Calcutta, there is a village under the protection of government, entirely peopled by these poor outcasts, the number of whom is incredible. The Danish town of Serampore is immediately opposite to Barrackpore. It is now in the hands of the English, and is the great resort of the missionaries, under whose direction there is a press where the scriptures have been printed in all the eastern languages. Many other books have also been published under their 231

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direction, one of the most curious of which is the works of Confucius,*,496 in the original Chinese, with an English translation, by Mr Marshman,497 who, without assistance or patronage, has laboured and succeeded in the study of the Chinese language, and in teaching it to his children, so as to enable them to speak and write it correctly at a very early age. To the Lun Gnee Mr Marshman has prefixed a

* The first volume of these works is already published; it contains the Lun Gnee, a collection of the precepts of the sage Chee.498 The second chapter of the fifth book contains anecdotes of the daily conduct of that philosopher. In it his appearance, his dress, his words, and his motions, are carefully recorded by his affectionate pupils. It may be curious to transcribe a few sentences, taken indiscriminately from the Lun Gnee. Confucius, in the Lun Gnee, is usually called Chee, that being his own name; Koong, is that of his father; and Fhoo, or Hoo, means great, chief, or teacher. Thus Koong, Fhoo, Chee, becomes Confucius in our western languages. “Chee says, learn and continually practise; is it not delightful? “Set the highest value on faithfulness and sincerity. “Have no friend unlike yourself. “Transgressing, you should not fear to return. “Chung-Chee says, carefully honour the deceased, imitate the ancients; the attachment of the people will then be great. “Chee says of governing with equity, that it resembles the north star, which is fixed, and all the stars surround it. “Chee says, in governing by legal coercion, in restraining by punishment, the people are preserved from open vice; but without ingenuous shame. “Govern the people with clemency, rule with equity and reason: feeling ashamed, the vicious may return to virtue. “Chee says, observe what a man does. Observe whence his actions proceed. Observe carefully his recreations. How can a man remain concealed? “Chee says, it is written in the See, respecting filial piety: Only filial piety and affection to brethren are practised in ruling. These, indeed, constitute government. Do not these virtues constitute the real magistrate? “To behold virtue, without imitation, is of no value. “Chee says, devoid of a virtuous principle, how can a man observe propriety? Devoid of a virtuous principle, how can a man taste happiness? “Reason, in the height of joy, teaches moderation. When in a state of mourning, it dictates proper sorrow. “Of things which are completed speak not; concerning things which are done advise not; past things do not blame. “Chee says, the father’s and the mother’s age the son is unable to forget: at one time he is filled with pleasure, at another with fear “Chee says, I have not yet seen a great mind. Some one replying, said Sun Chhung; Chee says, Chhung indeed! He is a slave to his desires; how does he possess an enlarged mind? “Chee says, knowledge produces pleasure clear as water; complete virtue, happiness solid as a mountain; knowledge pervades all things; virtue is tranquil and happy; knowledge is delight; virtue is long life. “Chee says, firmly fix your mind in the path of virtue. Constantly advance in virtuous habits. Acquaint yourself with perfect virtue. Be attentive to outward accomplishments. “Chee says, in the middle the exact point consists rectitude; to arrive at this is the great object; among men how few long remain there. “Without virtue, riches and honour seem like the passing cloud.”

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dissertation on the language, which appears to me so curious and interesting, that I cannot resist making an abstract of it. The two hundred and fourteen elementary characters of the Chinese consist of strong, linear, and angular strokes, which advance in number from one to fiftytwo; both the round and oval forms are excluded. These include the most remarkable objects of nature, as the sun, moon, and earth; the principal parts of a house, as roof, door; the utensils for daily purposes, as knife, spoon; domestic animals, grain, pulse, and the primary relations, as father, mother, son, daughter. There are among these likewise, characters for the soul, and for articles of worship, for ships, and for weapons; a few also are expressive of qualities, as great, good, dark, white, high, long. A few actions are expressed by primary characters, as to run, to walk, to stop, to lead, to arrive. The other characters in the language are formed by the union of two or more significant characters, in order to express a third idea; thus, tan, to fear, is formed of three symbols; sum, the heart, sin, trembling, and pee, empty,—an admirable hieroglyphic for fear. But it is singular that, with the power of forming such combinations in writing, the Chinese should never have thought of using the signs as syllables, and pronouncing them; instead of which, they invent a new monosyllable, often differing from one with a meaning diametrically opposite only in the intonation, for every new combination of characters. I can therefore understand, what I have hitherto regarded as a kind of miracle, that the most accomplished scholar might pass his whole life in the study of the Chinese, and yet not be acquainted with all the characters; it is as if a learned European should consult a lexicon for a word, though he knows the letters, with this difference, that the European pronounces the word he does not understand; while the Chinese understands the symbols, but cannot pronounce the word. The Chinese have no sound comprehending the letters R, B, G, or D, and there are only twelve final sounds which are either vowels or nasals. Respecting the grammar, it appears very simple; all the words are indeclineable; number is expressed by a numerical adjective; gender is constituted by the nature of the object spoken of, though they sometimes talk of a male man, and a female man. A few prepositive characters mark the cases, and the adjectives have neither number, case, nor gender. The comparative degree is expressed by kno,u to pass beyond, and there is scarcely a trace of the superlative. The pronouns are of all numbers, and of all genders. The modes of verbs are expressed with tolerable accuracy, by auxiliary characters. The past tense is usually determined by its connection with the rest of the sentence, but is sometimes expressed by a particular character; and the futures by different auxiliaries; the substantive verb is imperfect. The characters of the Chinese seem to form the intermediate step between hieroglyphic and alphabetical writing; but I cannot persuade myself, as Mr Marshman seems to have done, that they are better adapted for general intercourse than the latter. Do not imagine that I intend to become a pupil of Mr Marshman’s, for though I admire many of the maxims of the great Chinese sage, I hardly think it would be worth while to take much pains to become more intimately acquainted with a people, whose morality consists in ceremony,—whose wisdom is finesse,—and 233

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Fort William Calcutta.

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whose arts and literature have been at a stand these thousand years. A very curious picture of the private life of the Chinese is contained in a little novel, called, Hanv Kion Choan, or the pleasing history, published in English in 1761,499 I forget by whom. It was lent me by my friend Dr Leyden,* who assures me it is genuine. It contains the adventures of the Fair Shuey-Ping-Sing, and her different stratagems to escape from an unworthy lover, which of course succeed, and she is married to the hero of the piece, the whole being conducted without one word of sentiment, but abundance of propriety and finesse. H. M. S. Fox, Kedgeree, Dec. 26, 1810.—I embarked at Calcutta on the 23d, on board a pilot’s schooner, which should have proceeded immediately to this place; but by some accident we were detained till the next day opposite to Fort-William, and had full leisure to admire it, as the setting sun gilded its long lines and the white barracks within. Nothing can be more beautiful than both the outside and inside of Fort-William. The barracks are all very handsome buildings, and the trees in the different squares make the whole delightfully cool. There are no private houses within the fort, and the public-buildings seem all in excellent order. I was particularly pleased with the foundery and the machine for boring guns, which I had never seen before. There is a private dock-yard nearly opposite to Fort-William, and another a mile below it, on the same side of the river. On losing sight of Calcutta, I could not help regretting some very kind friends, and many agreeable acquaintance I had made during my stay there; but I hope in Britain to renew my intercourse with some of them, to whom it must be agreeable, as it will remind them of their own kindness to a stranger. Kedgeree is about half way between Calcutta and Saugor, where the Hoogly widens to a bason, which forms the harbour. Here is a bazar and village, where a Company’s naval officer is stationed, who makes a daily report to government of the ships arriving in and sailing out of the river. It is not uncommon for ships to lie here a long time in the rainy season, when the tides are not strong enough to influence the river against the freshes or floods occasioned by the rains. Men-of-war seldom go higher up the river, unless for repairs. A little farther towards the mouth of the river is Diamond-harbour, an unhealthy station, and which has none of the conveniences of Kedgeree. But the tide is turned, the wind fair, and the anchor up, and I must go on deck and walk to warm myself, for the north winds are still so strong as to make it disagreeably cold on the water, even at mid-day. Jan. 5, at Sea.—We were near enough to Madras on the 30th of December to see ships in the roads, which must be part of the fleet returned from the Mauritius, where they had not only to take possession of the island, so long the retreat of the plunderers of our Indian fleets, but to avenge the loss of our frigates, and officers and men, at the Isle de Passe.500 But it came on to blow so hard, that we found it * Dr Leyden fell a victim to the climate of Java, where he died soon after the reduction of that island in 1811. No person had ever carried their researches so far with respect to the various dialects of India, and their connection with each other. In him oriental learning lost one of her brightest ornaments.

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impossible to approach the roads, and accordingly stood out to sea, with a considerable leak in our ship, and her foremast so frail, that we were afraid to set much sail on it. However, after some days of most uncomfortable pitching and rolling, we are again approaching our port. Those who spend their life on shore, can have no idea of the activity, courage, and presence of mind every day displayed on board ship: there is no moment in which the seriousness of business relaxes, because there is no moment in which self-preservation does not require exertion. When bad weather comes on, when gales are blowing, and seas running which threaten destruction to the vessel, the skilful mariner forgets the danger, and only sees the way to secure his ship; his word seems like fate; the slightest alteration in the setting of a sail, a single turn of the wheel, seems to baffle the storm, and to lay all quiet around. The weather is now moderate, and I trust that the last gale of the stormy monsoon is over for this year. We shall probably land to-morrow, which will be at least a month earlier than any merchant-ship will reach Madras from Bengal. Madras, Jan. 12, 1811.—On arriving here on the sixth of this month, I found, with the account of the surrender of the Isle of France,501 a summons to return to England502 by the first opportunity; and I shall employ the interval in a visit to the ancient and curious town of Mahaballipooram,503 commonly known to Europeans by the name of the Seven Pagodas, for which place I mean to set off to-night at nine o’clock, so that we shall arrive there by sunrise, as the distance is only thirtysix miles. Mahaballipooram, Jan. 13.—We arrived here at seven o’clock this morning, having rested our Bhoïs at Tripatoor,504 where there is a large and very sacred pagoda, and a handsome choultry, neither of which I saw, as it was midnight when we stopped there. I am told that, in digging for wells at Tripatoor, beds of shells have been discovered at a great depth below the level of the sea.505 I slept the greatest part of the way, and at day-light arrived in a flat uninteresting country. We soon entered a little wood, which brought us to the rocks of Mahaballipooram, after crossing a little river, or rather branch of the sea, one mouth of which is at Covelong, five miles from Madras, and the other near Sadrass, so that the space between is insulated, but the water is always fordable. On our arrival here we found our tents pitched about half a mile from the village, on a little sandy promontory, terminated by a curious ruined pagoda, where we enjoy the sea-breeze in perfection. I found here a Bramin named Sreenavassie,506 a servant of LieutenantColonel Colin Mackenzie507 (whose antiquarian researches are so well known,) with a note from that gentleman, who had previously furnished me with a plan of the village, begging me to make use of the Bramin as a guide. Sreenavassie being a Vistoo Bramin,508 to which sect all those of Mahaballipooram belong, was of the greatest use in procuring information on the spot; and having attended his master on several expeditions to this village, he was the best guide I could have had to all that is worthy of remark in the neighbourhood. After breakfast I went to examine the ruined temple, which, ancient and dilapidated as it is, appears to have been formed of the fragments of still older buildings. 236

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It is said by the Bramins to have been dedicated to Vishnu Narrayn,509 and to have been destroyed during the religious quarrels between the followers of Vishnu and Siva, when the Stala Puranas510 were thrown into the sea by the Saivas.511 A gigantic statue of Vishnu Narrayn lies neglected in one corner of the Viranda of the temple, in the two chambers of which there are square tablets, with figures in high relief, representing Siva and Parvati seated, with high caps, and Brahma and Vishnu in the back-ground. The chamber next the sea has the remains of a gigantic symbol of Maha Deo, of black polished stone, so that to whatever deity the pagoda was originally dedicated, the worshippers of Siva must have possessed it for a time. There is a tradition, that a large city, and five magnificent pagodas, have been swallowed up at this place by the sea; the ruined temple I have mentioned, and one still entire in the village, making the seven pagodas whence the place had its name. The pillar for illuminating on festivals, and the eastern steps of the temple, are nearly covered when the tide is high; a remarkable fragment of rock, hollowed near the top, and having in the niche a figure, is now only accessible at low water; and, about two years ago, Colonel Mackenzie discovered in the sand of the beach, two miles north from Mahvellipoor,* a number of coins, beads, bracelets, and other articles of that kind, which induced him to believe that there had been a manufactory of these articles at that place, and probably a mint. Some coins found in this neighbourhood appear to be Roman, but the legends have not, I think, in any instance, been sufficiently perfect to be legible. Several copper plates have been dug up, on which are inscribed grants of land for the maintenance of the temples, being dated above a thousand years ago, and referring to the sculptured rocks of Mahvellipoor, as being then so ancient, that history gave no account of their origin. Finding that I can remain here only three days, I braved the heat of the sun, and at two o’clock I walked to the village, where some of the most curious rocks are situated. In passing, I stopped to look at the temple dedicated to Vishnu (here called Vistoo,) an elegant building, highly ornamented without, but I was not permitted to enter. Immediately in front of the pagoda stands an unfinished building, called a Goparum.512 It is a gateway which, like many others in this part of the country, is unfinished; they are said to have been begun by the Rajah Dhurma,513 and are therefore called Royal Goparums. There are two at this place, the ornaments of which are delicately carved, and fancied with surprising taste and lightness; one is on the top of a hill behind the temple, and not connected with it; the other is before the pagoda, and belongs to it: its beauty is now increased by its being partially covered with the peepil, which, though it often grows to the size of the banian, sometimes creeps, and attaches itself like ivy. Through the goparum, as through an arch of triumph, the figures of the deities are brought on days of festivals, and placed in the Muntapom or open temple, to receive the adoration * So the natives pronounce Mahaballipooram.

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of the people, who are not permitted to enter the great temple, and who have no opportunity of beholding their deity, but those furnished by his public appearance on great occasions. The muntapom at Mahvellipoor, is placed before the goparum; it is supported by four slender and curiously wrought pillars, each consisting of a single stone, the shaft being about twenty-five feet. On these columns rests a small dome covered with carved work; and by way of basement to the pillars, are four flights of four steps, the sides of which are wrought to look like wheels, whence the muntapom is sometimes called a god-carriage. Near the temple is a large and handsome choultry, and around are the houses of the Bramins, of whom there are still upwards of four hundred in this village. Beyond the pagoda, to the westward, is the first sculptured rock; it is a cave or grotto supported by several not inelegant pillars, and on the walls is represented one of the adventures of Christna,514 the eighth awatar of Vishnu. He is represented as supporting on the tip of his little finger the mountain Goverd’hana, to protect his worshippers from the wrath of Indea,515 who is showering down stones upon them, their flocks, and their herds. This group, especially the cattle, is executed with considerable spirit. Adjoining to this are the other caverns unfinished; and beyond them, about a stone’s throw, there is a most extraordinary group. The face of a large rock is carved into above a hundred figures of men and animals, mostly of the natural size, though some are much larger, and some rather smaller, representing the Tapass of Arjoon,*,516 or sacred austerities practised by that hero, in order to obtain from Vishnu a celestial weapon, which was to give him power over all his enemies. He is here seen performing his tapass, standing on the tip of his great toe, with his hands above his head, and his eyes and face turned upwards; at his right hand stands Vishnu, four-armed, and between them a dwarf. The rest of the figures to the right and left appear in postures of adoration; among them are birds, monkeys, lions, elephants, and figures partly human, with the legs of beasts, and wings at the hips.† The five sons of Pandoo (a king of India, of the Chaudra Vumshum, or moonrace,) having lost at play, to their cousin Duryodum, their whole dominions, and being obliged to retire to the forests and wild solitudes for the space of twelve years, they departed with their consort Drawputty, led by the eldest brother the Rajah Dhurm, followed by a troop of Bramins and other holy men.517 After a number of strange vicissitudes and surprising adventures in the forests, Dhurm appears to have discovered that they could never regain their kingdom, unless possessed of the Pansuputtw Astrum,518 (a divine weapon,) and he made choice of his brother, the hero Arjoon, on account of his superior prudence and virtue, to obtain it. Arjoon accordingly set out, and, after displaying his courage in several encounters, he reached the mountain of India Keiladree, or the illusions of India.519 There he performed worship in the three ways; Mana, proceeding from the heart in silence; Vauk, offered by speech; and Neyama,520 assisted by ceremonies and

* See Appendix for the legend of Arjoon from the Maha Barut.521

† See the Plate of the Tapass of Arjoon.

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Teer of Arjoon.

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purifications: he then commenced his tapass, during the first month of which he eat once in four days, during the second once in seven days, during the third once in a fortnight, and in the fourth he lived on the air as his food. This intense piety so interested Vishnu, that he resolved to gratify the hero’s wishes; but he first tried his prowess and courage, by appearing as a hostile king; and having forced him to exhaust his weapons, he wrestled with him till they both fell. Satisfied with the hero, Vishnu no longer withheld the heavenly arrow, and immediately all the hosts of the skies, and every living animal, came and did homage to him, and the gods of the eight quarters, each presented him with a divine weapon, with which he returned to his brother, the Rajah Dhurma. Jan. 14, 1811.—Yesterday evening, accompanied by Sreenavassie, we left our tents to explore the rocks beyond that of the Tapass. After leaving the sandy tract where we are encamped, we went to the village through part of a small picturesque jungle. On the right of the road is a little natural lake, into which the trees and bushes spread themselves, making a thousand varieties in the banks, which are overhung with the peculiar beauties of eastern fields, and a small clump of low plants, from among which an old twisted date tree rises, forms a little island near the centre of the lake. A little farther on, to the left, is a large tank, the walls of which are just enough decayed to have become picturesque. A ruined muntapom stands in the middle, and on its banks several buildings of the same kind, some partially hid by the trees, and others boldly projecting, with their verdant crowns of peepil or euphorbia. These objects, lighted up by the setting sun, with groups of natives bathing, and cattle grazing on the edge of the tank as we went by, made an enchanting picture. Having passed the Tapass of Arjoon, we came to an entire temple cut out of a mass of solid rock. It is at least thirty feet high; but the accompanying sketch will give a better idea of it than any description can do. It is called the Teer* of Arjoon. It is now occupied by a black stone statue of Ganesa, called on this coast Pollear. A little farther on, in a cleft which separates the great rock from another, there is a small cave or muntapom, within which Vishnu, in the Varaha awatar,522 is represented of a size a little larger than the human stature. There are a number of these small caves in the rocks, all of which I propose to visit, if not prevented by the jungle, which grows over the mouths of many of them. In the course of our walk we saw a large round cistern, which some of the Bramins say was used by Drawputty, the wife of Dhurma, to hold her tyre, (a dish of milk, sour and curdled,) while she lived in the forests; others call it the creampot of Krishna, and point out a large round fragment of rock which stands on the slope of a steep hill, as the butter-ball of the same deity. On the top of the rock, whose face represents the tapass of Arjoon, we found a stone couch, with a lion for a pillow, called the Rajah Dhurma’s lion-throne; close to it is a fine reservoir or bath, beside which a handsome figure layx on the ground, which we set up; and not far from thence is one of the royal goparums, designed with great elegance. * Teer, a place of religious retirement.

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By the time we had sufficiently examined these curious objects, the sun had set, and the short twilight of the country but just permitted us to reach our tents before dark, when I was so fatigued, that instead of rising this morning, as I intended, at daybreak, it was seven o’clock before I joined Sreenavassie to go to see some models of temples here called rutts, two miles to the south of the village. These curious models stand in a grove of palmyras, and are partly covered with sand. They give one the idea of beautiful small buildings; but on going close to them, one perceives that they are each of a single block of pale granite. The most northern, which is that nearest to Mahvellipoor, is very plain, square, and hollowed; it is supposed by Colonel Mackenzie to have been a temple to Kali; it is ten feet and three quarters long, and seventeen feet high. The next is likewise square, but very much ornamented with figures and imitations of pinnacles and windows; it is twenty-six feet two inches long, and twenty-five and a half feet high. The third is the largest; in the lower part are virandas round three sides; the whole is cracked through, and a large fragment of the front is broken off. Tradition says that this fracture was occasioned by lightning sent by the gods, to prove their existence to an unbelieving king. The length of this rutt is forty-seven feet, and its height twenty-five and a half. The fourth model is treble-storied, adorned with galleries and figures, terminated with a dome, and is, altogether, a most finished work. It is twenty-seven feet long, and thirty-six feet high. We ascended to the first gallery by a ladder, to examine the figures which the ornaments on the outside of the gallery prevented our seeing from below. They represent the different Hindoo deities, but particularly Vishnu in his several awatars. From this gallery there are steps to ascend to the others, which are in the same stile as the first. On the ground-story there is one of the figures called Viraj, which I first saw at Elephanta. These four rutts are in a line from north to south; the fifth is a little to the westward; it is shaped like a horse-shoe, and is I think the most elegant of the whole; on the flat end it has a portico; it is wrought with a double row of pretty pilasters, and has three stories besides the roof, which is rounded. Immediately opposite the small rutt, or temple of Kali, is the figure of a huge lion, six feet and three quarters long; his head is six feet and a half from the sand, in which he is buried to the middle of his legs. It is curious that, in a country where it is often denied that any lions ever existed,523 the most ancient sculptures should abound with them, and that the name should be familiar in all the legends and histories. Behind the lion is a large elephant; and nearly buried in the sand there is a Nundi. On some of the temples there are inscriptions in a character hitherto not decyphered by Europeans, and which is probably the same with that at Carli and Kenara, having, as nearly as I can remember, the same appearance. Colonel Mackenzie has found a man who reads it so as to pronounce the sounds, but he does not understand the language they express. These singular monuments appear never to have been finished, being surrounded by fragments of stone which seem as if newly chipped off the sculptures. The view of these objects, together with the loneliness of the place, the depth of the sands, and the distant roarings of the ocean, dispose the mind to meditate concerning the short duration of the monuments of human pride. History 241

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The Five Radums.

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is altogether, and fable almost silent, as to the authors of these works of taste and magnificence; they are forgotten, and the memory of the arts which they practised has perished with them. The monuments they have left now adorn a desert, which Nature, as if in scorn of man, seems to pride herself in decking with gay colours, and fresh smells of every delightful shrub and flower, whose Author can never be mistaken. After breakfast I returned to the five rutts or radums, of which I made a sketch, and then visited three others in a picturesque spot, about two miles to the westward, which are in the same stile with the five great models, though they are not like any one of them, nor do they resemble each other. I found walking in the sand in the mid-day sun so very fatiguing, that on my return home I was obliged to lie down, and slept till dinner-time, after which I again went to the rocks, where I found a group similar to the tapass blocked out, but none of the figures nearly finished, excepting those of Arjoon and Vishnu. Farther on, there are a number of small caves or muntapoms, and on the top of the rock there is a large fragment, bearing the marks of the chissel, and seeming to have been intended for a teer. In a rocky glen, full of low shrubs, we found a highly-finished muntapom, containing two remarkable pieces of sculpture. The first represents Vishnu Narrayn, sleeping on the serpent Shesha;524 two figures at his feet are called by the Bramins, Repentance driving away the angel of death, and three kneeling figures below are called the good, by whose prayers punishment, in the shape of two little imps above, is averted. The other group represents Doorga, here called Maha Mordanee. In her character of active virtue, she is employing all her celestial weapons against Maïssassoor,525 the buffalo-headed demon of vice, who is armed with a club. She is eight-handed, and riding on a lion. Each of the compartments containing these figures is fourteen feet and a half in length, and seven feet in height. Directly above the muntapom there is an ancient temple dedicated to Ganesa. Sreenavassie told me, that it had once been consecrated to Maha Deo, but that in the wars between the Saivas and the followers of Vishnu, the idol had been thrown down into the jungle below. With some difficulty I climbed the rock on which this temple stands, but was disappointed, for the steps being demolished, I could only walk round the building, and the footing round it so narrow and slippery, that I more than once expected to fall; however, the beauty of the prospect repaid my labour. The village, with its houses, gardens, and temples, lay between me and the sea; on the other side a ruined temple on the summit of a hill in the fore-ground gave a greater distance to the plain, with its little river, and the western mountains melting in the haze of the setting sun; and over my head the branches of the Euphorbia, which crowns Ganesa’s temple, projected in rude angles, from which the many-coloured convolvolus floated in garlands, waving with the sea-breeze. Jan. 15.—Early this morning I left the tents to walk to a rock which I was told was only two miles off, but I found it nearer four. The way is dreary and desolate, not a shrub nor a tree, nor even a large stone, to rest the eye upon; nothing but deep sand, with here and there a few patches of thick-leaved plants, and the surf beating with violence on the shore. When I arrived at the spot I wished to visit, I found a 243

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few stunted Palmyra trees, and two large fragments of rock, one of which is so tall and narrow, that it seems threatening to fall; and the other, about a stone’s throw from it, is carved in a grotesque manner. It is twenty-eight feet long and twelve high, and is cracked through unequally. On the largest portion there are nine heads of animals, disposed in an arch; the three in the centre are full-faced, the three on each side in profile; they are called lions heads, but have horns and tusks. Under the arch are three empty niches; that in the middle is the largest, and is supported by two grotesque animals and two dwarfs. The small division of the stone is fancifully decorated with two square niches, in each of which is a sitting figure, and the head and neck of a horse, a great part of which is buried in the sand. I was really fatigued with the length and heat of my walk, having neglected to carry even an umbrella; but some of the party at the tents sent a tonjon or open chair, carried like a palankeen, to meet me, and I got into it about a mile and a half from the rock, and slept most comfortably till breakfast; after which I again set out to see the temple of Varaha.526 It is one of the caverns whose front is walled up, and now used as a temple; it is said to contain a figure of Varaha coloured green, an unusual circumstance, for one of Vishnu’s names is derived from his blue colour. Contrary to my usual experience, I found that even bribes would not induce the Bramins to allow me to go into the temple. It is now partly kept up by an annual donation from the Company, which, however, is far from being an equivalent for the lands formerly set apart for the maintenance of the religious establishments of Mahvellipoor. On the side of the temple there is a very large slab, containing an inscription in old Malabars,527 of which Colonel Mackenzie has obtained an accurate copy, as well as of some in the village, which cost him considerable pains. He observed in the walls of the large village pagoda several stones at a distance from one another, inscribed with characters, which, placed as they were, had no meaning; however, he caused them to be copied, and joining the whole together, found they made one intelligible inscription, which had been on the wall of some more ancient structure than that of which they now form a part. It is curious that, in the court of this temple to Vishnu, there is a rude altar to Siva, on which I found some withered leaves and flowers, with a cocoanut and some limes. Returning from Varaha’s cave, I saw smoke issuing from a muntapom, which I had not before observed, and on going to it I found it occupied by some poor people, more than ordinarily timid; they were of small stature, and nearly naked, sitting round a fire cooking. Sreenavassie declined going near them, assuring me they were of too low a caste to be approached. I found they were wood-cutters, who only go into towns and villages, to sell wood and to buy rice; they inhabit the jungles, living under trees, or in the hollows of rocks, so that the deserted caves of Mahvellipoor are palaces to them. There is a tradition that, during a grievous famine, one of the kings of India residing at his capital, the ancient and famous city of Mahaballipooram, which is now swallowed up by the sea, received certain artificers from the northern countries, with their wives and families, and engaged to feed them, on condition that they employed their talent of cutting and hewing stone to beautify his capital; and 244

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they accordingly began to form the rocks into temples and grottoes, and to build pagodas, goparums, and muntapoms, but the famine ceasing, they returned to their own country, and left their work unfinished. It is remarkable that the headdress of the gods and principal persons, represented in the sculptured rocks at this place, have not the smallest likeness to any used in this part of India, but they extremely resemble those of the countries bordering upon Tartary,528 and those represented in the cave of Elephanta. The figures of the Bramins and pilgrims are precisely those seen every day at present, from which attention to truth, in some particulars, it is probable that they have been equally exact with regard to others, and have copied in both instances from the life. I am sorry to observe, that the Madras government has let the rocks of Mahvellipoor by way of stone quarries, and that they are digging the stone so near some of the best executed caves, as to threaten them with destruction, while they leave untouched much stone of the same kind in the neighbourhood of the village. But it is time to think of our journey back to Madras, which I regret the more, as there are many curious things I have not yet seen, and figures lying in every field. It is worthy of remark, that all the buildings and monuments are consecrated to Vishnu in this place, and that of all his awatars Crishna is that in which he is most honoured, while, on the other side of the peninsula, and in the mountainous districts, the worship of Siva prevails. It is generally believed that the religion of Siva is more ancient than that of Vishnu, which appears to have been introduced after a long series of wars, when the hilly countries served as a retreat to the ancient gods, while those comparatively modern were established in the plains. Madras, Feb. 1.—I have been highly gratified with the sight of Colonel Mackenzie’s collection of Hindoo antiques, and drawings of most of the temples in this part of India. He permitted me to copy some sketches of ancient Hindoo tombs, called by the natives Pandoo koolis; for they attribute to the five sons of Pandoo every extraordinary work, of the origin of which they are ignorant. These bear an extraordinary resemblance to the Druidical vestiges in Europe, in Brittany, Cornwall, Ireland, and Scotland.529 They are composed of four or more upright stones, forming a chamber, which is sometimes divided, and is covered by a large flat stone. They are often surrounded by circles of smaller stones, and Colonel Mackenzie calls them Indian cairns; for some of them are, in like manner, covered with tumuli,530 and in many he has found bones, ashes, vases, arms, and even coins. The account given of the tombs, which cover vast plains in Tartary, no longer inhabited nor even visited, but for the sake of the precious metals found in these repositories of the dead, is so similar to the koolies, according to the account of them given by Colonel Mackenzie, and to the barrows and cairns of Britain, that one would be tempted to imagine that there must have existed, between the inhabitants of those remote nations, a connection sufficiently intimate to have transmitted similar customs to their descendants, although their common origin be forgotten. India, like the nations of Europe, had its minstrels and poets, concerning whom there is the following tradition: At a marriage of Siva and Parvaty, the immortals 245

Indian cairns—or Pandoo Koolis

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having exhausted all the amusements then known, wished for something new, when Siva, wiping the drops of sweat from his brow, shook them to earth, upon which the Bawts, or bards, immediately sprang up. Grateful for being called into existence, they sang Siva’s praise, but so exclusively as to offend Parvaty, who conceived herself entitled to half their homage; she therefore sent them down to earth, commanding them to sing the feats of gods and heroes, in the presence of kings and nobles, and condemning them to a life of wandering and perpetual poverty. One branch of the bawts, calling themselves Charums, pretend to derive their origin from the drops of Vishnu’s forehead. They are all held sacred, but their condition is conformable to the curse of Parvaty. They eat flesh, and adhere to the ancient Hindoo doctrine, as professed before the reformation of Mundana Misroodoo*:531 they are often called Batta Rajahs. There is also a tribe of itinerant boxers called Ihattries,532 who perform exercises and games like the ancient Athletæ. They use thirty-two kinds of weapons, the chief of which is the Vajrar Moostee, or horn-fist,533 with which they sometimes arm their hands in boxing. The Ihattries are divided into ten tribes, taking their names from the ten Bramins from whom they pretend to be descended. They exercise in an enclosed place, strewed with red earth, in which they roll themselves, after oiling their bodies. They pretend to have been taught their art by Crishna, whom they worhip as Batal, king of demons; they also adore Kali, to whom they yearly sacrifice a sheep, making her figure, on these occasions, of the red earth used in their exercises. In their prayers they do not distinguish Siva from Vishnu. They burn their dead, and their customs resemble those of the Bramins in many particulars, as in the Voopa Nayanum, or putting on of the Braminical thread, and the Vevahom, or worship of fire on their marriage; but they marry later in life, the men not till the age of twenty, and they permit their widows to contract a second marriage, which the other Hindoos do not. They use great quantities of animal food, abstaining only from the flesh of the cow, and that of unclean animals; they eat with none but Bramins, the pure castes of whom refuse to eat with them. Their proper dress is the Chelladom, or short drawers, and the casha, or sash. Feb. 12.—For some weeks past I have neither been out to walk nor ride, nor even to pay a morning visit, without meeting some one who has been engaged in our recent conquests in the Indian Seas.534 Those who come from the Isle of France say that even St Pierre’s charming description hardly does justice to it;535 and those from Bourbon536 are full of the praises of that island, which they describe as rich in every vegetable production, and fertile in the extreme, excepting on one side, called the Pays Brulé,537 where the lava, which appears to have flowed from the crater on the summit, is still bare and barren. When we passed the island in 1809, the haze prevented our seeing any part of it but the summit, and the cloud of * Mundana Misroodoo, an incarnation of Brahma in the person of a Bramin of Casee, or Benares. He reformed the Hindoo religion, forbidding the sacrifice of cows and horses, and prohibiting marriage with sisters, and eating of the burnt-offerings to the dead. Some have supposed that he was a priest from Misr, or Egypt.

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smoke issuing from the volcano, which has not erupted violently for some years, though it is constantly emitting smoke and flame. The inhabitants of Bourbon are described as a simple hospitable people. Few of them having been out of the island, they are entirely occupied in farming, and are now so overburdened with produce, from the want of a market, that the dowers given with their daughters in marriage often consist of so many bags of coffee or spices. The natives of the Isle of France are much more like the European French in their external manners, but they are described as profligate and immoral beyond even the vulgar notions of French licentiousness. The captors of the islands of Banda538 are not less lavish in their praises of the beautiful scenery of the eastern islands, and the wonders of their coral rocks, and groves of spice, and burning mountains; one of the most remarkable of which, Goonong Appee,539 was in a violent state of eruption eighteen years ago, when a new promontory was formed at its foot. This mountain forms an island by itself, wooded two-thirds of the way up, and black and bare above; it is always emitting smoke, and often throws out flame with a rumbling noise; its shape is conical, and the base is very narrow. It is separated from Banda Neira,540 a small island well fortified, which was the seat of government, by a narrow strait, and forms part of the bason, or harbour of Banda, which is surrounded by it, by Great Banda, and Banda Neira. On the latter island there is a hill not so high as Goonong Appee, but the shape of which is precisely similar. The governor of Banda, happily for himself *, was killed in defending the fortress of Belgica, when it was stormed by Captains Cole and Kenah.541 The inhabitants seem perfectly satisfied with their change of masters, as it opens to them a wider market for their commodities; nor do those of Manilla and Amboyna542 seem less reconciled to us. The native inhabitants of all these islands were Malays, but the Dutch and Spanish settlers have mixed a great deal with them, which has made them only hate one another the more cordially, so that hardly a day passes without robberies and murders. Feb. 21, 1811, H. M. S. Barbadoes, at sea.—The day before yesterday, at twelve o’clock, I went to take leave of Admiral Drury,543 who had kindly interested himself to procure me a passage home in a frigate. I found assembled in his house the friends with whom I had been living, and all the naval captains on the station, whom he had invited to a collation at my farewell visit. He had often said, that no woman left alone, where he had the command, should have reason to think that he had forgotten that he was a husband and a father: and he acted up to his professions; for, besides the attention he shewed me in collecting my friends around me to take leave, and accompanying me himself to the beach, I found on board stores of every kind, sheep, milch goats, wine, preserves, pickles, fruit, vegetables, in short, everything that could possibly add to the comfort or convenience of a long voyage, and many of the things packed and directed by his * The Governor of Amboyna was shot by General Daendaels,544 for having surrendered that island.

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own hand. I hardly thought I could have felt so much at leaving India, as I did when I embarked at Madras; but there is something in leaving even a disagreeable place for ever, that makes one sad, without being able to account for it,— much more when that place contains friends with whom one has been in habits of daily intercourse, and from whom one has received kindness. My companions in the cabin are three naval captains, besides Captain Hodgson,545 who commands the frigate, and all, happily for me, of cheerful tempers. I occupy one quarter of the cabin, and after breakfast I always write or study for three hours, after which I draw, or do needle-work, till dinner-time, when I again read for an hour or two before I take my evening’s walk, so that my time will not hang heavy on my hands in fine weather. Saturday, April 13, 1811, off Table Land, 9 h. A. M.—Our voyage from Madras has been long and stormy. We had a gale of wind on the 13th of March, another on the 21st, storms off the French islands,546 and again off Cape St Mary’s,547 and such constant blowing weather, with heavy seas, that we have had half our stern windows closed almost ever since we left Madras. On the 6th of April, being Palm-Sunday, we made the coast of Africa about St John’s river,548 in south latitude 32° 48′. It blew very hard a contrary wind, and there was a very heavy sea, so that we were obliged to wear the ship every half hour, to keep in the comparatively smooth water along the shore. About the river this country is very beautiful; we approached it several times so near as to see the surf on the beach. The land is high and mountainous; the hills are of the brightest green, diversified with thick woods, which, as we came to the southward, gradually disappeared, though the mountains still retained their beautiful verdure. On the 7th the weather gradually moderated, the sea went down, and we had fine weather; so that though we seemed to have made but little way, the current, which had been checked on the 6th by the contrary wind, returning to its usual course with impetuosity, carried us ninety-three miles to the southward of our reckoning in twenty-four hours. We were then on the bank of Lagullus, or Agulhas,549 and expected to have reached the Cape of Good Hope in two days at farthest, but the wind and weather have been so contrary, that we shall be very happy if we get ashore to-night. April 25, 1811, off the Cape of Good Hope.550—I have spent ten days very agreeably on shore at Cape-Town, the neatness and beauty, and singular situation of which, immediately at the foot of the Table Mountain, have been so often described. The English people at the Cape live like the English everywhere, as much in the manner they would do at home as circumstances will permit. The Dutch colonists551 in general preserve their ancient simplicity and hospitality. They usually dine at twelve o’clock, and make their principal meal at supper, at eight o’clock. I was delighted with the fine complexions and good-natured unaffected manners of the young Dutch women, after seeing the pale faces and languid affectation of the British Indians. They generally speak English well, and many of them write it correctly. 249

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Cape Town from the Heer Graght.

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Every day, while at the Cape, I rode out in the fine country at the back of the Table Mountain, where many of the English have pleasant country houses, and there are some fine Dutch estates, particularly that of Constantia,552 where the rich wine of that name is produced. I was particularly delighted with the Hottentot camp,553 where eight hundred of that savage people have been civilized and taught the arts of society. Before the last taking of the Cape by the British, the Hottentots, embodied as a regiment by the Dutch, were treated rather as public slaves than as soldiers; their only clothing was undressed sheep-skins, or coarse blankets; they were miserably fed, and worse lodged; and the only art they seemed to have practised was the weaving of mats and baskets. Their condition is now widely different; their cantonments have been rebuilt, and they are fed, lodged, and clothed, as well as any peasants I remember to have seen. Their houses, furniture, and clothes, are all of their own manufacture, for they are ingenious and expert at any handicraft for which they have a pattern; they are also fond of music, and readily learn to play on any instrument. The Hottentots are said to have no peculiar notions concerning religion; those at the camp of Wyneberg554 have become extremely attached to a missionary who lives among them, and who has taught many of them to read and write; they are all his proselytes, and seem to want no qualification, either mental or bodily. All of them speak Dutch, and many of them English. They are orderly and well behaved as soldiers, but the women are given to drinking. They are remarkably honest; and their colonel told me, that, in the five years he has been with them, he never saw one of them take deliberate revenge. Their dispositions are extremely cheerful, and nobody enjoys a droll story more than a Hottentot. At the same time they have a surprising degree of naïveté. A serjeant, with his party, being appointed to guard some French prisoners on their march from Simon’s Town555 to Cape Town, had to cross a rivulet swoln so as to be breast high. He hurried on so as to get across before the prisoners, and made some of his men stand on one side, and some on the other, ordering them to fire on the first Frenchman who should stoop in the water; saying that they were sailors, and lived as well below the water as on land, and if they once got into their own element, they should never see them again. Their colonel’s cottage is close to the parade, on the edge of the hill of Wyneberg; everything in it is of Hottentot workmanship, and even his dress is made by Hottentots: they are all extremely fond of him, and call him father. I have heard many instances of their attachment and attention to him; among others, an anecdote of one of his own servants diverted me. His master observed, for several days, on his breakfast-table, excellent honey in small quantities; he asked whence it came, when the boy answered, he had watched the bee when it came to the garden for flowers, and had followed it to the top of the Table Mountain, and had taken its nest. They seem to possess quickness of sight, and swiftness of foot, in an extraordinary degree, and are extremely active. A few hundred miles from Cape Town there is a Moravian establishment of Hottentots.556 Most of the African missionaries, when they go into the interior, collect a tribe of savages round them, who are willing to be baptized, and to pray 251

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and sing psalms, as long as the missionary’s store of brandy lasts; but when that is done, they return to their native habits, only more wretched, from the artificial wants created by a partial acquaintance with Europeans. The Moravians, on the contrary, instruct their proselytes to sow corn, to rear domestic animals, and to manufacture articles of various kinds, which are brought to Cape Town and sold; and with the produce, coarse stuffs for clothing, and raw materials for the manufactures, are bought.* Having thus laid a foundation for understanding the necessity of moral regulation, by introducing the comforts of society, the Moravians preach Christianity with an incalculable advantage over those blind enthusiasts who, neglecting to prepare their converts for the belief of real Christianity, by shewing them the advantages to be derived from the practice it enjoins, address themselves to their passions and their credulity, and bribe them into baptism, only to leave them in a worse state than that in which they found them. In riding through the beautiful country at the back of Tableland, I could not help noticing the variety of shrubs and flowers with which it abounds, although this is almost the worst season for them. The only tree indigenous at the Cape is the Whiteboom (Protea Argentea,) which is very conspicuous from the silvery whiteness of its foliage; it is of quick growth, and is planted for fuel; the bark is used for tanning, and the wood is sometimes used for floors and for common furniture. The Protea Mellifera557 is a smaller and more beautiful plant, in the bottom of whose calyx558 there is a fluid resembling honey, sometimes collected and eaten as a sweetmeat. There is also a kind of myrtle, the leaves of which, when boiled, yield a fat substance, of which I have seen candles, of an agreeable smell and a green colour. The Dutch have stocked the colony with oak and fir, neither of which arrive at such perfection as in Europe, though the fir thrives so well as to be useful as small spars for ships. It is curious to see the firs of Scotland and Norway, the oak, the myrtle, and the geranium, with the orange, the peach, and the apple, mixing their foliage, their flowers, and their fruits, in the same garden. But the climate is so delightful, that though the tenderest plants require no shelter in the middle of winter, the summer heats are never so great as to prevent one from enjoying all kinds of exercise. The supplies for the colony are brought from the farms in the interior by the Dutch boors,559 who, I am sorry to learn, do not grow a third of the corn they might produce, for they have a notion that the colony is prosperous in proportion to the high price of wheat, not in proportion to the quantity they might export, so that, with perhaps the most fertile soil in the world, they buy a great deal of corn from the Americans, and have been more than once reduced almost to famine. It is true, that government requires them to produce a certain quantity of wheat, but they grow as little more as they can help. * I have in my possession a penknife of very neat workmanship from the Moravian Hottentots village.

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All the wheat, maize, barley, oats, butter, cheese, and fruit, are brought to Cape Town in waggons, sometimes drawn by sixteen or twenty oxen, driven by a single Hottentot, who sits in the front of his waggon, and drives all the beasts in hand, with a long whip, with which he contrives to touch the foremost, and which it is great part of a young Hottentot’s education to learn to manage with dexterity. Sometimes whole families come down in these waggons, which are fitted up very commodiously within. The boors are in general a large stout race of men, coarse in their habits and manners, and accused of y great cruelty towards their slaves and the natives of the country; a particular tribe of the last, however, often revenge themselves by setting fire to the corn and hay, and killing the cattle, which they never carry away. These wild people are called Boschemenz;560 they are more savage than the Hottentots or the Caffres,561 living on trees or in caves, and feeding on fruits, roots, and such wild animals as they can shoot with the bow and arrow, the only weapon with which they seem to be acquainted. They are a diminutive race, being seldom, if ever, seen above four feet high, and they are not numerous. The Dutch in the neighbourhood of the Cape are much more European in their habits; such of their houses as I saw were commodious and well furnished, and their tables were covered with a profusion of good things, and very well cooked. I ate at my friend Mr Clootë’s562 house part of a roasted porcupine, and thought it the best animal food I ever tasted. There is abundance of venison, excellent vegetables, and fine fruit, of which the ladies are expert in making most delicious preserves. Beef and mutton are brought from the inland farms, and are often excellent; the wine which is commonly drank is small and pleasant, and free from the lusciousness of the Constantia; there is also a stronger sort, which improves very much by age, though it never arrives at the excellence of either Sherry or Madeira. We intended to have left Table Bay on the fourth day after we anchored there, but it came on to blow so hard, that there was no communication between the ship and the shore, so that we were obliged to wait for provisions and water. However, on the twenty-second we got under way, but it fell calm, and we are still in sight of Table Land, indeed almost near enough to see the races, which are running to-day on Green Point, about a mile from Cape Town. The horses are not quite so handsome as those I have been used to see in India, but I am told they are very strong, and have plenty of spirit; they are bred in the interior by the boors. The height of Table Hill is three thousand five hundred feet; nothing can be more beautiful than its appearance from sea, especially when it is covered with the cloud vulgarly called the devil’s table-cloth, which spreads regularly upon its head, descending gradually, of a fleecy whiteness, while the sky above is of the clearest blue. This beautiful appearance is the sign of the approach of a south-east gale of wind, which always occasions a great sea in the bay, and a swell without, though this indeed at all times exists more or less on the bank of Agulhas, extending on both sides of the Cape to a considerable distance.aa May 7, 1811, at Sea.—Yesterday morning, shortly after sunrise, we discovered St Helena563 at no great distance, breaking through a thick haze. The four first days 253

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St James Town St Helena.

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after leaving the Cape, we only reached the latitude of Saldanha Bay,564 but there we fell in with the trade-wind, which blew so steadily, that we seldom made less than two hundred miles a-day, with the water delightfully smooth. St Helena lies in the very heart of the south-east trade wind. It is usual, in approaching it, to get into its latitude a few degrees to the eastward, and there to run down the longitude, as the trade-wind, and the current together, render it difficult to beat back, if once a ship passes it. We made it directly in our course, and our observation gives it in 15° 38′ South latitude, and 6° 30′ West longitude. It was discovered in 1502 by the Portuguese, who sent on shore some domestic animals, but made no settlement. It has been twice in the possession of the Dutch,565 but appears now too well fortified ever to be taken from us by surprise. The rocky wall of the island is black and bare; the strata of which it is composed are mostly horizontal; some appear to dip a little, and in one place I saw some of a slaty appearance perpendicular. There is a great deal of matter like cinders, mostly black, having here and there yellow and greenish stains, and in some places a glassy appearance; but I could not be very accurate in observing each part, for, although we were close to the land, we sailed too fast by it, there being no anchorage off the island, excepting the roads at St James’s Town.566 We approached from the south-east, and till we saw the flag-staff, we did not perceive any marks of inhabitants; but having reached the flag-staff point, we saw little batteries perched like birds’ nests in the rocks, but not a blade of grass, nor any green thing was discernible. When we got abreast of St James’s Town, our eyes were regaled with the sight of about fifty trees among the white houses of the town, and their verdure, and the brightness of the buildings, produced the most singular effect, contrasted with the blackness of the rocks, which seem threatening to fall upon them on both sides. We landed about twelve o’clock at the only landing-place in the island, at St James’s Town, which reminds me of an English fishing-town; it has a few good houses, some shops of European and Indian articles, where everything is sold very dear, a church, and a play-house. The society is by all accounts miserable enough, and the inhabitants so much at a loss for amusement, as to be divided into parties, who hate one another cordially, and quarrel for ever. The vallies in the interior of the island are said to be extremely fertile and beautiful. The oak and the fir thrive well on the hills, the date and the coco flourish in the town. Here are grapes, peaches, apples, and bananas, with very good vegetables, particularly potatoes, but hitherto the inhabitants have not made the most of the advantages of the soil. However, the present governor567 has done a great deal for the colony, and has encouraged plantations of all kinds. St Helena is not subject to the violent rains which render tropical climates so uncomfortable during some months in the year: but there are gentle showers, which fertilize the earth and feed the springs, the water of which is excellent. I do not know if they have attempted to make wine here, but they brew very good small beer568 for the use of the ships which touch at the island. The presence of a fleet fills the measure of St Helenian gaiety so completely, that an islander once expressed her wonder, “if the ladies in London did not feel very dull when the China fleet leaves the Thames!” 255

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After tiring ourselves with lounging about the town, we came on board, and were under way by eleven o’clock the same night, well pleased to have seen this curious little rock, but never wishing to visit it again. June 19, 1811. Lat. 45° 2′ N. Long. 26° 58′ W.—What a wearisome thing is a calm, especially so near home! And it is now not only calm, but so foggy, that we can hardly see to the end of the bowsprit;569 it is cold, the thermometer in the cabin standing at sixty-four. The sea has appeared for some days of a dark dirty colour, covered with white specks, and instead of the delicate nautilus, called by the sailors the Portuguese man-of-war, nothing but the common polypus, which we used to call the sea anemone,570 has been floating round the ship. The south-east trade-wind brought us to the line, but since that time we have experienced light variable winds. On the thirtieth of May we observed the whole surface of the ocean, as far as we could see, covered with sea-weed. We were then in North lat. 23° 30′, and West long. 37° 31′; the weed continued to float for above a week, nearly in the track which is marked in the charts as that of the gulf stream; but during a calm, though we tried for a current, we found none. June 27.—This morning, at twenty minutes before two o’clock, I heard the officer of the watch call the captain, to inform him that St Agnes’s lights in Scilly571 were in sight. I have not slept since; the Lizard572 is before me, and in two days at farthest we shall reach Portsmouth. I can hardly keep my eyes off the land, even while I do what is necessary to hasten my getting ashore. You do not know what it is to see one’s own seas, and fields, and rocks again. I seem to know every little boat I meet. The figures of the hills, the varied colours of the fields, the village towers and spires, all belong to my own home, and make me forget, in the happiness they seem to promise, all the dangers, and toils, and difficulties, I have encountered since I left them. And here I close my Journal, well satisfied that this moment is one of the happiest of my life, and unwilling to write more, lest I should have to record a less agreeable termination of my travels.573

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No. I OF THE SHAH NAMEH OF FIRDOUSI THE Chevalier D’Ohsson having taken the principal part of his Tableau Historique de l’Orient574 from the Shah Nameh of Firdousi,575 gives the following account of that poem in the first part of his interesting work. “The Shah Nameh is a production of the fourth century of the Hegyra. After the destruction of the Sassanians by the Arab armies, Mensour I. sovereign of Transoxania, was the first Mahomedan prince who made any researches concerning the history of the ancient Persians. Being a lover of science and of letters, he collected such annals as had escaped the devastations of time, in order to form a regular history. The zeal of his Vizir Mamery, seconded him in this laudable undertaking, and the conduct of the work was entrusted to four of the literary men of the country, namely, Seyyak, Yezdan, Khorshid, and Schandar. “The fragments discovered were chiefly chronicles, each containing the life of one prince. After the assiduous labour of eight years, the work was finished, and dedicated to Mensour, under the name of Shah Nameh, or History of the Shahs. It was in fact an abridgement of the history of ancient Persia from the reign of Keyoumers to that of Yezdegerd III. the last of the Khosrus. “Some years afterwards, Mensour II. wished to have the Shah Nameh in verse, and Decaïky, a famous poet of that age, consecrated his talents to that work, but left it unfinished at his death; and another Mahomedan prince made it a point of honour to complete it. This was Mahmoud Ghaznevi, the third sultan of the race Ben-sabuktakin, an illustrious prince, who added to the crown of Zabelistan the whole of Persia, and who, A. D. 999, invaded Transoxania, and gave the last blow to the dynasty of the Ben-Samans, its sovereigns. This hero, who was not less the patron of letters than of arms, employed the genius of Firdousi-ibn-Feroukh, the most celebrated poet of the east, in the great work of versifying the Shah Nameh. “This poem is still esteemed as the most perfect of its kind; it embraces a space of twenty-nine centuries, from Keyoumers to the last Khosru; but it is to be regretted that the chronological order observed previous to the time of Alexander, is as 257

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inexact as many of the historical events recorded in it are fabulous. Some of the princes are said to have reigned during three or four centuries, and we can only presume that several Shahs of the same name have been confounded by the compilers of the ancient chronicles. The same thing must have happened with regard to the heroes of ancient Persia, Zal and Rustum, who are said to have lived six centuries; and among the Khacans of Touran, descendants of Feridoun, Afrasiab, the most celebrated of those sovereigns, is fabled to have reigned above three hundred years. “Notwithstanding the silence of the Greek writers concerning the ancient sovereigns of Persia, we cannot doubt their existence, from the testimony of the literary monuments of all the eastern nations in every age, so that we must regard the ground-work of their history as true, although the episodes be fabulous. These ancient chronicles may in some sort be compared with the mythology of the ancient Greeks. Several of the Shahs, and even the princes, such as Sam, Zal, Rustum, Gouderz, Kiw, &c. are considered as demigods. They are the heroes of the east, who have occupied the imaginations of the poets and the pens of the historians. Their names have been revered in all ages, and there is no work, even on philosophy or morals, which does not mention these ancient Shahs. They are cited continually as models of virtue or of vice, of clemency or of tyranny, of knowledge or of ignorance, of valour or of cowardice, in order to complete the eulogy or the censure of a prince, a minister, or even a simple individual. “All the eastern sovereigns, and even the Ottoman sultans, in their letters, diplomas, and other public writings, compare themselves to Feridoun, to Menusheher, and to Key Keavous, and even their titles of Khosru, Houmayoon, and Shahriar, which may be compared to those of Cæsar and of Augustus, of Sebastocrator and of Porphyrogenitus, are borrowed from the ancient kings of Persia. “The work of Firdousi possesses high poetical beauties, and a rich and harmonious style; but it abounds with minute descriptions, frequent repetitions, continual metaphors,* and absurd hyperbole. It is full of moral reflections, chiefly on destiny and fatalism, and on the nothingness and the vicissitudes of human affairs, which the author usually puts into the mouths of the princes, the warriors, the ministers of religion, and the statesmen. “The heroes never engage in combat without a pompous harangue, displaying their high birth, their valour, and their great achievements. With menaces and invectives, each announces to his adversary defeat, shame, and inevitable destruction. ‘My mother gave me life only to accomplish thy death.’ ‘The robe of honour with which thy sovereign has invested thee, will serve only for thy shroud.’ Such are their ordinary exclamations. * Some of these metaphors are however extremely beautiful, such as the following, applied to a ruined city: “The spider spreads the veil in the palace of the Cæsars, And the owl stands centinel on the watch-tower of Afrasiab.”

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“In the descriptions of the battles, we find abundance of such passages as the following: ‘The motion of the armies shook the earth, deranged the course of the stars, and overturned the planetary system.’ ‘The march of this multitude of horses raised such whirlwinds of dust, that one of the seven coverings of the earth added a new vault to the seven heavens of the firmament.’ ‘The enormous cloud of darts and javelins covered the heavens, absorbed the light of the sun, and plunged the combatants into the dark agonies of fate.’ ‘The blood of the slaughtered enemy rose suddenly to a river, so impetuous as to turn mighty mills.’ “The legends of all remote ages offer to our view dragons, monsters, evil-spirits, and giants, and princes whose chief glory consisted in fighting with, overcoming, and destroying them. We may compare the warlike pictures of ancient Persia to the triumph of Apollo over the serpent Python, to that of Theseus over the minotaur, that of Meleager over the wild boar of Calydon, or those of Hercules over the hydra of Lerna and the centaur Nessus. “The Shah Nameh, interesting in itself, would be still more so if it developed with greater clearness the progressive steps of the formation of the ancient Peshdadian monarchy; but the carelessness of the poet on this head is carried still farther with respect to whatever concerns the great vassals of that empire, such as the princes of India, Chaldea, Armenia, Iberia, Colchis, Mesopotamia, Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, and Arabia, and on the political relations between the sovereign and his feudatories, the Shah Nameh touches but slightly. It is the same with regard to the constitution of Ancient Persia, its laws, its public worship, its military state, its finances, its customs, and its manners; but although Firdousi has only noticed the most remarkable historical facts, he has, in tracing these, occasionally thrown considerable light on each of those curious and interesting subjects.” To this account of the Shah Nameh I shall add a sketch of the life of its author, extracted also from the Chevalier D’Ohsson. “Mahmoud Ghaznevi had committed the charge of the work, (the compilation of the Shah Nameh,) to Anseri, who was admitted to his private friendship, as were all the sages and learned men of his court. Anseri sought and obtained the poets Feroukhy and Asjedy, as his fellow-labourers. The sultan lodged them in one of his pleasure-houses near Ghazna, gave them a pension, and provided them with every thing necessary for their table and their household. “These acts of generosity in the prince, and the nature of the work in which the poets were employed, were soon noised abroad. Firdousi, a native of Thouss in Khorassan, who had cultivated his poetical talents, still lived in obscurity. Jealous of the fortune of the three great poets of the capital, he gave himself up to the dictates of his ambition, and went to Ghezna in the hope of making himself known, and of partaking in the labours of his brother poets. After many fruitless efforts, either to approach the throne, or to recommend himself to some of the nobles or ministers, he determined to address himself directly to the poets themselves. He appeared at their mansion in a simple and modest dress, and represented himself as one who had serious business with the poets. On being introduced he found them in the garden, having just risen from table. They were a little elevated by 259

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wine, and attempted to amuse themselves at the expence of the stranger, who, after a silence of some minutes, complimented them on the distinctions they enjoyed, and expressed a desire to see some part of their work. Astonished at this beginning, the poets gave him some vague answer, and endeavoured civilly to dismiss him, telling him that they received only poets, because they made it a rule to speak among themselves in verse. ‘And of what nature are your verses?’ said Firdousi, modestly. The three poets smiled, but said, let us satisfy him. Upon which they each recited a verse, ending in shen, of which the following is the sense:– “Anseri,—‘The moon is not comparable to thy countenance. “Feroukhy,—‘The rose cannot be likened to thy cheeks. “Asjedy.—‘There is no shield that can defend us from thy eyes.’ “ ‘They surpass,’ Firdousi harmoniously exclaimed, ‘the terrible lance of Kiw, in the battle of Peshen.’ The justness of the reply astonished the three poets; they were even humbled to find themselves ignorant of the historical fact alluded to by Firdousi, and which he explained to them with his accustomed modesty. “Shame and jealousy overcame the three poets; under the appearance of civility, they loaded Firdousi with caresses, sat down again to table, and, after drinking copiously, they retired and left him in the garden. “Firdousi, on returning to his house, having lost all hope of success, thought only of quitting Ghazna. He went to the mosque, and, absorbed in his reveries, he recited, in the midst of his prayers, some verses analogous to his situation and misfortunes. Chance had placed by his side Mahik, one of the favourites of the Sultan. They entered into conversation, and Firdousi related his adventures and his wishes. Mahik, finding him a man of learning, and a great poet, inquired where he lived, without explaining his intentions, and the same day repeated the conversation to the sultan. Mahmoud Ghaznevi, curious to see Firdousi, sent for him to the palace, and, conversing with him, was enchanted with his erudition, and still more with some verses of his composition. These were compared with what was already written of the Shah Nameh, and their superiority was such, even by the confession of the three writers themselves, who were forced to do justice to the superior talents of the poet of Khorassan, that the sultan gave him the entire charge of the work, promised to give him a golden ducat,* and, as an earnest of his liberality, made him valuable presents, in goods, furniture, and jewels. “Firdousi employed several years in the composition of his work, which consisted of sixty thousand bites, or distichs. The day on which he presented it before the throne was celebrated as a festival by the whole court of Ghazna. However, the sultan was not faithful to his promise. As it was a question of sixty thousand pieces of gold, Hassan Meymendy, his vizir, represented the enormity of the sum, and advised him to substitute as many pieces of silver, * Ducat is the word used by D’Ohsson.

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with the promise of future acts of beneficence. Mahmoud suffered himself to be persuaded, and ordered the proposed sum to be paid to Firdousi. The officer charged with the commission, not finding the poet at his house, followed him to the public baths, where he was performing his lustrations. Firdousi, indignant at the meanness of the proceeding, only received the sum to divide it between the messenger who brought it, the keeper of the bath, and a neighbouring merchant who sold refreshments. On his return home, he wrote some satirical verses against the sultan, and fled immediately to Baghdad, where the Kalif Ahmed IV. received him with distinction. “Mahmoud Ghaznevi paying less attention to his own injustice, than to the proceedings of the poet, pursued him with his anger. Informed of his escape to Baghdad, he haughtily claimed him, and threatened the Kalif, in case of his refusal, to march to Baghdad, and to trample that metropolis under the feet of his elephants. The Kalif (then under the dominion of the Ben-Boyes), confined his answer to the three letters of the alphabet, which designate the chapter of the elephant in the Koran. This chapter relates the unsuccessful expedition of Ebreh, king of Ethiopia, against Mecca, fifty days before the birth of Mahomet. The Ethiopian prince, whose defeat is regarded as a miracle, was mounted on an elephant. By this ingenious device, the Kalif referred every thing to the divine protection and the decrees of Providence. He, however, persuaded Firdousi to make his peace with so powerful a prince, and to write letters of reconciliation. Firdousi, obedient to the counsels of wisdom, entered into the views of Ahmed, and sent to the sultan an ode full of erudition and philosophy, analogous to his situation. He concluded it by saying, that, relying on the greatness and equity of the hero of Zabelistan, he was going confidently to Thouss, his native country, which had the happiness to be subject, with the rest of Persia, to the throne of Ghazna. This ode, and the letter of the Kalif, produced such an effect on the mind of the sultan, that, ashamed of his conduct towards Firdousi, he deposed his minister, and sent an officer to Thouss with the sixty thousand pieces of gold, some other presents, and a letter replete with favour and kindness. But Firdousi was no more. Scarcely had he arrived at Thouss when he fell a victim to the fatigue of his journey, and the agitations of his mind. He left behind him but one sister, and this virtuous woman accepted the gifts of the sultan, only to employ them according to the intentions of Firdousi. This poet, so celebrated for his literary work, wished to perpetuate his name by some monument consecrated to public utility. He had accordingly destined the liberalities of his prince to repair a bridge over the Oxus, and this noble project his sister executed as a sacred duty.” The Shah Nameh of Firdousi has acquired a celebrity in the east above all other literary productions. Translations and abridgements of it are common in most of the oriental languages; its authority is held sacred by historians; and the itinerant poets and story-tellers chaunt its episodes at the feasts of great men, or in the public places, where the indolent Mussulmans assemble to smoke, and bask in the

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glories of the setting sun. Firdousi, Anwari* and Saadi,†,576 are called the princes and fathers of Persian poets, but Firdousi is always placed first. Besides his great work, the Shah Nameh, he is the author of some odes and several satires, the most remarkable of which is that against Mahmoud Ghaznevi, mentioned above. While I was in Bombay, I received a valuable and ancient copy of the Shah Nameh, from my friend Sir James Macintosh. It had belonged to Cheragh Ali Khan,577 the minister of Persia, who died at Tehraun, a few months before the book came into my possession. It is adorned with costly illuminations, and the delicacy and beauty of the pencilling is only equalled by the exquisite correctness of the calligraphy. The whole number of pictures of the subjects of the Shah Nameh are about one hundred and fifty, of which few copies have more than sixty; mine contains fifty-one, most of them in good preservation. They represent the dresses, armour, furniture, weapons, musical instruments, battles, feasts, houses, and gardens of the Persians. Some of the illuminations represent councils, where the king appears seated on a throne under a canopy, surrounded by his nobles on raised seats, in the robes of peace, but generally with a helmet on the head, and in the hand a club, whose head represents that of some animal. The place of assembly is sometimes in the field, sometimes in a hall, painted and gilt, ornamented with flowers, and for the most part having a fountain in the centre. One picture in my Shah Nameh represents a bridal feast. The bride and bridegroom are seated under a canopy; female servants appear holding torches in different parts of the hall, and a troop of minstrels fills up the fore-ground. The instruments are a harp of a simple form, several kinds of guitars, and a tambourine. The figures, horses, and dresses, are extremely laboured, and flowers, and other minute objects, well represented, but the putting together and finishing of the whole, is as far from natural, as in the decorations of a missal. Water is constantly painted black; the brightness of the sky, or fire, is represented by gold or silver paint, as in the picture representing prince Syawousche578 passing through the fiery ordeal, to clear his reputation from the aspersions cast on it by his mother-in-law, the Persian Phædra.579 The warriors are represented in all their ferocity by the painter, as well as the poet, who scruples not to make them descend from their horses on the field of battle, for the sole purpose of cutting off a vanquished enemy’s head, or of putting a noose round his neck,

* Anwari is the author of many poems, but his odes are said to be more sublime than those of any of his countrymen. † Saadi, the author of the Gulistan and Bostan, with many other works, is one of the most elegant of oriental poets. The following beautiful apologue occurs in the preface to the Gulistan: “One day as I was going to the bath, my friend put into my hand a piece of scented clay†† of such delicious fragrance, that I addressed it, saying, Art thou of musk or ambergris, for thy scent is such that it would recal the spirits of the dead. It answered, I am neither musk nor ambergris, but I was long the companion of the rose, and her charming qualities have infused themselves into me: but for her neighourhood, I should have been still scentless and disregarded.” †† For washing.

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and fastening him to the saddle-tree; and the imagination of the limner seems to have kept pace with that of the author, in sketching the figures of the Dios, or evil genii, who oppose the virtuous heroes of the poem. For the rest, perhaps the Shah Nameh is not so well known as it deserves to be, though it is certainly not to be wished that the public taste should ever be brought to relish greatly this production of wild and inflated genius, while we have among us the literary monuments of ancient Greece and Rome.

No. II An Account of Bengal, and of a Visit to the Government House, by Ibrahim, the Son of Candu the Merchant.580

THIS is the account of what I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, have seen; this is what I have been present at, and a witness to: where is the Malay who has seen the like that I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu, have seen since I arrived in the great country of Bengal!! How long was I on my passage from the Malay countries, but how much was I rejoiced to see the beauty of Bengal, which shines like the sun on all nations; for this country of Bengal is so large, that were I to walk for three months, I should not reach the end of the stone houses, which are everywhere so high, that I could never see the hills for them;—this accounts for people saying the hills cannot be seen from Bengal. Alas! I have not forgotten the day when I ventured into the bazar, and having no one to direct me, lost the way. How many days was it painful for me to put the soles of my feet to the ground! how rejoiced was I to reach the house of Tuan* Doctor Layten,581 and afterward to think of the wonders I had seen! How perfect and beautiful is the Fort! how exact all its proportions, its four sides, and all its angles! This is a proper fort; but who would suppose it so large, when it can hardly be seen from without? This is a fault; but why should I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu, the poor merchant of Keddah, pretend to give my opinion in this place, all is so wonderful, and much beyond what I before knew? But yet I must describe what I have seen, that Malays may no longer be ignorant of this great country, but be acquainted with all its wonders and all its beauties, so that their hearts may be glad, and they may no longer be ignorant! Inside of the Fort there is a ditch larger than that on the outside, and at the bottom of both it is level and smooth, like unto a mat fresh spread out, and the colour is like that of young paddy; for such is the management of this place, that when the Rajah pleases the water can be let in from the river, and when the rains are heavy the water can be let out. Within this Fort, which is like a large city, how many are the stone storehouses for arms, for gunpowder, for small-arms, cannon-balls, and every thing

* Tuan is synonymous with Sahib, Master, or Sir.

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required in war; and how many store-houses are there for wine, because there are many white men, and so many sepoys, that who can count them! It was in this great country, in this country of Bengal, which is in this place called Calcutta,—how many months journey from Penang!—on the fifteenth day of the month of Shaaban, in the year of the Hegyra one thousand two hundred and twenty-five, at the hour of ten in the morning, when all Malays remained in the same state of ignorance as when I left them, that I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, went to the palace of the Rajah, with all the great men of the Rajah’s court, and was admitted even to the second story, (or rather second heaven.) How beautiful is this palace, and great its extent,—who can describe it! Who can relate the riches of this country, and, above all, the beauties of the palace! When I entered the great gates, and looked around from my palankeen (for in this country even I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, had my palankeen,) and when I beheld the beauty and extent of the compound, the workmanship of the railings, and the noble appearance of the gates, of which there are five, and on the tops of which lions, carved out of stones, as large as life, seem small, and as if they were running without fearing to fall. I thought that I was no longer in the world I had left in the east; but it is fortunate that I was not yet overcome with surprise, and that I lived to see the wonders that were within, and to write this account, that men may know what it is. When I entered the palace, and my Tuan said, “Ibrahim follow me, don’t be afraid,—this is the house of the Rajah, and he is kind to all people, particularly to Malays,” my heart was rejoiced; and as I felt above all Malays on this great day, for there were no other Malays here, I plucked up my courage and followed my Tuan, even mixing with other Tuans, of whom there were many on the stairs at the same time, all of them having large black fans in their hands,* and kindness in their looks, for whenever I raised my eyes to any of them they smiled. The floors of the great hall are of black stone, polished and shining like a mirror, so that I feared to walk on them; and all around, how many transparent lustres and branches for lights were suspended, dazzling and glistening so that I could not look long upon them! Until I arrived at the second story, the stairs were all of stone, which formed part of the wall, and had no support. I then entered the great hall where all the Tuans were assembled, and every one looked at me; but I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, knowing the kindness of my Tuan, and that he would laugh at me if I remained behind a pillar, so that no one could see me, walked about and saw every thing, mixing with the other Tuans: no one spoke to me, but all made room for me when I passed, so much was I distinguished among the people of the court. The floor of this great room is not of stone, because it is of a dark-coloured wood beautifully polished; and were I to describe all the beauties of this great hall, the splendour of the throne, and all I saw there, I should write what would * These were the cocked hats.

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not be read in three months. My head turned giddy when the Rajah entered; but, as far as I can recollect, I will faithfully describe all that I saw in this beautiful place. At the end of the hall there is a throne,* superlatively beautiful, supported by four pillars of gold, and having hangings of the colour of blood, enriched with golden fringe; it is beautiful in the extreme, and the elegance of the drapery is surprising. Within this throne there is a golden chair, with hangings and fringe of gold, in which the Rajah sits when he receives other Rajahs and Vakeels.† In front of this throne, how many chairs were arranged in rows, and how many couches with white cushions were between the pillars, on each of which there was a stamped paper,†† as well as on the couch on which I afterwards sat down; for I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, was seated with the other Tuans. Near the throne, in front of it, there were many gilded chairs, but one of gold was placed in the centre upon the Rajah’s carpet, which was beautiful and rich. When the court was full, and I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, was near to the throne, the Rajah entered, and every one moved different ways. But as soon as the Rajah seated himself, the muntries and high officers of state arranged themselves according to their rank. On that side of the hall which was to the left of the Rajah, and within the pillars, all the wives and family of the Rajah‡ were arranged in a row one by one; and it is impossible to forget their beauty, for who could look on them without feeling unhappy at heart! And when everybody was seated, and I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, on a couch between two pillars, the Rajah looked around from time to time, and often cast his eyes on the ladies,—when I could perceive that his heart was gladdened, for his countenance glowed with satisfaction, giving pleasure to all. Among all the ladies there were six who were most beautiful, seated in chairs, being pregnant, some two, others six months; but there was one of the wives of the Rajah beautiful to excess, and she was eight months gone with child. She was kind and delightful to look at, of a beautiful small make, and she sat in front of a large pillar, while a Bengalee moved a large fan behind her. Whoever gazed on her felt kindness and love, and became unhappy. She resembled Fatima, the wife of I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, but she was more beautiful. It is the custom of this great country, that the wives of the Rajah always sit on the left side of the throne. They have neither diamonds, nor cats-eyes, nor rubies, nor agates; yet they are beautiful, and their dress is bewitching. Some looked tall

* † †† ‡

Rather canopy. Ambassadors. A printed list of the subjects of the Disputations. The visitors of the Governor-General.

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and others short, but I did not see them stand; they appeared happy, and glistened like fish fresh caught. Such! proud Bengala’s King and court, Where chiefs and champions brave resort, With ladies happy, gay, and free, As fishes in Bengala’s sea! One beauty shone amid the throng, I mark’d her nose so fair and long, So fitted to her pretty pole, Like a nice toad-fish in its hole.* One beauty small, amid the row, Did like the fair Sanangin show; None softer smil’d amid them all; Small was her mouth, her stature small, Her visage blended red and pale, Her pregnant waist a swelling sail. Another’s face look’d broad and bland, Like pamflet floundering on the sand†; Whene’er she turned her piercing stare, She seemed alert to spring in air. Two more I mark’d in black array, Like the salisdick†† dark were they; Their skins, their faces fair and red, And white the flesh beneath lay hid. These pretty fish, so blithe and brave, To see them frisking on the wave! Were I an angler in the sea, These fishes were the fish for me!!582 Some time after every one was seated, an aged bintara stood up and addressed the Rajah; but I, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, did not understand him, although I have learnt Arabic. When this bintara had finished his speech, he looked round to all. Two sida-sidas,‡ who were youths, went each into dark wood * † †† ‡

In Malay termed kantasa or toduda-fish. In Malay termed barval. The name of a fish of a dark colour. The students.

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cases that had been placed in front of the Rajah, and then began to address and reply to each other. Four times, as the youths became fatigued, they were relieved by others. They spoke in different languages, but not in Malay; therefore I was disappointed, because I could not understand them. After the Rajah had amused himself with their speaking, and was tired of it, every body stood up, and he gave to each who had spoken titles, and to those who had not, he gave papers, and small packets tied with red string, for red is the English colour. What these packets contained I don’t know, but one fell to the ground from the hand of the bintara, and it sounded like metal; it must have been gold or silver, and as large as a dollar. First, the bintara with the green eyes, (for it is the custom that the eldest bintara should have green shades before his eyes, that he may not be dazzled by the greatness of the Rajah, and forget his duty,) brought the books and packets, and delivered them to the bintara with the black bajee,* from whose hands the Rajah received them one by one, in order to present them to the youths. The papers glistened, and were beautiful to look at; and they contained much writing for the youths to learn against the next time the Rajah might call them together. When this was over, the Rajah, who had hitherto remained silent, and spoken only by his kind looks and smiles, took from the skirt of his bajee, on the left side, a book; and, after every one had taken his place, and the Bengalees with gold and silver sticks, and some with whisks to keep the flies off, had arranged themselves behind the Rajah, he spoke aloud from the book; and how long did I hear the Rajah’s voice! Every one was pleased; but I regretted that it was not in Malay, for who could understand it! While the Rajah was reading aloud, the sepoys entered from one end of the hall, and marched along, passing the side of the throne, but behind the pillars. The meaning of this custom I do not comprehend, but it was no doubt some compliment to the Rajah, who seemed pleased, and raised his voice while every one stirred. After the Rajah had finished he got up, because no one sat down any longer, except the ladies, and I followed my Tuan out of the hall; but I did not hear cannon, nor music, nor acclamations, for the English delight in silence. It was three days after before I could think of, and recollect all I had seen on this great day. I write this history, that men may not be ignorant of Bengal, and of the manners and customs of the great Rajah of the English; and it is written at Bengal, by me, Ibrahim, the son of Candu the merchant, in the thirtieth year of my age, and on the day of Khamis, being the twenty-seventh day of the month of Shaabaa, and in the year of the flight of the Prophet of God one thousand two hundred and twenty-five. THIS IS THE END. * Coat.

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No. III THE STORY OF KERAAT ARJOON583 Or the Penance that Arjoon performed to Eswar, on the summit of the stupendous Mountain Indra Keeladree,*,584 as related in the second Adayé of the third Purvum of the Maha Barut,585 called Arun’ya Parvum: extracted from a Tellinga586 Manuscript. Illustrated by a Representation of the Story Sculptured on the Rock of Mavellipoorum†; translated by C. V. Ramasawmy, Bramin, for Major Mackenzie,587 3d May 1808.

THE DEPARTURE OF ARJOON ARGUMENT

AT the end of the Dwapar Yug the Pancha-Pandoos (the five sons of Pandoo Rajah), of the Chandra Vumsham (or Moon Race), having lost at play, in the Crutra†† Judum, to their cousin Duryodam, the supreme empire (or Yek-chuckraadee Putty), of all these countries, he obliged them to go into banishment, with their consort Drawputty, into the forests, there to remain in retirement for twelve years, and one year in close seclusion, according to the agreement made by Rajah Dhurm, the eldest of the Pandoos, at the closing of their game, when they had lost all their effects and kingdom. Rajah Dhurm at first proceeded with his four brethren, his beloved consort, and a numerous‡ train of faithful followers; and passing through many deep and gloomy forests, they at last, after a long and tedious journey, arrived in the forest of Dwita Vanum, celebrated among the ten famous forests of Bharut-Cundum. There, while Drawputty bewailed the misfortune they had met, through the guile and wicked stratagem of Duryodum, Rajah-Dhurm held council with his brothers, how to avenge themselves of their powerful enemy as soon as their term of banishment had expired; and resolved to send his second brother Arjoon, whose fortitude and valour was distinguished among the five valiant brethren, to the famous mountain of Indra-Keeladree, to perform Vogra-Tapasu (the most austere species of penance), thereby to obtain the devastrum from the Lord of Devatas. Having thus determined, and Arjoon being instructed in mystical muntrums, by the virtue of which he might attain the way to the divine favour of Eswar, by the permission of his eldest brother Rajah-Dhurm, taking leave of his

* The mountain of the illusion of Indra. † See the Plate, page 159. †† The celebrated war of the Maha-Bharut, wherein the two families of Cooroo and Pandava contended for the crown of India, arose from this Crutra-Judum. See an account of it in the introduction to the Bagvat Geeta, translated by Mr Wilkins.588 ‡ Upwards of 5000 Yogees and Poorahits, as the traditions relate.

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mourning consort Drowputty, he proceeded thence, unattended and alone, in the direction of the north-east; and after meeting many and various evil demons and holy prophets in his way, he crossed the venerated mountains of Himaleya and Gunda-Madanum, and at last begun to ascend the celebrated and lofty mountain of Indra-Keeladree. Voyuva, the god of the winds, as he proceeded, fanned him with his pleasant breezes, which seemed at times softly to whisper, and at times more loudly to proclaim, “Behold the hero, the conqueror of his cruel adversaries;” while, at the same time, the Poshpa-Vrosty descended in showers from the Anlarechum (the sublime expanse of heaven), upon the astonished Arjoon. Shortly after, Arjoon beheld an aged (Vroodtha*) Bramin sitting under the shade of a lofty tree, but, though old and emaciated, his countenance was divinely bright. Arjoon, on beholding him, reverently prostrated himself at his feet, and then sat down and reposed by his side. The aged Bramin then said, “Whence “ come you, whose noble countenance bespeaks benevolence and high birth? “ Being here, you shall obtain the fruits of all your vows. These are habitations of “ the self-restrained, the adorers of the supreme. To these dwellings of the Sounta “ Tapasees may not approach the warriors, the heroes of the Chatreya race, the “ bearers of the bow and arrow, and of destructive arms.” By this discourse did “ the Lord of Devatas (for it was he himself who assumed the character of an aged “ Bramin) endeavour to persuade Arjoon to lay his bow and arrows aside; but “ the prudent and sage hero, with a noble fortitude, resisted the insidious advice “ to part with his arms, even for a moment. Sahastraah then, pleased with his “ constancy, and assuming his real form, appeared in all his majesty and said, “Oh! Arjoon, choose what you wish, I shall bestow whatever you desire.” Then “ Arjoon, with closed hands, replied, “Oh, Dava! I desire the Dava-Astrum; gra“ ciously bestow this immortal weapon, by your favour.” He replied, “What, is “ it a difficult matter to gratify this boon? Rather ask the Pona Lokum,† and the “ Davatum.” But Arjoon answered, My chief wish, my fixed desire, is to obtain “ the divine arrow, and to be avenged of my enemies, who have deeply injured, “ and disgracefully banished my brethren and myself into the forest. I have now “ left them in the distant wilds lamenting their disgrace, and have come to obtain “ these weapons, to avenge their cause.” Dev-Indra then took compassion on his distress, and counselled him to go to a suitable place to worship Eswar, by whose favour he would surely obtain the celestial Pausuput astrum. Accordingly, Arjoon thence ascended to the highest summit of Hemaleya Purwutt, to perform tapass. There he found a delightful grove, abounding in lofty trees and fragrant shrubs, producing various fruits and flowers, watered by pleasant pools, by sarovaras and purest streams, whereon on the lovely camalas, the

* This Vroodha Bramin was no other than the Lord of Devatas Raja-Indur himself, who assumed this disguise, to try the fortitude of Arjoon. This is the emaciated figure seen sitting at the foot of the rock of Mavellipoor, and not Drona-Achary, as the Bramins there foolishly say. † Punya Lokum, literally the world of virtue, or rather the abode of the virtuous in Heaven.

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water-lily of purest white, and the Calahara of deepest tinge, displayed their brightest hues; and while the celestial hamsa stately swam before his eyes, and the pleasant strains of celestial music reached his ears, the sweet odours of fragrant heavenly flowers and shrubs delighted his smelling organs, and filled him with admiration. He then began his devotion to the Almighty Param-Eswar in the three prescribed modes of Mana,* Vauk,** and Neyama.† In this manner he spent the first month in his devotion, taking food only every fourth day. During the second month, he took food every seventh day; in the third month, he ate only once a fortnight; and for the fourth month, with both his arms extended, and lifted up, he stood immoveable, on the large toe of a single leg, inhaling†† the air as his only food and sustenance of life. The nearest Rooshees, seeing the severity of his devotion, were astonished, and said among themselves, surely fire will issue from the intense fervour of his tapass, and immediately went and reported what they had seen to Eswar, who was pleased with his piety and devotion, and promised them to grant his desires, ordering them at the same time to retire to their several Asramums. Then Eswar assumed the garb of a Kerata Yarooka of short arms. Holding a bow and arrow in his hands, he directed all his Bhootums (or demons) to attend him. Some following, and others going on before him, he proceeded from his residence into the depth of the forest, with loud cries and noises, as if in pursuit of the chase to kill wild animals and game. At these loud and hard cries the beasts of the forest, alarmed, ran on all sides confusedly, and the birds of the air, in flocks and in terror, winged their way in various directions. Now Eswar, determined to try the courageous mind of Arjoon, sent an evil Rachasa, Mook Asoor, in the shape of a wild boar, to terrify the hero, who, seeing this ferocious animal approach, undismayed instantly prepared to discharge his arrows at him; but the king of the Keratas, following close behind, called out, “Strike not, nor kill my game.” But, unmindful of his words, Arjoon discharged a shaft. At the same moment the king of Keratas shot his arrow also at the wild animal. Struck by both the arrows, the boar fell lifeless, and the Rachasa instantly disappeared, resuming his original form. Arjoon surprised, but not appalled, beheld the king of Keratas advancing, surrounded by a numerous host of followers and companions, and a thousand wild, frantic, skipping females‡, and demanded of him, “Who art thou? What is the cause of your coming into these “ sacred retreats§—this forest secluded from all mortals, and little suited to wild

* ** † †† ‡

Mana, that species of devotion which proceeds from the heart in profound silence. Vauk, devotion offered by the audible effusions of speech. Neyama, devotion assisted by the ceremonial purifications prescribed by law. Vayoobacha Arig, i. e. “eating the wind.” This description of the king of Keratas, attended by these troops of frantic bacchanals,589 seems to have some resemblance to the invasion of the ancient Indians by Silenus and his frantic troops of female votaries. § Chitra-vanum, forbidden forest.

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“ fantastic gambols? How dared you to shoot your arrows on the boar that was “ first struck by my shaft, contrary to the laws of hunting and the chase? I shall “ instantly put you to death.” To this the Kerata king contemptuously laughed “ and replied, “In vain in your pride you boast of your courage and valour to me! “ Such idle words are vain. I slew the boar; and if you are bold enough to contend “ with me in combat, I am ready, and shall crush your boasted strength.” Arjoon, “ enraged by this language, discharged at once a shower of arrows at him. They “ fell thick as rain, but Eswar received them unmoved, and instantly concealed “ them all in his body with great pride, without a single wound appearing. Then “ Arjoon, observing this, considered in his heart, “Is this Eswar, or is he Cubera, “ who renders all my sharp arrows ineffectual? No others have such power; for, lo! “ my countless shafts are all expended in vain on him, as good words are thrown “ away without effect on a senseless man; while a single arrow shot by him inflicts “ on my body the excruciating pangs of innumerable weapons; but as this moun“ tain is the residence of holy Rooshees, and of Devatas, one of them perhaps has “ assumed the form of the Kerata king.” He then once more shot an arrow at him, that remained in his hand, and looking for more into his never-failing quiver, the famous Achayatooneerum, the gift of Agnee-hotra, when the famous forest Coundava Vanum was set on fire, he found it void as the empty ocean, when dried at the dissolution of the universe. Arjoon then, in despair, flung at him his Gaandeevum, his celebrated and superb bow, the precious gift of the same Agnee-hotra, but in vain; it did not seem even to touch him. The hero then plucked up wild trees and rugged rocks by strength of his hand, and threw them with fury at his opponent’s body, but they all fell harmless on earth that instant; whereupon Arjoon, dreadfully enraged at his disappointment, flew at his opponent, and a dreadful combat was fought, body to body, with clenched fists and sinewy arms. There Arjoon displayed such fortitude and valour as astonished the inhabitants of the forests, and the Devatas from the skies beheld this well-fought combat with admiration and surprise. At length, exhausted by the mutual exertions of hard knocks and furious blows, the combatants fell both spent upon earth. Then suddenly Eswar arose, highly pleased with the courage and valour of Arjoon, and appeared to him in his true form, manifested by his distinguishing symbols, the Jatas, the Endu-Cula-Dhur, the Trisool in his hand, the Garala-Cont, the Gaja-Chermambur-Dhur, and the Voora-Bhujaga-Bhooshanu, and thus said to him, “O, Arjoon! I am well satisfied with your severe devotion, your valour, and your fortitude, and shall bestow all your wishes: thou shalt conquer the whole world. Lo! behold my real form, through thy divine knowledge.” Then Pardha, much pleased, prostrated himself before Eswar, and praised him with all his heart, and, with closed hands and homage, standing before him, said, “Forgive me, Dava,—I knew not thou wert Eswar, but mistook and supposed it was a Kerata I engaged; I humbly entreat thy forgiveness.” Then Eswar held up his hands most graciously, and, with a smiling countenance, said, “O, Dhanemjaya! I have forgiven thine error, and am gratified by thy prowess and boldness; in thy last birth thou wert the Rajah Rooshee, named Narroodoo, and with the 271

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other Narrain, both resided in the forest of Badarika-Vanum, leading a retired life in devotion for many years, by which you acquired the destructive and supporting power over the world. I concealed thy great bow, Gundeevum, and the arrows of the Achayatooneerum, by the powers of illusion;—once already did you formerly conquer the evil Rachasa by this celestial weapon;—now make known thy utmost desire.” Then Arjoon answered and earnestly entreated, “Be pleased, of thy divine grace, to favour me with the celestial Pausuputt-Astrum, which has long been the first and most earnest object of my wishes. Armed with that celebrated weapon Pausuputt, which destroys the world and multitudes of mankind at the end of ages,—which has the power of producing numerous Trisools and mortal weapons, shall I conquer innumerable demons, and every evil spirit, the hostile kings and chiefs Bheeshma, Curna, and the other heroes that are adverse to our cause.” Then Eswar conferred on him the Pausuputt-Astrum. He instructed him in the mode of reciting the sacred Muntrums, the Japa, the Homa, the Prayogum, and Voopasumhar, saying, “No other Astrum is equal to this; if you discharge this arrow, on whatever occasion, it will surely cause the destruction of the whole world; its virtues are mysterious and unknown even to Indra, to Cubéra, to Varuna, and to Yama.” He then blessed him to conquer the whole world with the Pausuputt Astrum, and instantly disappeared. The Dita, the Daanava, the Yacha, the Rachasa, then perceiving the resplendent weapon, the dread Pausuputt, borne in the hand of Arjoon, were greatly alarmed. At that instant the earth shook, together with the ocean, and its seven celebrated stupendous mountains. At that instant, Indra flew from heaven, with all his followers; with pure heart and great joy, he carried him to his celestial mansion; and the eight Asta Deckagas (the guardians of the eight points of the world), bestowed on him their peculiar celestial weapons, with their good blessing. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

Indra, king of the Devatas, and the lord of the Orient, himself offered his divine Indrastrum to his beloved son Arjoon. Agnee, the God of Fire, the Commander of the South East, bestowed his fiery arrow, the Agnee-Astrum, on Arjoon. Yama, Commander of the South, granted his death-disposing club, the Dundum, to Arjoon. Nyrootea, God of the South West, offered the Cuntum to the hero. Varuna, the God of the Ocean, and Commander of the West, conferred his watery arrow, called Varunastrum. Voycoova, Lord of Winds, and Commander of the North West, bestowed his vindy arrow, the Voyuvastrum. Cubera, the God of Wealth, and Commander of the North, presented his arrow called the Cuberastrum. Eesaar, Commander of the North East, at the first bestowed his mighty Paustputt.  272

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There is a curious circumstance in this paper, relating to the ancient manners of the Hindoos. Drawputty appears clearly to have been the wife of all the five Pandoos.590 In Ceylon some of the inhabitants persevere in the custom of making one woman the wife of several,591 and in Bombay the caste of coppersmiths (as I was informed) have the same usage. THE END.

Editorial notes Abbreviations EIC Flood

East India Company G. Flood, An Introduction to Hinduism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) Gotch R. B. Gotch, Maria, Lady Callcott: The Creator of ‘Little Arthur’ (London: John Murray, 1937) ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography OED Oxford English Dictionary

Notes 1 really and truly written, nearly as they now appear, for the amusement of an intimate friend: The identity of this ‘intimate friend’ is not known, and all that can be deduced about them from Graham’s published journal is that they resided in Edinburgh (see note 400). That said, this statement is not necessarily to be taken at face value; such disclaimers were often prefaced to texts clearly written for publication. As discussed in the Introduction, moreover, Graham’s original private journal was extensively revised before it appeared in print. 2 Bombay . . . Madras . . . Calcutta: Today, the cities of Mumbai (in the state of Maharashtra), Chennai (in Tamil Nadu), and Kolkata (in West Bengal). In Graham’s time these were the key administrative centres of the EIC’s operations in India and accordingly gave their name to the EIC’s three ‘Presidencies’. 3 third British presidency: See note 2. 4 Elephanta: An island now located in Mumbai harbour, but to the east of Bombay in Graham’s time. Also known as Gharapuri and famous for the Elephanta Caves, a magnificently sculpted temple complex cut into the basalt rock of the island’s central hill. 5 island of Salsette: Although now absorbed into modern Mumbai, in Graham’s day Salsette was a separate, much larger island to the north of the seven islands on which Bombay was originally founded. 6 the excavation of Carli, in the Mahratta mountains: Located at Karli, in the Western Ghats mountain range in the modern Indian state of Maharashtra, the Karla cave complex consists of numerous Buddhist shrines cut out of rock, dating from between the second century BC and the fifth century AD. Graham calls the Western Ghats the ‘Mahratta mountains’ after the Marathi or Marathas, an ethnic group in India who grew in power from the late seventeenth century and established the Maratha Empire, which dominated much of the subcontinent in the eighteenth century. They were consequently one of the EIC’s principal adversaries in the late

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7 8

9 10

11

12

eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries and were only finally defeated after the Third Anglo-Maratha War of 1817–1818. The Marathas originated from the Deccan plateau in southern central India, but the principal realm they created was centred on Pune, just southeast of Karli. Poonah, the Mahratta capital: Pune, now in the state of Maharashtra and located 60 miles southeast of Mumbai, was the capital of the Maratha Empire (see note 6). She embarked for Ceylon, where she arrived at Pointe de Galle . . . Negombo . . . Trincomale: Ceylon is today Sri Lanka, where Negombo and Trincomale are now major cities on the west and northeast of the island respectively. Pointe de Galle is the peninsula which forms the natural harbour at the city of Galle, in southwest Sri Lanka. the Coromandel Coast: India’s southeastern coast, facing the Bay of Bengal on the eastern side of the south Indian peninsula. the Cape of Good Hope and St Helena: The Cape of Good Hope, in what is now South Africa, and the island of St Helena in the south Atlantic were vital stopping points for ships on long voyages to and from India. At the time of Graham’s voyage, both were British colonies, having been recently taken from the Dutch (see notes 551 and 565). any of those remnants of the age of gold – any of those combinations of innocence, benevolence, and voluptuous simplicity, with which the imaginations of some authors have peopled the cottages of the Hindoos: A reference to Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint Pierre’s popular and highly sentimental novel La chaumière indienne (The Indian Cottage, 1790), in which a European scholar learns wisdom whilst living in the humble home of a pariah, a member of one of India’s lowest castes (see Kindersley, note 212). With this rejection of what is clearly regarded as Bernardin de Saint Pierre’s naïve idealism, Graham positions herself as a more detached and rational observer of India; in the process she seeks to resist – and refute – the common tendency in this period to equate women writers with excessive sensibility and sentiment. after a voyage from England of twenty weeks, we landed here on the 26th of this month: Graham had set sail for India on 30 December 1808, on board HMS Cornelia. She arrived on 26 May 1809, as stated here. Her private journal entry for that day is reproduced below, since it forms an interesting contrast with the more richly developed account of arrival given in the published journal. Friday, 26th. Captain on shore at daybreak to wait on the Governor, and we prepared to leave finally our cabin in the Cornelia. I went on deck before breakfast, and shook hands with Paterson [a fellow passenger with whom Graham had quarrelled]. I cannot bear to part with ill-will towards anyone. About noon Mr. Crawford came on board to conduct us to Tarala, Sir James Mackintosh’s house, there being but one tavern in Bombay and that by no means fit for the reception of ladies. Though I had often longed to be ashore, yet, when I saw the ship manned and took leave of my companions in danger, I could scarcely command my feelings. Graham put us in the boat! my head is even now stupefied, and I cannot arrange my ideas. Even a highly picturesque country which has so many charms was for me insufficient to charm away the melancholy of my thoughts, or to taste at first the high charm of Sir J.M.’s conversation. At length it soothed me into something like tranquillity. I became more alive to the pleasure to be derived from polished society and literary pursuits, pleasures to which, if I except Tyler [another fellow passenger on the Cornelia] and Graham, none besides ourselves on board was susceptible. Lady M. not being well, we accompanied her to dine with a Mrs Campbell, a very pretty woman who lives close to

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Tarala, Sir J. having a Gander party at home. Mrs C. though uncultivated is naturally interesting; pour le mari il ne vaut pas trop for la société, but I know nothing of him. I was agreeably surprised to find in Mrs Crawford my old companion, Dolly Rees. Spite of her disadvantages in education, she has turned out an extraordinary young woman, and seems to be as happy as she is deserving. (Gotch, pp. 135–6) 13 palankeens: Now usually spelled ‘palanquin’: a covered litter supported by horizontal poles, which holds one passenger and is carried by four or six bearers. 14 Mahratta country: Graham presumably means the region around Pune, the Maratha capital, further south in what is now the Indian state of Maharashtra; possibly she means the Deccan plateau in southern central India, from which the Maratha originated (see note 6). 15 coombee or agricultural caste: Kunbi is the collective name for several castes of nonelite agricultural workers in western India. 16 the esplanade: An open, grassed area adjacent to the British fort in Bombay, and by Graham’s time an important site for strolling, riding and other forms of social interaction. 17 koolies: Labourers. Now more usually spelled ‘coolie’, the term is regarded as offensive in some parts of the world; however, it remains a neutral label in South Asia, where the word originated (deriving possibly from the Tamil, Telugu or Hindi languages). 18 brocade: A rich fabric woven with an elaborate, raised design, often using gold or silver thread. 19 Mussulman: An old synonym (now archaic) for ‘Muslim’. 20 Parsee: Between the eighth and tenth centuries AD, a substantial Zoroastrian community (see Kindersley, note 142) migrated from Persia (modern-day Iran) to India; they became known as Parsees or Parsis, an adaptation of ‘Persian’. 21 filigree rings: Rings fashioned from gold or silver wires and threads, woven together to form elaborate tracery designs. 22 the Black Town: See Kindersley, note 95. 23 this small island: Mumbai is built on an archipelago of seven small islands; in Graham’s time the central island (now the Isle of Bombay) was the site of the main port and consequently the oldest and most established area of settlement. 24 cazy of Israel: The term kasi or qasi signified the post of provincial magistrate in the Mughal judicial system; that system also allowed subordinate religious and cultural communities to follow their own legal traditions, as seems to be the case here. 25 marine sepoys: Sepoys were Indian soldiers employed by the EIC (and later by the British Empire); here Graham presumably means British-led Indian troops deployed on ships or to guard the docks at Bombay. 26 virandas: Verandas, or roofed porches running around all or part of a dwelling, were a common feature in Indian domestic architecture. 27 the Palmyra or coco-nut tree: As Graham makes clearer on the next page, these are two separate species of palm tree. 28 arrack: An alcoholic beverage distilled from the sap of the palm tree. 29 draught cattle: Cattle for drawing (i.e. pulling) ploughs, carts and other vehicles. 30 Sir James and Lady Mackintosh, at Tarala: Sir James Mackintosh (1765–1832), Scottish jurist, politician and historian who published in 1791 Vindiciae Gallicae: A Defence of the French Revolution and its English Admirers. In 1804 he was appointed Recorder (or Chief Judge) of Bombay, where he also established the Bombay Literary Society. He was married at this date to his second wife, Catherine Allen (d. 1830). It is not known whether James Mackintosh and Maria Graham were friends

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31

32 33

34

35

36 37 38 39 40

before she visited India; however, they shared several mutual friends among the literati of Edinburgh, such as Dugald Stewart (see note 206). Mackintosh subsequently returned to England in 1811, where he continued his close friendship with Graham and was something of a mentor to her, introducing Graham to many prominent London intellectuals and writers. The posthumously published Memoirs of the Life of the Right Honourable Sir James Mackintosh, 2 vols (London: Edward Moxon, 1835), consequently contains many references to Graham, and its India sections offer an alternative perspective on some of the excursions Graham and Mackintosh took together. the fort and town of Bombay: Like Madras (modern-day Chennai), colonial Bombay grew up around fortifications established by the EIC. Bombay Castle was built in the late eighteenth century, and the larger Fort St George was then established around the Castle and surrounding settlement in the 1760s. agrémens: ‘Amenities’ (French). Mazagong, a dirty Portuguese village: Originally a separate island in the archipelago that formed the historic core of Mumbai, Mazagaon was the site of an early colonial settlement established by the Portuguese. By the mid-eighteenth century the island had been joined to the large Island of Bombay by land reclamation. the house from which Sterne’s Eliza eloped: In 1767 Eliza Draper, née Sclater (1744–1778), began an intense although platonic epistolary relationship with the novelist Laurence Sterne (1713–1768). Sterne apostrophized Eliza in A Sentimental Journey (1768) and in his unpublished Journal to Eliza, and a selection of their correspondence appeared in print after Sterne’s death as Letters from Yorick to Eliza (1775). An Anglo-Indian born in Anjengo (today Anchuthengo in the state of Kerala), Draper was visiting Britain with her husband when she met Sterne. The couple soon returned to India where their relationship deteriorated; in 1773 she eloped with the naval officer Sir John Clarke, and in 1774 returned to Britain. In stressing that Eliza subsequently eloped, Graham again seems to be undercutting another iconic sentimental text, just as she does in her discussion of Bernardin de Saint Pierre’s La chaumière indienne (see note 11); again, one likely intention here is to dissociate herself, and women generally, from accusations of excessive sentimentalism. as strongly as the site of Anjengo does those of the Abbé Raynal, when he remembers ‘that it is the birth place of Eliza’: In his Histoire Philosophique et Politique des établissements et du commerce des Européens dans le deux Indes (1770; usually translated as History of the Two Indias), the Abbé Guillaume-Thomas Raynal (1713–1796) interrupts his account of British colonial history in India to eulogize Eliza Draper, whom he had met in London in the late 1770s. For Anjengo, see note 34. Notice also how Graham quickly goes on to stress Mazagong’s ‘more solid claims to attention’, again presenting herself as traveller who is more rational and practical than sentimental in her observations. Romish churches: Roman Catholic churches. Shah Jehan: Shah Jahan (1592–1666), the fifth Mughal Emperor; his reign, between 1628 and 1658, is often regarded as the high point of Mughal architecture and culture in India. Sion: Now a neighbourhood in Mumbai, the village of Sion in Graham’s time was located at the northernmost tip of the archipelago on which the city stood. the banian, or Indian fig-tree: Ficus benghalensis, more commonly rendered in English as the banyan tree. while the Mahrattas possessed that island: The island of Salsette remained under Portuguese control when the seven core islands of Bombay were ceded to the British in 1662 (see note 67). Salsette was then captured by the expanding Maratha Empire in 1739, who controlled the island until the British occupied it in 1774.

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41 General Macpherson, a Highlander who was in the battle of Culloden: Fought in 1746, Culloden saw the final defeat of the 1745 ‘Jacobite’ uprising in Scotland, in which Charles Edward Stuart sought to restore the Stuart dynasty to the British throne. The Jacobite army was made up chiefly of troops from Scottish Highland clans; the General Macpherson named here has not been identified. 42 the Company’s army: The EIC, which ruled British India at this date, maintained its own armed forces. 43 the Culloden, with Sir Edward Pellew’s flag: Rear Admiral Edward Pellew (1757– 1833) was commander-in-chief of the British Navy’s East Indies Station between 1804 and 1809. Several British Naval vessels were named after the battle of Culloden in the eighteenth century; Graham is here probably referring to the ship of this name launched in 1783 and broken up in 1813, which saw service in the Indian Ocean in the first decade of the nineteenth century. 44 Mr Duncan, the present governor: Jonathan Duncan (1756–1811), governor of Bombay from 1795 until his death. 45 in the histories of Alexander’s expedition to India: For Alexander the Great’s expedition into India, see Kindersley, note 170. The banyan tree is mentioned in eyewitness accounts of this campaign by Alexander’s officers, notably Aristobolos and Onesicritus; these observations were in turn cited in Strabo’s Geography (c. 20 BC–23 AD). 46 Mahaim: One of the northern islands in the seven-island archipelago on which Mumbai was founded. 47 Mahometan: An old synonym for ‘Muslim’; now little-used, it is generally judged offensive but did not necessarily have this resonance in Graham’s day. 48 Goa: Now a state on India’s southwestern coast, Goa was a Portuguese colony from 1510 to 1961. 49 Parell: Another of the islands in the archipelago on which Mumbai was founded; from the 1770s, the site of the Governor of Bombay’s official residence. 50 Jesuits college: The Jesuit religious order (see Kindersley, note 37) established a substantial missionary presence in the regions of India colonized by Portugal. 51 Malabar Point: A promontory forming the southwestern tip of the Isle of Bombay, the central island in the archipelago on which Mumbai was founded. 52 Salsette and the Mahratta shore: Standing on Malabar Point, Graham can view the island of Salsette to the north, and to the east – across what is now Mumbai harbour – the mainland region known as the Kurlas, which at this date was under Maratha control. 53 Soonis and the Sheea . . . Hunafis and Shafeis: Islam is divided into two main denominations (along with several smaller sects): these are Sunni Islam and Shia Islam (see Kindersley, note 215). The Hanafi and Shafi’i schools comprise two of the four main legal traditions within Sunni Islam; the others are the Maliki and Hanbali traditions. 54 ghauts: In Hindi, the term ghats signified the steps used in both river landings and mountain passes; from the latter usage, the British in India applied the word to mountains generally. Here Graham is alluding to the mountain range in southern India now known as the Western Ghats. 55 the Portuguese, in their zeal for conversion: That is to say, conversion to Christianity. 56 Bramins: Members of the highest caste in Indian society, whose traditional role was as priests and guardians of sacred knowledge (although in practice, Brahmins have historically undertaken many other roles as well). 57 dedicated to Siva, under the name Maha Deo, and to his wife Parvati: One of the principal deities in Hinduism, Shiva – along with Brahma and Vishnu – is part of

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58 59 60

61 62 63 64

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the central triumvirate of gods who order the cosmos. He represents destruction and transformation, and so embodies both good and evil. Like most Hindu gods, Shiva has many avatars and is worshipped under a variety of names, one being ‘Mahadeo’ (literally, ‘the great god’). His wife Parvati embodies love, devotion and fertility, and is one of the central trinity of Hindu goddesses, along with Lakshmi and Saraswati. the sacred bull Nandi: The traditional mount and attendant of the Hindu deity Shiva, Nandi (sometimes called Nundi) is also worshipped in his own right by some Hindu communities. sacerdotal: Priestly. the Vedas: A large body of devotional texts which constitute the oldest scriptures in Hinduism, written in Sanskrit and with some sections possibly composed as early as 1700 BC. The term veda signifies, in a literal translation, ‘knowledge’ or ‘wisdom’, and there are four vedic traditions, each with their own corpus of core texts: the Rigveda, the Yajurveda, the Sameveda and the Artharvaveda. Very little of the Vedas had been translated into English by the time of Graham’s visit to India; however, she was probably familiar with an influential overview and assessment of these texts, Henry Thomas Colebrooke’s ‘Essay on the Vedas’, published in Asiatic Researches, Volume 8 (1805). For Colebrooke, see note 175. Old Woman’s Island, or Coulaba: This is Little Colaba, one of the seven islands making up the archipelago on which Mumbai was founded. chunam: A form of plaster, usually made of shells, widely used in the coastal regions of India. the Armenians: See Kindersley, note 286. the dock-yard: Established by the EIC in 1750, and overseen for many decades by the Wadias, an Indian family of master shipbuilders (see note 163), Bombay Dock was famous for the quality of the ships constructed there. The new dock Graham describes here is Duncan Dock, built between 1807 and 1810, and at this date the largest dry dock outside Europe. What Graham does not mention is that her father George Dundas (1756–1814) had been appointed Principal Officer in charge of the British Navy’s affairs at the dock; Graham was in India because she – and two of her siblings – had accompanied George on this posting. on the stocks: Raised on wooden stocks during construction, or for repair. Captain Cooper of the Company’s engineers: Not identified. it belongs to the King: In 1662 Portugal ceded the seven islands of Bombay to King Charles II of England as part of the dowry accompanying his new queen, Catherine of Braganza. In 1668 Charles granted the settlement to the EIC for a small annual rent; however, the Crown retained some rights and properties, including Bombay Castle. ittur of roses: A fragrant essential oil extracted from rose petals, attar of roses is widely used in parfumerie. Guzerat: Gujarat, a region (and now a state) in western India. the Laccadive and Maldive islands: Archipelagos in the Indian Ocean. The former grouping, which is situated off the Malabar Coast, is now an Indian dependency; the latter, located southwest of Sri Lanka, is an independent republic. the forests of Malabar: The Malabar region in southern India, spanning the northern half of the modern state of Kerala and the coastal regions of Karnataka, in Graham’s day boasted extensive rainforests. Dammar: A resin extracted from trees or found in fossilized form in the ground; it has a variety of uses, including the caulking of ships. Momba Devee, or the Bombay goddess: The goddess Mumba, from whom modern Mumbai takes its name, is a local incarnation or avatar of the Hindu mother goddess Devi. freestone: ‘Stone that can be sawn in any direction and readily shaped with a chisel, such as fine-grained sandstone or limestone’ (OED).

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75 choultries: Hostels for pilgrims and travellers visiting Hindu, Buddhist or Jain temples. 76 a well carved trimurti, or three formed god; . . . Brahma . . . Shiva . . . Vishnu the preserver: Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva form the central trinity of Hindu gods, and in art and sculpture are often depicted together in a single, merged body called a trimurti (Sanskrit: ‘three-form’). Brahma represents the creative power which brought the cosmos into being; Vishnu the forces of preservation and protection which maintain the universe; Shiva the forces of destruction and transformation. 77 the braminical thread or zenaar: The janeu or yagyopavita is a sacred white thread worn by higher-caste Hindus. 78 cubits: A cubit is an ancient unit of measurement corresponding to the span of the forearm (roughly 18 inches). However, Graham seems to be in error here, since traditionally the Janeu is meant to be 96 times longer than the span between an individual’s four fingers – a much smaller measurement than the traditional cubit. 79 Xetries . . . Vaisyas: Members of the Kshatriya and Vaishya castes. The former traditionally comprised the ruling and military elite, while the latter were traditionally agriculturalists but over time became strongly associated with trade and banking. 80 soi-disant: ‘Self-styled’ (French). 81 Pariahs: See Kindersley, note 212. 82 St Pierre’s Chaumiere Indienne: See note 11. 83 bazar: Market. 84 Thevenot . . . Debca . . . Baroche: The French traveller Jean de Thévenot (1633–1667) visited India in 1666, having previously travelled extensively in the Middle East; an account of his experiences was published as Relation d’un voyage fait au Levant (Account of a Voyage to the Levant, 3 vols (1665–1684)). Debca and Baroche are settlements in Gujarat in western India. Graham is slightly misrepresenting Thévenot here; he does not claim to have seen human flesh for sale himself but instead writes that ‘it is not very many Years since Man’s flesh was there publickly sold in the Markets’ (vol. 3, p. 7). 85 Pundit Bapoogee: Pandit is the Hindi term for a scholar or teacher; it has not been possible to identify further Bapoogee (or Bapuji). 86 the Vedanti sect: Vedanta is not exactly a sect within Hinduism, as Graham here suggests, but a theological and philosophical tradition devoted to exegesis of the Vedas. It is most strongly associated with the Vaishnaivite tradition but has also influenced to varying degree other traditions such as Shaivism and Shaktism (see note 176). See Flood, pp. 17, 238–46. 87 Cazy Shahab o’dien Mahary: For kasi or qasi, see note 24. Shahab o’dien Mahary has not been further identified. 88 cinquefoil: In architecture, an ornamental, ‘five-leaf’ design or form. 89 imaum: Imam, or Islamic preacher. 90 the Gothic style: Although it in fact owed little to the original Goths of late antiquity, from the Renaissance onwards the label ‘Gothic’ was applied to the architectural style used in the medieval cathedrals and public buildings of Northern Europe. 91 My sister: Graham sailed to India with her father George Dundas (1756–1814), and two of her three siblings, Agnes (dates unknown) and Ralph (b. 1790). Once arrived in India, Agnes and Ralph seem to have stayed with George in Bombay while Maria travelled on to Sri Lanka, Madras and Calcutta. 92 harem: European writers at this date often used the words harem and zenana interchangeably. Both terms denote the areas within a Muslim household reserved for women; zenana, however, was the terminology commonly used in South Asia, while harem was more common in the Middle East. 93 betel: The nut of the areca tree (Areca catechu), commonly, though incorrectly, referred to as ‘betel nut’. In South Asia it is often chewed as a mild stimulant. The confusion

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in the name comes about because the areca nut is frequently wrapped in leaves from the betel vine (Piper betle), which are then masticated along with the nut; these leaves separately are known as paan. a fillet of pearls: ‘Fillet’, from the Latin filum, here signifies a thread. depended: Hung down. the cheshme ahoo of the eastern poets: A common laudatory phrase in Persian love poetry, signifying ‘the eyes of a deer [or gazelle]’. hinna, a plant: Lawson inermis, a shrub or small tree from which is obtained henna, a form of brown dye. sherbet: A cooling drink made from fruit juices; often iced, and so sometimes close to a modern sorbet. sweetmeats: Confectionary. ghee: See Kindersley, note 151. paung: See note 93. Bernier: The French traveller François Bernier (1620–1688) spent a decade in India between 1658 and 1669, serving for a period as physician to the Mughal Emperor Aurengzeb. He subsequently published Histoire de la dernière révolution des états du Grand Mogol (1670–1671), usually translated in English as Travels in the Mogul Empire. Ragabhoy, during his exile from Poonah: Rhagunathrao (1734–1783), a Maratha military leader who served as regent to two successive Peshwas (see note 252) of the Maratha Empire, Madhavrao I (1745–1772) and Narayanrao (1755–1773). He conspired against both men, arranged the murder of the latter, and for a brief period became Peshwa himself before being expelled from the Maratha capital Pune after an uprising against him. In exile, Rhagunathrao secured the support of the EIC after promising to cede them territory if he was returned to power, and for a period the EIC accommodated him in Bombay. brab: Another name for the Palmyra palm (Borassus flabellifer). missala or curry stuff: Masala is an Urdu word signifying a mixture of ingredients. chunamed over: See note 62. the sweet-scented champaka: Magnolia champaca, also often known as champak, native to South Asia and renowned for its fragrant flowers. the mina, the kokeela: The mynah bird, a name given collectively to several species of starling found in South Asia; the Asian koel, a member of the cuckoo family (kokila is the Hindi word for the female of the species). Pamplemousses: Grapefruit. the jumboo, a species of rose-apple: Syzygium jambos, a tropical tree whose fruit is often used in South Asian salads and other dishes. plumbago rosea . . . red and white ixoras . . . the moon-flower and the mogree: Plumbago rosea is a small, flowering shrub also known as the Indian leadwort, the root of which has medicinal properties. Ixora is the genus name for a variety of flowering tropical shrubs; the moon-flower is a common name often given to shrubs in the Datura genus (see note 344). Moghra in Hindi and Marathi signifies the Indian jasmine (Jasminum sambac). a white worm of the thickness of a fine bobbin: Graham refers here to the Guinea worm, Dracunculus medinensis. If larvae are ingested through drinking infected water, the worm then grows within the host’s body – usually in one of their legs – before emerging through a blister in the skin. At this stage the worm can be removed in the manner described by Graham. A bobbin is a thread used in weaving. Dr Kier: Probably Dr George Keir (dates not known), author of Account of the Introduction of the Cow Pox in India (Bombay, 1803). the enormous rock-snake: The Indian rock python, Python mylorus.

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115 the cobra-capella: Either the Indian, or spectacled cobra (Naja naja) or the king cobra (Ophiophagus hannah). Capella here means ‘hooded’ in Portuguese, referring to the ability of both these species to flatten their necks to appear more threatening to predators. 116 cobra-manilla: Cobra was originally just the Portuguese word for snake; Graham is probably referring here to the common krait (Bungarus caerulus), a small, venomous species not classed today in the Naja (i.e. Cobra) genus. 117 brinjaal, a species of solanum: The eggplant or aubergine (Solanum melongena). 118 the bendy, called in the West Indies okree: Okra (Abelmoschus esculentus), commonly known in English as ‘ladies fingers’; in Hindi, bhindi. 119 mucilaginous: Meaning it produces mucilage, a thick, glue-like secretion generated by some plants. 120 eau de luce: A solution of ammonia, soap and oil of amber, used in the treatment of snake bites and bee stings. 121 kid: young goat. 122 dol: Dal, or split pulses, usually lentils. 123 bhang: The Hindi word for cannabis leaves, when used as a narcotic. 124 luted: Attached and made airtight, usually through the application of clay or cement. 125 Phrygian bonnet: A soft, conical cap, associated with the region of Phrygia (in modern Turkey) in classical times. More recently, for Graham and her contemporaries, this headgear had become strongly associated with the lower classes and sans-culottes in Paris during the French Revolution. 126 where / Easily canst thou find . . . fawn, flatter, or abjure? // PAR. REG. B i l 470: Quotation from John Milton, Paradise Regained (1671), Book 1, ll. 470–4. 127 the governor: The governor of the Bombay Presidency, appointed by the EIC. At the time of Graham’s visit, this was Jonathan Duncan (see note 44). 128 though an unmarried woman: As recorded in a footnote to the second edition (see Textual Variant ‘g’), Maria’s marriage to Thomas Graham took place on 9 December 1809. 129 grossière: ‘Coarse’ (French). 130 perquisites: See Kindersley, note 303. 131 a couple of dirty Portuguese (black men who eat pork and wear breeches): The term ‘Portuguese’ here denotes Indians who converted to Catholicism during the colonial rule of the Portuguese; see Kindersley, Letter 42, for the background to this terminology. 132 chintz: A cotton fabric printed with multicoloured designs. 133 peon: A low-ranking soldier or worker, from the Portuguese peão. 134 a Hallalcor or Chandela: The Halalkhor are a Muslim caste or community traditionally associated with sweeping and scavenging; the Chandela are a Hindu community associated with the disposal of corpses. Both have traditionally been regarded as low-status, ‘Dalit’ (or ‘untouchable’): what Graham and other British observers often referred to collectively as ‘Pariahs’ (see Kindersley, note 212). 135 the teak main-mast of the Minden: In the Errata to the first edition, Graham wrote: ‘I have since learnt that the mast was of poon, and therefore lighter’. In the second edition, accordingly, ‘a weight of not less than twenty tons’ was changed to ‘a weight little less than twenty tons’. 136 Cashmeer: Kashmir, a region in northern India, between the Great Himalaya and Pir Panjal mountain ranges. 137 the Arabian night entertainments: The collection of Arabian and Indian folktales first introduced to Europe by Antoine Galland’s 12-volume Les mille and une nuits (A Thousand and One Nights, 1704–1717). The first English translation, in 1706, titled the collection An Arabian Nights Entertainment.

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138 citarrs: The sitar is a long-necked, stringed instrument akin to the European lute. 139 vins: Stringed instruments resembling the European guitar. 140 satyrs . . . Bacchanals: In Ancient Greek and Roman mythology, satyrs were woodland deities often attendant on Dionysus (Bacchus in Roman myth). They therefore participated in the frenzied, intoxicated revelries (or bacchanals) associated with the god. 141 Hydrabad: Hyderabad, capital of the modern Indian state of Telangana, and in Graham’s time a princely state nominally independent but in practice largely controlled, through a subsidiary alliance, by the EIC. 142 the Dustoor Moola Firoze: A dastur is a high priest in the Zoroastrian religion (see note 145); Moola Firoze has not been further identified. 143 the Guebres or Parsees: Guebres was the name given to followers of the Zoroastrian faith in Persia (modern-day Iran); when many members of this community migrated to India after the seventh-century Muslim conquest of Persia, they acquired the name ‘Parsi’ (a corruption of ‘Persian’). 144 Yezd: Yazd, a city in Iran. 145 Zoroaster or Zerdusht: The ancient, Iranian-speaking prophet, also sometimes called Zarathustra, who established in Iran the Zoroastrian religion. Scholars still debate whether he lived in the second millennium BC (at some point between c. 1700–1000 BC) or more recently, at some time between roughly 650–520 BC. Zoroaster’s precepts were laid out in the Avesta, a collection of sacred texts compiled around the third or fourth centuries AD. 146 M[onsieur] Anquetil: Abraham Hyacinthe Anquetil-Duperron (1731–1805), French Orientalist, who in 1771 published Zend-Avesta, three volumes of fragments and documents relating to the Zoroasterian religion. 147 Pyrolatry: Fire-worship. 148 Chevalier D’Ohsson’s Tableau Historique de l’Orient: The Armenian scholar Ignatius Mouradgea D’Ohsson (1740–1807) published his two-volume Tableau historique de l’Orient (Historical Portrait of the Orient) in France in 1804. 149 the Shah Nameh of Firdousi: The Shahnameh is an epic poem in Persian, written between 977 and 1010 AD by the Persian poet Ferdowsi (c. 940–1020). 150 two legislators of the name of Zoroaster: The debate Graham alludes to here, about the period in which Zoroaster lived, is still not settled; see note 145. 151 Darius the son of Cambyses: Cambyses II (d. 522 BC) and Darius I (c. 550-486 BC) were successive rulers of the Achaemenid Empire in Persia. However, Graham is in error in calling the latter Cambyses’s son; the two men were not related, although Darius served for a period as Cambyses’s spear-bearer. 152 Hormuzd . . . Ahrimane: In Zoroastrian belief, Ohrmazd or Ahura Mazda is the creator of the universe and the upholder of truth, beauty and virtue; Ahriman, or Angra Mainyu, is the Devil or destructive spirit. 153 Herbert’s Travels … Sir Robert Shirley on his last embassy to Persia: Sir Thomas Herbert (1606–1682) accompanied Sir Robert Shirley (1581–1628) on his 1627 embassy to Persia; after Shirley’s death, he travelled for a further year in India and the Middle East. On his return he published Description of the Persian Monarchy now beinge the Orientall Indyes, Iles and other ports of the Greater Asia and Africk (1634), which was retitled in later, expanded editions as Some Yeares Travels into Africa and Asia the Great. 154 intercalary days: Days inserted into the calendar so as to keep it in step with the solar year; for example, the addition of 29 February to form a leap year in the Gregorian calendar. 155 Zend and Pehlavi laguages: The term Zend properly means a translation or interpretation, but many scholars in Graham’s time used it to denote the Avestan language, in which Zoroastrianism’s sacred text the Avesta was written. Written Avestan used a script derived from Pahlavi, a Persian language in widespread use between 500 BC and 700 AD.

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156 the Mahomedan conquest of Persia: The Muslim conquest of Persia began in 633 AD and was completed between 642 and 651 when Caliph Umar (584–644) led an invasion which overthrew the Sasanian Empire and its last ruler Yezdegerd III (d. 651). 157 Sunjum in Guzerat: Sanjan, in the Indian state of Gujarat, which according to some traditions was founded by the Parsi community in 678 AD. 158 the recorder’s court: Recognizing that the EIC was now responsible for the legal jurisdiction of several regions in India, the Regulating Act of 1773 established a Supreme Court at Calcutta. This was supplemented in 1798 by Recorders’ Courts in Bombay and Madras. The ‘Recorder’, or presiding judge at these courts, was an employee of the Crown rather than of the EIC, and their role was in part to regulate the Company. At the time of Graham’s visit, the Recorder of the Bombay Court was her friend, Sir James Mackintosh (see note 30). 159 Yezdegerd, the last king of the dynasty of Sassan, was overcome by the Calif Omar: See note 156. 160 dustoors: See note 142. 161 Pestenjee Bomanjee: Pestonji Bomanji Wadia (1758–1861). 162 a lack: In the Indian numbering system, a lakh signifies 100,000. 163 Lowjee: Lovji Nusserwanjee Wadia (1702–1774) was a master shipbuilder from India’s Parsi community; employed by the EIC, he supervised the building of Bombay Dock in 1750 and established the Wadia dynasty of shipbuilders. 164 Jumsheedjee: Jamshedji Bamanji Wadia (c. 1754–1821). 165 caulking the ship with cotton instead of oakum: Caulking is the practice of filling and sealing the gaps between the planks in a ship’s hull. The material traditionally used for this purpose by the British Navy was oakum, fibres taken from old rope and dipped in tar. 166 Norozejee: Nowroji Wadia (1774–1860). 167 his draughts: Technically a ship’s draught is the distance between the waterline and the bottom of the hull. Here, however, Graham is probably using the term synecdochically, to denote the ships constructed by Wadia. 168 the famine that desolated India in the years 1805 and 1806: The Second AngloMaratha War of 1803–1805 devastated much of the region around Pune, the Maratha capital; coupled with bad harvests, this caused famine in succeeding years. 169 Ardeseer Dadee: Not identified. 170 L. 15,000 a-year in rents: 15,000 in pounds sterling (or ‘livres’, the French for pounds; whence ‘L.’). This was a colossal sum in 1809; in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mr Darcy is considered a very rich man with £10,000 per annum. 171 Elephanta and its wonderful excavations: See note 4. 172 Brehm: Brahma or Brahman is a name for the supreme deity in Hinduism, whose three main attributes are embodied and expressed in the gods Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva. 173 Soodras, or husbandmen: Comprising artisans and labourers, the Sudras or Shudras are the lowest of the four main castes recognized in traditional Indian society (although in effect a fifth caste of ‘Dalits’, or ‘untouchables’ without caste, sit below them). See Kindersley, note 146. 174 the Puranas: Purana means literally ‘old’ or ‘ancient’ in Sanskrit. Used in the plural, the term denotes a vast body of ancient Indian literature, composed both in Sanskrit and in regional languages, which recount myths, legends and traditional learning. 175 Colebrook, Note on the 9th Art. Vol. 7 As. Res.: Henry Thomas Colebrooke (1765– 1832), arguably the first great European scholar of Sanskrit and the translator of several ancient texts on Hindu law and jurisprudence. Graham refers here to Colebrooke’s article ‘On the Religious Ceremonies of the Hindus, and of the Bra’mens especially’, in Asiatic Researches, Volume 7 (1803). 176 the five great sects: Graham, following Colebrooke, understands the principal sects or traditions of Hinduism as Shaivism, Vaishnavism, Suryaism, Ganapatism, and Shaktism.

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177 the Bhagavates: Those who follow Bhagavan, a name which had developed to refer to a personal absolute or theistic God . . . The terms Kṛṣṇa [Krishna], Vāsudeva, Viṣṇu and Bhagavān all refer to the same, surpreme, personal deity for the Bhāgavatas, a deity whose qualities are articulated in the [Bhagavad] Gitā. (Flood, pp. 123–4) 178 an inconsiderable sect of gymnosophists, called Lingis: Meaning literally ‘naked philosophers’, gymnosophists was a term applied by Ancient Greek writers to an especially ascetic Hindu sect that rejected even clothing. 179 Soraswati: One of the trinity of main Hindu goddesses, Saraswati is associated with knowledge, music, and art. 180 Ganesa: Widely worshipped by Buddhists and Jains as well as Hindus, Ganesha is the god of wisdom and learning. He is commonly represented as having an elephant’s head. 181 Menu: See note 194. 182 horse sacrifice . . . human sacrifice: Both forms of sacrifice have historically been practised by some Hindu communities in some eras, although human sacrifice has always been very rare. Interestingly Graham, in seeming to take for granted that it sometimes occurs, goes against the opinion of at least one leading Orientalist whose work she knew. Thomas Colebrooke (see note 175) assumed that apparent references to human sacrifice in the Vedas (see note 60) were allegorical rather than literal. 183 Kaylassa: Mount Kailash, a mountain in Tibet considered sacred by Hindus, Jains and Buddhists. 184 Kartikeya: Karttikeya, god of war, widely worshipped among the Tamil communities of southern India. 185 the Great Bear: The constellation Ursa Major. 186 supposed to confirm the identity of this god with Janus: Often depicted with two faces, Janus is the Roman god of doors, thresholds, boundaries and other liminal spaces. Like many Orientalist scholars of her day, Graham is often interested in apparent correspondences and similarities between Indian and European myths and customs. Such links and echoes could be construed as different cultures and mythologies meeting emotional and psychological needs common to everyone (see here Graham’s discussion on p. 175), or alternatively as suggesting a shared precursor mythology from which European and Indian culture have diverged. 187 awatars: Avatars, or the alternative forms, manifestations and personae adopted by Hindu gods and goddesses 188 Luckshemi: Lakshmi, Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity. 189 Camdeo: Kamadeva is the Hindu god of love and desire; in the preamble to his poem ‘Hymn to Camdeo’ (published in London in 1784), the Orientalist Sir William Jones (1746–1794) likened him to the Roman Cupid or Greek Eros. The popularity of Jones’s poem may explain why Graham does not give as elaborate an explanation of this god as she does for others. 190 the Ramayuna: The Ramayana is an ancient Indian epic poem, written in Sanskrit, that is also an important Hindu devotional text. Composed between 500 and 100 BC and traditionally attributed to the Hindu sage Valmiki, the earliest extant transcriptions date back to the eleventh century AD. The poem recounts the adventures of the legendary prince Rama, often regarded as an avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu. See Flood, pp. 107–9. A three-volume English translation was published by the missionaries William Carey (1761–1834) and Joshua Marshman (see note 497) between 1806 and 1810. 191 Garuda: A legendary bird or bird-like figure worshipped across much of south and southeast Asia, and sometimes depicted (as Graham here suggests) in anthropomorphic form, as a winged man.

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192 the four yougs must revolve seventy-two times in every kalpa: Time in Hindu cosmology follows a complex cyclical structure, which Graham here seems to have partly misunderstood. There are indeed four yugas, or eras, within a larger cycle called a maha-yuga. Each yuga is understood to last for many thousands of years. Seventy-one cycles of the four yugas form a manvantara, which is subsequently followed by a further yuga; then 14 iterations of this manvantara plus a single yuga cycle constitute a kalpa, or aeon. 193 Vaikontha: Vaikuntha, Vishnu’s celestial home. 194 the boat of Styavrata, the 7th menu: In Hindu tradition the name ‘Menu’ or ‘Manu’ is given both to the very first man and law-giver and then to a series of further progenitors and law-makers of mankind. The seventh such patriarch, Satyavrata, was supposed to have survived the great flood unleashed when a demon stole the Vedas (see note 60). Orientalist scholars like Sir William Jones therefore often understood him as analogous to Noah in the Biblical tradition. 195 the mountain Meru: A sacred, mythical mountain which Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains believe to be at the centre of the universe. 196 Beli: The mythical ruler Maha Beli, who in an earlier epoch of time supposedly neglected to worship the gods, thereby necessitating Vishnu’s fifth appearance on earth. 197 the Dewtahs: The gods. As Edward Moor explains in The Hindu Pantheon (London: J. Johnson, 1810), ‘Devata is the plural of Deva; by some writers spelled Dewtah’ (p. 94). 198 the epic poem of Valmiki: See note 190. 199 the Bhagavat: The Bhagavad Gita is a Hindu poem and devotional text, written in Sanskrit, which forms part of the Mahabharata (see note 521). Structured as a dialogue between Prince Arjuna and Lord Krishna, and traditionally attributed to the sage Vyasa, the Gita was probably composed at some point between 400 and 100 BC. See Flood, pp. 124–7. The first English translation was produced in 1785 by Charles Wilkins (1749–1836), under the sponsorship of the EIC. 200 Bhud: Gautama Buddha is a historical figure, the founder of Buddhism, who lived in the period between 550 and 400 BC. In some Hindu traditions, however, he is regarded as an avatar of Vishnu, as outlined here by Graham. 201 Vaishnavas: See note 176. 202 the Goclasthas and the Ramanuj: Graham here alludes to different denominations within Hinduism (see also note 176). The former sect worship Krishna (see note 514) in his infant form, as Gopal. By ‘the Ramanuj’ Graham probably means the monastic Ramanandi tradition, established by the fourteenth-century devotional poet Ramananda, which especially worships Rama Chandra – the central protagonist of the Ramayana – as an avatar of Vishnu. Alternatively, she may be referring to the Shrivaishnavite tradition inaugurated by the eleventh-century Hindu scholar Ramanuja. 203 Indra, the thousand-eyed lord of the dewtahs: In very early Hindu texts such as the Rigveda (see note 60), Indra is the king of the gods, akin to Zeus in Greek mythology. He became a less significant and influential figure in later Hindu writings. 204 Viswakarman . . . Koovera . . . Pavana: Today usually rendered in English as Vishvakarman, Kubera and Pavan (or Vayu). 205 in 1801, when the sepoy regiments . . . in the temple of Tentyra: In 1798, during the Napoleonic Wars, the French army invaded and conquered Egypt. The British expeditionary force sent in 1801 to expel them included 5,000 EIC troops, the majority of whom were Indian sepoys. Tentyra is the Greek name for the Dendera temple complex, near Luxor in Egypt. 206 Caranja: Karanja, or Uran Island, in modern Mumbai. 207 Stewart’s Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind: The Scottish philosopher Dugald Stewart (1753–1828) was a friend and mentor to Graham in her Edinburgh years, and she read repeatedly his Elements of the Philosophy of Human Mind (1792, with further

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208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217

218 219

220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232

volumes in 1814 and 1827). In this quotation (from p. 361 in the original, single-volume 1792 edition), Graham substitutes ‘India’ where Stewart had originally written ‘Egypt’. Butcher’s Island: Now Butcher Island, or Jawahar Dweep. fillet: See note 94. abacus: In architecture, the flat slab sitting immediately on top of a column. lock: A lock of hair. Yamuna (Jumna), and Seraswati: For the Yamuna, see Kindersley, note 176. The Sarasvati is a river named in the ancient Hindu text the Rigveda; scholars dispute which actual river in India this refers to. pilaster: In architecture, a decorative feature on a wall which gives the appearance of a column, but in fact carries no structural load. the Nundi: See note 58. alto-relievo: ‘high relief’ (Italian). chaplet: Garland. comparing the drawing with those in Niebuhr: Carsten Niebuhr (1733–1815) was a German cartographer and explorer who in 1761 joined a Danish exploratory expedition to the Middle East and India. After his return in 1768, he published Beschreibung von Arabien (Description of Arabia, 1772) and in 1772 and 1774 the first two volumes of Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und andern umliegenden Ländern (Account of Arabia and Surrounding Countries); a third volume was published posthumously in 1837. An English translation of Niebuhr’s first three works appeared in 1792, under the title Travels in Arabia. Stala Puranas: The Sthala Puranas, probably composed in the sixteenth century AD, discuss the origins and traditions of various Tamil shrines devoted to the Hindu god Shiva. the contentions between the followers . . . the Mahomedan conquest of India: Although the different Hindu sects and traditions have generally co-existed more peaceably than Catholic and Protestant Christians, there have also been in some regions periods of tension and conflict, most notably between Shaivites and Vaishnavites in the tenth and eleventh centuries AD. By the ‘Mahomedan conquest of India’ Graham presumably means Babur’s campaign in the sixteenth century, which established the Mughal Empire: see Kindersley, notes 182 and 183. Panwell: Now the city of Panvel, about 25 miles southeast of Mumbai. the little ruinous fort of Bellapoor: The fort at Belapur was in fact built by the Siddis (see note 224), and later captured by the Marathas. Rajah Sambagee: The son of Shivaji (see note 278), Sambhaji (1633–1689) was the second ruler of the Maratha Empire, reigning from 1681 to 1689. the Corlahs: The Kurlas, or lands immediately east and southeast of what is now Mumbai harbour. the Siddee: The Siddi are an ethnic group originating in Africa, who historically have often worked as sailors, mercenaries and pirates. the Mogul: The Mughal emperor (also sometimes known as the Great Moghul). nymphaeas: The nymphaea, or waterlily, genus of aquatic plants. Compowli: Now the city of Khopoli, in Maharashastra. Chowk: Although here evidently a place-name, chowk in Hindi means literally a crossroads. Brinjarees: A Dalit community now designated a Scheduled Caste in India, the Banjara historically travelled in large, often armed groups as pedlars and tradesmen. asafoetida: A gum derived from the fennel plant, used as a spice in cooking. Cape Comorin: The southernmost point of India, located in the modern-day state of Tamil Nadu. the thermometer was at sixty-eight: In Fahrenheit rather than Celsius; so Graham is recording here a temperature of 20oC. at the outset of the day’s travelling, which rises quickly to 32oC.

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233 Nana Furnavese, the last Mahratta minister: Although never Peshwa, or prime minister (see note 252), Nana Phadnavis (1742–1800) was an influential minister, negotiator and powerbroker in the Maratha Empire in the latter decades of the eighteenth century. 234 Condowli: Khandala, a hill station in the Western Ghats. 235 cornice: In architecture, a horizontal moulding along the top of a door, window, pedestal or wall. 236 fillets: See note 94. 237 Jines: Jains, or followers of the ancient Indian religion of Jainism. 238 the Jines worship their twenty-four first Gooroos, or spiritual teachers: Jainism holds that 24 tirthanaka, or spiritual leaders, appear in each half-cycle of cosmic time. 239 fourteen sacred books in the Sanscrit and Pacreat languages: The sacred texts of Jainism, the Agamas, are actually subdivided into 12 sections or angas. However, the last of these angas is comprised of 14 purva or books, and it is presumably to these that Graham is alluding. Sanskrit is an ancient Indo-European language; Prakrit is a variant, possibly vernacular form of Sanskrit. 240 necessity: Used here in a now archaic philosophical sense, to mean fate or predetermination. 241 the Jines once possessed a large and powerful kingdom . . . the Mahomedan kings of Beejnugger destroyed them as a nation: There seems to be some (understandable) confusion here, either in Graham or her sources. She is probably referring to what is now known as the Western Ganga dynasty, who ruled much of the modern state of Karnataka from c. 350–1000 AD. The Western Gangas strongly espoused Jainism from the eighth century and were frequently involved in wars and alliances with neighbouring Hindu states. However, the eleventh-century decline of the Western Gangas was accompanied by the rise of a related but distinct Eastern Ganga dynasty, located in modern-day Odisha. It was this latter kingdom that was defeated by the Vijaynagar (or ‘Beejnugger’) Empire, which existed in Karnataka between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries AD. However, the Eastern Gangas are not thought to have espoused Jainism and the Vijaynagar Empire was a Hindu rather than Muslim state (although contemporary Muslim regimes also played their part in the decline of the Eastern Gangas). 242 Sravana Bellagoola: Shravanabelagola, a town in the state of Karnataka and the location of several important pilgrimage sites for Jains. 243 Rajah Nulla, a Jine king of Madura: Madurai is a historically important city in the modern state of Tamil Nadu; over the centuries it served as the capital for several powerful dynasties in the region. In the period Graham refers to here, it was ruled initially by the Pandya dynasty, then by the Chola dynasty. Rajah Nulla has not been further identified. 244 Hyder-Ally: Hyder Ali Khan (1720–1782), ruler of the kingdom of Mysore in southern India from 1761 to 1782. Under Hyder’s rule, Mysore greatly increased its territory and power, thereby coming into conflict with both the Maratha Empire (see note 6) and the EIC. The Marathas and the British (sometimes in alliance with other neighbouring states such as Hyderabad and Travancore) joined together to fight four wars against Mysore between 1766–1769, 1780–1784, 1790–1792 and in 1799. After Hyder Ali’s death in 1782, the last three of these conflicts were fought against his son and successor, Tipu Sultan (1750–1799). 245 the British resident at the court of Poonah: In many independent Indian kingdoms, the EIC maintained a permanent official. In some cases, these Residents, as they were known, largely controlled local policy, with the Indian ruler reduced to a symbolic figurehead. The Resident at Pune at this date was Henry Russell (1783–1852), as acknowledged in the second edition of Graham’s Journal.

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246 Tulligong: Now the city of Talegaon in Maharashtra, just north of Pune. 247 lascars: Indian sailors or guards. 248 the camps of Scindiar and Holkar: The Scindias and Holkars were Maratha dynasties that ruled, respectively, Gwalior and Indore, two of the subsidiary states that from the 1770s made up the Maratha Empire (or as it is sometimes described the Maratha Confederacy). The Second Anglo-Maratha War of 1803–1805 was precipitated when first the Holkars, and later the Scindias, rebelled against the incumbent Peshwa, or Prime Minister of the Maratha Empire, driving him from the Maratha capital of Pune. The EIC entered the war on the side of the Peshwa, drove the rebel forces from Pune and in due course defeated them. Graham here records the legacy of Scindia and Holkar army camps during this campaign. 249 the dreadful famine of 1805–6: See note 168. 250 the relief of Poonah: During the famine that followed the Second Anglo-Maratha War, extensive supplies were sent from Bombay to Pune, to feed both the British garrison and the local population. 251 the Rajah Cunterow-Teravaly-Sinhaputty: Not identified. 252 Peishwa: The term Peshwa denotes the principal minister of the Maratha Empire; originally subordinate to the Maratha emperor, by the late eighteenth century, the Peshwas were the de facto rulers of the regime and the title had become hereditary; see note 300. The Peshwa referred to here was Baji Rao II (1775–1851), who had been deposed from office by rebellious Maratha factions but then restored to power by the British during the Second Anglo-Maratha War. 253 Chimchore: Now Chinchwad, a district of Pune city, in the modern state of Maharashtra, but in Graham’s time a separate settlement. 254 Thibet: Tibet. 255 the Deo of Chimchore, who is nothing less than Ganesa himself: See note 256. 256 Maraba, a Gosseyn: Moraya Gosavi, thought to have lived somewhere between the thirteenth and seventeenth centuries AD, and subsequently worshipped as a saint by the Ganapatya denomination of Hinduism. His sanctity was so great that for seven generations his descendants were revered as living incarnations of Ganesa, thereby being gods (deos) themselves. In 1809 Graham met the final inheritor of this divine mantle, Dharmadar II, who died childless in 1810; hence Graham’s subsequent comment, in the published Journal of 1812, that the original line of descent is ‘now passed away’. For ‘gosseyn’, see Kindersley, note 145, but it should be kept in mind that the term was used in several Hindu traditions and communities, and sometimes seems to have simply denoted an especially holy or ascetic individual. 257 the river Mootha: The Mutha river flows from the Western Ghats, and then merges with the river Mula at Pune. 258 the inhabitants of the Castle of Indolence: In The Castle of Indolence (1748), a poem by James Thomson (1700–1748), the inhabitants of the eponymous castle have been bewitched by the wizard Indolence, making them lazy and lethargic. Eventually they are freed by the Knight of Arts and Industry – a role which Graham is perhaps implicitly conferring on herself and the British more generally. 259 the Palladium: In Greek and Roman mythology, the Palladium was a statue of Athene believed to protect first Troy, and later Rome; the term later came to mean any sacred image regarded as offering protection to worshippers. 260 pepil: The sacred fig, Ficus religiosa, a tree considered holy by many Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains. 261 Sungum Poonah: Today a district in the city of Pune, Sangam in Graham’s time was a settlement just outside the city, located where the river Muth flows into the river Mula. Sangam or sungum means literally a confluence of rivers.

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262 residency: The building occupied by the Resident (see note 245), and his retinue. 263 the rivers Moolha and Mootha, on which account it is called the Sungum, or junction: See note 261. 264 choabdars: Ceremonial attendants or mace-bearers. 265 suttees: Significantly this is Graham’s sole – and somewhat fleeting – reference in the Journal to the practice of sati (see Kindersley, note 156). In passing over the topic so quickly, Graham’s narrative contrasts with many other early nineteenth-century accounts, in which sati is often more emphatically foregrounded so as to emphasize the barbarism and backwardness of Hindu culture. Graham discussed the topic at more length in Letters from India, but there follows Henry Colebrooke (see note 175) in judging that such self-immolations have ‘never been frequent’ (M. Graham, Letters on India (London and Edinburgh: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown, and Constable, 1814), p. 304). She further depicts sati as a courageous although misguided act on the part of the widows, and finds a parallel with the practice in Ancient Greek culture. 266 a Nusteek philosopher: The term nastika loosely means ‘heterodox’ and denotes traditions of religious belief which evolved yet also departed from more orthodox forms of Hindiusm: for example, Buddhism, and Jainism. 267 the Vedantis: See note 86. 268 Maya: A fundamental concept in Hinduism, maya denotes the power that makes the world seem real, rather than just the illusion which (for Hinduism) it really is. 269 John Fleming, M.D.: (1747–1829), surgeon and naturalist, whom Graham would later meet in Calcutta. 270 Bishop Berkeley’s system: In works such as A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (1710), the philosopher George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne (1685–1753), denied the existence of the material world and held that objects were brought into being by the perceiving consciousness of an observer. 271 a Grecian building: A building constructed in the classical style of architecture derived from Ancient Greece. 272 cantonments: Barracks or military camps. 273 the Sungum: See note 261. 274 zenana: See note 92. 275 Nassuck, a place of pilgrimage near the source of the Godavery: Located on the Godaveri river, Nashik (or Nassak) is an ancient city in the modern Indian state of Maharashtra, approximately 95 miles northeast of Mumbai. 276 Hanuman: A Hindu god, commonly depicted as a monkey, who represents loyalty, selflessness, strength, and stamina. Hanuman is also one of the heroes in the epic poem the Ramayana (see note 190). 277 Scind: Now a province of Pakistan, Sindh in Graham’s time was an independent kingdom, to the northwest of Gujarat; it would be conquered by the British in 1843. 278 Sevajee: Shivaji Bhonsle (c.1627–1680), a Maratha general originally in the service of the Bijapur Sultanate (see note 286). In the 1650s he rebelled against the Sultanate, and in the 1670s established an independent, Hindu kingdom in the western Deccan plateau. In succeeding decades this grew to become the Maratha Empire. 279 Shahjee: Shahaji Bhonsle (c. 1594–1664), a Maratha general who served first the Ahmadnagar Sultanate (see note 282) and then the Mughals. 280 Ranas of Oodipore: Udaipur, in the modern Indian state of Rajasthan, was in Graham’s time capital of the independent kingdom of Mewar; in 1818 it become a client state of the EIC. The term rana denotes monarch or ruler. 281 the Deckan: The Deccan is a vast plateau in southern India located between two mountain ranges, the Western Ghats and the Eastern Ghats.

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282 Nizam shahs: The Nizam dynasty ruled the Ahmadnagar Sultanate – comprising much of modern Gujarat and the northwest Deccan – between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries AD. 283 Caliane: Now the city of Kalyan, close to Mumbai in the state of Maharashtra. 284 Bejapore: The city of Bijapur, in the state of Karnataka. 285 Lieutenant Colonel Mackenzie: Colin Mackenzie (1754–1821), officer in the EIC’s army, who was from 1810–1815 Surveyor General of Madras, and from 1815–1821 Surveyor General of India. He was also famous as an Oriental scholar, amassing a large collection of Indian documents, artefacts and drawings. 286 the five Mahomedan kingdoms that had established themselves on the ruins of the Bhamanee monarchy: The Bahmani Sultanate was a Muslim regime, independent of the Mughals, established in the fourteenth century AD across the Deccan plateau in south India. In the sixteenth century the sultanate broke up into five separate sultanates, Bijapur, Golkonda, Ahmadnagar, Berar, and Bidar. 287 Aurungzebe: See Kindersley, note 184. 288 Surat: City and major sea port in Gujarat; also the site of the EIC’s first trading factory in India, established in 1612. 289 Sambajee: See note 222. 290 Rairi: Raigad, a hill fort in the modern state of Maharashtra. 291 Muttra, Benares, and Ghya: The cities of Mathura and Varanasi (both in the state of Uttar Pradesh), and Gaya in Bihar. 292 the Kokun: The Konkan is the name given to a 450-mile stretch of India’s southwestern coastline, running between the Mayura river in the north and the Gangavalli river in the south and spanning the states of Maharashtra, Goa and Karnataka. 293 the ports of Dundra-Rajepoor, Sevendroog, and Coulaba: Now the city of Rajapur, in Maharashtra, and Suvarnadurg, a fortified port on an island in the Indian Ocean just off what is now the city of Harnai, also in Maharashtra. For Colaba, see note 61. 294 the Carnatic: A region in southern India, stretching inland from the Coromandel Coast (see note 9) on the eastern side of the Indian peninsula. Comprising much of the modern states of Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, and Andhar Pradesh, its principal cities in Graham’s time included Madras and Pondicherry. 295 Ekojee: Ekoji I (b. 1629), also known as Venkoji Bhonsle, was half-brother to Shivaji (see note 278). Ekoji established himself as ruler of the kingdom of Thanjavur, located in the modern Indian state of Tamil Nadu. 296 Ginjee: Gingee (or Sensji) Fort, located near Pondicherry (Puducherry) in the modern state of Tamil Nadu, was famous as one of the most impregnable defensive structures in India. 297 Rama: Rajaram I Bhonsle (1670–1700), ruler of the Maratha Empire between 1689 and 1700. 298 Shahoo: Shahu Bhonsle (1682–1749), ruler of the Maratha Empire between 1708 and 1749. He did not immediately succeed Rajaram I, as Graham here suggests; at Rajaram’s death, his widow Tarabai (1675–1761) installed her young son on the throne as Shivaji II (1696–1726), setting herself up as regent. Shahu therefore had to defeat Tarabai militarily to win back the throne. 299 Cannojee Angria: Kanhoji Angré (1669–1729), who became the first commander of the Maratha navy. 300 the Peishwa Balajee Wiswunant: Balaji Vishwanath (1662–1720) was the sixth Peshwa or prime minister of the Maratha Empire. He secured the Marathas considerable advantages in their negotiations with the rival Mughal empire, and was also celebrated for his reform of the Maratha taxation system. Thereafter the Peshwas were de facto rulers of the Maratha Empire, with the office becoming hereditary and passing to Balaji’s descendants.

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301 Sitarrah: Satara, now a city in Maharashtra. 302 Bajee Rao Bulal: Baji Rao I (1700–1740), Peshwa of the Maratha Empire from 1720 to 1740 (and not just to 1735, as Graham mistakenly suggests here). 303 Balajee Bajee Rao: Balaji Baji Rao (1720–1761), also sometimes known as Nana Saheb, Peshwa of the Maratha Empire from 1740 to 1761. 304 Ragonaut Rao, with Mulhar Rao Holkar and Dulajee Scindiah: Rhagunathrao (1734– 1783), brother of Balaji Baji Rao and himself Peshwa of the Maratha Empire from 1773–4 (see also note 252). Graham’s account of Maratha history here is rather inaccurate. It was not in the 1730s but in the 1750s that Rhagunathrao led a successful campaign – accompanied by forces from the subsidiary Maratha dynasties of Holkar and Scindia – against Mughal rule in the north of India. The Holkar and Scindia forces were commanded by Malhar Rao Holkar (1693–1766) and Dattaji Rao Scindia (1723–1760). 305 the Bundlecund . . . Berar and Orissa: Bundelkhand is a mountainous region in central India, now divided between the modern states of Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh. Berar was a province in what is now Maharashtra; Orissa is the modern-day state of Odisha. 306 Gwyckwar: Pilaji Rao Gaekwad (d. 1732), who established Maratha control over Gujarat in 1726. The Gaekwad dynasty would continue to control the region, from their capital of Baroda (modern-day Vadodara) until Indian independence in 1947; by the early nineteenth century, however, they were largely nominal governors, operating under British rule. 307 Rajah Ram Rajah: Rajaram II (c. 1726–1777), by title ruler of the Maratha Empire between 1749 and 1777. In his reign, however, the real rulers of the Empire became the holders of the now hereditary post of Peshwa, or prime minister; see also note 252. 308 his nephew Mhadoo Rao: Mhadhavrao I (1745–1772), Peshwa of the Maratha Empire from 1761–1772. 309 Hyder Naik: An alternative name for Hyder Ali Khan, ruler of Mysore between 1761 and 1782. See note 244. 310 the Mahratta forces under Sadasho Bhow, Wiswas Rao, and Junkojee Scindiah, were defeated with incredible slaughter at Paniput: The third battle of Panipat in 1761 (not to be confused with earlier battles of the same name in 1526 and 1555) saw Afghan forces defeat the Marathas, thereby halting the northwards expansion of Maratha power. The Maratha army was commanded by Sadashivrao Bhau (1730–1761), Vishwas Rao (1741–1761), the eldest son of the Peshwa Balaji Baji Rao, and Jankoji Rao Scindia (1745–1761). 311 Ahmed Shah: Ahmed Shah Durrani (1722–1772), ruler of Afghanistan and founder of the Durrani Empire. 312 Narryn Rao: Naranayan Rao (1755–1773), Peshwa of the Maratha Empire from 1772 to 1773. 313 Tukojee Holkar and Mahajee Scindia: For the Holkar and Scindia dynasties, see note 248. Graham refers here more specifically to the rulers Tukoji Rao Holkar (1723– 1797) and Mahadji Rao Scindia (1730–1794). 314 Musnud: See Kindersley, note 112. 315 The present Peishwa . . . the prisoner Rajah at Sitarrah, who is the grandson of Sevajee: The incumbent Peshwa of the Maratha Empire was Baji Rao II (1775–1851) and its titular ruler – the ‘prisoner Rajah’ to whom Graham here refers – was Pratap Singh Bhonsle (1793–1847), who was in fact the great-great-grandson of Shivaji. As Graham suggests, however, neither Pratap Singh or Baji Rao exercised much power by this date; after defeat in the Second Maratha War, both were essentially puppets of the EIC. For Sitarrah, see note 301. 316 Having been very unwell for some time: Although the precise cause of Graham’s ill health is not stated, this was probably an attack of tuberculosis, a disease she first contracted as a teenager.

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317 as some of our friends were sailing for England: The friends were Lady Mackintosh and her younger children, who departed India because of the poor health of the latter. Sir James Mackintosh accordingly also accompanied the party to Ceylon; see Mackintosh, Memoirs, vol. 2, pp. 2–8. 318 country-ship: The prefix ‘country-’ was often used to designate items originating in or from India, rather than from Europe; here Graham therefore means a ship built in India to an Indian design. 319 Gogo in Guzerat: Now the port-town of Ghogha, in the state of Gujarat. 320 poon: A name given to several Indian trees in the Calophyllum genus, the wood of which was often used for ships’ masts and spars. 321 Manilla: Manila, capital of the Philippines Islands, in the Western Pacific Ocean. 322 the gulf of Manar, between Cape Comorin and Ceylon: The Gulf of Mannar, the expanse of sea between India and Sri Lanka. For Cape Comorin, see note 231. 323 dammar: See note 72. 324 the fleet assembles here for convoy: A reference not to the British Naval fleet but to the ships of the EIC, the ‘East Indiamen’ which transported passengers and an array of valuable commodities back to Britain. 325 Bellegam: Weligama, today a town on the south coast of Sri Lanka. 326 bandies, in plain English gigs: A type of two-wheel, sprung carriage, pulled by a single horse. 327 the Peepil, a species of the banian . . . something like a cistus: For the Pepil tree, see note 260; the cistus is a genus of flowering shrubs. 328 Montfaucon and Denon: The great classical scholar Bernard de Montfaucon (1655– 1741) published L’antiquité expliquée et représentée en figures in 15 richly illustrated volumes between 1719 and 1724; an English translation entitled Antiquity Explained and Represented in Diagrams appeared between 1721–1725. The antiquarian Vivant Denon (1747–1825) accompanied Napoleon during the French invasion of Egypt in 1798, and subsequently published in 1802 Voyage dans la basse et la haute Égypte (Journey in Lower and Upper Egypt); later he became the first director of the Louvre museum in Paris. 329 The sacred books of the Bhudhists are in the Pahli language: Graham refers here to the so-called Pali canon, a collection of scriptural texts first committed to writing in the first century BC but thought to originate with Gautama Buddha four centuries earlier. Written in Pali, a Prakrit language (see note 239), these are the central scriptures for the Theraveda Buddhism of Sri Lanka and southeast Asia. Other branches of Buddhism also recognize other sacred texts. 330 Siam, the great seat of Bhudhism: Thailand, which has been a predominantly Buddhist nation since as early as the third century BC. 331 Cingalese: Adjective signifying ‘derived from or pertaining to Ceylon [i.e. Sri Lanka]’. 332 Candian country: At the time of Graham’s visit, Kandy was an independent kingdom in central Sri Lanka; in 1815 it was annexed by the British. 333 the Bhudhists are accused of absolutely denying the existence of a supreme being: This accusation is made, for example, in Captain Mahoney’s article, ‘On Singhala, or Ceylon, and the Doctrines of Bhoodha, from the Books of the Singhalais’, in Asiatic Researches, Volume 7 (1803): a volume Graham certainly knew, since she quotes elsewhere from another article in this edition (see note 175). 334 this agrees in character with Bhud the ninth awatar of the Hindoo Vishnu: See note 200. 335 the Cotta Rajah: Graham possibly refers here to the Kushturaja Statue near Weligama; this sculpture is about 12 feet in height, as Graham suggests, but in fact has both hands raised. 336 stock: A form of wide cravat wrapped around the neck, fashionable for men in the Regency period.

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337 chassed gold: More usually, ‘chased’ gold, denoting a sheet of gold which has had decorative patterns cut into it. 338 the triumphs of Bacchus: See note 140. 339 esculent: Edible. 340 Columbo: Now the city of Colombo, in southwest Sri Lanka. 341 Mr and Mrs—–—–—: Not identified. 342 Under the Dutch government: Sri Lanka was partially colonized by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century. The coastal territories under their control were then seized by Holland in the mid seventeenth century and remained in Dutch hands until 1796. In that year the British occupied much of coastal Sri Lanka, fearful that Dutch colonial dominions would fall under French control after Holland became a client state of France. British dominion was then confirmed in the 1802 Treaty of Amiens, and in 1815 the British annexed the independent inland kingdom of Kandy. 343 Captain—–—–—: Another reference to Thomas Graham, who accompanied Maria to Sri Lanka. 344 Datura: A genus of herbaceous flowering plants in the Solanaceae family. 345 the ixora: See note 111. 346 the governor’s country-house, Mount Lavinia: Constructed in 1806 by Sir Thomas Maitland (1760–1824), governor of Ceylon between 1805 and 1811. 347 elk kind: See Kindersley, note 66. 348 The jack-wood: Presumably the jackfruit tree (Artocarpus heterophyllus) rather than the jackwood tree (Cryptocarya glaucescens), which is a native of Australia rather than Sri Lanka. 349 the toon, or country mahogany: Toona sinensis, or Chinese mahogany. 350 the satin-wood: Choroxylon swietenia, which yields a wood often used in luxury goods and as a veneer on furniture, since it can be polished to a high gloss. 351 the calaminda: Diospyrus quesita, or the calamander tree. 352 the collector of the district, a learned and ingenious man: The Collector of the Revenue was a senior official in the administrative districts established by EIC. As well as overseeing the collection of rents, taxes and custom duties he also usually served as judge and magistrate in the law-courts set up by the EIC. It has not been possible to identify who held this role in Sri Lanka at the time of Graham’s visit. 353 Mr Daniel the painter: Samuel Daniell (1775–1811), landscape painter probably best known for publishing in 1804 a collection of aquatints on African Scenery and Landscape. From 1806 until his death he lived in Sri Lanka, publishing in 1808 a selection of aquatints as A Picturesque Illustration of the Scenery, Animals and Native Inhabitants of Ceylon (London: T. Bensley, 1808). His elder brother William Daniell (1769–1837) and uncle Thomas Daniell (1749–1840) were also famous topographical artists; William and Thomas toured India together between 1786 and 1794, and between 1795 and 1808 produced several volumes of prints under the general title Oriental Scenery. 354 craal, or trap: Kraal is not of Sri Lankan or Indian origin, but derives from South Africa, being a Dutch Boer adaptation of Portuguese curral which is linked etymologically to the English ‘corral’. 355 The talipot: Corypha umbraculifera, a species of palm tree. 356 the Kistna: The Krishna or Kistna is the fourth largest river in India, running for more than 800 miles through Maharashta, Karnataka, and Andar Pradesh. 357 two gills of water: A gill is a unit of measurement for liquids, equivalent to a quarter of a pint. 358 which Campbell, on the authority of Chateaubriant, introduces in his charming poem of Gertrude, as the ‘lotus-horn’: In Thomas Campbell’s epic poem Gertrude of Wyoming: A Pennsylvanian Tale (1809), a Native American character talks of pouring water from the ‘lotus-horn’ plant. A footnote references François-René Chateaubriand

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(1768–1848) as the source of this botanical detail but does not explain it is found in Chateaubriand’s novel Atala (1802), which drew extensively on the author’s experiences during his American travels of the early 1790s. papilionaceous: Butterfly-like in form and appearance. they answer the same purposes as the common leeches in England: Graham presumably refers here to the contemporary medical use of leeches, to draw blood and stimulate circulation. Columbo-root: The bark of Cocculus palmata, a shrub grown extensively around the Sri Lankan town of Columbo, was marketed medicinally under this name. It was prized for its emetic and purgative properties. gamboge: A gum resin, yellow in colour, produced by a range of Asian trees. Commonly used as a yellow pigment in dyes and paints, and in medicine as a purgative. the Datura fastuosa: The purple-flowered thorn apple, a cultivated variety of the Datura metel; see note 364. the Datura metel: A shrub-like flowering annual sometimes known as the ‘devil’s trumpet’. II C. Cruiser: A Second Class Cruiser in the Royal Navy. “Majestic woods of every vigorous green”: Quotation from James Thomson’s poem ‘Summer’, l. 649, in The Seasons (1730). the Christians of St John’s: This is probably a slip by Graham. No significant community of Christians linked to St John has been identified in the Indian regions she is here describing (Kerala and Goa). However, Kerala has been (and remains) the home of a longstanding Christian community, linked to the Syriac Church, that traces its origins not to St John but to his fellow Apostle St Thomas, who allegedly visited India in the first century AD. the Bocca Tigris in China: Literally (in Latin), the ‘Tiger’s Mouth’ or ‘Tiger’s Gate’; the European name for the Humen, a narrow strait in China’s Pearl River Delta. the Tigris, Bussora river: The Tigris along with the Euphrates is one of the two great rivers which define the ancient region of Mesopotamia, in what is now the Middle East. The Tigris originates in Turkey but then flows for most of its 1,100 miles through what is now Iraq, before merging with the Euphrates and debouching into the Persian Gulf. The ancient port city of Basra, in modern-day Iraq, straddles this final, combined stretch of the two rivers. “far Tigris and Balsorah’s haven”: Quotation not identified; possibly Graham is merging here two quotations, since John Milton in Paradise Regained mentions ‘Balsora’s haven’ (Book 3, l. 321). erugo: The rust or patina that often forms over time on brass or copper. the plains of Marathon, the Portico and Academy, Pireus and Salamis: Graham references here locations in Greece famous for their classical associations: the sites of the battles of Marathon and Salamis (in 490 and 480 BC respectively), the Athenian Academy established by Plato in c. 387 BC, and the Athenian port of Pireus. Porticoes were a common architectural feature in Ancient Greek temples; by ‘the Portico’, Graham presumably means this feature on the Parthenon in Athens. the Tiber and the Hyssus: The river Tiber runs through Rome; the Hyssus is a river near the city of Trebizond (modern-day Trabzon, in Turkey), on the coast of the Black Sea. Calicut: Modern-day Kozhikode, on the Malabar Coast in Kerala, southern India. the meeting of the Zamorim and Vasco de Gama: ‘Zamorin’ is an anglicization of samoothiri, the hereditary title given to rulers of the Indian kingdom of Calicut. In 1498 the reigning Zamorin met with the Portuguese navigator Vasco da Gama (1469– 1524), who had led the first European voyage to India. “Through palmy shades . . . Alpine mountains wave”: Quotation from the poem ‘Summer’, ll. 762–4, in James Thomson’s The Seasons (1730).

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377 a Nyar’s house: The Nairs were not a class of Hindu nobles, as Graham here implies, but an extensive Hindu community, comprising multiple castes and ranks, who lived throughout much of the present state of Kerala on the Malabar coast. Famed for their military prowess, the Nairs were sometimes in alliance with European powers and sometimes fought against them. Nair troops played a prominent part in the insurgent forces when the states of Travancore and Cochin rebelled against the EIC in 1808; by the time Graham arrived in India in May 1809, however, this uprising had been defeated by the British. 378 Hyder and Tippoo Sultan: See note 244. 379 After passing slowly by Telichery, the Anjedive islands, and the picturesque point of Cape Ramas, we came in sight of the fortress of Aguada: Sailing north along the Malabar coast, Graham’s ship passes Thalassery, a town on the Malabar coast in Kerala; the small Anjediva archipelago off Goa; then Cape Ramas and the old Portuguese fort of Aguada at what is now Sinquerim Beach (both also in Goa). 380 the tomb of St Francis Xavier: Although he died in China, the body of St Francis Xavier (1506–1552), missionary and co-founder of the Jesuit order, was transferred to the Bom Jesus Basilica in the town of Old Goa. 381 the mother-country: Portugal. 382 Henery and Kenery: Underi and Khanderi islands, about ten miles south of Mumbai. 383 Bhandoop, Island of Salsette: Bhandup, now a suburb of Mumbai but in Graham’s time a separate village on the island of Salsette (see note 5). 384 the friend with whom I am now living: After her return to Bombay from Ceylon, Graham evidently moved out of Sir James Mackintosh’s home and resided just beyond the city, on the island of Salsette. This was possibly because Mackintosh’s wife had now departed for Britain; it may have been deemed inappropriate for another woman to stay at Tarala, especially if Graham’s husband was frequently away on Naval duty, as Thomas Graham was. The identity of Graham’s new host or hostess is not known. 385 paysage: ‘countryside’ (French). 386 the pictures of Claude Lorrain: Claude Lorrain (1600–1682), French painter renowned especially for his idyllic landscapes, which set the benchmark for eighteenth-century conceptions of picturesque natural beauty. 387 a narrow policy: Here and in succeeding paragraphs, Graham alludes to – and positions herself within – contemporary political debates about the proper governance of the island of Salsette, which was ceded to the EIC in 1782 having previously been a Maratha territory. In keeping with their land revenue policies elsewhere in India in this period, the EIC sought to extract as much rent and taxation as possible from its tenants in Salsette, justifying these charges as a continuation of Maratha practice. However, Graham follows her friend and mentor Sir James Mackintosh in viewing the existing arrangements as exploitative and a restraint on enterprise, innovation and free trade. See Mackintosh’s manuscript paper, ‘Questions relating to the population of India, Salsette on Indian revenue October 1809’ (BL Add. Ms. 78755), and also Papers Relating to East India Affairs: Growth of Hemp, and Cotton-General Revenues [etc] (London: House of Commons, 1813), pp. 23–80. 388 my friend Mr A: Not identified. 389 Canton: Now Guangzhou, in the Guangdong province of southern China. 390 Mrs A.: Not identified. 391 ‘Qui fait aimer les champs, fait aimer la vertue’: Loosely, ‘whoever breeds a love of the fields [or countryside], breeds a love of virtue’ (French); quotation from L’homme des champs, ou les Géorgiques Françaises (1800) by l’Abbé Jacques Delille (1738–1811). 392 a mechanic: Here used in its older sense of a manual labourer or craftsman.

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393 Toulsi: Tulsi, today a suburb in north Mumbai. 394 Dr and Mrs S.: From James Mackintosh’s memoirs, it seems this was a Dr and Mrs Stuart; it has not been possible to further identify them. See Mackintosh, Memoirs, vol. 2, p. 18. 395 the caves of Canary: The Kanheri cave complex, north of Mumbai, comprises more than a hundred caves and monuments cut out off a basalt outcrop. They contain a variety of Buddhist sculptures and inscriptions, dating from the first century BC to the tenth century AD. 396 rude: Primitive or rough. 397 Ambola: Now Amboli, a suburb of Mumbai. 398 Tannah: Thane, or Thana, is now a city neighbouring Mumbai; in Graham’s time it was a small settlement established around a Portuguese fort. 399 the bar was dry: ‘Bar’ here signifies the sandbar, or shoal, that often forms at the mouth of a harbour or river, and which will often be impassable – or present the risk of a ship grounding – at low tide. 400 our Scotish [sic] Athens: In the late eighteenth century, it became common to refer to Edinburgh as ‘the Athens of the North’; the nickname reflected both the intellectual endeavours of the Scottish Enlightenment and a wave of new buildings in a neoclassical style, especially in the emerging New Town area of the city. 401 the corinda berry: The fruit of Carissa carandas, a thorny flowering shrub; widely used in Indian condiments. 402 Sindbad the sailor: The legendary protagonist of several stories in The Arabian Nights (see note 137). 403 Captain Broughton, who accompanied Vancouver in his voyage round the world: William Robert Broughton (1762–1821). In 1790 he participated in a voyage of discovery to the Pacific Northwest, commanding one of the subsidiary ships in an expedition under the overall command of George Vancouver (1757–1798). 404 Admiral Drury: William O’Bryen Drury (d. 1811), overall commander of the British Navy’s East Indies fleet. 405 Loch Catrine: This loch in the Scottish Highlands was a renowned beauty spot and tourist attraction; as Graham’s Journal went to press, it had recently become even more famous as the picturesque setting for Sir Walter Scott’s popular poem The Lady of the Lake (1810). 406 fort Osnaburg: Fort Ostenburg, built by the Dutch at the entrance of the inner harbour of Trincomalee. 407 the white moon-flower: See note 111. 408 in 1672, De la Haye, a Frenchman . . . Richlost Van Goen: In 1672 a French fleet under the command of Jacob Blanquet de la Haye (1621–1677) for a brief period seized control of Trincomalee from the Dutch, before being driven out by a Dutch force commanded by Rijcklof van Goens (1621–1682). 409 the coast of Coromandel: See note 9. 410 St Thomé, then belonging to the king of Golconda: The Sultanate of Golconda was a realm in southern India, on the Deccan plateau. Established in the sixteenth century after the break-up of the Bahmani Sultanate (see note 286), in the late seventeenth century it was absorbed into the Mughal Empire. St Thomé is now a district in Chennai, but in Graham’s time was a separate settlement, built around the sixteenth-century Basilica of St Thomas. 411 Tritchinopoly: Tiruchchirappalli, a city in Tamil Nadu, southern India. 412 two Malay regiments: The Dutch administration in Ceylon had recruited several companies of Malay soldiers; when control of the island passed to the British, these troops transferred their allegiance to the EIC, becoming in 1807 the First Ceylon Regiment.

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413 Captain Graham in the Hecate: A rare direct reference to Graham’s husband, Captain Thomas Graham (d. 1822), whom she married on her arrival in India. Thomas was the son of Robert Laird (1749–1815), 12th Laird of Fintry, in Forfarshire, Scotland, who is perhaps best known today for his friendship with the poet Robert Burns. A serving officer in the Royal Navy, Thomas was on duty in HMS Hecate for much of Graham’s Indian residence. After her return from India, Thomas continued Naval duties until the end of the Napoleonic Wars, surviving a shipwreck in 1813 (see Gotch, p. 153). With the cessation of hostilities, Thomas was put on half-pay, and the couple lived for a period in Broughty Ferry, near St Andrews in Scotland. Then in 1818 they made a voyage to the Mediterranean in HMS Ganymede, taking in Gibraltar, the coast of North Africa, Malta and Syracuse before reaching Italy, where Maria resided for much of 1819. It is unclear whether Thomas was on active Naval duty during this period, but he certainly accompanied Graham for some of her travels in Italy; these formed the basis of her second travel book, Three Months Passed in the Mountains East of Rome (1820). Then in 1821 (after the couple had returned to Britain), Thomas was appointed to command of HMS Doris, which was despatched to the Navy’s South Pacific Station, operating out of Chile. Graham accompanied him, and the venture would eventually produce her third and fourth travel books, Journal of a Voyage to Brazil and Journal of a Residence in Chile (both published in 1824). En route from Brazil to Chile, however, Thomas died of a fever, and Graham arrived in Chile a widow. She would later marry again in 1827; her second husband was the painter Augustus Wall Callcott (1779–1844). 414 rustic bases: In neo-classical architecture, ‘rustication’ denotes leaving the visible surfaces of masonry blocks rough and unfinished. In the eighteenth-century Palladian revival, this technique was commonly applied to the ground-floor external walls of large buildings, which then contrasted with the more elegant, polished finish used higher up the walls. 415 Fort George . . . backed by St Thomas’s Mount: Built in the seventeenth century by the EIC, Fort St George was the hub around which the city of Madras developed. St Thomas’s Mount is a small hill to the southwest of the fort. 416 minarets: Towers of Arabic design, usually forming part of a mosque. 417 the accommodation-boat: According to a slightly later traveller, to reach Madras from ships anchored in the Madras Roads new arrivals could be ferried either by a more basic ‘Mussoolah boat’, or by ‘larger and better fitted boats, with awnings, which are called accommodation boats, and are specially intended for the use of passengers, these charge five rupees for each trip’. J. Holman, Travels in Madras, Ceylon, Mauritius, Comoro Islands, Zanzibar, Calcutta, etc (London: Routledge, 1840), p. 379. 418 caulking: See note 165. 419 Dubashis: Translators. 420 the Heetopodesa: The Hitopadesha is a Sanskrit text, composed probably in the tenth century AD, which contains many moralizing animal fables. An English translation, by Charles Wilkins, was published in 1787. 421 a rope-walk: The long stretch of ground traditionally required in rope-making, so that the strands to be twisted together could be laid out to their full extent. 422 the late Dr Anderson: James Anderson (1738–1809), surgeon in the EIC and from 1800 physician-general in Madras. 423 the Nopaul, a kind of prickly pear: The Nopal prickly pear, Opuntia ficus-indica, a type of edible cactus. 424 the cochineal insect: Dactylopius coccus, which can be crushed and powdered to produce a red dye. 425 a valuable antiscorbutic: That is to say, a defence against scurvy. 426 Ennore: Now a neighbourhood in Chennai.

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427 the canal which is cut from Madras to Pulicat: Constructed in 1806, this canal ran north from Madras to Pulicat Lake. Known in Graham’s time as Cochrane’s Canal, after the project’s chief sponsor Basil Cochrane (1753–1826), this waterway was further extended over the course of the nineteenth century, and is now known as the Buckingham Canal. 428 A particular police regulates the catamarans, accommodation-boats and bar-boats: See Kindersley, note 75; and note also a further historic usage of ‘police’ recorded in the OED, as denoting ‘public regulation or control of trade in a particular product’. 429 the female orphan assylum [sic]: The EIC established an asylum for orphaned girls, and another for orphaned boys, in Madras in 1787. Neither institution was open to native orphans; rather, they took in European and mixed-race children (where one parent was European). 430 half-caste: A euphemism (now generally judged pejorative) for mixed-race, indicating in this case usually the children of European fathers and Indian mothers. 431 the Talinga, here called Malabars: Graham is possibly confused here. The principal local language in Madras was (and remains) Tamil, which was often labelled ‘Malabars’ by European colonists; see, for example, the missionary-produced Grammar for Learning the Principle of the Malabar Language, Properly Called Tamul or Tamulian Language (Madras, 1778). ‘Talinga’, however, usually refers to a separate (although related) Indian language, Telugu, which is widely spoken in the states of Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, and across much of southern India. 432 natives of Pondichery, French converts: Now the city of Puducherry, in the state of Tamil Nadu. As Pondicherry, it was the capital of the French East India Company’s territories in India, although the many conflicts between the British and French meant that the city frequently changed hands in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. At the time of Graham’s visit Pondicherry was under British control but it would be returned to the French at the cessation of the Napoleonic Wars in 1814. 433 during the late unhappy dispute between the government and the army: A reference to the Madras Officers’ Mutiny of 1809. It was not uncommon for Indian sepoys in the EIC’s army to mutiny; a notable instance had occurred in Vellore in 1806. Unusually, however, in 1809 the majority of European officers in the EIC’s Madras army mutinied, angry at their poor pay and the curtailment of many longstanding perquisites. See H. H. Dodwell (ed.), The Cambridge History of the British Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1932), vol. 5, pp. 163–4. 434 the Pantheon: By the 1790s, an earlier mansion in Madras had been converted into a Public Assembly Rooms, nicknamed the ‘Pantheon’ after the famous ancient temple in Rome (the name means literally ‘all the gods’). Parts of this building still survive in what is now the Government Museum in Chennai. 435 a free-masons lodge of modern masons: Modern Freemasonry – a network of secret, fraternal societies modelled on the medieval guild system and traditionally only open to men – emerged in the eighteenth century and became a global movement with the expansion of the British Empire. In this early period, these societies were often associated with radical or progressive ideas, since Freemason lodges in theory enabled men of different classes to meet and debate ideas. These egalitarian principles to some extent continued in the colonial context, with many lodges admitting not only Europeans of differing ranks but also elite men from local communities in a spirit of forging cross-cultural bonds; however, as the nineteenth century wore on the movement became increasingly committed to preservation of the empire. See J. Harland-Jacobs, Builders of Empire: Freemasonry and British Imperialism, 1717–1927 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2007). 436 a cenotaph: This was a memorial erected in 1806 to commemorate Lord Cornwallis (see note 437); it stood in what is now the Teynampet district of Chennai.

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437 Lord Cornwallis: Charles Cornwallis, First Marquess Cornwallis (1738–1805), Governor-General of India between 1786 and 1794 and also briefly in 1805 (though he died in India shortly after taking up the latter appointment). 438 the gum copal: A resin derived from tropical trees of the Daniella genus, used for incense and for varnishing and waterproofing. 439 business of a most distressing nature: The nature of this apparent crisis is never revealed. 440 the Jugernauth Pagoda: A deity worshipped in some regional Hindu traditions, Jagannath is generally considered an avatar of Vishnu. Graham here refers to the Gundicha Temple in Puri, Odisha, which is the site of an annual celebration of Jagannath, in which colossal representations of the god are transported to the temple in chariots. This is the origin of the modern English word ‘juggernaut’. 441 Balasore Roads: In maritime usage, a road or roadstead is an area of safe anchorage outside a port or beyond the entrance to an estuary. The Balasore roads (named after the nearby settlement of Balasore) was the customary anchoring point before ships tried to navigate the notoriously difficult entrance to the Hooghly river (see note 442). 442 the Hoogly: The Hooghly river (sometimes also spelled ‘Hugli’) is a branch of the Ganges in West Bengal which flows into the Bay of Bengal; Kolkata (Calcutta) stands on its banks. 443 Saugor: Sagar, a large island in the Bay of Bengal, in the mouth of the Hooghly river. 444 the yearly scene of human sacrifice: Although the details are now unclear, some local Hindu communities seem to have regarded being killed and consumed by sharks in the waters around Sagar Island as a purificatory fate that might lead to moksha, or freedom from the cycles of mortal existence; alternatively, local traditions suggested that sacrificing a child in these waters might lead to greater fertility in the future. Whatever the precise motivation here, an EIC ordinance of 1802 proscribed such sacrifices (although not voluntary suicide in such a manner) and a company of sepoys was posted during religious festivals to prevent them. See H. H. Wilson, Essays and Lectures Chiefly on the Religion of the Hindus, 2 vols (London: Trubner, 1862), vol. 2, pp. 166–7; Cassels, Social Legislation of the East India Company, pp. 86–8. 445 Kali: Hindu goddess, the destroyer of evil forces and consort of the god Shiva (see note 57). 446 fane: Archaic term for a temple or shrine. 447 the Indian government: Graham means here the presiding EIC administration in Calcutta. 448 the governor-general . . . in the government-house: Gilbert Elliott-Murray-Kynynmound, First Earl of Minto (1751–1814) was Governor-General at the time of Graham’s visit, holding this post from 1807 to 1813. The palatial Government House, constructed in a neo-classical style, was built by an earlier Governor-General, Richard Wellesley, between 1799 and 1803. 449 Kali Ghaut: Now Kalighat, a district in South Kolkata. 450 Doorga: Durga is a widely worshipped Hindu goddess, regarded variously as an avatar of Parvati, Devi, and several other goddesses, including in this case Kali. Durga is a warrior goddess who represents the fiercely protective aspect of the mother goddess. 451 caparisoned: Dressed in decorative finery, such as ribbons; usually used to describe horses so dressed. 452 Maha Rajah, Rajhissen Bahaudar: Corrected to Rajkissen in the 1813 second edition of Graham’s journal; a wealthy Calcutta merchant, and the son of Raja Nabakrishna (1733–1797). 453 to a nautch (being Durga Poojah): For nautch, see Kindersley, note 252. Puja signifies either an act of worship or, as in this case, a religious festival; Durga Puja was the festivities held annually in Calcutta to celebrate the goddess Durga (see note 450).

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454 Chitpore bazar: Chitpur, now a neighbourhood in Kolkata, was in Graham’s day an important commercial area in Calcutta’s northern suburbs. 455 in Henry VII’s time: Henry VII (1457–1509), founder of the Tudor dynasty, ruled England from 1485 until his death. 456 bouquets of the mogree: See note 111. 457 ottur: See note 68. 458 the odes of Hafiz: Hafez was the pen-name of the Persian poet Shams al-Din Muhammad Hafiz-I Shirazi (1315–1390). He was famous for his mastery of a genre of Arabic lyric poetry known as the ghazal; a selection of his works in this form were for the first time translated into English in William Jones’s Dissertation sur la literature orientale (Dissertation on Oriental Literature, 1771). 459 a masquerade: A masked ball, a popular form of social entertainment in late eighteenth-and early nineteenth-century Europe. 460 Lord Wellesley: Richard Wellesley, First Marquess Wellesley (1760–1842), GovernorGeneral of India between 1798 and 1805. 461 a rustic basement: See note 414. 462 Ionic: In classical architecture, one of the three main styles of column (along with Doric and Corinthian); distinguished by scroll-shaped ornamentation at the top of column shaft. 463 Doric: In classical architecture, the plainest of the three main styles of column, with no decorative features at the top of the column shaft. 464 Parian marble: In classical times, marble quarried from the Greek island of Paros was most prized for sculpture, on account of its pure-white colour. 465 lustres: Chandeliers or candelabra made from cut glass. 466 poors-house: A poorhouse or workhouse, an institution for housing the destitute and needy. 467 the writers newly come from Britain: The clerks and junior administrators employed by the EIC. 468 the college of Fort-William: In 1800, a training college for junior EIC employees was established at Fort William, Calcutta, by the then Governor-General Richard Wellesley. It focused especially on teaching Indian languages and translating Indian texts and employed as teachers many gifted Indian as well as European linguists. However, the Directors of the EIC never approved of or properly funded the college, establishing instead in 1806 an alternative institution, the East India Company College at Haileybury near Hertford, in Britain. 469 the college at Hertford: See note 468. 470 moonshis: Munshi in Persian signifies ‘teacher’; originally used to denote specifically language teachers, it gradually took on a wider meaning which could also embrace ‘administrator’. 471 a Malay moonshi, whom Dr Leyden had brought to the assembly: John Leyden (1775–1811) was a Scottish orientalist and naturalist. He assisted Sir Walter Scott in collecting materials for Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (1802) and also in this period became fluent in Persian and Arabic, translating several poems from these traditions. After training as a medical doctor he was posted to India, where he also served for periods as naturalist in the 1799–1810 survey of Mysore, as Professor of Hindostani at Calcutta, and eventually as an EIC judge. The ‘Malay moonshi’ referred to here is Ibrahim bin Candu, who was depicted in the frontispiece illustration to Journal of a Residence in India, and whose account of visiting Government House in Calcutta forms the second appendix to the volume. Aged around 30 when Graham saw him, Ibrahim had worked as a scribe for Thomas Stamford Raffles in Penang, and with Raffles had travelled to Calcutta. There he assisted Leyden’s study of Malay language, literature and history, which led to the posthumously published volume Malay

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Annals: Translated from the Malay Language (1821). See B. Watson Andaya, ‘Imagination, Memory, History: Narrating India-Malay Intersections in the Early Modern Period’, in R. Seshan (ed.), Narratives, Routes and Intersections in Pre-Modern Asia (Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2017); A. T. Gallop, ‘Ibrahim: Portrait of a Malay Scribe’, available at https://blogs.bl.uk/asian-and-african/2015/01/ibrahimportrait-of-a-malay-scribe.html. Last accessed January 2019. a John Bull: John Bull was originally a satirical character created in the early eighteenth century by John Arbuthnot (1666–1735) and intended to personify the perceived faults of the British nation (or sometimes more specifically the English). By the end of the century, however, the persona or stereotype was often invoked admiringly, as a source of pride and emblem of the nation’s core virtues. Usually depicted as a portly figure, John Bull when construed positively is supposed to represent bluff common sense, robust good health and a down-to-earth, matter-of-fact impatience with airy abstractions and over-sophistication. Graham’s usage, however, seems to retain the original negative connotations of the persona, with its implications of parochialism, narrow-mindedness and philistinism. Mrs M.: Not identified. “Entwined with every tender tie, / Memorials dear of youth and infancy”: A slight misquoting of ll. 7–8 from Walter Scott’s verse prologue to Joanna Baillie’s play The Family Legend (1810); see J. Baillie, A Selection of Plays and Poems, ed. A. Gilroy and K. Hanley (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2002), p. 132. the late Mr Paterson: John David Paterson (dates not known), who also contributed an essay ‘Of the Origin of the Hindu Religion’ to Asiatic Researches, Volume 8 (1805). A slightly altered version of the poem reproduced here by Graham appears in Paterson’s posthumously published Odes to the Ragas and Other Poems (Calcutta, 1818). the English burying-ground: Now the South Park Street Cemetery in central Kolkata, this burial site was in use between 1767 and 1830. Barrackpore: In Graham’s time a small settlement north of Calcutta, which had grown up after the establishment in 1772 of the first British military barracks in India. It was also the site of the Governor-General of India’s summer residence Barrackpore House, construction of which began in 1805 on the orders of the then GovernorGeneral Richard Wellesley. a grab or a dow from Arabia, or a proa from the eastern islands: Grabs were a common type of ship in the seas around India at this period; they combined a hull designed according to local, Indian tradition with European-style masts and rigging. Dhows were another traditional type of vessel common in the Red Sea and Indian Ocean; either of Arabic or Indian origin, they usually utilised a triangular lateen or quadrilateral settee sail. Proas were a type of vessel originating in Malaysia and the Pacific Islands; they usually combined a main hull with a smaller, parallel outrigger hull. bolios: A type of rowing boat. Serampore: A small settlement on the opposite shore of the Hooghly from Barrackpore. As a Danish colony, it was exempt from the EIC’s ban on missionary activity, and the town consequently became the site of a Baptist Mission which was a major centre for translation and publishing in early nineteenth-century India. See note 497. the syrus, or sarasa: The Sarus crane, Antigone antigone. Chittagong: A seaport and city in East Bengal (now southeastern Bangladesh). The species of bear Graham is referring to here is possibly the sun bear, Helarctos malayanus; this has a distinctive muzzle similar to Graham’s description here but is omnivorous rather than just carnivorous. tippet: A long scarf or shawl.

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484 my friend Dr Fleming, who introduced me to Dr Roxburgh: William Roxburgh (1751– 1815), Scottish surgeon and botanist, and from 1793 Superintendent of the Calcutta Botanical Gardens. For Fleming, see note 265. 485 the Adamsonsia: Adansonia is a genus name, encompassing nine species of baobab tree. 486 Sir John Royds: John Royds (1745–1817) served as puisne judge at the Supreme Court in Calcutta between 1787 and 1816. 487 Dr Roxburgh obligingly allowed me to see his native artists at work . . . the most beautiful and correct delineations of flowers I ever saw: A small selection of these botanical illustrations appeared in Roxburgh’s Plants of the Coast of Coromandel, 3 vols (1797–1815). The others were probably intended to accompany the textual descriptions in Roxburgh’s posthumously published, exhaustive survey of Indian botany, Flora Indica, or Description of Indian Plants, 2 vols (1820 and 1824). However, in the event the latter work did not include any illustrations. 488 sultanas: Wives or concubines of a sultan, or Muslim sovereign. 489 “with store of ladies, whose bright eyes rain influence”: Quotation from John Milton’s poem L’Allegro (1645), ll. 121–2. 490 the Meloë cicoreii, and the Meloë trianthema, both of which are excellent substitutes for the Spanish blistering fly: Beetles of the Meloidae genus produce a blistering agent, cantharidin, which was widely used as a folk medicine (and sometimes as an aphrodisiac) in early modern Europe. The ‘Spanish fly’ is more specifically the beetle Lytta vesicatoria, a species within this genus. 491 cucurbitaceous plants: Plants belonging to the Cucurbitaceae family, which includes gourds, squashes, and pumpkins. 492 the Doab: The extensive tract of flat, alluvial land between the Ganges and Yamuna (or Jumna) rivers, which stretches from northern to central India. 493 Trianthema decandria: A fast-growing, ground-covering weed, also known in English as horse purslane. 494 Solanum melosigena: A misspelling – by Graham or the typesetter – of Solanum melongena, the eggplant or aubergine. 495 The flies should be gathered . . . to preserve them from moisture: Graham had a keen interest in entomology and collected insect specimens on all her travels; some were eventually donated to the British Museum. However, this is the only time in any of her published travel writings that she mentions this pastime. 496 Confucius: (551–479 BC), Chinese teacher and sage whose sayings and ideas have exercised a major influence on Chinese culture and morality. 497 Mr Marshman: Joshua Marshman (1768–1837), English missionary, linguist and Oriental scholar. In 1799 he joined fellow missionaries William Carey (1761–1834) and William Ward (1769–1823) at the Baptist mission at Serampore, near Calcutta. 498 the Lun Gnee, a collection of the precepts of the sage Chee: The text now usually known in the West as the Analects of Confucius is called in Chinese (as rendered in the Pinyin romanization system) Lunyu (literally, ‘Edited Conversations’). 499 a little novel, called, Han Kion Choan, or the pleasing history, published in English in 1761: A translation of the Chinese novel Hauqiu zhuan (c. 1683) entitled Hau Kiou Choaan, or The Pleasing History was published in London in 1761 by R. and J. Bensley. 500 to avenge the loss of our frigates, and officers and men, at the Isle de Passe: A reference to the defeat inflicted on the British Navy by the French in 1810 at the battle of Grand Port, just off Mauritius (then known as the Isle de France). The Isle de Passe is a coral island in the channel leading to Grand Port. 501 the surrender of the Isle of France: See note 534. 502 a summons to return to England: The nature of this summons is not known. 503 Mahaballipooram: Mamallapuram, a coastal town in the modern Indian state of Tamil Nadu.

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504 having rested our Bhoïs at Tripatoor: The Bhoi, or Bauri, are an ethnic group in India; traditionally assigned a low caste status, one of their customary professions was as palanquin bearers. Thiruporur, in Tamil Nadu, is the site of the Sri Kandswamy Temple. 505 beds of shells have been discovered at a great depth below the level of the sea: This may seem like an incidental detail, but it reflects Graham’s strong interest in geology. She collected rocks and minerals throughout her travels (commenting in her private diary, for example, on a ‘stone like whinstone containing evidently some iron’ she had found at the Cape of Good Hope; see Gotch, p. 125); she was also familiar with current theoretical debates in geology through her association with John Playfair in Edinburgh. How landmasses were formed, and whether they emerged through the sedimentary processes of the sea or were raised up by earthquakes and similar processes, were hotly contested issues in this period. Graham would later find herself caught up in the feuding between these rival ‘Neptunist’ and ‘Vulcanist’ views, after publishing in the 1824 volume of Transactions of the Geological Society a report on an earthquake she had witnessed in Chile. There Graham deduced – partly on the basis of seeing beds of old seashells at regular intervals above the level of the coastline – that the coast in this region must have been raised at periodic intervals by earlier earthquakes. The controversy this caused, and Graham’s achievement in being the first woman to have a report published in the Geological Society’s journal, are discussed in C. Thompson, ‘Earthquakes and Petticoats: Maria Graham, Geology and Early Nineteenth-Century “Polite” Science’, Journal of Victorian Culture 17:3 (2012), pp. 1–18. 506 a Bramin named Sreenavassie: Not identified. 507 Lieutenant-Colonel Colin Mackenzie: See note 285. 508 a Vistoo Bramin: Vistoo is an alternative spelling for ‘Vishnu’; Graham presumably means that Sreenavassie adheres to the Vaishnavite tradition in Hinduism (see note 176). 509 Vishnu Narrayn: Narayana is another name for the supreme deity in Hinduism, Brehm, who has as his three fundamental aspects the roles of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva (who are themselves recognized as gods: See note 76). ‘Vishnu Narrayn’ is therefore the god Vishnu worshipped especially as a manifestation or aspect of Narayana. 510 the Stala Puranas: See note 218. 511 the Saivas: Followers of Shaivism, one of the main traditions within Hinduism; so called because adherents worship Shiva above all the other Hindu deities. 512 a goparum: A type of monumental gatehouse tower, often found at the entrance to Hindu temples. 513 Rajah Dhurma: See note 517. 514 Christna: Krishna, a major deity in Hinduism, worshipped as an avatar of Vishnu and as a god in his own right. With Arjuna (see note 516), one of the two main interlocutors in the Bhagavad Gita (see note 199). 515 supporting on the tip of his little finger the mountain Goverd’hana, to protect his worshippers from the wrath of Indea: Goverdhan Hill, in modern-day Uttar Pradesh, is a sacred Hindu site. According to legend, Krishna advised the villagers in this region to abandon their traditional sacrifices to Indra, the god of rain and lightning; when Indra then threatened to flood the region, Krishna lifted the hill so that the villagers might shelter under it. 516 the Tapass of Arjoon: Arjuna is a central character in the Hindu epic poem the Mahabharata. One of the Pandeva, or five sons of King Pandu, he is with Krishna one of the two interlocutors in the Bhagavad Gita (see note 199). Tapas, from a Sanskrit verb meaning ‘to heat or burn’, signifies a trial, penance or ordeal. 517 the five sons of Pandoo . . . Duryodum . . . their consort Drawputty . . . the Rajah Dhurm . . . Bramins and other holy men: Graham here summarizes one of the central

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518 519 520

521

522 523

524 525 526 527 528 529

530 531 532 533

stories of the ancient Hindu epic poem the Mahabharata (see note 521). The Pandeva were the five sons of King Pandu; all five were married to the same woman, Draupadi, with whom they went into exile after a conspiracy against them led by their cousin Duryodhana. The eldest brother Yudhishthira is also sometimes named Dharmaraja (rendered here by Graham as Rajah Dhurm). Pansuputt Astrum, (a divine weapon): In Hinduism, the pasupatastra is the most powerful and overwhelming weapon possessed by the god Siva. the mountains of India Keiladree, or the illusions of India: An important site of pilgrimage which contains several ancient, rock-cut temples, Indrakeeladri is a hill on the banks of the Krishna river in Andhra Pradesh. Mana . . . Vauk . . . Neyama: As Graham goes on to explain in her original notes to Appendix 3, these terms signify various forms or modes of worship recognized by Hinduism. Mana denotes silent worship emanating from the heart, Vauk worship accompanied by audible expressions of praise and devotion, and Niyama worship accompanied by purification ceremonies and rituals. Maha Barat: The Mahabharata, the epic poem which is one of the most revered texts in Indian culture. Written in Sanskrit and over 200,000 lines long, the poem principally recounts the adventures and tribulations of two groups of royal cousins, the Pandeva (see note 517) and the Kaurava; however, extensive further material is interwoven with these main narrative arcs, including the Bhagavad Gita (see note 199), a shortened version of the Ramayana (see note 190), and a range of devotional and philosophical reflections. The poem is thought to have reached its final form by the fourth century AD, although many sections probably date from much earlier (possibly as far back as the ninth century BC). See Flood, pp. 105–7. Vishnu in the Varaha awatar: As Varaha, Vishnu took the form of a boar. in a country where it is often denied that any lions ever existed: It is not clear who Graham is arguing against here, but she is correct in deducing that India was once home to lions as well as tigers; a small population still survives in the Gir Forest in Gujarat. the serpent Shesha: Shesha is one of the primal beings in Hindu cosmology; taking the form of cobra, he holds all the planets of the universe on his hoods. Maissassor: Mahishasura, a demon in buffalo form who is also worshipped as a god by some Hindu communities. the temple of Varaha: There is a celebrated cave temple to Vishnu in the form of Varaha (see note 522) at Mamallapuram. old Malabars: See note 431. Tartary: See Kindersley, note 173. the Druidical vestiges in Europe, in Brittany, Cornwall, Ireland, and Scotland: Graham refers here to the many megalithic monuments found in northwest Europe, such as Stonehenge and the Carnac stones in Brittany. Most of these structures date back to the fourth or even fifth millennium BC, and so are significantly earlier than the period of the Iron Age Celtic druids; however, antiquarians in Graham’s time generally credited the latter with their construction. tumuli: Ancient burial mounds or barrows. before the reformation of Mundana Misroodoo: Mandana Misra, an eighth-century AD Hindu philosopher. a tribe of itinerant boxers called Ihattries: It has not been possible to further identify this community or caste; ‘Ihattries’ may be a derivation of ‘Kshatriya’, signifying the warrior caste in Hindu society (see Kindersley, note 146). the Vajrar Moostee, or horn-fist: Probably a form of wrapping put around the hands, and incorporating heavier, harder material such as horn so to make punches more damaging.

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534 our recent conquests in the Indian seas: Between 1809 and 1811, the French and British navies fought for control of the Indian Ocean. After defeat in the battle of Grand Port in August 1810, the British successfully attacked and seized Mauritius in December of that year, then won a succession of further sea battles against the French in early 1811. 535 Those who come from the Isle of France . . . St Pierre’s charming description hardly does justice to it: Jacque-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre gave a glowing, highly sentimentalized account of Mauritius (then called the Isle of France) in his travel narrative Voyage à l’Ile de France (1773). 536 Bourbon: The Île Bourbon, now known as La Réunion, located 110 miles southwest of Mauritius in the Indian Ocean. 537 the Pays Brulé: ‘The Burnt Land’ (French). 538 the captors of the islands of Banda: Now part of Indonesia, the Banda Islands are located between Java and New Guinea; until the mid-nineteenth century, they were the world’s only source of nutmeg and mace. For most of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the archipelago and its lucrative trade were under Dutch control; however, in the first decade of the nineteenth century, when Holland became a vassal state to France during the Napoleonic Wars, they effectively contributed to the French war effort. A British Naval squadron was accordingly despatched to seize the islands from the Dutch in 1810. 539 Goonong Appee: Gunung Api, a volcano located on Bandaneira, one of the Banda Islands. 540 Banda Neira: See note 538. 541 the fortress of Belgica, when it was stormed by Captains Cole and Kenah: Captain Christopher Cole (1770–1836) commanded the British Naval squadron sent from India in 1810 to capture the Banda Islands; Captain Richard Kenah (d. 1814) commanded one of the ships in that squadron. Fort Belgica, on Bandaneira, was successfully stormed in August 1810. 542 Manilla and Amboyna: Manila, capital of the Philippines Islands, in the Western Pacific Ocean; Ambon in the Malaku Islands, now part of Indonesia, located between Java and New Guinea. The Philippines were controlled by the Spanish and Ambon – the world’s principal source of cloves – by the Dutch for most of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. However, Britain had launched a speculative Naval raid against Manila in 1798, after Spain entered an alliance with France. The raid assessed the strength of Manila’s defences, but the operation was not further pursued; interestingly, Graham – who through her husband and father was no doubt party to the thinking of many Naval officers in the East Indies – seems to imply that the Philippines should be targeted again, in the ongoing war with France. With regard to Ambon, control of the island passed between Holland and Britain several times over the course of the Napoleonic Wars. When Graham was writing, it was under British control, having been retaken by the British Navy in 1810; Ambon was later restored to the Dutch in 1814, as part of the peace settlement that concluded the Napoleonic War. 543 Admiral Drury: See note 404. 544 General Daendaels: Herman Willem Daendal (1762–1818), Governor General of the Dutch East Indies between 1808 and 1811. 545 Captain Hodgson: Not identified. 546 the French Islands: Modern-day La Réunion and Mauritius, located in Indian Ocean east of Madagascar, and then known as Île Bourbon and the Île de France respectively. 547 Cape St Mary’s: Cape Sainte Mairie, the southernmost tip of the island of Madagascar. 548 St John’s river: Now the Mzimvubu River, which debouches into the Indian Ocean at Port St John, on South Africa’s Wild Coast in the Eastern Cape province. 549 the bank of Lagullus, or Agulhas: Cape Agulhas, in the Western Cape province of modern-day South Africa, is the southernmost tip of the African continent.

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550 April 25, 1811, off the Cape of Good Hope: Graham visited Cape Town on her voyage out to India, as well as on the voyage back; see Gotch, pp. 115–27. It is likely that her published account of the town draws on observations from her first as well as her second visit. 551 the Dutch colonists: The Dutch East India Company, or Vereenigde Oostindische Compagnie (VOC), had established a permanent settlement of Dutch farmers at the Cape of Good Hope in the seventeenth century. During the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars between Britain and France, control of the Cape Colony passed several times between Holland and Britain, as the latter sought to prevent the French acquiring this vital provisioning stop on the voyage to India. It was under British control when Graham visited during both the outward and homeward legs of her Indian travels, having been retaken by Britain in 1806. 552 Constantia: Now a suburb of Cape Town, but in Graham’s time an estate located beyond the town and owned by the Cloete family (see note 562). 553 the Hottentot camp: ‘Hottentots’ was the European name for the Khoikhoi tribespeople of southern Africa. The English had formed a Khoikhoi regiment when they controlled the Cape of Good Hope in the 1790s; what Graham does not mention here is that at the time of her visit, this regiment was commanded by her brother-in-law Colonel John Graham (1778–1821), Thomas’s elder brother. John Graham is accordingly the probable source of the long letter giving further information about the Khoikhoi and the San (see note 560) which Graham included in the second edition of Journal of a Residence in India; see Textual Variant ‘aa’. 554 the camp of Wyneberg: Now a suburb in Cape Town, Wynberg in Graham’s time was a former farming area which had developed into a garrison town, after the British established a barracks there in the 1790s. 555 Simon’s Town: A town south of Cape Town, on the eastern side of the Cape Peninsula. 556 a Moravian establishment of Hottentots: The Moravian Church is a Protestant sect originating in the fifteenth century in Bohemia and Moravia (regions of the presentday Czech Republic). The Church has a long tradition of overseas missionary work; in South Africa a mission was established in Genadendal, in what is now the Western Cape province, in 1738. 557 The Protea Mellifera: A tropical African shrub also known as the honeyflower. 558 calyx: A botanical term signifying the outer whorl, usually green in colour, which encloses a flower’s petals when it is still in bud. 559 the Dutch boors: Meaning literally in Dutch ‘farmers’, Boers was – and remains – the collective name given to the colonists of Dutch origin in South Africa. 560 Boschemen: Dutch for ‘Bushmen’; the term at this date used for the hunter-gatherer tribespeople now collectively known as the San. 561 the Caffres: The European name at this date for the Xhosa tribespeople of southern Africa; sometimes also spelled ‘Kaffirs’ and now considered a term of insult. 562 Mr Clootë’s: Possibly Pieter Lourens Cloete (1764–1837), or one of the two other surviving sons of Hendrik Cloete (1725–1799), the farmer who greatly expanded and improved wine production in Constantia. See G. J. Schutte (ed.), Hendrik Cloete, Groot Constantia and the VOC, 1778–1799: Documents from the Swellengrebel Archive, trans. N. O. vans Gylswyk and D. Sleigh (Cape Town: Van Reibeeck Society, 2003), notes to pp. 11, 13. Graham’s brother-in-law John Graham (see note 553) would marry Johanna Cloete (1790–1843) in 1812. 563 St Helena: See note 10. 564 Saldanha Bay: A natural harbour on the southwestern coast of what is now South Africa. 565 twice in the possession of the Dutch: Dutch ships frequently used St Helena when developing the Far East trade in the seventeenth century, and in 1633 the island was

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566 567 568 569 570

571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579

580

581 582 583 584 585

586

formally declared a colony by the Dutch Republic. In 1657, after the Dutch had largely abandoned St Helena, the British EIC claimed it. The Dutch then briefly took the island by force in 1673 but were eventually driven off by the British. St James’s Town: Now Jamestown, the capital of St Helena. the present governor: Alexander Beatson (1758–1830), governor of St Helena from 1808 to 1813. small beer: A term used for the very weak beers often consumed in the medieval and early modern periods instead of water, since the fermentation process had a sanitizing effect. bowsprit: A spar extending out from the bow (i.e. front) of a ship. the delicate nautilus . . . the common polypus, which we used to call the sea anemone: The nautilus or Portuguese Man o’ War (Physalia physalis) is a jellyfish-like siphonophore; sea anemone is the popular generic name given to a variety of species of polyp (another type of marine invertebrate). St Agnes’s lights in Scilly: St Agnes is the southernmost populated island in the Isles of Scilly, an archipelago of small islands southwest of Cornwall. the Lizard: The most southerly point of mainland Britain, the Lizard Peninsula in Cornwall is a famous landmark for returning voyagers. a less agreeable termination of my travels: The unhappy event Graham alludes to here is not known; it may be a narratorial pose, intended to evoke sympathy. The Chevalier D’Ohsson . . . his Tableau Historique de l’Orient: See note 148. the Shah Nameh of Firdousi: See note 149. Anwari, and Saadi: The Persian poets Awhad ad-Din ‘Ali ibn Mohammad Khavarani (1126–1189), also known as Anvari; and Abu-Muhammad Muslih al-Din bin Abdallah Shiraz (c. 1208–c. 1294), also known Saadi of Shiraz. Cheragh Ali Khan, the minister of Persia: Not further identified. prince Syawousche: Prince Siyâvash is a character in the Shahnameh (see note 149). His adventures are located in the legendary period of Iran’s history, prior to the establishment of the ruling Sassanid dynasty in the second century AD. the Persian Phaedra: In Greek mythology, Phaedra – the wife of Theseus – fell in love with her stepson Hippolytus and accused him of rape when he rejected her advances. In the Shahnameh, a similar story is told of Queen Sudabeh and her stepson Prince Siyâvash. An Account of Bengal, and of a Visit to the Government House, by Ibrahim, the Son of Candu the Merchant: For Ibrahim, see note 471. This fascinating glimpse of a Malay traveller’s reactions to British India does not seem to have been published elsewhere; as Graham records in her main narrative, the account was translated from Malay by John Leyden (again, see note 471). Doctor Layten: John Leyden (see note 471). Such! proud Bengala’s king . . . fish for me!!: Barbara Watson Andaya suggests that this interpolated poem is a syair, a type of narrative poem traditional in Malay culture; see Watson Andaya, ‘Imagination, Memory, History’, p. 25. THE STORY OF KERAAT ARJOON: As with Graham’ second appendix, this translation of a small section of the Mahabharata offers readers interesting Orientalist material not previously published. Indra Keeladree: See note 519. the second Adayé of the third Purvum of the Maha Barut: The Indian epic the Mahabharata (see note 521) is divided into 18 books or Parva; each parva is further divided into a number of sub-books or upi-parvas. The term Adayé has not been identified, but it could be Graham has in mind here the title of the Mahabharata’s first book, the ‘Adi-Parva’. Tellinga: See note 431.

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587 C.V. Ramaswamy, Bramin, for Major Mackenzie: For Mackenzie, see note 285. C.V. Ramaswamy has not been further identified. 588 introduction to the Bagvat Geeta, translated by Mr Wilkins: See note 199. 589 these troops of frantic bacchanals . . . female votaries: Graham is here possibly confusing Silenus and Dionysus. In Ancient Greek mythology, Silenus was foster-father to Dionysus (also known as Bacchus in Roman myth), the god of wine, drunkenness and revelry. He was supposed to have accompanied Dionysus during the god’s extensive travels in India, along with Dionysus’ usual retinue of frenzied female devotees, the ‘Maenads’ or ‘Bacchantes’. 590 Drawputty . . . all the five Pandoos: See note 517. 591 In Ceylon some of the inhabitants persevere in the custom of making one woman the wife of several: Some communities in Sri Lanka traditionally practised a form of polyandry which allowed brothers to marry the same woman; this custom was first reported to Europeans by the traveller Robert Knox, in his Historical Relation of the Island Ceylon in the East Indies (1681).

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Maria Graham, Journal of a Residence in India For the second, 1813 edition, Graham prefaced her narrative with a short glossary, and made a range of mostly small changes to the main narrative, as recorded below. Very minor adjustments of spelling or punctuation between the first (1812) and second (1813) editions are not included here, unless they adjust the sense of the text in some significant way. 1813 [inserted between title page and preface] WORDS USED IN BRITISH INDIA WHICH OCCUR IN THE FOLLOWING WORK  Bandy, a gig. Bougle, an ornament of the bracelet kind. Bazar, a market, or town or village where there is a market. Bungalo, a garden-house, or cottage. Bhang, an intoxicating spirit made from hemp-seed. Bunder, a port or pier. Chunam, lime, or the sort of stucco made in India of shell-lime mixed with curdled milk and sugar. Coïer, the fibrous husk of the coco-nut when steeped and cleaned. Compound, a word signifying the dressed ground immediately round the house. Cummerbund, literally waist-band. Dammar, a resinous substance used as a pitch. Derdjee, tailor. Dhole, a musical instrument. Ghaut, a pass in a mountainous country; also the name of the great western ridge in India; also a flight of steps leading to a tank or a river. Ghee, butter clarified, and commonly kept in skins. Hamaul, or Hamauljee, a palankeen-bearer. 309

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Jamma, a sort of muslin robe reaching to the feet, and very full in the skirt; it crosses on the breast, and is tied with an uneven number of points. It is a Mussulman dress, though others wear it. Joys, jewels. Kooli, a porter. This is a very low caste. Massal, or Massalgee, the person who carries and takes care of the light. Mosque, or Musjid, the Mussulman temple. Pagoda, the name which Europeans have given to Hindoo and Chinese temples; it is also the name of the current coin of Madras. Paung, A mixture of shell-lime and betel-nut wrapped in the leaf of an aromatic plant. Punka, a fan of any kind, chiefly used by Europeans to denote a very large fan suspended from the ceiling, and kept in motion by a cord pulled by a servant. Sepoy, properly Sepahi, a word which really signifies soldier, but which, in some places, particularly in Bombay, is given to private servants who guard the house and carry messages, when they are also called peons. Sherbet, a drink little different from lemonade; it is often perfumed. Tat, a sort of light mat. It principally comes from Tatta on the Indus, but many other kinds of mats are now called Tats. The real Tat is chiefly used as a Purdah, Veil, or Blind. Tary Toddy, the juice procured from most kinds of palm-trees by tapping. Tope, a grove. It is also a gun. Tank, a reservoir for water. Tomtom, a kind of drum. Vin, a musical instrument not unlike a guitar. Zenaar, a consecrated thread worn over one shoulder by the high castes. Textual variants in the main narrative a b c d e f g

shalie] shalie or sarie 1813 of this useful work] of this work 1813 than usual tempted us] than usual during the rainy months tempted us 1813 ittur] ottur 1813 the cheshme ahoo] the cheshme ahoo, stag eyes, 1813 boiled as greens] boiled as greens, called in the West Indies calliloo 1813 though an unmarried woman] Extra footnote inserted here 1813, reading: This passage having led to some ludicrous mistakes with respect to the writer, she begs leave to inform her readers in general, and the Quarterly Reviewers in particular, that, although she did not go to India in search of a husband, she was married there on the 9th December 1809, – a fact which, however interesting to herself, she did not think of telling all the world, but which she now publishes, that she may claim the honour of being Mrs, not Miss Graham.

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a weight of not less than twenty tons] a weight little less than twenty tons 1813 resort of gossip and news] resort for gossip and news, on which account the natives call it gup shop 1813 j over the kingdom.] over the kingdom. See Epitome of the Ancient History of Persia, extracted and translated from the Jehan Ara, by Sir William Ouseley, 1799. 1813 k in this we now live. PUNDIT BAPOOGEE.] in this we now live. The absurdity of these long periods is diminished by the consideration, that the word used for year denoted anciently a revolution of any kind; and that most nations, in early times, have had short revolutions or years; some of three months, others of six. Some have still only monthly periods to reckon their time; and there is reason to believe, that even the revolution of the earth, in 24 hours, has been, among very ancient nations, used and described as a year. 1813 l named the place, which is now] named the place. It is now 1813 m derives his name.] Extra footnote inserted here 1813, reading: ‘This is a vulgar error. Choabdar literally signifies the wood or mace bearer. Chup dar would be silence-keeper; but as writers of more authority have fallen into the same mistake, I content myself with marking, instead of altering the error.’ n Mr—–—–—] Mr Russel 1813 o The Peishwa’s family is Braminical,] One of the Peishwa’s titles is Sree Munt, or his Holiness; his family is Braminical, 1813 p who is a Dutch Protestant, though a man of sense,] a Dutch Protestant, and a man of sense, 1813 q to repeat them] Extra footnote added here 1813, reading: ‘They have apparently some connection with the wars of Vishnu, in the awatar of Rama Chandra, against Rawana, King of Ceylon, or Lanka, related in the Ramayuna. See also p. 51 of this Journal.’ r captains of the navy] Captains of the Navy 1813. New footnote also inserted here 1813, reading: ‘At each of the Presidencies the Company appropriates a handsome house, well furnished and attended by proper servants, to the Captains of the Royal Navy who may be stationed off the Presidency.’ s Rajhissen] Rajkissen 1813 t Raguis] Ragnis 1813 u kno] kwo 1813 v Han] Hau 1813 w Pansuputt] Pausuputt 1813 x besides which a handsome figure lay] beside which a Jina figure lay 1813 y and accused of] and some are still accused of 1813 z Boschemen] Bosjemen 1813 aa to a considerable distance] Extra footnote added here 1813, reading: h i

Since the publication of the first edition of this work, the writer has received a letter from a person of high credit, who has been long resident at the Cape of Good

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Hope, containing the following strictures upon the account she has given of that colony:‘P. 175. You say that, under the Dutch government, the Hottentots were treated like public slaves, &c. Now the fact is, that the Hottentots were very tolerably fed, clothed, and lodged by the Batavian government. They were, however, forced into the Dutch service; their wives were not permitted to remain with them; and there is little doubt but that some of their officers cheated them of part of their pay. Mismanaged they certainly were, for, on one occasion 30 or 40 of them deserted with their arms, &c.; but after an obstinate resistance in the Hanglip mountain, (opposite to Simon’s bay,) starvation and superior numbers compelled them to surrender. Notwithstanding all this, the Hottentot corps in the Dutch service was the last to give way in the action near Blue-berg, when General Janssens was defeated, previous to his surrender to the British arms. A circumstance occurred on our landing which reflects much honour on the Hottentot nation: you may mention it or not, as you please. Several Hottentot corps were sent, with their light troops, to oppose the landing of the British. Some of our light companies made a dash at them, and advanced so rapidly, that a Hottentot corporal and private were surrounded. They, however, concealed themselves in the bushes, with which the sand hills are covered, and remained there the whole day between the light battalion and the line, effecting their escape on all-fours at night. This corporal was one of the first to enrol himself in the present Cape regiment; and the above circumstance coming to the ears of an officer, he asked him why he did not give himself up to the English, – his answer was, that he had served all the time the former English Cape regiment was embodied, and he loved the English better than any other people; but the Dutch had made him take an oath to be true to them, and he would not break it. Every individual of the present Cape regiment enlisted of his own free will and accord; and recruits, both on their way to head-quarters, and on their arrival there, were told, that if they wished to return home they were at liberty to do so; but of 330, whom one officer marched from Graaff Reynet to Wynberg, a distance exceeding 400 miles, only two returned home. Another circumstance contributed to attach them to the English. Great pains were taken to inquire into, and to redress their many, and often too well-founded complaints against the boors, whom they had formerly served, and many of whom had neglected to fulfil the contract of hire. Certainly the situation of the Hottentots in the present Cape regiment, is widely different from what it ever was before. So much attention has been paid to them, that when you saw them, they were as well clothed, fed, and lodged as any regiment in the service, and would turn out as clean, having their arms and appointments in excellent order. (N. B. Why do you call Wynberg the Hottentot camp? You saw no tents. It is a cantonment composed of regular barracks.) Comparing our fellows to Peasants will not leave a very military impression of them on the minds of our companions in arms who read your book. You say “their houses, furniture, and clothes are all of their own manufacture.” A stranger would conclude from this, that they alone built the barracks, and made the furniture, and even wove the cloth. Now, the fact is, that although they were 312

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of great assistance in the construction of the former, and thatched them entirely; although many of them have some slight knowledge of masons and carpenters work, none are capable of building a house by rule. The Hottentots certainly are very ingenious and expert at any handicraft, and there are many excellent tailors and shoemakers, all of them taught since they were embodied. Several of the men of the Cape regiment have taught themselves to play upon the violin; the best performer plays on one of his own making. Scotch reels he plays extremely well. Both men and women are fond of dancing reels, generally eight in a reel, of the common figure. Many of them dance the Highland fling in a stile that would do honour to a Highlander, but with much more grace and elegance. ‘The true story of the colonel’s boy, who found the honey, is, that he is an old man; and, by watching the flight of bees, in the evening when they returned to their nests laden with honey, he, by great perseverance, discovered their treasures, and thus obtained a regular supply, till his master had hives of his own. The establishment of Moravians, which you mentioned, is at Baviand’s Kloof, translated Baboon’s Pass, and is only eighty or ninety miles from Cape Town, not two or three hundred. ‘You say, “that the Protea Argentea is the only tree indigenous at the Cape.” Even if you had meant in the immediate vicinity of the town, you would have been mistaken: there are a variety of indigenous trees, particularly the Keur Boon, bearing a quantity of beautiful purplish blossom; – and there are, besides, many different sorts of natural wood in the glens of the Table mountains, some of which are as thick as my body. But these are places frequented only by runaway slaves, and wolf-hunters. ‘The Witte Boom, (Protea Argentea,) is equal, if not superior to any other wood for fellies for wheels. ‘No fair trial has been made, whether the fir, when left to a proper age, is equal in quality with that produced in Europe; but both it and the oak surpass their European relatives in rapidity of growth. ‘The reason the farmers of the interior give for bringing so little grain to market is, that the distance is so great that the price would not pay the wear and tear of their waggons, and the absence of themselves and servants from other work. ‘Driving in hand is not applicable to oxen at the Cape, because no reins are made use of. You have also forgotten to mention the leader, a little boy who attends every waggon, and, holding the thong fastened to the horns of the leading oxen, guides them when the road is narrow, intricate, or otherwise difficult, and the owner of any waggon found without a leader within three miles of Cape Town is liable to a penalty. ‘The Bosjemen are an unsettled tribe; the only cruelties (these are now put a stop to), practised towards them, were committed by commandos, or parties of armed boors, pursuing plunderers of their nation, who had stolen cattle and sheep, but so far from never taking them away, they always do so, excepting when too closely pursued; then it is that they stab the animals with their poisoned darts, well knowing that the boors will not make use of a carcase so killed. When the 313

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latter retire, the Bosjemen return and feast upon the spoil, carefully cutting out the tainted parts. You say they are more savage than the Hottentots or Caffres. People always forget, that although the Hottentots are a nation by themselves, and, properly speaking, perhaps entitled to the appellation of savages, yet, having no country of their own, and consequently no exclusively Hottentot establishment, and being all born and brought up on the farms of the colonists, they are as much civilized as many of the latter; but they are taught to call themselves Heathens, while the boors are instructed to call themselves Christians, the real difference, in but too many instances, consisting merely in the colour of the skin. ‘Nothing can be more savage than the Bosjemen and Caffres; however many of the former have been taken into the service of the boors, and turned out such faithful servants, that several farmers who joined the Caffre expedition last year, left their houses, flocks, their all, in the care of these people. Bosjemen now seldom plunder; I am convinced they never did but when compelled by hunger. To some plundering Bosjemen a present of sheep, goats, tobacco, &c. was sent. Their joy and gratitude was unbounded, and they not only desisted from farther depredations, but there is reason to think that they kept their promise of dissuading others. There is little doubt but that, by a continuance of these measures, these people may be reclaimed and taught to breed their own cattle, and to become useful. The Bosjemen never set fire to corn, and there is no hay, as there is abundance of grass all the year, so that hay is only required for the cavalry at Cape Town. From all accounts there is scarcely a tree big enough to conceal a man, in all the country of the Bosjemen; they live in caves or small holes scraped in the ground, and covered with mats. The larvae of locusts is a favourite article of food at one season, but nothing comes amiss, baboons, jackals, lizards, beetles, &c. ‘When speaking of the Cape regiment, you may wish to say something of our Caffre war. In it not a man deserted; and during a campaign of nine months most arduous service, all of which time the whole force lay in the open field and laboured under many privations, the activity, perseverance, and spirit of the men could not be surpassed; and we ultimately succeeded in the total expulsion of immense hordes of Caffres from a track of country of nearly five thousand squaremiles, of by much the most fertile district in the colony, where they had by degrees established themselves, carrying on a succession of unprovoked depredations and cold-blooded murders, on the property and persons of the neighbouring colonists. Every mild and persuasive measure to induce them to return to their own country having proved ineffectual, coercive operations were the only alternative. Withdrawing the frontier settlers would not have answered the end proposed, for they had before retired upwards of one hundred miles, but the Caffres continued to follow them. If you say any thing of the above, do not forget, that the conduct of near a thousand farmers, employed on the occasion, was such as would have done honour to old disciplined soldiers. Their zeal, spirit, and activity were most conspicuous. It was certainly curious to see boors and Hottentots hand and glove, the former saying they never knew what Hottentots were before.’

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WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854

WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854 Edited by Katrina O’Loughlin and Michael Gamer Volume II

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund; individual owners retain copyright in their own material. The right of Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-20272-6 (Set) eISBN: 978-1-315-47317-8 (Set) ISBN: 978-1-138-20277-1 (Volume II) eISBN: 978-1-315-47305-5 (Volume II) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC Publisher’s note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work

CONTENTS

Introduction

1

Harriet Newell, Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell (1815) Eliza Fay, Original Letters from India (1817)

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INTRODUCTION

In bringing together Original Letters from India (1817) and Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell (1815), this volume presents two highly influential works of travel writing published just at the close of the Napoleonic Wars and the War of 1812. At first glance, few writers would appear to have less in common than the Briton Eliza Fay (1755/6–1816) and the American Harriet Newell (1793–1812), whose differences extend beyond the national and generational to those of temperament and world view. Fay was an ambitious and opinionated Londoner who made at least five voyages of business to India; Newell, by contrast, was a pious young American missionary from rural New England who made only one trip and died just six weeks after her arrival in West Bengal – thereby becoming the first American missionary, male or female, to die abroad. Newell eschewed assemblies and balls as the ‘extravagances’ of a vain world; Fay believed a deck of cards to be one of the most valuable things one could travel with, easing the monotony of long sea voyages and providing welcome distraction at awkward dinner parties and gatherings among near-strangers. One suspects Fay would have had even less patience with Newell’s proselytizing than Newell with Fay’s gambling (‘in the evening we sat down to vingt-un, at a rupee a fish. . . . I lost only a dozen’ (p. 301)). In fact, we know exactly how Fay felt about the missionary calling. In her first voyage, travelling between Leghorn and Alexandria, Fay encountered a Franciscan Friar from Rome on a mission to Jerusalem. She found him a figure at once romantic and ridiculous: no man can be better calculated for the hazardous office he has undertaken. Figure to yourself, a man in the prime of life (under forty), tall, well made, and athletic in his person; and seemingly of a temperament to brave every danger: add to these advantages a pair of dark eyes, beaming with intelligence . . . and, you cannot fail to pronounce him irresistible. (p. 177) Finding him in possession of ‘all the enthusiasm and eloquence necessary for pleading the important cause of Christianity’, Fay seems almost prepared to forgive ‘such ridiculous superstitions, as disgrace the Romish creed’ until the friar 1

INTRODUCTION

exhorts her to give up – ‘as a libation to the bambino (child) Jesus’ – her morning coffee. Fay’s outrage is palpable: ‘Professing my disbelief in the efficacy of such a sacrifice, I . . . excused myself from complying’. The incipient friendship is abruptly ruptured over Fay’s ‘obstinate heresy’. The Reverend Father wishes Fay to the devil and, having made an entertaining anecdote of the encounter for her correspondents, Fay smartly consigns the missionary to the same place (p. 177). Comparing each woman’s first experiences on the Indian subcontinent – Fay’s in 1780 and Newell’s in 1812 – the similarities between them become more striking. Both arrived in Calcutta as very young women, both were recently married, and both were negotiating new lives in extremely difficult circumstances. Both were members of the emerging middle classes, received formal education, and married men of higher education still. More powerfully perhaps, both Fay and Newell shared what we might call a vocation, a singular sense of purpose and profound personal commitment to projects conceived by their husbands, but in which they had important roles to play. Both, then, are professional wives in companionate marriages, even though their very different convictions and callings would probably seem as alien to each other as they initially appear to us. For Fay, her object was the establishment of her husband Anthony’s legal career and the couple’s economic future in Calcutta, the new centre of administration in Anglo-India. For Newell, it was the ministry of faith. She testifies in her diary: ‘I have confessed Christ before the world – I have renounced my wicked companions – I have solemnly promised, that denying ungodliness and every worldly lust, I will live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world’ (p. 38). As two adjacent diary entries show, Harriet Atwood’s meeting with Samuel Newell gave a powerful focus to her desired spiritual practice: Oct. 23 [1810]. Mr. M. introduced Mr. N[ewell] to our family, He appears to be an engaged Christian. Expects to spend his life, in preaching a Saviour to the benighted Pagans. Oct. 31. Mr. N. called on us this morning. He gave me some account of the dealings of God with his soul. If such a man who has devoted himself to the service of the gospel, has determined to labour in the most difficult part of the vineyard, and is willing to renounce his earthly happiness for the interest of religion; if he doubts his possessing love to God; – what shall I say of myself? (p. 53) Harriet Atwood’s vocation was powerfully shaped by a renewed Christian spiritualism among the communities of Massachusetts in the first decade of the century and by the convictions of the man who became her husband. Almost two generations older, Eliza Fay’s travels were equally shaped by her husband’s personal ambition – at least initially. Irish by birth, married, and admitted to the bar in 2

INTRODUCTION

London, Anthony Fay sought a position at the newly established Supreme Court of Calcutta. Eliza Fay, by her own admission undertook the journey with a view of preserving my husband from destruction, for had I not accompanied him, and in many instances restrained his extravagance and dissipated habits, he would never, never, I am convinced, have reached Bengal, but have fallen a wretched sacrifice to them on the way, or perhaps through the violence of his temper been invoked in some dispute, which he was too ready to provoke. (p. 242) Fay’s fears seem entirely borne out by the details of her narrative. Reactive, short-tempered, and regularly inclined to ‘lose all self-command’ (p. 221), Anthony Fay in the course of their journey manages to lose their passports and then their money, quarrels with almost everyone the couple meets (and depends upon), short circuits his legal career, and finally abandons his wife at Calcutta to shift for herself after a year. By comparison, Eliza Fay is shrewd, observant, and resourceful: what begins as his career and journey becomes hers. Although she never enjoyed in her husband the ‘beloved friend’ (p. 89) and ‘most affectionate partner’ (p. 88) that Newell found in hers, Fay was also determined not to be the ‘self devoted victim’ (p. 230) that observers more than once took her to be. Over the next three decades, and as a single woman, she established a millinery business at Calcutta, opened and then sold a private boarding school in England, and traded in her own ship as a merchant between India, Britain, and America. Both Fay and Newell share a self-discipline and self-actualization through travel and writing that deserve greater attention. As young women actively making choices that are determined for and by them, both are creatures of a particular moment in Anglo-American history, and remarkable ‘speculators’ in the gendered possibilities before them. In direct and related ways, both women derived their opportunities from British domination of the Indian subcontinent at the turn of the nineteenth century, where two centuries of lucrative trade with Europe had remade the relationships of people, objects, and power along different meridians. The India Regulating Act of 1773 transmuted commercial dominance into administrative power and created the conditions of possibility for both couples’ travels. While the Fays sought the new professional opportunities created by British courts at West Bengal, the Newells wished to bring Christianity to vast multicultural and multi-faith communities in the wake of British conquest. Both speculations – one economic and one religious – were made possible by the consolidation of British rule in India and the establishment of Calcutta as its administrative centre. West Bengal (particularly Calcutta and its near-neighbour Serampore) is therefore a point of critical convergence and space of possibility for the two writers and their texts. 3

INTRODUCTION

To claim that the Fays and the Newells benefitted from British dominance in India is not to suggest that their relationships with the East India Company or the British Government were either straightforward or smooth, however. This is another remarkable connection between the two narratives: both came up very directly against the Company at key stages of their journey. Although so very different, both are part of a growing group of what one contemporary dubbed ‘vagrant Europeans’ in India who plagued the Company from the late eighteenth century.1 These rogue traders, speculators, and ‘sectarian missionaries’,2 who neither worked for the Company nor observed its (declining) authority, were perceived as a direct threat to its monopoly and effective rule. Attempting to capitalize on opportunities from outside the Company’s jurisdiction – Fay describes their venture as ‘a noble opportunity of making an ample fortune’ (p. 256) – the Fays had not applied for the appropriate permits to travel prior to their journey. This might account for the unusual overland route they pursued, their avoidance of English ships, and their systematic misrepresentation of themselves as either French or Danish to avoid detection by various authorities in Egypt and India. Arriving in West Bengal, Anthony Fay simply presented himself to the Supreme Court and requested work. In doing so he shrewdly calculated that his legal qualifications and nationality might prevail.3 But while his wife carefully courted the acquaintance of leading families in the government of British India (notably the Hastings, Chambers, and Impeys at Calcutta), Anthony Fay became increasingly active in anti-governmental circles, until – as Fay herself revealed in frustration – ‘no hope remains of his ever being able to prosecute his profession here’ (p. 255). At this point, the Fays separate, Eliza Fay moves in with the Chambers, and Anthony Fay leaves the historical record. His shadowy behaviour has led at least one commentator to suggest that he was operating as a spy at Calcutta, gathering evidence to be used against either the Governor General or the East India Company in Britain.4 Such a prospect certainly presents the Fays’ ill-starred first voyage in a rather different light and raises important questions about Eliza Fay’s knowledge of key events, and how she arranges them in her narrative. Like the Fays, the Newells also arrived at Calcutta unannounced and unwelcome. Attempting to undertake mission work in West Bengal, they disembarked to discover America at war with Britain and their work banned by the East India Company.5 They thus found themselves in the middle of a conflict they neither expected nor fully understood: aligned with the British Baptist missionaries William Carey and John Thomas, and in direct opposition to the East India Company, which believed that mission work caused disaffection among Indian citizens and undermined British authority. The real political and ideological gulf operating between Company and Mission in these years is captured most powerfully in the distance between British Calcutta and Danish Serampore, where the Dissenting missions had been forced to remove. As Karen Chancey shows, the missionary debate in which the Newells became ensnared was fuelled by wider power struggles for which West Bengal had become an 4

INTRODUCTION

incendiary focal point: conflicts between Dissent and the established Church of England; and between the British Crown and the East India Company over who was ultimately to control India, religiously and politically.6 Harriet Newell’s narrative foregrounds the complex reality of Christian missionary work in British India, which sometimes was in concert with, and sometimes worked against, the cultural and territorial imperialism of the East India Company and British Government. The perception of a twin threat posed by imperial and evangelical expansion at this period is brilliantly captured in David Hopkins’ urgent publication of 1809, The Dangers of British India from French Invasion and Missionary Establishments (London, 1809), which imagines imperial France and evangelical Christianity as unlikely co-conspirators bent on undermining British supremacy in India. It is these regional manifestations of global conflicts – the struggle for dominance over the rich territory and trade of India – which connects Fay and Newell’s narratives in unpredictable ways. As unorthodox women travellers and writers working at the edges of British imperialism, Fay and Newell occupy a liminal space in both early nineteenthcentury travel to India and historical discourses of life and travel writing. On the margins of dominant cultural, colonial, and faith discourses – however orthodox Harriet Newell subsequently becomes in Protestant circles as the first missionary martyr – their travel accounts provide an oblique perspective on Anglo-American culture and India during the Romantic period. Understanding the broad cultural forces that constitute British India in the Romantic period requires that we recognize the details and small acts of agency of those who travelled there. These are lives in the making; like the genre of travel itself, Fay and Newell are people in motion, shaped by and shaping the historical moments through which they move. While the texts comprising the four volumes of Women’s Travel Writing in India are presented in the order of their publication – so that Newell’s Memoirs precedes Fay’s Original Letters – we reverse this order of introduction here because, in dealing with the earlier period 1779–1796, Fay provides important contexts for understanding Newell.

Eliza Fay Eliza Clement was born in 1755 or 1756, probably at Rotherhithe and one of four children of Edward Clement, a shipwright. We know little of her early life and education before her marriage, on 6 February 1772, to Anthony Fay at St Dunstan-in-the-West (Fleet Street, London). We know even less of her husband Anthony Fay, other than that he was born in Ireland, was violenttempered, and had legal and perhaps political ambitions, gaining admission to Gray’s Inn in 1772 and (with Edward Clement’s help) Clement’s Inn and Lincoln’s Inn in 1778. Eliza Clement was just 16 or 17 when she married; six years later and with the full support of her family, she and her husband sailed for India. 5

INTRODUCTION

Fay had travelled before. Her letters reveal that, prior to embarking with Anthony, she had made the passage from Dover to Calais at least three times, had visited Paris, and had glimpsed Queen Marie Antoinette at Versailles. But this was a voyage of a different order, made at a time of momentous global events. Fay’s first letter is dated 18 April 1779 from Paris; just one week earlier, France (then an ally with the American colonies in their War of Independence) had signed a secret treaty with the Spanish to bring them into that war, effectively expanding the Anglo-French conflict into a global one. Enemy aliens in France, the Fays hoisted a French flag on their arrival in port, and then waited restlessly for passports before striking out overland for Leghorn. Theirs was an unusual route to India; the voyage would normally be made by sea and directly from London. The Fays were travelling frugally and perhaps rather naively (they thought, for example, that the Alps were a single high pass rather than an extended mountain range). Their plans changed more than once as they travelled via Lyons, Pont de Beauvoisin, Chalons sur Soane, and Lanneburg, then over Mont Cenis to Turin, Genoa, and Leghorn. At each step, their itinerary was shaped by their letters of introduction and the remittances they carried. From Leghorn the couple took a passage in first the Hellespont and then the Julius to Alexandria. From there they travelled again by water to Cairo, where they were caught up in a dangerous dispute about trade movements through Egypt.7 The Ottoman Porte and British East India Company had both forbidden British trade through Suez and the Red Sea at this period. But, as Fay explains, ‘there never was a law made, but means might be found to evade it’ and rogue traders – anxious to use the route to cut travel times and avoid duties – negotiated agreements with local beys for passage (p. 188). It was in this climate and immediately prior to the Fays’ arrival, that a caravan of British merchants from the ship Nathalia had been plundered and left to die on the overland journey between Suez and Cairo, apparently in recrimination. Making the same journey over the desert in reverse, without the protection of the Company and with realistic fears for their own safety, Fay hides the details of the attack from her family until her arrival at Suez. Boarding the same ship Nathalia, only recently returned to its owners after being impounded and stripped, the Fays sailed for India, arriving at the trading port of Calicut on the Malabar coast on 5 November 1779. There they found themselves, once again, enemy aliens on another front of the global Anglo-French War, caught between their Englishness, their putatively Danish ship, and a French Captain. They were promptly imprisoned at the abandoned English Factory by the Governor Sardar Khan on behalf of Hyder Ali, the Sultan of Mysore. After 15 weeks of incarceration in primitive accommodations, they managed to scrabble a release with the assistance of a local Jewish merchant, Mr Isaac, and departed Cochin for Madras and finally Calcutta. Arriving in West Bengal over a year after they had left Dover, Eliza presented her letters of introduction to Mrs Warren Hastings, the wife of the first Governor General of India; Anthony, meanwhile, presented himself to Sir Robert

6

INTRODUCTION

Chambers, Second Judge of the newly-formed Supreme Court, and Philip Francis, who had been appointed to the Supreme Council at Calcutta in 1773. We note these introductions because they nicely delineate the two sides of yet another political foment into which the Fays stumbled. In this instance, it was the growing animosity between members of the Council and Court at Calcutta, tensions that were to lead eventually to the impeachment of Warren Hastings in 1788. Acquainted with most – and intimate with some – of the members of the highest administrative and trade circles at Calcutta, the Fays were nothing if not close to the action. At one moment, Fay describes an amateur production of Venice Preserved acted by leading civil servants and starring Captain Call, the ‘Garrick of the East’ (p. 330, note 265); at another, she is instructed at a public gathering to fix her eyes on the ‘Lady Governess’ indefinitely until acknowledged by her; at still another, she reports breathlessly on the duel between Hastings and Francis. Through commentary pointed and astute, Fay’s talent for character portraiture, comedy, and dramatic narrative shows itself in every page of the Original Letters as she documents an evolving city and period of transition from Company to Crown rule. Political events are crossed by personal crisis as Anthony Fay’s legal career founders and he fathers a child with another woman. Lady Chambers steps in as a protector and patron, taking Fay into her home and sheltering her from inevitable public gossip about her husband’s increasingly erratic and anti-governmental behaviour. Successfully suing for legal separation in August of 1781, Fay quietly superintends the return of her modest furniture and effects to their creditors and, with only her clothes left to her, embarks for England. This, then, is Eliza Fay’s first voyage to India (10 April 1779 – 7 February 1783), just one of five. Her second (March 1784 – September 1794) marks the emergence of Eliza Fay the merchant.8 Setting up a partner, Avis Hicks (later Mrs John Lacey), in a milliner’s shop in the former Post Office in the heart of Calcutta, Fay raised sufficient capital to purchase a home of her own and managed her business through a catastrophic economic downturn in the 1780s. Leaving her venture in the hands of her partner’s brother-in-law, Benjamin Lacey, Fay returned to Britain via St Helena. But here, too, controversy seemed to dog her, as Fay was called to respond to charges made by a former servant Kate Johnson, who alleged that in 1782 she had been abandoned by Fay and consequently sold into slavery. In addition, she insinuated that she had witnessed some impropriety on the part of Fay with a ship’s doctor, a significant threat against a separated woman like Fay since any accusation of infidelity could jeopardize her maintenance. Fay chose to pay the nominated fine of £60 rather than stand trial. At this juncture, Fay was evidently trying to return some part of her Indian capital to Britain but – once again working outside the protection of the East India Company – was prevented from landing her cargo in Ostend for transfer home. Instead she trusted it to an American trader Richard Crowninshield, who arranged the sale of her goods in America, and returned her capital in the shape of a ship – the Minerva. A timely inheritance made it possible for her to freight

7

INTRODUCTION

her new ship with goods from London bound for Calcutta, and Fay returned to India on her in August 1795. Loading once again in Bengal with Indian goods for the American market, Fay dispatched the Minerva and followed to New York. Here, rather abruptly, her account ends. The Original Letters are organized in two parts, the first and longest of which covers the period from April 1779–September 1782. Comprised of twenty-three letters addressed to Fay’s family via her sisters, ‘Part First’ preserves the recognizable form of a private correspondence. Letters appear written in the moment and betray no knowledge of what might lie ahead, as Fay acknowledges the receipt of packets and news from home even as she details her own movements, state of health, and spirits. Although still epistolary in form, ‘Part Second’ differs both in its level of detail and in the style of its narration. Composing for a (possibly fictitious) ‘Mrs. L— ’, Fay provides an ‘abstract’ or summary of her subsequent voyages (17 March 1784–4 September 1794 and 2 August 1795–1796), one that chronicles her establishment of the millinery business at Calcutta and her growing involvement in speculative trade between Britain, America, and India. Her own logs tally closely with historical records stretching over four continents, meticulously recording ships, ports of call, and relationships of friendship, business, and even patronage. The retrospective mode of her memoir, meanwhile, reveals a further dimension of this genuinely remarkable author and traveller. Marked by an awareness of dangers passed and problems overcome rather than current crises, the Eliza Fay of ‘Part Second’ is more reflective and sometimes philosophical, but always resourceful and forthright. Fay was writing the memoir of her later travels to India from Blackheath in 1815. Sometime in that year or perhaps early in the next, she returned to Calcutta – her final voyage – and there began preparing her manuscripts for publication. These were in a forward enough state for the Calcutta Gazette (9 May 1816) to give notice of the forthcoming publication of Fay’s ‘Narrative’ and to invite subscriptions. Fay’s sudden death clearly disrupted publication plans, and it was not until the following year – largely for the benefit of her creditors – that her writings found their way into print. Featuring a four-page introductory preface and a Calcutta imprint, the edition carried the title Original Letters from India; Containing a Narrative of a Journey Through Egypt, and the Author’s Imprisonment at Calicut by Hyder Ally (1817). It included a frontispiece showing the author ‘Dressed in the Egyptian Costume’ that she had purchased at Cairo and carried with her to Calcutta. A rather terse ‘Advertisement’ to the Original Letters marks an important intervention on the part of the anonymous editor: The work had been printed thus far when the death of the author took place. The subsequent parts of her journal, not appearing to contain any events of a nature sufficiently interesting to claim publication, no additional extracts have been deemed necessary by the administrator, who

8

INTRODUCTION

from a view of benefiting the estate has been induced to undertake the present publication. (p. 304) Thus it becomes clear that, although Fay had prepared her own writing for publication, the final shape of the printed Original Letters was determined not by herself but by the interests and expedience of her executors. And of course, we now have no way of knowing what, from Fay’s complete manuscripts, has been lost. Like each of her voyages to India between 1779 and 1816, Fay’s preparation of her India letters for publication was a carefully calculated commercial venture – a cargo as potentially valuable as the linens, muslins, and other commodities she had traded at various stages of her career. Her initial choice of subscription publication – a mode by which readers committed to purchase and partially paid the costs of the publication in advance – represents Fay’s attempt to secure a market for her product and to exploit the same networks of commerce, sociability, and patronage she had relied on for nearly four decades. Her title shows her ready to marshal popular genres like the captivity narrative and Gothic romance, and to exploit the notoriety of public figures from Warren Hastings to Hyder Ali. ‘At a time when fictitious representations of human life are sought for with so much avidity’, she writes, the Original Letters will provide something even better: an ‘unembellished narrative of simple facts and real sufferings’, whose trials and adventures rival even the most improbable of romances (see note 1). As Fay’s Preface argues, her residence at Calcutta – and her status as a woman – gave her privileged access to ‘important circumstances in the lives of well known . . . individuals’ (p. 153). Even as she speculates on the enormous popularity of travel narratives in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, she trusts that her book’s primary value will lie in its lengthy first-hand account of the people and events surrounding Warren Hastings’s controversial rule between 1773 and 1785. The Original Letters thus invoke several genres at once – captivity narrative, secret memoir, Gothic tale, ‘romance of real life’, and ‘true history’ – leveraging travel writing’s heterodox qualities to produce a world whose richness and complexity rival the historical fiction of her two celebrated contemporaries, Maria Edgeworth and Walter Scott. In Fay’s hands, the results are a shrewd mixture of horror, social critique, and intrigue, all the more powerful because true. Despite its lively account of people and politics, the Original Letters raised only a modest profit of Rs. 220 for Fay’s estate. Still, it was successful enough to be reprinted in 1821 at Calcutta with a reset title page but few other alterations. In 1908, Rev. W. K. Firminger oversaw a new edition, published by Thacker, Spink & Co. in conjunction with the Calcutta Historical Society. The next major edition – the first, as its editor E. M. Forster notes, to be produced outside India – was published by Virginia and Leonard Woolf’s Hogarth Press in 1925. Forster had encountered Fay in Firminger’s 1908 edition while researching the book that

9

INTRODUCTION

would become A Passage to India (1924).9 Firminger had largely dismissed Fay as a stylist, silently ‘correcting’ her grammar and expression, and complaining that ‘there is something about Mrs Fay which fails to charm, something of a too conscious superiority which alienates sympathy in circumstances in which sympathy would not be grudged’.10 Later readers were more appreciative: Forster restored the work to the 1817 original, and Francis Bickley – reviewing Forster’s edition – considered Fay ‘a discovery as valuable as an unrecorded Titian’.11 Despite Fay’s resistance to such an identification for her travails, the Letters’ status as colonial romance has been perhaps inadvertently secured by two further recent editions (both based on the Forster edition), edited and introduced by M. M. Kaye and Simon Winchester respectively.12

Harriet Newell Born in Haverhill, Massachusetts in 1793, Harriet Atwood (later Newell) lived her entire life amidst religious controversy. Attending the First Parish Church at Haverhill as a child, her first pastor was the Harvard-trained Abiel Abbot (1770– 1828), Unitarian in his leanings and insufficiently orthodox for many members of his congregation. Newell’s tenth birthday would have been marked by Abbot’s departure, ostentatiously over a salary dispute, as parishioners declined to increase the salary of a pastor so determinedly Unitarian. (Abbot quickly established himself with a Congregationalist parish in nearby Beverly, which became Unitarian shortly thereafter). At home and across the river in Bradford, meanwhile, a radical and generational shift was underway: first in the form of Abraham Burnham, a self-taught farmer’s son who had joined Bradford Academy as a preceptor in 1805; and next in Joshua Dodge, who became pastor of the First Parish Church of Haverhill in 1808. Both had a profound effect on Harriet Atwood’s formative years, Dodge as her family’s ‘beloved pastor’, and Burnham as her ‘spiritual father’. Dodge was a man of active spirituality rather than theological minutiae, particularly (as one local historian put it) ‘the guidance of each student into a . . . life of Christian service’.13 How such ideas of ‘service’ fed the foreign missionary movement are clear enough; their profound effects on local communities and young women like Harriet Atwood, however, are worth contemplating. Consider, for example, the local dancing school that she attended at the age of eleven and that opens the ‘Diary’ portion of the Memoirs. Torn between her enjoyment of dancing and guilt over its ‘vanity’ and ‘foolishness’, she determines ‘that, when the school closed, I would immediately become religious’ (p. 25). It is a startling passage, and one made more poignant by the fact that the school was made possible by John Hasseltine, the father of Harriet Atwood’s close friend Ann. Hasseltine had added a large room to the second story of his house to host assemblies, and the dances that followed caused controversy. In 1805, for example, there appeared in Bradford and Haverhill an anonymous pamphlet attacking a progressive ‘parson A[llen]’ for being ‘corrupted by doctrines of Arians and Socinians’, and ‘attend[ing] 10

INTRODUCTION

frolicings [sic] and dancings with his young people, not only till nine o’clock, and ten o’clock, and eleven o’clock, and twelve o’clock at night, but even till one o’clock in the morning’.14 It is hardly surprising, then, to find Harriet Atwood later in the Memoirs torn by the prospect of a local ball – as much for how it might divide or endanger the spiritual health of the community, as for the frivolity of its ‘frolicings’ (see notes 9 and 83). Within these New England religious communities, one of the closely followed stories of 1810 was a minor sensation created by ‘four young gentlemen, members of the Divinity College’, who appeared that June in Bradford before the General Association of Congregationalist Ministers.15 With becoming modesty, they declared to the assembly their serious vocation to do missionary work abroad and petitioned for ‘patronage and support’ that they might do so.16 Their testimony had immediate effect: a Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions was created the next morning, and the four young divinity students – Adoniram Judson, Samuel Nott, Samuel J. Mills, and Samuel Newell – were celebrated within evangelical circles as fundraising began among parishes to finance their mission. The Panoplist, The Advisor, and The Connecticut Evangelical magazines reported that an extraordinary $13,953.48 had been collected from local parishes to finance the missionaries, providing the full ledger of their budget, medical training, supplies, anticipated expenses, and salaries. Over a four-year period, their progress continued to be enthusiastically covered by evangelical journals, who reported on every aspect of their planning, ordination, embarkation, arrival, and progress in India.17 It was in these same publications that Harriet Newell’s journal and correspondence made their first appearance in print. Such details make clear the attractions of being part of such a movement, particularly for a seriously-minded young woman who had already resolved to dedicate her life to Christian service. Harriet Atwood’s correspondence shows her a proponent of missionary work as early as August of 1809. Writing to her friend Fanny Woodbury, she asks why knowledge of the gospel is not ‘given to the Heathen, who . . . are perishing for lack of knowledge?’ (p. 40). By October of the same year we find her in earnest conversation with ‘two servants of Jesus Christ’, most likely Rev. Samuel Worcester of Salem and Rev. Joseph Emerson of Beverly, about plans originating in Andover to send missionaries abroad. Her response is among her most fervid: Oh, that Jehovah would pour down his Spirit there! Oh, that he would . . . make not only A[ndover] a place of his power, but Haverhill also! Arise, blessed Jesus! plead thine own cause, and have mercy upon Zion. Now, when men are making void thy law, arise! build up thy spiritual Jerusalem, and let her no longer mourn, ‘because so few come to her solemn feasts’. (p. 44) The American Dictionary of National Biography informs us that Harriet Atwood and Ann Hasseltine were ‘shy and introspective’, and that Atwood was not as 11

INTRODUCTION

overtly enthusiastic about missionary service as her friend. From the evidence of her correspondence, it seems more likely that, spending much of her childhood and adolescence in poor health, Harriet Atwood had not yet imagined herself as capable of undertaking such work. Within twelve months, however, much had changed: the petition of the ‘four young gentlemen’ had created new institutional possibilities within the Congregationalist Church for missionary work; Atwood’s friend, Ann Hasseltine, had accepted the marriage proposal of Adoniram Judson; Judson had introduced another of the four, Samuel Newell, to Harriet Atwood; and Harriet Atwood had been impressed enough by Newell’s ‘account of the dealings of God with his soul’ to marry him and accompany him to India. ‘If such a man . . . is willing to renounce his earthly happiness for the interest of religion’, she argues to herself in her journal, ‘what shall I say of myself ?’ (p. 53). For a woman in search of ways to put her faith into practice – who already had begun proselytizing friends – the missionary cause promised a life of meaningful purpose. In many ways, the high risks of death from disease or misadventure posed by missionary work merely strengthened Harriet Atwood’s sense of commitment.18 Within two years of meeting Samuel Newell, the couple had married, landed in British Calcutta, and moved to William Carey’s mission in Danish Serampore. Unwilling to return home, they elected to go to the Isle of France (Mauritius) to organize a mission there. Harriet Newell never reached their destination, giving birth prematurely during the voyage, watching her infant daughter die from exposure, and then succumbing herself, likely from complications from childbirth. Given Newell’s status as the first American missionary to die abroad, cultural commentators have generally read the Memoirs within the traditions of spiritual biography.19 Newell thus sits uneasily but suggestively among women travel writers of the early nineteenth century because of her youth, sheltered upbringing, and very brief time on the Indian subcontinent. As Carl Thompson’s introduction to this collection notes, Newell’s Memoirs display at best a ‘myopic’ view of India, which he describes as amounting to a ‘fantasy projection of a benighted, heathen land’ (Vol. I, p. xx). What Newell’s Memoirs do provide, however, is a fascinating glimpse into the literary and cultural sources of such fantasies. Receiving an excellent education at Bradford Academy, Newell supplemented her deficit of lived experience with books and imagination. At the time she meets Samuel Newell, she is, suggestively, the same age as Jane Austen’s Catherine Morland of Northanger Abbey (1818), another young woman of seventeen who transforms, and is transformed by, the places she encounters. And, like Catherine, what frames Newell’s world view is her reading. Of the 212 notes we have provided to Newell’s own writing, an astonishing 154 involve literary allusions. As one might expect of a future missionary coming of age during the Second Great Awakening, these bear little resemblance to the Gothic fiction burlesqued in Austen’s novel and underpinning Fay’s Original Letters. Instead, Newell’s quotations are comprised largely of passages from the Bible, hymns, and sermons either read or recently heard. In Newell’s letters to female friends, allusions serve sometimes as tools for 12

INTRODUCTION

sharing intimacy, and at other times as a means for reflection or solace, as when she loses first an uncle and then her father to illness. Like most young women writing at the turn of the nineteenth century, she makes what she can of the world with the materials she has at hand. As she gains in both religious conviction and confidence as a writer, the range and patterns of Newell’s allusions deepen and change. As she imagines herself into an active role in the global missionary movement, her quotations acquire millennial and evangelical urgency. To her fondness for the hymns of Isaac Watts she adds those of other writers, most notably Susannah Harrison, Elizabeth Singer Rowe, and Anne Steele. Around this time, she begins not just to quote scripture but also periodically to alter it to suit either her situation or emotional state. Though usually compressing sacred source materials, Newell sometimes makes fairly radical alterations, as when, distraught at the seductive power of a local ball on her friend ‘E’, she draws on Luke 9:62 and Proverbs 29:1 to create her own composition (see note 84). Secular literary sources occasion even greater liberties, such as when Newell taps two minor tales from Ossian to capture the sadness of contemplating the ancient past. Fond of poetry, she finds recourse in Robert Blair’s The Grave (1743), James Thomson’s The Seasons (1730), Edward Young’s Night Thoughts (1742–1745), and William Cowper’s The Task (1785). Readers of William Blake will find Newell’s reading and patterns of quotation particularly suggestive, since they point to a canon and to influences that strikingly resemble Blake’s own. One wonders what the two might have made of one another had they met in Regency London, or what path the young Harriet Atwood’s brand of radical Protestantism might have taken just twenty years earlier in that city. We should not be surprised, then, to find Newell, on the eve of her departure to India, finding a literary soulmate in Henry Kirke White (1785–1806), the Romantic poet who had died of consumption at the age of twenty-one and whose Remains (1807), edited by Robert Southey, established him among a growing coterie of talented poets cut off by premature death. In Kirke White, Newell found a writer of her own generation committed to the same evangelical causes; she cites him more than any writer save Isaac Watts. Her favourite poems by him – ‘The Dance of the Consumptives’ from Fragment of an Eccentric Drama and the lyric ‘Fanny! Upon thy breast I may not lie!’ – suggest that she found in him a literary model for facing the possibility of an early death. For Newell’s literary executors and publishers, The Remains of Henry Kirke White perhaps provided another model, where literary remains take on a monumentalizing function to present a life cut short in all the fullness of its promise. Like the Remains of Henry Kirke White, the Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell quickly became a bestseller, and it is no accident that the first American publisher of the Memoirs, Samuel T. Armstrong of Boston, also brought out an edition of the Remains in 1815. Three years after her death, Harriet Newell would have found herself appearing with Kirke White in the same shop window, two evangelical writers who died tragically young. 13

INTRODUCTION

Conclusion Comparing these different but strangely complementary texts, we find in them strikingly similar portraits of British India, which functions more as a place of speculation and self-realization than one of cultural discovery or encounter. Placing them side by side also provides a timely corrective to our own ingrained habits of reading, which too often have pigeonholed Fay as colonial adventurer and Newell as dissenting martyr. Framed this way, both Fay and Newell have been strangely disconnected from the generative tradition and genre of travel writing that in fact propels their work. British India was a space of possibility for these two women, and the popular market for travels created the space of possibility for their texts. To reread these very different accounts next to one another is to return both to the powerful tradition of experience, curiosity, and self-representation that is Romantic-era travel writing. Looking to the reputation of each text, we find both writers again dehistoricized: the Memoirs read as exemplary hagiography, the Original Letters as creditors’ commodity. In the process, their experiences, as recorded in their own voices, become disconnected from the rich contexts each inhabited. These texts are also, it must be remembered, profoundly shaped by editorial intervention: Fay’s executor selecting only those parts he considered most appealing to audiences in 1817, and disregarding the rest; Harriet Newell’s grieving husband Samuel literally creating the fiction of the ‘Memoir’ out of her teenage diaries and letters. If we are frustrated by learning of the ‘missing’ Fay manuscripts, we are – and should be – made doubly uncomfortable about reading the private diaries of the teenage Harriet Newell. We cannot know, after all, whether she gave permission for her writing to be circulated, let alone published. As a result, we must make distinctions between the private journal entries that dominate the early section and the more public, family letters that constitute the latter part. Such considerations remind us that travel writing always comes accompanied by other movements, whether religious or imperial. Fay and Newell never met, although they might well have in 1812 if Fay had returned a little earlier to Calcutta: Newell just nineteen, alighting for the first time on the banks of the Hooghly; Fay in her late fifties, in a city she had called home at five different periods of her life. But there are remarkable resonances between the two women’s lives, and they might have recognized in each other a shared determination and strength in the way each pursued her own journey. Newell and Fay died in India within four years of each other, their letters and memoirs appearing in the same period of rapid global change. Their tales twist around one another personally and historically, both strangely shaped by the same global and regional forces at the turn of the nineteenth century: war between America, Britain, and France; the contraction of the Ottoman and Mughal Empires; the rapid growth of the British in India; and the lucrative patterns of trade that linked people and communities across the world.

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INTRODUCTION

Notes 1 D. Hopkins, The Dangers of British India, from French Invasion and Missionary Establishments (London: Black, Parry, and Kingsbury, 1809), p. 51. 2 Hopkins, The Dangers of British India, p. 51. 3 See P. D. Rasico, ‘Calcutta “In These Degenerate Days”: The Daniells’ Visions of Life, Death and Nabobery in Late Eighteenth-Century British India’, Journal for EighteenthCentury Studies 42:1 (2019), pp. 27–47. 4 Rev. W. K. Firminger, ‘Introduction’, in Original Letters from India (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co, 1908), pp. vi–vii. 5 See K. Chancey, ‘The Star in the East: The Controversy over Christian Missions to India, 1805–1813’, The Historian 60:3 (March 1998), pp. 507–22. 6 Chancey, ‘The Star in the East’, p. 508. 7 See R. Said, ‘George Baldwin and British Interests in Egypt 1775 to 1798’, Unpublished Doctoral Thesis (University of London, June 1968). 8 See N. Gupta-Casale, ‘Intrepid Traveller, “She-Merchant”, or Colonialist Historiographer: Reading Eliza Fay’s Original Letters’, in S. Towheed (ed.), New Readings in the Literature of British India, c. 1780–2014 (Stuttgart: Ibidem, 2007), pp. 65–91. 9 See M. W. Khan, ‘Enlightenment Orientalism to Modernist Orientalism: The Archive of Forster’s A Passage to India’, Modern Fiction Studies 62 (2016), pp. 217–35. 10 Firminger, ‘Introduction’, p. 5. 11 F. Bickley, ‘Review of [Eliza Fay’s] Original Letters from India’, Bookman (September 1925), p. 304. 12 The Kaye and Winchester editions are both based on the 1925 Forster edition, but with new introductions and additional notes. See M. M. Kaye (ed.), Eliza Fay: Original Letters from India (London: Hogarth Press, 1986); S. Winchester (ed.), Eliza Fay: Original Letters from India (New York: New York Review Books, 2010). 13 J. S. Pond, Bradford: A New England Academy (Bradford, MA: Bradford Academy Alumni Association, 1930), p. 71. 14 See Pond, Bradford, pp. 7–8. 15 The Connecticut Evangelical Magazine and Religious Intelligencer 3 (1810), p. 345. 16 The Connecticut Evangelical Magazine and Religious Intelligencer 3 (1810), p. 346. 17 See, among other publications, The Connecticut Evangelical Magazine and Religious Intelligencer 3 (1810), pp. 345–6; 4 (1811), pp. 419–27; 5 (1812), pp. 120 and 264; 5 (1812), pp. 461–71; 6 (1813), pp. 110–15, 232–9, and 350–7. See also The Advisor, or Vermont Evangelical Magazine 2 (1810), p. 351 and p. 353; 3 (1811), pp. 152–3, 344–5, and 374–5; 5 (1813), pp. 87–92, 147–50, 347–51; The Evangelical Magazine and Missionary Chronicle 22 (1814), 198–201 and 221–3; and The Panoplist and Missionary Magazine United, new series 4 (1812), pp. 179–83 and 425–31; 5 (1813), pp. 225–43, 372–7, and 515–25. 18 See J. B. Gillespie, ‘“The Clear Leadings of Providence”: Pious Memoirs and the Problems of Self-Realization for Women in the Early Nineteenth Century’, Journal of the Early Republic 5:2 (Summer 1985), pp. 197–221; and C. Midgley, ‘Can Women Be Missionaries? Envisioning Female Agency in the Early Nineteenth-Century British Empire’, Journal of British Studies 45:2 (2006), pp. 335–58. 19 See M. K. Cayton, ‘Harriet Newell’s Story: Women, the Evangelical Press, and the Foreign Mission Movement’, in R. A. Gross and M. Kelley (eds), A History of the Book in America, Volume 2: An Extensive Republic: Print, Culture, and Society in the New Nation, 1790–1840

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(Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2010), pp. 408–16; and M. K. Cayton, ‘Canonizing Harriet Newell: Women, the Evangelical Press, and the Foreign Mission Movement in New England, 1800–1840’, in B. Reeves-Ellington, K. K. Sklar, and C. A. Shemo (eds), Competing Kingdoms: Women, Mission, Nation, and the American Protestant Empire, 1812–1960 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010), pp. 69–93.

16

HARRIET NEWELL, MEMOIRS OF MRS. HARRIET NEWELL (1815)

Born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, Harriet Atwood (1793–1812) was one of nine children of Moses Atwood and Mary Tenney. Thoughtful and well-educated by the standards of her time, she was profoundly shaped by the wave of religious feeling usually called the Second Great Awakening. In Haverhill, this spirit of religious renewal came in the form of Abraham Burnham, a Congregationalist minister appointed as a preceptor at Bradford Academy, just across the river from Haverhill, in 1805. Newell attended Bradford between 1807 and 1810, where she received an education that was not only superior to the vast majority of American women, but that also stressed the importance of religious seriousness, practice, and action. It was through the romance of her close friend Nancy (‘Ann’) Hasseltine with a student of Andover Theological Seminary, Adoniram Judson, that Harriet Atwood first began to entertain the idea of missionary service. Judson was part of a group of students and ministers calling themselves ‘the Haystack Brethren’, several of whom (including Harriet Atwood’s future husband, Samuel Newell) appeared in 1810 before the Congregationalists’ General Association petitioning for support to do missionary work abroad. They were received enthusiastically, and their testimony contributed to the formation of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. By 1812 things had moved quickly: Adoniram Judson had convinced Ann Hasseltine to marry him and join him as a missionary in the East Indies; and Hasseltine’s decision had inspired Harriet Atwood to consider, and accept, at the age of nineteen, similar proposals to become the wife of Samuel Newell. Harriet Atwood Newell set sail in the Caravan with her fellow missionaries on 19 February 1812; she sighted land 114 days later on 12 June and reached Calcutta (Kolkata) a few days later. She arrived at the last destination, however, in a particularly fraught political situation. The British East India Company was strongly opposed to missions, fearing that they would interfere with its burgeoning opium trade. There was also the prospect of imminent war between the United States and Britain, which rendered the newly arrived missionaries suspected spies and potential enemy combatants. It is hardly surprising, then, that the Newells quickly accepted an invitation to join William Carey, the official English Baptist missionary, at his home in Serampore (a Danish-controlled settlement). There 17

HARRIET NEWELL, MEMOIRS (1815)

they remained until mid-July, when they were officially ordered to leave the British territories. Not wishing to return to America, Samuel Newell negotiated a passage to the Isle of France (Mauritius) to organize a mission there. In an advanced state of pregnancy, Harriet became ill during the voyage. She gave birth prematurely to a daughter, who died shortly thereafter of exposure caused by a violent storm. Harriet died two weeks later, perhaps from sepsis brought on by childbirth in difficult conditions. The first American missionary to die overseas, Harriet Newell could not have foreseen her own posthumous fame or the popularity of her correspondence. While periodicals like The Advisor and The Connecticut Evangelical Magazine and Religious Intelligencer reported on the mission at every stage, publishing letters by Judson and other members as they were received from India, extracts from Harriet Newell’s correspondence and journal did not appear until June 1813, approximately eight months after her death. Whether Harriet Newell gave her permission for the extracts to be published is unclear. Published into the same religious fervour from which she came, their popularity was instantaneous, her premature death transforming her writings into hagiography. On her death Samuel Newell began editing and arranging her papers, which were published with a commemorative sermon as A sermon preached at Haverhill (Mass.) in remembrance of Mrs. Harriet Newell, wife of the Rev. Samuel Newell, missionary to India . . . To which are added Memoirs of her life (Boston: Samuel T. Armstrong, 1814). Over the next three decades at least twelve additional American printings appeared, including separate Andover, New York, Utica, Baltimore, Exeter, Lexington, and Philadelphia editions. Within a year of its initial publication, a London piracy had appeared, British copyright law allowing for any foreign work to be reprinted in the United Kingdom without permission. By 1840 there existed in Britain at least thirty additional printings of the Memoirs, including competing London imprints and multiple Edinburgh, Bristol, and Dublin editions. Our edition takes its copy text from the first London edition, Memoirs of Mrs. Harriet Newell . . . To which is added A Sermon, on Occasion of her Death, Preached at Haverhill, Massachusetts (London: Booth and Co., 1815), which corrects several errors of typography in the American edition and reverses the order of the texts, printing the sermon as an appendix.

18

MEMOI RS OF

Mrs. Harriet Newell, WIFE OF THE

R E V . S A M U E L N E WE L L , AMERICAN MISSIONARY TO INDIA. WHO DIED

AT T H E

ISLE OF FRANCE, Nov. 30, 1812,

AGED NINETEEN YEARS. TO WHICH IS ADDED

A SERMON, ON OCCASION OF HER DEATH, PRE ACHED AT HAVERHI LL, M AS S A C H U S E T T S .

B Y L E O N A R D WO O DS , D. D. Abbot Professor of Christian Theology in the Theol. Sem. Advover.

••• “ God has permitted her to be the first Martyr to the Missionary cause, from the American world. The publication of her virtues will quicken and edify thousands; and hence-forth, every one who remembers Harriet Newell, will remember the foreign Mission from America.”—Vide Funeral Discourse. LONDON: PUBLISHED BY BOOTH AND CO. Duke-street, Manchester-square. And sold by Williams and Son, Stationer's Court; Button, Paternoster-row; Ogle and Co. Holborn and Paternoster-row; Burton and Briggs, Leadenhall-street; Blanshard, City-road; and Nisbet, Castle-street, Oxford-street. 1815. Printed by Paris and Cowell, 19, Great New-street, Fetter-lane.

PREFACE TO

THE ENGLISH EDITION.

THE present Work was brought from America before the ratification of the late Treaty of Peace,1 by a much esteemed friend now in a distant part of the kingdom, and with no view to re-publication. It is not possible, however, to read it, without feeling that it is worthy of extensive circulation; and that the sentiments and events which it narrates are such as must deeply interest every Christian heart. It has, therefore, been put to press; and as the friend to whom I advert, was already employed in writing a work for publication, which engrossed the whole of his leisure, he requested me to undertake the care of preparing it for the eye of the British public. This explanation involves all the interest I have in the present work. When I was solicited to undertake the charge of editing it, it was under the conviction that in a work printed in America, there might possibly occur some things which would invite explanation; but on perusing the piece now offered to the public, there did not appear any strict necessity for remarks of this kind. Not a few readers will perhaps be of opinion, indeed, that there was room for abridgment; but though I myself coincide in this opinion, with regard to Mrs. Newell’s Diary, before she was called to Missionary labours, and with reference to some of her letters, (in which, as she wrote to various friends, there is an occasional repetition of the same facts,) yet I concluded it would be more satisfactory on the whole, to the public at large, to have the work in its unabridged state. It is therefore to be understood, that this impression is an unvarnished transcript of that which was published in America, (with the exception, that here the Memoir takes precedence of the Sermon, which in the New York Edition occupies the first pages.) It was proposed to prefix some account of the Society, under whose sanction Mr. and Mrs. Newell went out, as well as any information respecting Mr. Newell, which might have been subsequently received; but the enquiries made respecting these particulars were not successful. They may probably appear in a subsequent Edition, and in the mean time, any communication connected with them will be gratefully received. 21

HARRIET NEWELL, MEMOIRS (1815)

The amiable character to whose memory these pages are dedicated, will not be unwept or unlamented by British Christians: every feeling heart must be affected by the recital of her sufferings. The former part of her Diary, which was written before she was summoned to Missionary labours, has indeed little to distinguish it from the experience of believers in general; unless it be in the direction which her mind took towards Missions and the Heathen, before she became acquainted with Mr. Newell. No sooner, however, does she dedicate herself to this arduous employment, but from the affectionate associations formed in a reader’s mind, the interesting situation in which we behold her placed, and the feeling and wisdom with which she speaks and acts, her Diary and Letters seem to acquire a new and affecting character. But of this narrative there is no part so deeply touching as the Letter addressed by Mr. Newell to his mother. Hard, indeed, must that heart be, that can remain unmoved when this is perused. In the former part of this Preface, mention was made of the Friend to whom the British Public are more immediately indebted for the publication of this piece. It was the Reverend Joshua Marsden,2 who brought it from America. He himself has borne the sacred appellation of Missionary; and with the appellation, has deeply participated of those trials and perils which checquer the life of a Missionary in a foreign land. For a period of eight years he successfully laboured in that “climate of cold” Nova Scotia. He has preached the Gospel on the Shores of the Gulph of St. Lawrence, on the Bay of Fundy, and on the rivers and lakes of New Brunswick; and when his constitution had received a shock there, and he had requested permission of the British Methodist Conference to return home; he was unexpectedly solicited by the Missionary Committee in London to undertake a very painful Mission to the Bermudas, and to succeed one who had been fined, imprisoned, and eventually banished the island for preaching the Gospel. “Mr. Marsden’s prospects here were at first truly distressing; but faith, patience, and prayer, opened a glimmering of better times: a hope, which after a short season, was abundantly realized.”3 He continued there nearly four years: when returning home to England by the way of America, he was detained prisoner in the United States, during an additional period of two years. This statement is not made with a view merely to eulogize his character. If his labours and his sufferings are registered in the archives of Heaven, it is enough for him: he seeks no praise but that which might have “blossomed in the garden of Eden.” It however affords me pleasure to add, that amid the fatigues which he endured, he was not an idle spectator of what passed around him; and he is now engaged in writing a Narrative of his interesting Mission, accompanied with strictures on the climate, productions, natural curiosities, &c. of those comparatively unknown regions where he laboured; subjects to which his long residence there, as well as the resources of his own mind render him so capable of doing justice. During Mr. Marsden’s late stay in London, I was favoured with the perusal of part of the MS. and I feel no doubt that the work will greatly interest the attention of the Christian World. WILLIAM JAQUES.4 22

ADVERTISEMENT TO T H E

AMERICAN EDITION.

THE following Memoirs of Mrs. NEWELL, are derived almost entirely from her own writings. Nothing has been added but what seemed absolutely necessary, to give the reader a general view of her character, and to explain some particular occurrences, in which she was concerned. These memoirs contain only a part of her letters and journal.5 The whole would have made a large volume. The labour of the compiler has been to select, and occasionally, especially in her earlier writings, to abridge. The letters and journal of this unambitious, delicate female, would have been kept within the circle of her particular friends, had not the closing scenes of her life, and the Missionary zeal, which has recently been kindled in this country, excited in the public mind a lively interest in her character, and given the christian community a kind of property in the productions of her pen. It was thought best to arrange her writings according to the order of time; so that, in a connected series of letters, and extracts from her Diary, the reader might be under advantages to observe the progress of her mind, the developement of her moral worth, and some of the most important events of her life.

23

MEMOIRS OF

MRS. HARRIET NEWELL.

T

subject of these memoirs was a daughter of Mr. MOSES ATWOOD, a merchant of HAVERHILL, MASSACHUSETTS, and was born Oct. 10, 1793. She was naturally cheerful and unreserved; possessed a lively imagination and great sensibility; and early discovered a retentive memory and a taste for reading. Long will she be remembered as a dutiful child and an affectionate sister. She manifested no peculiar and lasting seriousness before the year 1806. In the summer of that year, while at the Academy in Bradford,6 a place highly favoured of the Lord, she first became the subject of those deep religious impressions, which laid the foundation of her christian life. With several of her companions in study, she was roused to attend to the one thing needful. They turned off their eyes from beholding vanity, and employed their leisure in searching the Scriptures, and listening to the instructions of those who were able to direct them in the way of life. A few extracts from letters, which she wrote to Miss L. K. of Bradford, will, in some measure, show the state of her mind at that time. HE

1806. Dear L. I NEED your kind instructions now as much as ever. I should be willing to leave every thing for God; willing to be called by any name which tongue can utter, and to undergo any sufferings, if it would but make me humble, and be for his glory. Do advise me what I shall do for his glory. I care not for myself. Though he lay ever so much upon me, I would be content. Oh, could I but recal this summer!— But it is past, never to return. I have one constant companion, the BIBLE, from which I derive the greatest comfort. This I intend for the future shall guide me. “—— Did you ever read Doddridge’s Sermons to Young People?7 They are very beautiful sermons. It appears strange to me, why I am not more interested in the cause of Christ, when he has done so much for us! But I will form a resolution that I will give myself up entirely to him. Pray for me, that my heart may be changed. I long for the happy hour when we shall be free from all sin, and enjoy God in heaven. 24

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But if it would be for his glory, I should be willing to live my threescore years and ten. My heart bleeds for our companions, who are on the brink of destruction. In what manner shall I speak to them? But perhaps I am in the same way.” In another letter to the same friend, she says,—“What did Paul and Silas say to the jailor?8 Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. Let us do the same. Let us improve the accepted time, and make our peace with God. This day, my L. I have formed a resolution, that I will devote the remainder of my life entirely to the service of my God.—Write to me. Tell me my numerous outward faults; though you know not the faults of my heart, yet tell me all you know, that I may improve. I shall receive it as a token of love.” THE FOLLOWING SUMMARY ACCOUNT OF HER RELIGIOUS EXERCISES WAS FOUND AMONG HER PRIVATE PAPERS.

DIARY. “A REVIEW of past religious experience I have often found useful and encouraging. On this account I have written down the exercises of my mind, hoping that, by frequently reading them, I may be led to adore the riches of sovereign grace, praise the Lord for his former kindness to me, and feel encouraged to persevere in a holy life. “The first ten years of my life were spent in vanity. I was entirely ignorant of the depravity of my heart. The summer that I entered my eleventh year, I attended a dancing school.9 My conscience would sometimes tell me, that my time was foolishly spent; and though I had never heard it intimated that such amusements were criminal, yet I could not rest, until I had solemnly determined that, when the school closed, I would immediately become religious. But these resolutions were not carried into effect. Although I attended every day to secret prayer, and read the Bible with greater attention than before; yet I soon became weary of these exercises, and, by degrees, omitted entirely the duties of the closet. When I entered my thirteenth year, I was sent by my parents to the Academy at Bradford. A revival of religion commenced in the neighbourhood,10 which, in a short time, spread into the school. A large number of the young ladies were anxiously inquiring, what they should do to inherit eternal life. I began to inquire, what can these things mean? My attention was solemnly called to the concerns of my immortal soul. I was a stranger to hope; and I feared the ridicule of my gay companions. My heart was opposed to the character of God; and I felt that, if I continued an enemy to his government, I must eternally perish. My convictions of sin were not so pungent and distressing, as many have had; but they were of long continuance. It was more than three months, before I was brought to cast my soul on the Saviour of sinners; and rely on him alone for salvation. The ecstacies, which many new-born souls possess, were not mine. But if I was not lost in raptures on reflecting upon what I had escaped; I was filled with a sweet peace, a heavenly calmness, which I never 25

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can describe. The honours, applauses, and titles of this vain world, appeared like trifles light as air. The character of Jesus appeared infinitely lovely, and I could say with the Psalmist, Whom have I in heaven but thee; and there is none on earth I desire besides thee.11 The awful gulf, I had escaped, filled me with astonishment. My gay associates were renounced, and the friends of Jesus became my dear friends. The destitute, broken state of the church at Haverhill12 prevented me from openly professing my faith in Jesus; but it was a privilege, which I longed to enjoy. But, alas! these seasons so precious did not long continue. Soon was I led to exclaim,—Oh, that I were as in months past! My zeal for the cause of religion almost entirely abated; while this vain world engrossed my affections, which had been consecrated to my Redeemer. My Bible, once so lovely, was entirely neglected. Novels and romances engaged my thoughts, and hour after hour was foolishly and sinfully spent in the perusal of them. The company of Christians became, by degrees, irksome and unpleasant. I endeavoured to shun them. The voice of conscience would frequently whisper, “all is not right.” Many a sleepless night have I passed after a day of vanity and sin. But such conflicts did not bring me home to the fold, from which, like a stray lamb, I had wandered far away. A religion, which was intimately connected with the amusements of the world, and the friendship of those who are at enmity with God, would have suited well my depraved heart. But I knew that the religion of the gospel was vastly different. It exalts the Creator, while it humbles the creature in the dust. “Such was my awful situation! I lived only to wound the cause of my ever blessed Saviour. Weep, O my soul! when contemplating and recording these sins of my youth. Be astonished at the long suffering of Jehovah!13—How great a God is our God! The death of a beloved parent, and uncle, had but little effect on my hard heart. Though these afflictions moved my passions, they did not lead me to the Fountain of consolation. But God, who is rich in mercy, did not leave me here. He had prepared my heart to receive his grace; and he glorified the riches of his mercy, by carrying on the work. I was providentially invited to visit a friend in Newburyport. I complied with the invitation. The evening previous to my return home, I heard the Rev. Mr. Mac F. It was the 28th of June, 1809. How did the truths, which he delivered, sink deep into my inmost soul! My past transgressions rose like great mountains before me. The most poignant anguish seized my mind; my carnal security fled; and I felt myself a guilty transgressor, naked before a holy God. Mr. B. returned with me the next day to Haverhill. Never, no never, while memory retains her seat in my breast, shall I forget the affectionate manner, in which he addressed me. His conversation had the desired effect. I then made the solemn resolution, as I trust, in the strength of Jesus, that I would make a sincere dedication of my all to my Creator, both for time and eternity. This resolution produced a calm serenity and composure, to which I had long been a stranger. How lovely the way of salvation then appeared!—Oh, how lovely was the character of the Saviour! The duty of professing publicly on which side I was, now was impressed on my mind. I came forward, and offered myself to the church; was accepted; received into communion; and commemorated, for the first time, the dying love of the blessed Jesus, August 6th, 1809. This was a 26

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precious season, long to be remembered!—Oh, the depths of sovereign grace! Eternity will be too short to celebrate the perfections of God. August 27th, 1809. HARRIET ATWOOD.” 1806. Sept. 1. A large number of my companions of both sexes, with whom I have associated this summer, are in deep distress for their immortal souls. Many, who were formerly gay and thoughtless, are now in tears, anxiously inquiring, what they shall do to be saved. Oh, how rich is the mercy of Jesus! He dispenses his favours to whom he pleases, without regard to age or sex. Surely it is a wonderful display of the sovereignty of God, to make me a subject of his kingdom, while many of my companions, far more amiable than I am, are left to grovel in the dust, or to mourn their wretched condition, without one gleam of hope. Sept. 4. I have just parted with my companions, with whom I have spent three months at the academy. I have felt a strong attachment to many of them, particularly to those, who have been hopefully renewed the summer past. But the idea of meeting them in heaven, never more to bid them farewell, silenced every painful thought. Sept. 10. Been indulged with the privilege of visiting a christian friend this afternoon. Sweet indeed to my heart, is the society of the friends of Immanuel. I never knew true joy until I found it in the exercise of religion. Sept. 18. How great are the changes which take place in my mind in the course of one short day! I have felt deeply distressed for the depravity of my heart, and have been ready to despair of the mercy of God. But the light of divine truth, has this evening irradiated my soul, and I have enjoyed such composure as I never knew before. Sept. 20. This has been a happy day to me. When conversing with a Christian friend upon the love of Jesus, I was lost in raptures. My soul rejoiced in the Lord, and joyed in the God of my salvation. A sermon preached by Mr. M. this evening has increased my happiness. This is too much for me, a sinful worm of the dust, deserving only eternal punishment. Lord, it is enough. Oct. 6. The day on which Christ arose from the dead has again returned. How shall I spend it? Oh, how the recollection of mispent Sabbaths, embitters every present enjoyment. With pain do I remember the holy hours which were sinned away. Frequently did I repair to novels, to shorten the irksome hours as they passed. Why was I not cut off in the midst of this my wickedness? Oct. 10. Oh, how much have I enjoyed of God this day! Such views of his holy character, such a desire to glorify his holy name, I never before experienced. Oh, that this frame might continue through life. “My willing soul would stay In such a frame as this, And sit and sing herself away, To everlasting bliss.”14 27

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This is my birth day. Thirteen years of my short life have gone for ever. Oct. 25. Permitted by my heavenly Father once more to hear the gospel’s joyful sound. I have enjoyed greater happiness than tongue can describe. I have indeed been joyful in the house of prayer. Lord let me dwell in thy presence for ever. Nov. 2. How wonderful is the superabounding grace of God!15 Called at an early age to reflect upon my lost condition, and to accept of the terms of salvation, how great are my obligations to live a holy life. Nov. 4. Examination at the Academy. The young ladies to be separated, perhaps, for life. Oh, how affecting the scene! I have bid my companious farewell. Though they are endeared to me by the strongest ties of affection, yet I must be separated from them, perhaps never to meet them more, till the resurrection. The season has been remarkable for religious impressions. But the harvest is past, the summer is ended, and there are numbers who can say, we are not saved. Nov. 25. A dear Christian sister called on me this afternoon. Her pious conversation produced a solemn but pleasing effect upon my mind. Shall I ever be so unspeakably happy as to enjoy the society of holy beings in heaven? “Oh, to grace how great a debtor!”16 Dec. 3. I have had great discoveries of the wickedness of my heart these three days past. But this evening, God has graciously revealed himself to me in the beauty and glory of his character. The Saviour provided for fallen man, is just such a one as I need. He is the one altogether lovely. Dec. 7. With joy we welcome the morning of another Sabbath. Oh, let this holy day be consecrated entirely to God. My Sabbaths on earth will soon be ended; but I look forward with joy unutterable to that holy day, which will never have an end. Dec. 8. This evening has been very pleasantly spent with my companions, H. and S. B. The attachment which commenced as it were in infancy, has been greatly strengthened since their minds have been religiously impressed. How differently are our evenings spent now, from what they formerly were! How many evenings have I spent with them in thoughtless vanity and giddy mirth. We have been united in the service of Satan; Oh, that we might now be united in the service of God! Dec. 11. This morning has been devoted to the work of self-examination. Though I find within me an evil heart of unbelief, prone to depart from the living God, yet I have a hope, a strong, unwavering hope, which I would not renounce for worlds. Bless the Lord, Oh my soul, for this blessed assurance of eternal life. Dec. 15. Grace, free grace is still my song. I am lost in wonder and admiration, when I reflect upon the dealings of God with me. When I meet with my associates, who are involved in nature’s darkness, I am constrained to cry with the poet, “Why was I made to hear thy voice, And enter while there’s room; While thousands make a wretched choice, And rather starve than come?”17 28

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Dec. 31. This day has passed away rapidly and happily. Oh, the real bliss that I have enjoyed; such love to God, such a desire to glorify him, I never possessed before. The hour of sweet release will shortly come; Oh, what joyful tidings. 1807. Jan. 3. A sweet and abiding sense of divine things, still reigns within. Bad health prevented my attending public worship this day. I have enjoyed an unspeakable calmness of mind and a heart burning with love to my exalted Saviour. Oh, how shall I find words to express the grateful feelings of my heart. Oh, for an angel’s tongue to praise and exalt my Jesus. Jan. 5. I have had exalted thoughts of the character of God this day. I have ardently longed to depart and be with Jesus. Jan. 9. How large a share of peace and joy has been mine this evening. The society of Christians delights and animates my heart. Oh, how I love those who love my Redeemer. March 25.18 Humility has been the subject of my meditations this day. I find I have been greatly deficient in this Christian grace. Oh, for that meek and lowly spirit which Jesus exhibited in the days of his flesh. March 25. Little E.’s birth day. Reading of those children who cried Hosanna to the Son of David, when he dwelt on earth, I ardently wished that this dear child might be sanctified. She is not too young to be made a subject of Immanuel’s kingdom.19 May 1. Where is the cross which Christians speak of so frequently? All that I do for Jesus is pleasant. Though, perhaps, I am ridiculed by the gay and thoughtless for my choice of religion, yet the inward comfort which I enjoy, doubly compensates me for all this. I do not wish for the approbation and love of the world, neither for its splendour or riches. For one blest hour at God’s right hand, I’ll give them all away. Extracts from a Letter to her sister M. at Byfield.20 Haverhill, August 26, 1807. —“IN what an important station you are placed! The pupils committed to your care will be either adding to your condemnation in the eternal world, or increasing your everlasting happiness. At the awful tribunal of your Judge you will meet them, and there give an account of the manner in which you have instructed them. Have you given them that advice, which they greatly need? Have you instructed them in religion? Oh, my sister! how earnest, how engaged ought you to be, for their immortal welfare. Recollect the hour is drawing near, when you, and the young ladies committed to your care, must appear before God. If you have invited them to come to the Saviour, and make their peace with him, how happy will you then be! But on the other hand, if you have been negligent, awful will be your situation. May the God of peace be with you! May we meet on the right hand of God, and spend an eternity in rejoicing in his favours.” – HARRIET ATWOOD. 29

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When HARRIET ATWOOD was a member of Bradford Academy, it was customary for her companions in study, whose minds were turned to religious subjects, to maintain a familiar correspondence with each other. A few specimens of the letters or billets, which HARRIET wrote to one of her particular friends at that time, will shew the nature of the correspondence. To Miss F. W.21 of Bradford Academy. Bradford Academy, Sept. 1807. As we are candidates for eternity, how careful ought we to be that religion be our principal concern. Perhaps this night our souls may be required of us—we may end our existence here, and enter the eternal world. Are we prepared to meet our Judge? Do we depend upon Christ’s righteousness for acceptance? Are we convinced of our own sinfulness, and inability to help ourselves? Is Christ’s love esteemed more by us, than the friendship of this world? Do we feel willing to take up our cross daily and follow Jesus? These questions, my dear Miss W. are important, and if we can answer them in the affirmative, we are prepared for God to require our souls of us when he pleases. May the Spirit guide you, and an interest in the Saviour be given you! Adieu. HARRIET. Wednesday afternoon, 3 o’clock. To the Same. Bradford Academy, Sept. 11, 1807. As heirs of immortality, one would naturally imagine we should strive to enter in at the strait gate, and use all our endeavours to be heirs of future happiness. But, alas! how infinitely short do we fall of the duty we owe to God, and to our own souls! O my friend, could you look into my heart, what could you there find but a sinful stupidity, and rebellion against God? But yet I dare to hope! O how surprising, how astonishing is the redemption which Christ has procured, whereby sinners may be reconciled to him, and through his merits dare to hope! O may his death animate us to a holy obedience. H. A. To the Same. Bradford Academy, Sept. 1807. How solemn, my dear Miss W. is the idea, that we must soon part! Solemn as it is, yet what is it, when compared with parting at the bar of God, and being separated through all eternity! Religion is worth our attention, and every moment of our lives ought to be devoted to its concerns. Time is short, but eternity is long; 30

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and when we have once plunged into that fathomless abyss, our situation will never be altered. If we have served God here, and prepared for death, glorious will be our reward hereafter. But if we have not, and have hardened our hearts against the Lord, our day of grace will be past, and our souls irrecoverably lost. Oh then, let us press forward, and seek and serve the Lord here, that we may enjoy him hereafter. Favour me with frequent visits while we are together, and when we part, let epistolary visits22 be constant. Adieu, yours, &c. HARRIET. A very frequent and affectionate correspondence was continued between Harriet Atwood and the same friend, after that young lady left the Academy and returned to Beverly, her place of residence. To the same. Haverhill, Oct. 12, 1807. Once more, my dear Miss W. I take my pen and attempt writing a few lines to you. Shall religion be my theme? What other subject can I choose, that will be of any importance to our immortal souls? How little do we realize that we are probationers for eternity? We have entered upon an existence that will never end; and in the future world shall either enjoy happiness unspeakably great, or suffer misery in the extreme, to all eternity. We have every inducement to awake from the sleep of death, and to engage in the cause of Christ. In this time of awful declension,23 God calls loudly upon us to enlist under his banners, and promote his glory in a sinful, stupid world. If we are brought from a state of darkness into God’s marvellous light, and we are turned from Satan to the Redeemer, how thankful ought we to be. Thousands of our age are at this present period going on in thoughtless security; and why are we not left? It is of God’s infinite mercy and free unbounded grace. Can we not with our whole hearts bow before the King of kings, and say, “not unto us, not unto us, but to thy name be all the glory?”24 Oh, my dear Miss W. why are our affections placed one moment upon this world, when the great things of religion are of such vast importance? Oh, that God would rend his heavens and come down, and awaken our stupid, drowsy senses. What great reason have I to complain of my awfully stubborn will, and mourn my unworthy treatment of the Son of God? Thou alone, dear Jesus, canst soften the heart of stone, and bow the will to thy holy sceptre. Display thy power in our hearts, and make us fit subjects for thy kingdom above. How happy did I feel when I read your affectionate epistle; and that happiness was doubly increased, when you observed that you should, on the sabbath succeeding, be engaged in the solemn transaction of giving yourself to God, publicly in an everlasting covenant.25 My sincere desire and earnest prayer at the throne of grace shall ever be, that you may adorn the profession which you have made, and become an advocate for the religion of Jesus. 31

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Let us obey the solemn admonitions we daily receive, and prepare to meet our God. May the glorious and and blessed Redeemer, who can reconcile rebellious mortals to himself, make us both holy, that we may be happy. Write soon and often. I am yours affectionately, HARRIET ATWOOD. To the Same. Haverhill, Dec. 2, 1807. MOST sincerely do I thank you, my dear Miss W. for your kind and affectionate epistle, which you last favoured me with. Are religion and the concerns of futurity still the object of your attention? New scenes daily open to us, and there is the greatest reason to fear that some of us will fall short at last of an interest in Jesus Christ. A few more rising and setting suns, and we shall be called to give an account to our final Judge, of the manner in which we have improved our probationary state; then, then, the religion which we profess,—will it stand the test? Oh, let us with the greatest care, examine ourselves, and see if our religion will cover us from the storms of divine wrath;—whether our chief desire is to glorify God, to honour his cause, and to become entirely devoted to him. What a word is ETERNITY! Let us reflect upon it; although we cannot penetrate into its unsearchable depths; yet, perhaps, it may have an impressive weight upon our minds, and lead us to a constant preparation for that hour, when we shall enter the confines of that state, and be either happy or miserable through an endless duration. Last evening I attended a conference26 at Mr. H’s. Mr. B. addressed us from these words, “I pray thee have me excused.”27 His design was to shew what excuses the unconverted person will make for not attending to the calls of religion. It was the most solemn conference I ever heard. Oh! my friend, of what infinite importance is it, that we be faithful in the cause of our Master, and use all our endeavours to glorify him, the short space of time we have to live on earth. Oh! may we so live, that when we are called to enter the eternal world, we may with satisfaction give up our accounts, and go where we can behold the King in his glory. We have every thing to engage us in the concerns of our immortal souls. If we will but accept of Christ Jesus as he is freely offered to us in the gospel, committing ourselves unreservedly into his hands, all will be ours; life and death, things present and things to come. We should desire to be holy as God is holy. And in some degree we must be holy, even as he is, or we never can enter that holy habitation where Jesus dwells. Oh! my dear Miss W. I cannot but hope that you are now engaged for Christ, and are determined not to let this world any longer engross your attention. Be constant in prayer. Pray that your friend Harriet may no longer be so stupid and inattentive to the great concerns of religion. Pray that she may be aroused from this lethargic state and attend to Christ’s call. With reluctance I bid you adieu, my dear Miss W. Do favour me with a long epistle; tell me your feelings; how you 32

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view the character of God in the atonement for sinners. May we have a part in that purchase! Remember your friend, HARRIET. To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, Feb. 13, 1808. ACCEPT, my dear Miss W. my sincere thanks for your epistle. Your ideas of the necessity of religion in the last extremity of expiring nature, perfectly coincide with mine. Yes, although we may reject the Saviour, and become engaged in the concerns of this vain and wicked world; although while in youth and health, we may live as though this world were our home; yet, when the hour of dissolution shall draw near, when eternity shall be unfolded to our view, what at that trying moment will be our consolation, but an assurance of pardoned guilt, and an interest in the merits of Christ the Redeemer? We are now probationers for a never-ending state of existence, and are forming characters, upon which our future happiness or misery depends. Oh, if we could only have a sense of these all important considerations!—How criminally stupid are we, when we know that these are eternal realities! Why are we not alive to God and our duty, and dead to sin? This world is a state of trials, a vale of tears, it is not our home. But an eternity of happiness or woe hangs on this inch of time. Soon will our state be unalterably fixed. Oh, let this solemn consideration have its proper weight on our minds, and let us now be wise for eternity. How little are we engaged to promote the interest of religion! At this day, when the love of many waxeth cold,28 and iniquity increaseth, how ought every faculty of our souls to be alive to God. Do write often, and perhaps, the blessing of an all-wise God may attend your epistles. In your earnest supplications at the throne of almighty grace, remember your affectionate, though unworthy friend, HARRIET. P. S. I long to see you, and unfold to you the inmost recesses of my heart. Do make it convenient to visit H.29 this spring, and although it may be unpleasing to you to hear the wickedness of your friend Harriet’s heart, yet perhaps you, my dear Miss W. can say something which will now make me resolve in earnest, that, let others serve whom they will, I will serve the Lord. To the Same. Haverhill, April 20, 1808. THIS morning, my beloved Miss W. your kind epistle was handed me, in which you express a wish, that it might find me engaged in the cause of God. Oh, that your wish could be gratified! But let me tell you, I am still the same careless, inattentive 33

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creature—What in this world can we find capable of satisfying the desires of our immortal souls? Not one of the endowments, which are derived from any thing short of God, will avail us in the solemn and important hour of death. All the vanities, which the world terms accomplishments, will then appear of little value. Yes, my beloved companion, in that moment we shall find that nothing will suffice to hide the real nakedness of the natural mind, but the furnished robe, in which the child of God shines with purest lustre—the Saviour’s righteousness. Oh, that we might, by the assistance of God, deck our souls with the all-perfect rule! Our souls are of infinite importance, and an eternity of misery, “where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched,”30 awaits us, if we do not attend to their concerns. I should be happy, my amiable friend, in visiting you this spring. But with reluctance I must decline your generous offer. A dear and beloved parent is in a declining state31 of health, and we fear, if indulgent Heaven do not interpose, and stop the course of his sickness, death will deprive us of his society, and the grave open to receive him. Oh, that his life might be spared, and his health once more established, to cheer his family and friends! But in all these afflictive dispensations of God’s providence, may it ever be my prayer, “not my will, O Lord! but thine be done.”32 I do not expect to attend Bradford Academy this summer. We shall have a school in Haverhill, which, with my parents’ consent, I expect to attend. Do visit me this spring, my dear Miss W. Your letters are always received with pleasure. My best wishes for your present and eternal happiness attend you. I am yours, &c.

HARRIET.

To Miss C. P. of Newburyport.33 Dear C. Haverhill, Feb. 16, 1808.34 35 SINCE you left us, death has entered our family, and deprived us of an affectionate uncle. After lingering two days after you returned to your friends, he fell asleep, as we trust, in Jesus. Oh, C. could you but have witnessed his dying struggles! Distress and anguish were his constant companions, till about ten minutes before his spirit winged its way to the eternal world; then he was deprived of speech; he looked upon us, closed his eyes, and expired. He would often say, ‘Oh, how I long for the happy hour’s approach, when I shall find a sweet release; but “not my will, but thine, O God, be done!” ’ When we stood weeping around his dying bed, he looked upon us and said, “Mourn not for me, my friends, but mourn for yourselves.”36 Oh my C. let us now be persuaded to lay hold on Jesus, as the only Saviour. If we trust in him for protection, he will preserve us in all the trying scenes of life, and when the hour of dissolution shall come, we shall be enabled to give ourselves to him, and consign our bodies to the tomb with pleasure. What a world is this! full of anxiety and trouble! My dear father is very feeble; a bad cough attends him, which we fear will prove fatal. What a blessing my friend, are parents! Let us attend to their instructions and reproofs, while we possess them, 34

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that, when death shall separate us, we may have no cause for regret that we were undutiful. While we do every thing we can to make them happy, let us remember, that it is God alone can compensate them for their labours of love. Far distant be the hour when either of us shall be called to mourn the loss of our dear parents. Do, my dear C. write to me; tell me if this world does not appear more and more trifling to you. May the sweet influences of the Holy Spirit be shed abroad in your heart. Oh, may happiness attend you in this vale of tears, and may you be conducted to the haven of eternal rest. Accept the wish of your ever affectionate HARRIET. To Miss C. P. of Newburyport. Haverhill, April 24, 1808. ACCEPT, my dear C. my kindest acknowledgments for your last affectionate epistle; in the perusal of which, I had the most pleasing sensations. You observed, your contemplations had frequently dwelt on those hours we spent in each others’ society, while at Bradford Academy; and that you regretted the mis-improvement of them. Alas! how many hours have we spent in trifling conversation, which will avail us nothing. Let our imaginations often wing their way back to those hours, which can never be recalled. “Tis greatly wise, to talk with our past hours, And ask them what report they’ve borne to heaven, And how they might have borne more welcome news.”37 Will the recollection of the moments that are now speeding their flight, afford satisfaction at the last? Oh, that we might improve our time and talents to the glory of God, that the review of them may be pleasing. You ask me to write to you, and to write something that will awaken you from stupidity. I would, my dear C. but I am still in the same careless state. My father still remains in a critical situation. Permit me to request an interest in your prayers for him; but be assured, there is none they will be more serviceable to, than your dear friend, HARRIET. To Miss F. W. of Beverly. AFTER

T H E D E AT H O F H E R FAT H E R

Haverhill, May 24, 1808. IN the late trying and afflictive scenes of God’s providence, which I have been called to pass through, I have flattered myself, that the tenderest sympathy has 35

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been awakened in the heart of my beloved F. Oh my companion! this is a scene peculiarly trying to me. How much do my circumstances require every divine consolation and direction, to make this death a salutary warning to me. The guardian of my tender years, he who, under God, has been made an instrument in giving me existence, my father, my nearest earthly friend, where is he? The cold clods of the valley cover him, and the worms feed upon his cold and lifeless body. Can it be, that I am left fatherless? Heart-rending reflection! Oh my dear, dear Miss W. may you never be left to mourn the loss which I now experience! Oh, that your parents may be spared to you, and you ever honour them, and be a blessing to them, even in their declining years. Glance a thought on nine fatherless children, and a widowed and afflicted mother. But if we are fatherless, Oh, may we never be friendless! May He who has promised to be the father of the fatherless, and the widow’s God,38 enable us to rely upon him, and receive grace to help in this time of need; and although the present affliction is not joyous, but grievous, Oh that it may be instrumental in working out a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Do come and see me—I long once more to embrace my friend, and to tell her what I owe her for all her favours. Adieu, my beloved Miss W. receive this as a token of renewed affection from your, HARRIET. Respects to your parents and love to sister N. From some passages in the foregoing papers, and also from what follows, it appears, that during the year 1808, she was in a state of religious declension and darkness.39 According to the statement of one who was competent to testify— “She appeared gradually to lose her fondness for retirement, and her delight in the Scriptures, and associated more freely with her former gay companions. But nothing was manifested, which afforded any just ground for suspecting her sincerity.” What views she entertained of that state of declension, and by what means she was recovered to duty and comfort, will appear from some of the following letters and from her diary.

My dear C.

To Miss C. P. of Newburyport. Haverhill, Feb. 27, 1809.

WHAT have you been reading this winter? I presume you have had sufficient time to improve your mind in the study of history, &c. For my part, I know not what to say. A constant round of worldly engagements and occupations have, I fear, engrossed far too much of my time. I have of late been quite interested in reading Miss Helen Maria Williams’s Letters on the French Revolution,40 and am now reading Rollin’s Ancient History.41 In the morning of life, when no perplexing cares interrupt or vex our minds, we should spend every moment of our time in improving our minds, by reading, or 36

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attending to conversation that is beneficial. Our time is short! Perhaps we may be cut off in the morning of our days. Oh that we might improve each moment of our lives, “And make each day a critic on the last.”42 Adieu, I am, &c. HARRIET.

1809. July 1. God has been pleased in infinite mercy, again to call up my attention to eternal realities. After spending more than a year, in the vanities of the world— thoughtless and unconcerned respecting my eternal welfare, he has, as I humbly trust, showed me my awful backslidings from him, and my dependance upon his grace for every blessing. I do now, in the strength of Jesus, resolve, that I will no longer sacrifice my immortal soul for what I have hitherto deemed my temporal happiness. Oh, that I might be enabled to come out from the world, and to profess Christ as my Redeemer before multitudes. I now see, that I have enjoyed no happiness in my pursuit of worldly pleasure. Not in the play-room, not in the vain and idle conversation of my companions, not in the bustle of a crowded life, have I found happiness. This heaven-born guest is found only in the bosom of the child of Jesus. How awfully aggravated will be my condemnation, if I do not, after this second call, awaken all my drowsy faculties, and become earnestly engaged for God. July 10. How foolishly, how wickedly have I spent this day! What have I done for God? Nothing I fear. Oh, how many mispent days shall I have to answer for, at the tribunal of a holy Judge! Then how does it become me, to set a watch upon my behaviour; as one that must shortly give an account to God. Oh, thou blessed Jesus! grant thy assistance, that I may live as I ought. July 16. Sabbath morn. Solemnly impressed with a sense of my duty to God, I entered his holy courts this morning. What am I, that I should be blessed with the gospel’s joyful sound, while so many are now perishing in heathen darkness for lack of the knowledge of Christ.43 Sabbath eve. I have now offered myself to the Church of God, and have been assisted by him. Perhaps they will not receive me; but, O God! wilt thou accept me through a Mediator? I have now let my companions see, I am not ashamed of Jesus. Oh, that I might not dishonour the cause I am about professing! In Christ alone, will I put my trust, and rely entirely on his righteousness for the pardon of my aggravated transgressions.44 July 17. Have spent the day at home. I think I have enjoyed something of God’s presence. Felt a disposition frequently to call upon him by prayer and supplication. July 18. At this late hour, when no one beholdeth me but God, how solemnly, how sincerely ought I to be engaged for him? The family are retired to rest. The darkness and silence of the night, and the reflection, that the night of death will soon overtake me, conspire to solemnize my 37

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mind. What have I done this day for God? Have I lived as a stranger and pilgrim on the earth; as one that must soon leave this world, and “go the way from whence no traveller returns?”45 Oh that I were more engaged for God—more engaged to promote his cause, in the midst of a perverse generation! July 20. This evening, I had a most solemn meeting with one of my dear and most intimate companions. I warned her in the most expressive language of my heart, to repent. She appeared affected. I left her; and after returning home, I trust, I was enabled to commend her to the God of infinite mercy, and to wrestle with him for her conviction and conversion. July 22. Was informed that ––— appeared serious and unusually affected. Oh, that God might work a work of grace in his heart, and enable him to resign all earthly vanities, for an interest in the great Redeemer. He has talents, which if abused, will only add to his everlasting condemnation. Oh, thou God of infinite mercy!—thou who hast had pity on me, show him mercy, and awaken him to a sense of his situation, before the things that concern his peace are hid for ever from his eyes. July 30. Sabbath day. Arose this morning, but little impressed with a sense of the duties before me, upon this holy day. My health obliged me to decline going to the house of God, in the morning. But I think I could say, it was good for me to be afflicted. God was graciously pleased to assist me in calling upon his name, and permitted me to wrestle with him in prayer46 for the prosperity of Zion,47 and for the conversion of sinners. I felt a desire that every one of my friends might be brought to a knowledge of the truth. This afternoon I have attended meeting,48 and heard a most excellent sermon, preached by Mr. W. from Matt. xxvi. 6–13.49 He passed the Sabbath with us, and gave us excellent instructions. But of what use are advice and religious conversation to me, if I do not improve them as I ought? These instructions will rise up in judgment against me, and condemn me, if I am not, indeed, a child of God. Oh, for a heart to love God more, and live more to his glory! How can I hope to enter that heavenly rest, prepared for the people of Jesus, when I so often transgress his laws! Aug. 6. Lord’s day morning. Upon this sacred morning, Oh that the Holy Spirit of God would enliven and animate my cold and stupid affections. Oh, that I might this day enter his earthly courts, worship him in an acceptable manner, profess his name before a scoffing world, sit down at his table, and partake, in faith, of the body and blood of Jesus. Sabbath eve. And now I have entered into the most solemn engagement to be the Lord’s. I have confessed Christ before the world—I have renounced my wicked companions—I have solemnly promised, that denying ungodliness and every worldly lust, I will live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world. If I should, after taking these solemn vows and covenant engagements upon me, dishonour the cause of my Redeemer; if I should give the enemies of religion reason to say, there is nothing in religion; if I should again return to my former courses, Oh, how dreadfully aggravated will be my condemnation! What 38

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excuse could I render at the tribunal of a just Judge? My mouth would be stopped, and I should plead guilty before him. How then does it become me to watch and pray, lest the devices of Satan, the world, or my own remaining corruptions should lead me into temptation! In thee, O God, do I put my trust! from thee do I hope to obtain mercy in the day of retribution! Aug. 10. How stupid, how cold I grow! Where is that fervour, that zeal, that animation, I ought to have, after professing to know and receive Jesus, as my Redeemer? How alluring are the vanities of time! How prone my heart to wander from God! How ready to engage in the trifles of this wicked world! Descend, thou Holy Spirit: breathe into my soul a flame of ardent love; let not my affections wander from the one and only thing that is needful. To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, August, 1809—Sabbath morn. A FEW moments this sacred morning shall be devoted to my beloved Miss W. After discontinuing for so long a time our correspondence, I again address you. By the endearing title of a friend, I again attempt to lay open my heart before you. But what shall I say? Shall I tell you, that since I last saw you, I have made great progress in divine grace? To you, my ever dear friend, will I unbosom my heart; to you will I describe my feelings. Yes; I will tell you what GOD has done for my soul. About six weeks since he was pleased, in infinite mercy, again to call up my attention to the concerns of my soul; again to show me the evil of my ways. I have now publicly confessed my faith in him. I have taken the vows of the covenant upon me, and solemnly surrendered myself to him, eternally. Oh! Miss W. should I now be left to dishonour this holy cause, what would be my eternal condemnation? Oh! pray for me. Entreat God to have mercy upon me, and keep me from falling. After I left you at the Academy, I by degrees grew more and more neglectful of serious and eternal realities. When I review the past year of my life; when I reflect upon the wound I have brought upon the blessed religion of Jesus, I am constrained to cry, why has God extended his mercy to the vilest of the race of Adam? Why has he again showed favour to me, after I have so wickedly abused his precious invitations and grieved his Holy Spirit? It is a God, who is rich in mercy, abundant in goodness, and of great compassion, that has done these great things, as I trust, for me. How can I be too much engaged for him, too much conformed to his holy will, after these abundant manifestations of his love and mercy? Oh, that I could spend my few remaining days as I ought, even entirely devoted to the delightful service of the dear Redeemer. Sabbath eve. I have just returned from the house of God, where I have heard two excellent sermons preached by our beloved pastor.50 What unspeakable privileges we enjoy! The Gospel trump51 is sounding in our ears; Jesus is proclaimed as “ready and willing to save all those that come unto God by him.”52 And why, 39

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my dear Miss W. are not these privileges taken from us, and given to the Heathen, who have never heard of a Saviour, and are perishing for lack of knowledge?53 God is indulging us with them for wise and holy ends. And if we do not estimate them according to their real value, and improve under the calls and invitations of the Gospel, there will remain for us “no more sacrifice, but a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation.”54 When sitting beneath the Gospel’s joyful sound, I think I can never again be careless or inattentive to religious concerns. But how soon does the world intervene between God and my soul! How soon do the trifling vanities of time engross my affections. Oh, my dear friend! did you know the temptations with which I am surrounded, I am confident you would pity me, and intercede for me at the throne of grace. But I have this consolation—Jesus was tempted while on earth; he pities his tempted saints, and will surely enable them to persevere unto the end. “He knows what sore temptations mean, For he has felt the same.”55 I long, dear Miss W. to see you. I long to converse with you on the great importance of being really children of God. I long for your assistance while wandering in this wilderness. I think, if I know my heart, I can say, I do love God and his children. If I do not love him, if I do not love his image whenever I see it, I know not what I love. Though Providence sees fit to separate us, yet let us be active in our endeavours to assist each other in our journey to the heavenly Canaan, by our letters and our prayers. I have now opened to you my heart. Do write to me; do instruct me in the important doctrines of the Gospel. May your journey in this vale of tears be sweetened by the presence of the blessed Jesus! May you go on from strength to strength, and when you are released from this burden of clay, appear in the heavenly Jerusalem before God, and spend an eternity at his right hand, where is fulness of joy! Adieu. I am yours, &c. HARRIET ATWOOD.

1809. Aug. 13. Again have I enjoyed sabbath and sanctuary privileges. But my heart— alas! how can I live in such dreadful stupidity! Awaken, O God, my drowsy powers! animate and warm these cold and languid affections! Why are not my privileges taken from me, and given to the Heathen? Aug. 18. I have been this day in the company of some of my young and gay companions. Oh! why did I neglect, faithfully, to warn them of their danger, and entreat them to repent? How foolish, how trifling is the conversation of the children of this world! Give me but my BIBLE, and my retirement; and I would willingly surrender every thing else on earth. 40

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Aug. 26. How fleeting are the days appointed to mortals! Another week has glided away. It becomes me to ask myself, have I lived to the glory of God? What have I done in the service of Him, who has done so much for me, even laid down his precious life, to redeem my soul? What answer does conscience make? Oh, that I could be enabled to come to that fountain56 which is open for Judah and Jerusalem to wash in, and cleanse my soul from all pollution! The time, which ought to have been spent in the service of a holy God, has been trifled away in the vanities of a wicked world. Aug. 27. Have again been indulged with sabbath and sanctuary privileges. The gospel trump has again sounded in my ears. Christians have been called to be more engaged in the cause of Jesus; and sinners have been affectionately urged to attend to the concerns of their never-dying souls. Mr. D. addressed us from these words; “Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked.”57 Afternoon—“As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men.”58 He explained the various duties incumbent on Christians, whereby they might do good unto their fellow mortals. Let me examine my own heart. Have I done good, according to the ability with which God has blessed me, to the souls of my friends and acquaintance? How much reason have I to complain of my unfruitfulness; of my little engagedness in prayer! Awaken in me, O thou that hearest prayer! a disposition to cry, in earnest, for the salvation of souls. Oh, that I might realize the greatness of the privilege, with which the blessed Jehovah has indulged me, in giving me a throne of grace through the mediation of Jesus. Aug. 28. I awoke last night, and spent a most delightful hour in contemplating divine truth. The words of David flowed sweetly through my mind, “In the multitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts delight my soul.”59 Most willingly would I resign all earthly pleasures for one such hour in communion with my God. Sept. 29. Mr. T. preached our preparatory lecture this afternoon. Text, “Jesus answered and said, my kingdom is not of this world.”60 Examined myself strictly by this question; Am I indeed a real member of Christ’s kingdom? If I am, why are my affections so languid—my heart so cold—my desires so few for the enlargement of Christ’s kingdom? Why is my heart so prone to leave God? Why am I so interested in the concerns of time and sense—and why are the important concerns of my soul so little regarded? Decide, dearest Jesus, the doubtful case! If I never yet have tasted and seen that thou art gracious, oh, let me now, before it be for ever too late! Attended our conference this evening. I think I enjoyed what the world could neither give, nor take away. Sept. 30. How inestimable the blessing of a sincere, a pious friend! Drank tea with Mrs. M. In the most friendly manner she spoke of my former conduct, and tenderly reproved me for an incident which occurred the past day. I acknowledged my fault, confessed my obligations to her for her advice, and sensibly felt the importance of watchfulness and prayer, that I might be kept from entering into temptation. May the review of my former life, serve to humble me in the dust before God, and make me more active than ever in his blessed service! 41

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Oct. 1. The vanities of time have engaged too great a share of my affections. The concerns of my soul have been too much neglected. Oh, for the invigorating influences of the Holy Spirit, to animate my drowsy faculties! Time is short—this month, perhaps, may be my last. Have again been permitted to sit down at the table of the Lord. Oh, how unworthy am I of these precious privileges! Why am I suffered to enjoy them? Have this day heard a most solemn discourse preached by Mr. D. from these words, “Unto you, Oh, men I call, and my voice is unto the sons of men.”61 He mentioned the dying exercises of a Mr. B. whose remains were committed to the tomb the Saturday preceding. His resignation to the Divine will was remarkable. In his dying moments, he warned his young companions of their danger, while out of Christ. May this solemn stroke of Providence be sanctified to the young people in this place! Oh, that God, in infinite mercy, would be pleased to bring it near my heart, and make it the means of weaning me from this world, and preparing me for the enjoyment of his celestial kingdom! Oct. 7. Another week has rolled away, and my probationary existence is still lengthened out. But to what purpose do I live? Why am I supported in this world of hope, when I am daily transgressing the laws of a holy God, and grieving his blessed Spirit? Astonishing grace! Wonderful compassion, that still prolongs my days, after such rebellion! Spare me, Oh my God, spare me yet a little longer, and by thy grace enable me to do some little work in thy vineyard. Oct. 12. Attended another of our conferrences. But how stupid have I felt this evening! It is perfectly just that I should not have enjoyed the light of God’s countenance; for I had no heart to ask him, to make the evening profitable to my own soul, or to the souls of others. Prayer is the breath of the Christian; when that is omitted, farewell enjoyment. To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, Oct. 12, 1809. The pleasing sensations, dear Miss W. which your letter excited, can better be conceived than described. Your affectionate advice I sincerely thank you for. And Oh! that I might be enabled to follow it. But what shall I write you? Shall I tell you I grow in grace and in conformity to God? Alas! I still have reason to lament my awful stupidity, my distance from God, and in the language of the publican, to cry, “God be merciful to me a sinner.”62 “Laden with guilt, a heavy load;”63 oppressed with the temptations of a subtle adversary, the world ever ready to call my affections, how can I be supported? But here, my friend, I find there is a way provided whereby God can be just and yet justify even me. In the redemption a Saviour has purchased there is an infinite fulness, sufficient to supply all our wants. On the precious mount of Calvary hangs all my hope. In his atoning blood, who suffered and died, my sins can be washed away; and however vile and loathsome in myself, in him I can find cleansing. What wonderful compassion is displayed in the plan of Salvation! That the Maker and Preserver of the universe having all 42

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things under his controul, should not spare even his own son, but deliver him up to die on the accursed tree, for mortals who had transgressed his law, and deserved eternal misery! This mystery of mysteries the angels desire to look into. That the just should endure the agonies of a painful and ignominious death for the unjust, is what we cannot comprehend. But my friend, what must be our situation to all eternity, if after such wonderful compassion, we should fall short of an interest in the death of Jesus? How awful must be the sentence that will be passed upon us who sit under the Gospel’s joyful sound, if we slight the offers of salvation? Oh, may this never be our situation! But by unfeigned repentance and cordial submission to the blessed Redeemer, and by lives spent in his service, Oh, may we be prepared to join the society of the redeemed above! Yesterday afternoon I attended a Lecture in the Academy at Bradford. The emotions which vibrated in my mind, while sitting in this seminary of learning, I cannot describe. Imagination recalled those scenes which I had witnessed in that place. That season was a precious one to many souls, when the Spirit of God moved among us, and compelled sinners to tremble and earnestly inquire what they should do to inherit eternal life. But those days are past. No more do I hear my companions exclaiming, “Who can dwell with devouring fire? Who can inherit everlasting burnings?”64 No more do I hear souls, who for years have been under the bondage of sin, exclaim, “Come, and I will tell you what God hath done for me.”65 He has, I hope, “delivered me from the horrible pit and miry clay; has established my goings, and put a new song into my mouth, even praise to his name.”66 But under these general declensions from the truth of the Gospel, still “the Lord doeth all things well.”67 He will revive his work in his own time. He will repair the waste places of Zion, and sinners will again flock unto him as clouds, and as doves to their windows. And blessed be his name he makes his children the honoured instruments in building up his kingdom. Let us then, my dear Miss W. exert all our faculties to promote his cause. Let us warn sinners of their danger, and walk worthy of the vocation wherewith we are called. Wishing you the light of God’s countenance, I bid you adieu. HARRIET. 1809. Oct. 19. Drank tea with mamma, at Mrs. C.’s. A conference there in the evening. Mr. D. paraphrased the Lord’s prayer; and was enabled to wrestle fervently with his divine Master, for the revival of religion in this place. As for myself, I felt stupid,— could easily trace the cause of my feelings: Had no opportunity, this day, of pouring out my soul to God in prayer. My mother insisted on my accompanying her to Mrs. C.’s; I did, though with as great reluctance as I ever obeyed a command of hers. I know by experience, that no opportunities for improvement do me any good, unless the divine blessing is previously requested. “Restraining prayer, we cease to fight, Prayer makes the Christian’s armour bright: 43

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And Satan trembles, when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.”68 Oct. 21. This day, God, in infinite mercy, has seen fit to grant me near access to his mercy seat. I have been enabled to call upon his name, and to plead with him, for his spiritual Jerusalem. Oh, that he would hear and accept my feeble petitions, and answer them for his own name’s sake! Oct. 23. Have just returned from our reading-society;69 and feel condemned for my gaiety and light conduct, before my companions. Have found nothing this evening to satisfy the desires of my soul. Greatly fear, that I have brought a wound upon the cause of the blessed Immanuel. Oh, that I might be enabled to glorify God, by my future devotedness to him. Oct. 27. Two servants of Jesus Christ, called upon us this afternoon, Mr. W. and Mr. E.70 Their conversation was very interesting and instructive. Mr. W. informed us of the serious attention that appeared to be commencing in A.71 Oh, that Jehovah would pour down his Spirit there! Oh, that he would ride from conquering to conquer, and make, not only A. a place of his power, but Haverhill also! Arise, blessed Jesus! plead thine own cause, and have mercy upon Zion. Now when men are making void thy law, arise! build up thy spiritual Jerusalem, and let her no longer mourn, “because so few come to her solemn feasts.” Oct. 30. Have just returned from our reading-society. Have nothing to complain of this evening but my gaiety and lightness. Ramsay’s History of Washington was introduced. The meeting very regular and orderly. Sincerely wish it might be the means of improving our minds in the knowledge of our own, and other countries. And Oh, that from a knowledge of the world which God has made, our minds might be led to the Creator! Oct. 31. Have spent this day prayerless and stupid. Oh, that I were, “as in months past,”72 when I felt a spirit of prayer, for the interest of Zion; for the salvation of immortal souls! Nov. 6. Our reading society met this evening. Have just returned home:—find little or no satisfaction in the review. Although the company were light and gay, I pitied them, and in my heart commended them to God. But I fear I countenanced them, and gave them reason to say of me, “what do you, more than others?” Possessed naturally of such a rude and ungovernable disposition, I sometimes find it difficult to keep within proper bounds. Often does my heart condemn me for my trifling conduct; conscience reproaches; and frequently, I am led to the conclusion that I will no more leave the residence of my mother; have no more to do with the world, but seclude myself, and spend my few remaining days, entirely devoted to the Best of beings. But this will not be following the example of the blessed Jesus. No, while I am in the world, let it be my constant endeavour, to do all the good I can to my fellow mortals; to rise above its frowns and flatteries; and give no occasion for any reproach to be brought upon the cause of religion. 44

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Nov. 8. My dear friend, and as I humbly trust my spiritual father, Mr. B. called upon us, a few moments.73 He expects to preach for Mr. D. next Sabbath. On seeing him, I could not but recal the many different scenes that passed while under his instructions. But those scenes remain in remembrance only. No more, I hear my companions exclaiming, “What shall I do to inherit eternal life.”74 No more, I hear them telling to all around them, what the Redeemer has done for their souls. That was indeed a precious season to many, and will be remembered with joy to all eternity. But to some, the privileges of that season, will, I fear, be the means of sinking them lower in eternal torments!! Dreadful thought! Nov. 12. This has indeed been a blessed day to my soul, though I have been afflicted with a severe pain in my head. Attended public worship; heard two solemn sermons from our dear friend Mr. B. What a striking instance is it, of the awful hardness of the heart, that when the terrors of the Almighty are set before mortals, and they are told by God’s faithful servants, their awful situation, while unreconciled to the divine character, that it has so little effect upon them. Nov. 13. A severe head-ache still attends me; but I desire to be submissive to the will of God, and bear without murmuring, whatever he sees fit to lay upon me. His ways are best: and he has graciously promised, “that all things shall work together for good to those that love him.”75 But do I love him? Have I that love to him, that will enable me to keep all his commandments? Do I love him with all my heart, having no rival in my affections? “Search me, Oh God, and know me;”76 try me by thy Spirit, and lead me in the way of eternal life. Nov. 16. Have just returned from singing school. Surrounded by my gay companions. I have found that I could place no dependance on my own strength; without the assistance of Jesus, I shall fall into temptation, and wound his cause. To Miss C. F. of Boston. Haverhill. Not dated. PARDON, dearest C. the long silence of your friend Harriet. Although I have omitted answering your affectionate epistle, my heart has been often with you. Yes, C. often have I fancied seeing you, engaged to promote the cause of the blessed Immanuel, solemnly renouncing the vanities of an alluring world, and taking the decided part of a child of God. Oh, may you be enabled to follow on to know the Lord, and constantly live as a disciple of the meek and lowly Jesus! I sincerely and ardently wish you the aid of the Holy Spirit, and a heart habitually conformed to the holy character of God. Great and precious are the promises, an infinitely merciful Jehovah has made in his Word, to those who persevere in welldoing. But how great the guilt, and how aggravated must be the condemnation of those, who are represented as being often reproved, and yet harden their hearts against God? While we hear the denunciations of God’s wrath to the finally impenitent, let us, my friend, be active to secure an interest in his favour. Then, let what will befal us in this life, our souls will rest safe on the rock of ages; Jesus will be our guide 45

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and friend through earth’s tedious pilgrimage; he will be our support through the valley of the shadow of death;77 and when released from this clayey tenement, will admit us to the new and heavenly Jerusalem. Upon reviewing the scenes of the past, I find but little or no satisfaction. A hard, impenitent heart, an engagedness in the concerns of time and sense, and an awful stupidity respecting eternity I have this day felt. Oh, C. I am astonished when I view the feelings of my heart! But still more am I astonished, when I reflect upon the forbearance of God, who still supports me in existence, still indulges me with the day and means of grace. Thursday morning. Yesterday I attended a fast at the West parish. Heard one most excellent sermon, and a number of interesting addresses. The exercises were very solemn and instructive. I long to have you with us. Since I last saw you, we have been highly favoured by God. Oh, that he would hasten that happy period, when the whole earth shall be brought to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. Let us frequently and earnestly intercede at the throne of grace, for the commencement of the Millennium.78 Wishing you the light of God’s countenance, and a heart to labour aright in his vineyard, I bid you, my friend, an affectionate farewell. Yours, &c. HARRIET. To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, Sabbath eve, Nov. 26, 1809. I HAVE this moment received, dear Miss W. your inestimable letter; in which you affectionately congratulate me on the happiness of “tasting that the Lord is gracious.”79 Assailed by temptations, surrounded with the gay and thoughtless, and with but few of the humble followers of the Lamb to guide me in the path of duty, or to instruct me in the great things of the kingdom, what feelings do I experience, when receiving from my beloved friend, a letter, filled not only with assurances of continued affection, but with encomiums upon the character of the dear Immanuel, as being “the chief among ten thousands and altogether lovely.”80 Often does my heart glow with gratitude to the Parent of mercies, for bestowing on me such a favour, as one friend to whom I can disclose the secret recesses of my heart, and with whom I can converse upon the important doctrines of the gospel, and an eternal state of felicity prepared for those, whose “robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb.”81 Have you not, my friend, often felt, when conversing upon these great truths, a flame of divine love kindle in your heart; and have you not solemnly resolved, that you would live nearer to the blessed Jehovah? I have this day been permitted to worship God in his earthly courts. How unspeakably great are the privileges with which we are indulged, in this land of gospel light! The Sabbath before last, Mr. B. exchanged with Mr. D. Oh, my beloved Miss W. could you have heard the important truths he preached, the impressive manner 46

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in which he held forth the terrors of God to the impenitent, and the necessity of immediate repentance, surely, it must to you have been a blessed season. But it had no visible effect upon the minds of the people here. A dreadful inattention to religion still prevails. The youth are very thoughtless and gay; “iniquity abounds, and the love of many waxes cold.”82 But there are, as I humbly trust, a pious few, who are daily making intercession at the throne of grace, for the prosperity of Zion. What encouragement have we, my dear friend, to wrestle at the throne of mercy, for renewing and sanctifying grace, for ourselves and the whole Israel of God: even in times of the greatest declension. Jehovah hath promised, that he will hear the prayers of his children; and that if offered up in sincerity of heart, he will, in his own time, send gracious answers. Next Friday evening, it being the evening after Thanksgiving, a ball83 is appointed in this place. I think it probable that E. whom you once saw anxiously inquiring, what she should do to inherit eternal life? will attend. Oh, my beloved friend, you cannot know my feelings. It is dreadful to see mortals bound to eternity, spending their lives with no apparent concern about their never-dying souls. But it is, if possible, more dreadful to see those, who have “put their hands to the plough, look back; or being often reproved, harden their hearts against God.”84 How unsearchable are the ways of Jehovah! When I look around me, and see so many of my friends and companions, who are by nature endowed with much greater talents than I am, and who would, if partakers of the grace of God, be made the instruments of doing so much more good in the world, left in a state of sin, I am constrained to say, “Why was I made to hear thy voice, And enter while there’s room; When thousands make a wretched choice, And rather starve than come.”85 I could, my dear Miss W. write you all night: but a violent head-ache has attended me this day, and wearied nature requires repose. I sincerely thank you, for the affectionate invitation you have given me to visit you. I wish it were possible for me to comply with your request; perhaps I may, this winter; but I shall not place much dependance upon it, as every thing is so uncertain. Do, my friend, visit Haverhill.—I long to see you: but if Providence has determined we shall never meet again in this world, Oh, may we meet in our heavenly Father’s kingdom, and never more endure a separation. In haste. I am, yours, &c. HARRIET. 1809. Dec. 1. This evening a ball is appointed at ———. My dear ——— will probably attend. I have resolved to devote some part of the evening in praying particularly for them. Oh, that God would stop them in the midst of their sinful career, and let 47

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them no longer spend their precious moments in following the pleasures of this vain world! Dec. 31. I have now come to the close of another year. How various have been the scenes which I have been called to pass through this year! But what have I done for God? what for the interest of religion? and what for my own soul? I have passed through one of the most solemn scenes of my life—I have taken the sacramental covenant upon me—I have solemnly joined myself to the Church of the blessed Jesus. Oh! that I might now, as in the presence of the great Jehovah, and his holy angels, with penitential sorrow, confess my past ingratitude, and in humble reliance on the strength of Jesus, resolve to devote the ensuing year, and the remaining part of my days to his service. 1810. Feb. 10. What great reason have I for thankfulness to God, that I am still in the land of the living, and have another opportunity of recording with my pen, his tender mercy and loving kindness! I have been, for almost five weeks, unable to write; and for a week confined to my bed. But JESUS has undertaken to be my Physician; he has graciously restored me to health; and when greatly distressed with pain, he has afforded me the sweet consolations of the Spirit, and brought me willingly to resign my soul into his arms, and wait the event of his Providence, whether life or death. Oh, that this sickness might be for my eternal good! may it be made the means of weaning me from all terrestrial enjoyments, and of fixing my hope and trust in the merits of Jesus! Then should I have cause to bless God, for his chastening rod, and through eternity, count all these afflictive dispensations as great mercies. Feb. 18. How easily can God disconcert the plans formed by short-sighted mortals! I had fondly flattered myself, that before this, I should have met with the assembly of the saints, and have sitten under the droppings of the sanctuary;—that I should have joined my Christian friends, in their social conference, and heard the truths of the gospel explained by our dear Pastor. But Jehovah determined otherwise. He has again laid his chastising rod upon me, by afflicting me with sickness and pain. But, “I will bear the indignation of the Lord, because I have sinned against him.”86 I have a renewed opportunity of examining my submission to God; and do now, as in his presence, renewedly resolve to devote myself a living sacrifice to him. I think I can say, that afflictions are good for me. In times of the greatest distress, I have been brought to cry within myself; “It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good.”87 I think I am willing to bear whatever God sees fit to lay upon me. Let my dear heavenly Father inflict the keenest anguish, I will submit; for he is infinitely excellent, and can do nothing wrong. Feb. 25. With the light of this holy morning, I desire to offer to the kind Shepherd of Israel,88 who never slumbers nor sleeps, a morning tribute of thanksgiving and praise. Oh that my whole soul might be drawn out in love to God; and may 48

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all my faculties unite with the inhabitants of the New Jerusalem, in praising the immortal King, for what he has done, and still is doing for rebellious man! But I fall infinitely short of the honour due to his glorious name. When shall I arrive at the destined port of rest, and with the blood-washed millions,89 praise the Lamb of God for redeeming love? Hasten, blessed Immanuel, that glorious period, when all thy exile children shall arrive at their eternal home! Oh, for a tongue to sound aloud the honours of the dear Jesus! March 2. Have, this afternoon, been solemnly admonished, by seeing the remains of Mr. E. carried by the house. And can it be that I, who am now so actively engaged in the affairs of this world, shall shortly be conveyed, on a bier, to the cold grave? Yes, the righteous Judge has declared to the race of Adam, “dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”90 Soon this sentence will be executed upon me. Prepare, O my soul, to meet thy God! March 6. What unspeakable consolation does it afford the children of God, to reflect that the great Jehovah is carrying on his work of grace; that earth and hell combined, cannot hinder what he has designed to accomplish. March 10. How awfully depraved is the natural heart! Every day I can see more and more of my own apostasy from God. Break, compassionate Immanuel, oh! break this stony heart of mine, and compel me to live as an obedient child! March 13. How engaged am I in the concerns of this world! I cannot but ask myself the question, have I any reason to imagine that I am interested in the covenant of life? If so, why am I thus? Why this awful distance from God? “Search me, O God! and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”91 March 22. Have again been permitted to attend a religious conference. Mr. T. preached from these words; “Do thyself no harm.”92 How astonishing that I can be so negligent in duty, when there are so many immortal souls around me, that are doing themselves eternal harm! Why do I not feel their awful condition, and solemnly warn them, both by precept and example, “to flee from the wrath to come?”93 To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, March 31, 1810. FAVOURED by Divine Providence with an opportunity of expressing my gratitude to my beloved Miss W. for all the testimonies of friendship which she has shewn me, I cordially embrace it. Your last friendly letter was this day received. To assure you how much happiness your letters confer on me, would be but what I have already told you. The one I received when on a bed of sickness, was a real treasure. My feeble health alone prevented my answering it before. I have lately been led to dwell much on the doctrine of the Divine Decrees. I should like to have your ideas on the subject. Although God is under no obligations to save one of the apostate race of Adam, and it would not derogate from his justice, were he 49

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to send all to eternal torments; yet, to display the riches of his grace, he determines to save a few. Why should we say, what doest thou? The children of God are, or ought to be, lights in the world.94 But I fear that I shall be a stumbling-block to others. I have often thought myself one of those who are “tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind of doctrine.”95 When I hear arguments on one side, I think I am convinced. When on the other, I think the same. But I leave this subject for the present. Let me tell you, that I fondly indulge the hope of seeing you before long. Mr. H. and myself have thought considerably of a ride to Beverly. Should not our wishes be frustrated, I shall probably see you in four or five weeks; if not, then I shall relinquish the idea, as I shall commence attending school in May. When I see you, I will relate to you my exercises in my past illness. Have we not abundant reason to rejoice in the government of God? He is carrying on his work, converting sinners, and making the wrath of man to praise him. Oh, that Haverhill and Beverly might experience the influence of the Holy Spirit! God can work here as easily as in Salem and Manchester. Let us be ardent and constant at the throne of mercy, that the blessed Immanuel would revive his work, and pour out his Spirit on the Churches and people, with which we are connected. Oh! why, my friend, are we so cold and stupid? I earnestly request an interest in your prayers. Yours sincerely, HARRIET. 1810. April 6. This evening had some interesting conversation with a friend, upon the past scenes of my life. Oh, how is my life filled up with folly and sin! Surely, if I am ever pardoned and accepted by the blessed Redeemer, I must ascribe it wholly to the mercy of God. April 29. A sudden death, this week. Mrs. C. was in health and prosperity one hour, and the next—in the cold embraces of the universal conqueror! May this solemn event, be sanctified to surviving friends! And may it lead me to place my affections on the things of eternity! May 4. Just returned from the house of God. Had a most interesting sermon preached by Mr. A. Text; “Ye are the salt of the earth; but if the salt have lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted.”96 Mr. E. called upon us a few moments, and informed us, there was a great revival of religion in his society and town.97 Oh, how did it rejoice my heart! However cold and stupid, I can in sincerity say, that I love to hear of the conversion of sinners. Must Haverhill be left destitute of the work of the Spirit? Oh, let me be ardent and constant at the throne of grace, for the outpouring of the Spirit, and a revival of religion amongst us. May 11. Called upon a friend this morning, who, to human appearance is on the brink of the grave. She was speechless, though not senseless. Her very countenance declared the importance of religion.98 Never shall I forget the affectionate 50

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manner in which she pressed my hand to her bosom, and lifted her eyes to heaven, as if calling down a blessing upon me. Oh, that I could rightly improve this affecting dispensation of Providence! May 24. I have been where heaven and hell, the soul and eternity, appear important subjects! The people in B. are awake. Attended two evening lectures—the meeting-house thronged with solemn and attentive hearers. May 29. Attended singing school this evening. Though meetings for this purpose be ever so pleasant, yet so great have been my temptations the winter past, that I could not feel sorry that the meetings were concluded. Hope I have not brought dishonour upon the cause of Jesus, by my careless behaviour before my companions. May 30. Election day. This day recalls many painful events, which occurred last year at this time. How was I then labouring for “the meat that perisheth,”99— following the leadings of a trifling heart! It was infinite mercy, that snatched me from the abyss, and, as I humbly trust, made me a monument of redeeming love. “Praise the Lord, Oh my soul!”100 June 2. Have had some interesting conversation with Miss W. upon the situation of my dear E. Who knows, thought I, but what she might now have been earnestly engaged in the cause of the Redeemer, if it were not for my unchristian conduct. How can I think of being an enemy to the souls of my dear friends? June 3. Solemn indeed have been the transactions of this day. Oh, that they might be remembered with joy through eternity! Had some humbling views of my past ingratitude. The aggravated transgressions of my life, the last six months, in particular, have been laid open before me. Have again solemnly resolved to live to God. If I should again become stupid—but no,—I cannot—I will surrender myself to Jesus. He will keep me from falling, and present me faultless before his Father’s throne. June 4. Have been solemnly impressed with the worth of immortal souls this day. The welfare of my school companions, lies near my heart. In what way can I be serviceable to them? They have souls, as valuable as mine. Oh, then, let me use my best endeavours to bring them to the knowledge of the truth, and save them from the awful punishment, which awaits the finally impenitent. June 8. Afflicted with a severe pain in my head. A celebrated author observes, that every pain we feel, is a warning to us to be prepared for death. Oh, that it may have this effect upon me! June 20. How unsatisfying and unstable are all the enjoyments of time. I am daily more convinced that nothing short of the unchangeable Jehovah, can afford real happiness. To day, we may imagine ourselves possessed of a friend, who will not forsake us; to-morrow, that same person may prove a deceiver.101 May I learn wisdom from the news I have this evening heard! Oh, that such things might have a happy tendency to wean me from this world, and prepare me for another! June 30. Called on my dear friend E. She has lately experienced affliction. She told me that she was resigned to divine Providence, and could rejoice, even in the hour of distress. Happy composure! What joys, Oh, ye deluded followers of 51

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unrighteousness, have you to boast, compared with that experienced by a humble follower of Jesus? July 1. Hail, sacred morning! Once ushered in with the most interesting events, ever registered in the records of time. On this holy morning, the Saviour rose from the grave.102 Expect this day to commemorate the sufferings of the Lamb of God. Grant me, gracious God, sweet communion with thee. Let me not eat and drink judgment to myself. July 7. How have I spent this day? What a dreadful sink of wickedness is my heart! Must I resign the idea of ever feeling the power of religion? Surely, if I am a child of God, I could not live so stupid. July 19. Favoured with the privilege of attending a lecture this afternoon. Our dear minister preached from these words: “How long halt ye between two opinions;”103 a most solemn discourse. In the evening, a meeting at Mr. D.’s for religious conversation. A small number of young people appear unusually solemn. Has not God already begun to shew the riches of his grace? Will he not arise, and have mercy on Haverhill, and make it a place, where he will delight to dwell? August 6. How soon are my resolutions, to live wholly to God, broken! My conscience daily reproaches me, for my unfaithfulness to my companions, to myself, and to my God. If any one should have told me, when light first shone on my mind, that I should feel such indifference to the salvation of sinners, and so little love to God, as I now feel, I should have exclaimed, impossible! Oct. 10. This day entered upon my eighteenth year. Seventeen years have rolled, almost insensibly, away. I still remain a pilgrim in this barren land. Merciful Jesus, on the commencement of this year, may thy supporting hand be underneath me, and if my life is prolonged, may it be more faithfully devoted to thee, and to thy blessed cause. Oct. 20. A female friend called upon us this morning. She informed me of her determination to quit her native land, to endure the sufferings of a Christian amongst heathen nations—to spend her days in India’s sultry clime.104 How did this news affect my heart! Is she willing to do all this for God; and shall I refuse to lend my little aid, in a land where divine revelation has shed its clearest rays? I have felt more, for the salvation of the Heathen, this day, than I recollect to have felt through my whole past life. How dreadful their situation! What heart but would bleed at the idea of the sufferings they endure, to obtain the joys of Paradise? What can I do, that the light of the gospel may shine upon them? They are perishing for lack of knowledge, while I enjoy the glorious privileges of a Christian land. Great God direct me! Oh, make me in some way beneficial to their immortal souls! Oct. 21. Had a joyful meeting, this day, in the house of God. “When I am weak, then am I strong.”105 Have experienced the truth of this declaration, this day. Went to meeting in the morning afflicted with bodily pain, yet joyful in the God of my salvation. Reflecting on the melancholy state of our church, was distressed, lest the deserved judgments of the Almighty, should be poured out upon us. But the words of the dear Redeemer, “fear not little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom,”106 sweetly refreshed and animated my 52

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desponding spirit. I desire ever to bless the Lord, for the manifestations of his love, this day. He has taught me, that neither Paul nor Apollos,107 is any thing, without his grace. Ministers may faithfully preach, but the word will not prove successful, if God does not touch the heart. I have seen the glory of God in his sanctuary. “I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.”108 The Lord is good; may it be my delightful employment on earth, to praise him; and in heaven may I join the enraptured millions, in a song that shall never end. Oct. 23. Mr. M. introduced Mr. N.* to our family,109 He appears to be an engaged Christian. Expects to spend his life, in preaching a Saviour to the benighted Pagans. Oct. 31. Mr. N. called on us this morning. He gave me some account of the dealings of God with his soul. If such a man who has devoted himself to the service of the gospel, has determined to labour in the most difficult part of the vineyard, and is willing to renounce his earthly happiness for the interest of religion; if he doubts his possessing love to God;—what shall I say of myself? Nov. 4. Have once more commemorated the dying love of Jesus. Have entertained some faint views of the character of God; and mourned for the evil of sin. How condescending is God, to permit hell-deserving rebels to commune with him at his table! What on earth, can equal the love of Jehovah? He treats those who are by nature, his enemies, like children. Nov. 6. Sleep has fled from me, and my soul is enveloped in a dark cloud of troubles! Oh, that God would direct me! Oh, that he would plainly mark out the path of duty, and let me not depart from it! Nov. 10. Have this day commenced reading Law’s Serious Call to a holy life.110 How infinitely short do I fall of this holy conformity to my Maker, which he describes as the property of a Christian! I am as much obligated to yield myself a willing soldier to Christ, to fight his battles, and glorify him, in every action of my life, as he who ministers at the altar, and performs the office of a preacher. Why then am I not employed in his service? Why stand I here idle all the day? Extract of a letter to her sister M. at Charlestown. Nov. 18, 1810. “How gracious, my dear sister, has God been to us! Uninterrupted health, food, and raiment are ours. But when I enumerate our many mercies, it is with deep humility that I look back on my past life, and discover so little gratitude, and so much unworthiness. How much has sovereign grace done for me! Though I have solemnly professed to find consolation in Religion, to derive my hopes of happiness only from God; yet how often have I roved in quest of pleasure, and dishonoured the best of Masters, by an unholy life. How ungrateful have I been for the * Mr. Newell, it is presumed.

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common mercies of life, and for the still more precious blessings of the Holy Spirit. May every temporal blessing which your heart can wish, be yours. But whatever be the trials through which you are called to pass, oh, may that heaven-born religion attend you, which can sweeten the bitter cup of life, afford you joy in this vale of tears, support you in nature’s last extremity, and conduct you to the Heavenly Canaan, where undisturbed happiness will ever reign! Life is but a vapour. Whether we spend it in tranquillity and ease, or in pain and suffering, time will soon land us on the shores of Eternity, our destined home. These things, my dear sister, my heart tells me, are solemn realities. They are not fictions. Though the language of my past life has been, “there is no future state;”111 yet I now feel there is an Eternity, where I shall meet my earthly friends, and stand accountable at the great tribunal for my conduct towards them. I regret the loss of those hours I have lost in vanity, and in wounding the cause of that dear Redeemer, whom I think, if I am not greatly deceived, I can now call mine. I think I can say with the Psalmist, “whom have I in Heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.”112—His religion comforts and supports my drooping spirits; his promises encourage, and his glories warm my heart. But where am I? The striking clock reminds me of the lateness of the hour. These delightful, these heart-consoling subjects have almost made me forget that tired nature requires repose.” To Miss S. H. Andover. Haverhill, Nov. 20, 1810. WILL it afford my dear Miss H. the best satisfaction to hear of the health and happiness of her friends at Haverhill? Let me assure you of our perfect health, and of our united wishes for your happiness, both temporal and eternal. While many of our friends are languishing on beds of sickness, sighing for the return of health,— while many have gone the “way of all the earth,”113 “have heard their sentence, and received their doom;”114 we are still enjoying the blessings of health, and are not out of the reach of pardoning mercy. Ought not a review of these daily blessings to excite in us the liveliest gratitude? How should our whole lives be a constant series of grateful acknowledgment to the Parent of mercies, for bestowing such great, such unmerited favours on rebels doomed to die!—Is my friend, Miss H. rejoicing in God? Does she find joy and peace in believing? This I sincerely hope is your happy situation. I have infinite reason to confess my obligation to God, for the faint discoveries I have lately entertained of his glorious character. Yes, my dear Miss H. I still find the promises precious, and Jesus unchangeable. Though I am worthless and undeserving, yet the blessed Immanuel is lovely, and worthy of the united praises of saints and angels. Though I am often led to doubt my interest in this dear Saviour, yet sometimes I can rejoice in his perfections, and exclaim with Thomas, “my Lord and my God.”115 You have, undoubtedly, heard of the departure of Mrs. S. Her faith and patience endured to the end. What a happy exchange has she made! Who would not wish to die the death of the righteous, who would not wish their last end to be like her’s? 54

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Mrs. M. appears to enjoy religion; she wishes much to see you. A general stupidity to the one thing needful still prevails. When will the showers of divine grace be poured out upon this place? Will not this church, this vine of God’s planting, rejoice to see the work of the Lord prospering? Your earnest prayers are requested for a revival of pure and undefiled religion in Haverhill. Mr. Newell preached a lecture here last evening. Do we not need such faithful preachers here as much as the benighted Pagans in India? Is not the situation of gospel sinners much more desperate, than that of those who have never heard of a Saviour? But still we have reason to rejoice that God has inclined a faithful few to preach Jesus to the Heathen. Oh, may their labours be blessed! May they see the inhabitants of the wilderness embracing the offers of mercy! We shall expect to see you with Mr. W. on Saturday. Do not disappoint us. Accept this from HARRIET. To Miss M. T. of Newbury. Boston, Feb. 18, 1811. WHAT, my dear friend, (if I may enjoy the privilege of corresponding with you) shall be the subject of our letters? Shall the common occurrences of life, and the flattering compliments of the polite world, fill our sheets; or that religion, which is the glory of the bright intelligences in heaven, and the consolation of trembling believers on earth? I think I can confidently affirm, that the latter will be your choice. As for myself, I can say that if I never felt the power of this religion, yet it is a theme upon which I love to converse, write, and reflect. It is a duty incumbent on the children of God to reprove, encourage, and animate each other on their journey to the upper world. Every christian has difficulties to overcome, temptations to encounter, and a warfare to accomplish, which the world are strangers to. If pilgrims in the same country can in the least console each other, and sweeten the thorny journey, by familiar intercourse, they ought not to neglect it. We, my dear M. are professedly interested in the same cause. Our home is professedly in heaven; we have temptations, difficulties, trials, and doubts, which, if we are believers, are in unison. I feel that I need the prayers and the advice of all the followers of the Lamb. I have “an evil heart of unbelief,” prone to “depart from the living God.”116 Will M. pray for me? Will she bear me in remembrance when supplicating mercy for other sinners? You shall not be forgotten by H. No.—If the Friend of sinners will lend a listening ear to my feeble cries, M. shall be strengthened and blessed. By these united cries, we may draw down from heaven favours never to be forgotten. Painful recollection often recurs to those weeks that I spent at Bradford. I say painful, because I fear that my conduct brought a wound on that religion, that I should wish to honour. While I lament with humility the loss of many precious hours, and the stupidity which I then experienced, I have reason to adore the mercy of Jehovah, that has since granted me refreshing showers of grace. Yes, M. my mind has been greatly exercised since I last saw you. Never before did the promises of the Gospel appear so precious, the character of God 55

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so lovely, and immortal souls of so much worth. I tremble at the idea of being again involved in the vanities of a world which can afford no pleasure, and of feeling indifferent about the kingdom of Jesus. But I am a dependant creature; if forsaken of God I shall perish. My hope is on his grace. What, my friend, is the state of your mind? Are you enjoying the light of a Saviour’s countenance? Are you fast progressing heavenward; and are you possessing joy that is unspeakable and full of glory? This I hope is your situation. “A soul redeemed demands a life of praise.”117 Let our future lives evince our gratitude, and every thought be brought into subjection to the Father of spirits. It is now about three weeks since I left H. Last Sabbath I enjoyed the pleasure of hearing the good Dr. G. preach. This pleasure I hope often to be favoured with while I continue with my sister M. I have been these two days with our friends, the Misses F’s. My time has passed very pleasantly with them. I have more things to tell you than I have time to write. A number of interesting occurrences have happened since I saw you. Should I again be indulged with an interview with you, I fear I shall tire your patience with a history of my troubles and pleasures. But I must leave you, my M. May you enjoy the influences of the Holy Spirit in life, consolation in death, and a seat in the mansions of blessedness! HARRIET. 1811. Feb. 24. For four weeks past, have been visiting my sister at C. The first week, I was remarkably favoured with the presence of Immanuel. Never before did I gain such access to the mercy-seat, and entertain such glorious views of the character of God, and such humiliating ideas of my own as a sinner. But I have since experienced a sad reverse. My God why hast thou forsaken me? O for that invigorating grace, which the Saviour dispenses to his followers! But can I hope myself his follower? Last Sabbath went with Mr. H. and sister M. to hear Dr. G. His language, his very features spoke the emotion of his soul. His text was in Corinthians, “When I was a child, I spake as a child,” &c.118 As we entered the meeting-house, they were singing my favourite hymn, “Lord, what a wretched land is this,”119 &c. in a melancholy air. Such were my sensations, that I could hardly refrain from weeping. How lovely are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts, where the gospel of Jesus is proclaimed! Feb. 25. After spending the day in trifling conversation, I was permitted to enjoy the privileges of attending a Christian conference, where the evening was spent in praying, singing, and conversing upon the things of religion. Feb. 26. Mr. H. and sister M. informed me that my dear mamma wished me to engage in a school, the ensuing summer. Can I think of such a responsible situation as that of instructing little immortals? I know that I ought not to consult my own ease; the question should be, how can I be most useful in the world? I hope I 56

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shall be directed by Heaven! Oh that God would use me as an instrument of promoting his glory; whether it be in the domestic circle, or in the arduous employment of “teaching young ideas how to shoot.”120 Feb. 27. I have spent the greatest part of the day in reading. I find that I am indeed ignorant—long to have time to devote myself wholly to the improvement of my mind. While endeavouring to obtain useful knowledge, Oh may I never forget, that if at last found a hypocrite, I shall be capable of greater sufferings than if totally ignorant. Feb. 28. Afflicted with a violent pain in my head. Experience daily evinces, that afflictions will do me no good, unless sanctified. Have had some sense of the presence of Jehovah, and some longing desires to be wholly conformed to him. When shall this vain world lose its power to charm, and the religion of the Gospel influence my heart and life? Oh, when shall I die, when shall I live for ever? How many times this day, have I repeated that Hymn of Dr. Watts; “Lord, what a wretched land is this.” March 1. Father of lights, it is the office of thy Spirit, to create holy exercises in the hearts of thy creatures. O may I enter upon this month with renewed resolutions to devote myself exclusively to thee; that at the close of it, I may not sigh over mispent hours. March 3. Heard an admirable sermon this morning from Dr. G. Have likewise communed with God at his table. Oh, this cold, stupid heart! I long for wings to fly away from this clod of earth, and participate the holiness and pleasures of the saints within the vail. March 4. Have this day visited at ——. The entertainment of the evening was splendid and extravagant. Query. Is it consistent with the humble religion of the Gospel, for professors, who ought to deny themselves, and take up their cross daily, to expend that money, which is God’s, and is only lent them for pious uses, in providing dainties to please the palate, and in clothes, to ornament their bodies? Where is the vast difference between the children of God and the children of this world? As far as I have examined the subject, it is my candid opinion, that if Christians would appropriate more of their property to charitable purposes, instead of making such extravagant provision for the flesh; would men imitate the example of the meek and lowly Jesus, feel indifferent to the smiles and frowns of the world; religion would flourish, the kingdom of God would be built up, and happy effects would be visible through the world. March 9. This is a delightful evening! Not a cloud is in the heavens to intercept the bright rays of the moon. All nature, both animate and inanimate, appears combined in the blessed employment of praising God. The moon shining in her glory, and the planets and stars are monitors that speak loud—more lovely to me, than ten thousand human voices. Awake my slothful soul; nothing in creation has half the work to perform, and Oh, let it not be said, that nothing is half so dull! March 25. God has not left himself without witness in the earth. No; he is still manifesting the riches of his grace, in bringing home his chosen ones. A young lady of my acquaintance, formerly gay and a stranger to piety, has hopefully 57

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become a follower of the Lamb! And has my dear M. chosen Jesus for her friend and portion? I cannot but stand amazed, to see the salvation of God. March 30. Have found much encouragement and satisfaction of late in reading some of Newton’s works.121 They are indeed a treasure. He penetrates my heart; and while he exposes my depravity, he points me to the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the world. April 1. This is an interesting public day. O that the supreme Ruler of all events, would incline every citizen, to vote for that man who is most worthy of the office of a governor. The aspect of the times is dark; but God can bring good out of evil, and continue to us our national blessings. I often find this reflection a sweet solace in the hour of darkness, that no event, however small, can take place without the permission and direction of the great Jehovah. April 7. This is a day, on which God usually manifests the glories of his character to his dear children. How exactly calculated are all the means and ordinances of the Gospel, for the comfort and improvement of the saints. What an act of love and wisdom was it in God, to select one day from the week, to be appropriated to his worship. Were it not for this glorious day, I should be in danger of losing all sense of eternal things. April 9. What shall a stupid Christian do? Stupid Christian did I say! Can a Christian ever feel stupid? It is an inconsistent title. But notwithstanding all my death-like stupidity, I cannot renounce the hope of being a child of the Most High. What shall I do, a dependant, guilty creature, to gain access to the mercy seat,122 and derive a supply of grace from the fountain of life? Draw me, thou Saviour of sinners, and I will run after thee. O lead me beside the still waters, and refresh my soul with heavenly food. April 17. How shall I record the events of this day! How can I tranquillize my disturbed mind enough to engage in the once delightful employment of writing? Returned from Boston in the evening, after spending three days very agreeably with my friends C. and N. M. handed me a letter with an appearance which indicated that something unusual was contained in it. I broke the seal, and what were my emotions when I read the name of —— .123 This was not a long wished-for letter: no; it was a long dreaded one, which I was conscious would involve me in doubt, anxiety, and distress. Nor were the contents such, as I might answer at a distant period; they required an immediate answer. And now what shall I say? How shall I decide this important, this interesting question? Shall I consent to leave for ever the Parent of my youth, the friends of my life, the dear scenes of my childhood, and my native country, and go to a land of strangers, “not knowing the things which shall befal me there?”124 O for direction from heaven! O for “that wisdom which is profitable to direct!”125 I will go to God, and with an unprejudiced mind, seek his guidance. I will cast this heavy burden on him, humbly trusting that he will sustain me, and direct me in the path of duty. April 19. The important decision is not yet made. I am still wavering. I long to see and converse with my dear mother. So delicate is my situation, that I dare not unbosom my heart to a single person. What shall I do? Could tears direct me in 58

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the path of duty, surely I should be directed.—My heart aches.—I know not what to do!—“Guide me, O thou great Jehovah!”126 April 21. Have now retired to my chamber, once more, to vent in silence, my unavailing sighs, and with an almost bursting heart, implore divine relief and direction. I shall go home on Tuesday.—Never did I so greatly long to visit the dear native dwelling. April 22. Perhaps, my dear Mother will immediately say, Harriet shall never go. Well, if this should be the case, my duty would be plain. I cannot act contrary to the advice and express command of a pious mother. The fact was, that her mother made no objection to her accepting the offer of Mr. Newell, but cheerfully left her to act according to her conviction of duty. To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, April 29, 1811. IT has not been for want of inclination, or from forgetfulness, that I have thus long neglected writing to my dear friend, Miss W.; but every day has brought with it various and new occupations; and though my friends have not been forgotten, yet I confess I have not been so punctual as I ought. I need not assure you, that your letter produced many pleasing sensations. I hope this will find you enjoying the presence of our covenant Saviour, and engaged in the promotion of his glorious cause. Christians are greatly criminal for not living in the constant enjoyment of God. He is ever ready and willing to manifest the glories of his character to their souls; and nothing but their native opposition to holiness, and their love of evil, ever prevents. Are not believes inconsistent creatures? They can speak of a Saviour’s love—the happiness resulting from an acquaintance with God, and point out the road to impenitent sinners, which alone will lead to substantial bliss; and yet often wander in forbidden paths, lose all relish for spiritual enjoyments, and rest contented with the low pleasures of sense. If I am a child of Jesus, this inconsistency has often been mine. And yet I long for a greater sense of my dependance, and more entire conformity to Him who died for me. If any thing here deserves the name of happiness, it does not spring from earth. No; it is of heavenly birth, and comes from the regions of purity. The vast and boundless desires implanted in the human heart, cannot be satisfied with any thing short of God. Nothing in heaven or earth is capable of affording real bliss without him. I have spent three months this last winter with my sister at C. My religious privileges have been more extensive than usual. I have been favoured with frequent opportunities of hearing Dr. G. preach, and have likewise attended many serious meetings. But I still wanted a heart to improve under the cultivation of Jehovah’s hand. Neither afflictions nor enjoyments will do us good, unless sanctified by divine grace. 59

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Since my return to H. I have sometimes enjoyed much consolation in committing myself and all my concerns into the hands of God. Some circumstances, which at some future time I may communicate to you, I hope will have a tendency to wean me from this world, and fasten my heart to Heaven. I do, my dear friend, find, this “a desert world, replete with sin and sorrow.”127 I often long to leave it, and find a sweet release from every woe. I visited Miss F. at Boston often. H. returned from H. about three weeks since; she observed, she intended writing to your sister N. I have not read the book, mentioned in your last, but confide in your judgment; think it must be entertaining. I hope to have the pleasure of a visit from you this summer; I wish much to see you and your sister; hope you are both enjoying the light of the Sun of righteousness. Persevere, my friend, in the Christian life, and pray for your friend Harriet. Our pilgrimage will shortly be ended, and all the trials of life will be over. Oh, may we meet in heaven; and join with the angelic host around the throne, in adoring the matchless perfections of Immanuel, through the ages of eternity! I am, my dear Miss W. affectionately yours. HARRIET. To Miss M. S. of Boston. Haverhill, Sabbath eve, May, 1811. WHILE agitated with doubts and conflicts, with the gay world in opposition, it has afforded me much consolation to think I have a friend in M. who can feel my sorrows, and sympathize with me in grief. I have passed through many interesting and solemn scenes, since I last saw you. Returning to Haverhill, I found my dear mamma calm and composed. So completely was she filled with a sense of the shortness of time, the uncertainty of life, and the duty of giving up our dearest comforts to the Lord, that she never raised one objection, but wished me to act according as my conscience directed. I felt an unspeakable consolation in committing the disposal of this event to God. I thought I could willingly renounce my own opinion, and sitting at the feet of Jesus, be guided entirely by him. Mr. N. has visited us frequently. He wishes not to influence me; he would not if he could. And now, my dear M. what will you say to me, when I tell you, that I do think, seriously think, of quitting my native land for ever, and of going to a far distant country, “not knowing the things which shall befall me there.”128 Should I refuse to make this sacrifice, refuse to lend my little aid in the promulgation of the Gospel amongst the Heathen, how could I ever expect to enjoy the blessing of God, and peace of conscience, though surrounded with every temporal mercy? It would be pleasant to spend the remaining part of my life with my friends, and to have them surround my dying bed. But no! I must relinquish their society, and follow God to a land of strangers, where millions of my fellow sinners are perishing for lack of vision. I have professed, my friend, for these two years past, to derive 60

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comfort only from God. Here then is a consoling reflection; the ever-blessed Jesus is able to support and comfort me, as well in the sultry climes of India, as in my dear native land. I trust that he will make his promise good, that as my day is, so shall my strength be. The wintry storms of life will soon be over, and if I have committed my immortal interest into the hands of God, I shall shortly find a sweet release from every woe. So visibly have I beheld the hand of Providence in removing some obstacles which once I thought almost insurmountable, that I dare not object. All my friends with whom I have conversed since my return to Haverhill, advise me to go. Some Christians who were formerly opposed, after obtaining a more extensive knowledge of the subject, think females would be useful. The people of this world probably view this subject as they do others. Those who have never felt the worth of their own souls, account it superstition and hypocritical zeal, for Christians to sacrifice their earthly pleasures, for the sake of telling the Heathen world of a Saviour. But all the ridicule that the gay and thoughtless sinner can invent, will not essentially injure me. If I am actuated by love to the Saviour and his cause, nothing in earth or hell can hurt me. I must ask your prayers for me. We have prayed together; oh, let us now, though separated in person, unite at the throne of grace. Perhaps my views of this subject may be altered; and God may yet prepare a way for me to continue in America. Oh, that I might be submissive and humbly wait on God! He can direct me, at this eventful crisis, and glorify himself. Affectionately yours! HARRIET. To Miss S. H —— , Newbury. Haverhill, June 12, 1811. How shall I sufficiently thank my dear Miss H. for the kind token of affectionate remembrance, which she was kind enough to send me? Your letter really exhilarated my languid spirits. I had spent the evening in private conversation with our dear Mr. N. The usual subject of the contemplated Mission was renewedly talked over, and consequently the dangers, the crosses, the manifold trials of such an important undertaking, were themes which engrossed our thoughts. Depressed with anxious apprehensions, and in doubt respecting duty, Mrs. G. handed me a letter, and the well known hand of the writer I soon recognised. The contents dispelled many a heart-rending sigh. This eve, mamma received a letter from dear brother J.; I had previously written to him. Dear boy! he is much distressed for Harriet. He thinks she is doing wrong, and causing her friends needless anxiety. Would to heaven I could prevent distress from ever entering the heart of a widowed, beloved parent, and the dearest brothers and sisters! Oh, Miss H. could these dear friends but go with me to distant India—but alas! that is a fruitless wish; but were it possible that this could be the case, I think I could quit America without reluctance, and even rejoice to spend my life among the benighted Heathen. Sometimes I can reflect on this subject with composure, and 61

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even long to be on Missionary ground, where superstition and idolatry usurp the sway; think I can bid my dear friends a last farewell with calmness, and follow with delight the leadings of Providence. But at other times, I fear that this is not the situation God has designed for me; and if it is not, I can never lay claim to the promises of the Gospel, or expect the support of an Almighty arm, when dangers stand thick around me. My greatest fear is, that I shall lose all courage and perseverance should I set out to go, and not only be unhappy myself, but make those wretched who are with me. But are not these thoughts criminal when carried to excess? Ought I not to praise the Lord for what I have received, and trust Him for a supply of grace? Ought I not to examine the subject prayerfully, and if on examination I am convinced that Jesus calls me to make these great sacrifices, ought I not to do it voluntarily, and leave the event with the Ruler of the universe? I find, my dear Miss H. that I am now in great danger of being actuated by a strong attachment. Oh, could I but give the ever blessed God the first place in my affections, I should not be in danger of being misled by earthly objects. Often have I adopted the words of the pious Mr. Newton: “The dearest idol I have known, Whate’er that idol be; Help me to tear it from thy throne, And worship only thee.”129 When shall we hope for a visit from you? Do write me often, your letters will always be acceptable. Although tired and fatigued with the employments of the day, I have improved this late hour in writing. Do you not admire Mr. Hall?130 I heard him preach a preparatory sermon at Bradford last week; which was clear, distinguishing, and very excellent. He called here one morning, but I had gone to walk. Mr. Nott likewise called on us last week; we were in the meeting-house and did not see him. Our friend N. is still in Salem; I long to see her. Can I ask the favour of being remembered in your intercessions at the throne of grace! Oh, that Christians would pray for me. Farewell, my dear Miss H. May the choicest blessings of Heaven be yours. I am affectionately your HARRIET. I had forgotten to tell you that our dear Mr. W. called here again, and I did not see him. Do you think I ever shall? 1811. June 22. I have this day taken my leave of Mr. N. not expecting to see him again for nine months.131 I can hardly feel reconciled to his departure; but the will of the Lord be done. Taking every circumstance into consideration, I am fully persuaded it will be most for his interest to spend the summer and winter in Philadelphia. Why then should I object? 62

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June 27. It is now almost five years since my mind became seriously impressed with eternal realities. What have I learnt in these five years of myself? and what of God? Weep, Oh my soul, for past transgression, and present unfruitfulness. To Miss C. F. of Boston. Haverhill, June 29, 1811. I THANK you, dear C. for your affectionate letter. My engagements have been such, that I could not conveniently answer it before; hope you will pardon the neglect. The kind interest you have of late taken in my happiness has greatly endeared you to my heart. May you never want a friend to sympathize with you when “adverse fortune frowns,”132 or to rejoice with you, when “life’s vale is strew’d with flowerets fresh.”133 If the remaining days of my short pilgrimage are to be spent in sorrow, O that Heaven would grant C. peace and happiness, and a sure pledge of joys to come. Where my future lot may be cast, time only can determine. If I can but maintain a firm and unshaken confidence in God, a humble reliance on his blessed promises, I shall be safe, though temporal comforts languish and die. I am now calculating upon a life of trials and hardships; but the grace of Jesus is sufficient for me. The Friend of sinners is able and willing to support me amid scenes of danger and distress. When I bade you a parting adieu, my mind was in a state of agitation which I can never express. Dejected and weary I arrived at the dear mansion, where I have spent so many pleasant hours. My dear mamma met me at the door, with a countenance that bespoke the tranquillity of her mind. The storm of opposition, as she observed, had blown over, and she was brought to say from the heart, “thy will be done.” Yes C. she had committed her child to God’s parental care; and though her affection was not lessened, yet, with tears in her eyes, she said, “If a conviction of duty and love to the souls of the perishing Heathen lead you to India, as much as I love you, Harriet, I can only say, Go.” Here I was left to decide the all important question. Many were the conflicts within my breast. But, at length, from a firm persuasion of duty, and a willingness to comply, after much examination and prayer, I answered in the affirmative. I wish to tell you all the motives that have actuated me to come to this determination; likewise, how all the difficulties, which applied to me particularly, have been removed. But this I cannot do until I see you. Why cannot you make it convenient to spend three or four weeks with me this summer? To assure you that it would afford me happiness, would be but what you already know. Write to me C. next week, if possible. Let me know when I may expect you, and I will be at home. Perhaps we may go and spend a day or two with our friends in N. I am very lonely. N. H. has been visiting at S. ever since I returned from C. Mr. Newell has gone to Philadelphia, where he expects to continue until a short time before he quits his native country. He is engaged in the study of physic, together with Mr. Hall. How has your mind been exercised of late? Are you living in the enjoyment of religion! 63

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C. we must live nearer to God; we must be more engaged in his cause. We are under the most solemn obligations to be active in the Redeemer’s service. Let us not calculate upon a life of idleness and ease; this is not the portion of the followers of the Lamb. They must expect tribulations and crosses in their way to the kingdom of heaven. But let us ever remember, that if we are the believing children of God, a rest awaits us in heaven, which will doubly compensate us for all the troubles of this life. When interceding at the mercy seat, Oh forget not C. to pray for the salvation of the benighted Heathen, whose souls are as precious as our own. With them, HARRIET. remember your friend 1811. June 30. Mr. D. preached from this text, “And as he drew nigh to the city, he wept over it, saying,”134 &c. My whole soul was melted into compassion for impenitent sinners. Can I ever again feel regardless and unconcerned for their immortal souls? “Did Christ for sinners weep, And shall our cheeks be dry? Let floods of penitential grief, Burst forth from every eye.”135 Did Jesus say to sinners, “Oh that thou hadst known in this thy day, the things that belong to thy peace,”136 &c. and shall I smile upon them, while in the road to ruin? July 15. The long expected letter has at length arrived. How can I wish for a friend, more worthy of my love, more deserving of my heart? But my heart is already his. A friend, how rich the treasure! If an earthly friend is thus near to my heart, how strong should be my attachment to a holy God, whose friendship to his children is lasting as eternity! How can I love him sufficiently? How can I take too much delight in honouring him before the world, and in promoting his cause? July 23. I have just read a little passage in Thomson’s Seasons, which I thought I could adopt as my own language; “Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barb’rous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic Isles; ’tis nought to me, Since God is ever present—ever felt, In the void waste, as in the city full; And where he vital breathes, there must be joy.”137

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Extracts from a Letter to her Sister M. at Charlestown. August 1, 1811. ——— “SHOULD I tell you there is a prospect of my spending the remaining part of this short life in a land of strangers; should I tell you I do seriously think of leaving my native dwelling, my friends and companions for ever; would you upbraid me? Could you attribute it to want of attachment to the friends of my youth, or to entire ignorance of this great undertaking? You would not, you could not, did you know the conflict which almost rends my heart. Never before did my dear mamma, brothers, and sisters, appear so dear to me. But God commands me! In his holy providence he now offers me an opportunity of visiting the Heathen. While many of my female friends, who are far more adequate to the important employment, are permitted to enjoy the society of their earthly relatives through life, I am called to quit the scenes of my childhood, and go to a far distant country. How can I ever pray for the promotion of the Gospel among the Heathen, if I am unwilling to offer my little aid when such an opportunity is given? I know what to expect from a gay and thoughtless world. But I have this consolation, that ridicule cannot injure my soul. In the eternal world, how trifling will it appear! That some professing Christians oppose it, will cause me many unhappy feelings. But I must think, that were they to view the subject impartially, divesting themselves of the love of worldly ease, they would favour it. With my present feelings, I would not oppose it for all this earth can afford; lest I should be found fighting against God, discouraging Missions, and preventing the Gospel’s being spread among the Heathen. I have this consolation, if the motives by which I am actuated are sincere and good, God will accept the inclination to glorify him, even though I should not be made useful. But my dear sister, this is a trying season! It is from God alone that I derive the least sensible comfort. This world has lost its power to charm, and all its applause is a trifle, light as air. My companions are perhaps accusing me of superstition, and the love of novelty. But God alone knows the motives by which I am actuated, and he alone will be my final Judge. Let me but form such a decision as he will approve, and I ask no more. Willingly will I let go my eager grasp of the things of time and sense, and flee to Jesus. Oh, that he would prepare me for the future events of life, and glorify himself in the disposal of my concerns!” 1811. Aug. 7. I have just laid down Horne on Missions.138 How did his pious heart glow with benevolence to his fellow creatures! How ardently did he wish for the promulgation of the Gospel, among the benighted Heathen! I think, for a moment,

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I partake of his ardour, and long to hear that the standard of the cross is set up in the distant nations of the earth. “Yes, christian heroes! go—proclaim Salvation through Immanûel’s name: To India’s clime the tidings bear, And plant the rose of Sharon there.”139 Willingly would I sacrifice the dearest earthly friend to engage in this blessed service. Oh, that I had a thousand pious relatives, well calculated for the important station of Missionaries; the tenderest ties, that bind me to them, should be rent. I would say to them, go—and let the destitute millions of Asia and Africa know, there is compassion in the hearts of christians; tell them of the love of Jesus, and the road to bliss on high. Providence now gives me an opportunity to go myself to the Heathen. Shall I refuse the offer? shall I love the glittering toys of this dying world so well, that I cannot relinquish them for God? Forbid it, Heaven! Yes, I will go—however weak and unqualified I am, there is an all-sufficient Saviour, ready to support me. In God alone is my hope. I will trust his promises, and consider it one of the highest privileges that would be conferred upon me, to be permitted to engage in his glorious service, among the wretched inhabitants of Hindostan. Aug. 11. How reviving to my disconsolate mind, has been the word of life this day! Oh, this adorable140 plan of salvation! Have I the least inclination to alter one single part of it, if I could? O no! I would not be less holy—I would not wish God to exact less perfect obedience from his creatures. Mr. R. drank tea with us. I felt the same backwardness in conversing upon the things of the kingdom, that I usually do. Whence this criminal diffidence? Oh, when will divine grace so absorb my heart, that my stammering tongue shall be loosed, and Jesus and his salvation be my theme! If I cannot unite in conversing with believers, in a land where religion flourishes, how can I speak to the benighted Heathen of India, whose minds are involved in Pagan darkness?

To Miss M. S. of Boston. Haverhill, Sabbath, Aug. 11, 1811. HOW great, my dear M. would be the pleasure, could I retreat with you to some lonely corner, far from the busy haunts of this vain world, and unbosom to you the secrets of my heart, instead of writing to you. But this dear privilege is denied me. I must be content with expressing a few unconnected thoughts on paper for the present, and will anticipate a happy meeting with you on earth, and a still happier one in those regions, where the friends of Immanuel will never more be separated. What if our intercourse on earth should cease? If we are the followers of the Lamb, our prayers will unitedly ascend to the same blessed throne while we live; and when our pilgrimage is ended, our friendship will exist and flourish for ever. M. we 66

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are pilgrims, we are strangers in a barren land. This world is not our portion; it is incapable of satisfying our desires. The glittering toys of life are not calculated to afford real enjoyment. There is nothing in heaven or earth, but God, that can delight our hearts, and ease us of the heavy load of sin. Let us not be satisfied with the low and grovelling pursuits of time; but let us look to the unchangeable Jehovah, for a supply of his soul-refreshing grace. How much has God done for us individually? He has, as we humbly trust, made us partakers of his grace, and redeemed us from eternal death. What shall we render to him for this abundant mercy? Oh, let our future lives evince our gratitude, and let our praises unceasingly flow to his throne! Dear M. I feel as though I had done nothing for God. Where are the last five years of my wretched life? Can they witness to my exertions in the cause of the Lord? “I think of the days of other years, and my soul is sad.”141 All is a barren waste. A few heartless duties and cold formalities, will never carry me to heaven. Sabbath eve. This day, my dear M. I have been highly privileged. I have heard three sermons preached by the excellent Mr. R. How sweet is the Gospel to the heart of the believer! How does the pure word of truth animate the desponding sinner, and encourage him to apply to the Lamb of God for pardon and sanctification! But this glorious Gospel, which reveals to mortals the way of salvation, the far greater part of the inhabitants of the earth are deprived of. “Where there is no vision the people perish.” Thousands of immortal souls are entering eternity, and peopling the dark realms of woe. If our souls are of greater importance than this world, with all its boasted treasures, how can we calculate the worth of those millions of souls, which are equally as precious as our own? We have had the Bible in our hands from our childhood; we are instructed regularly from this precious volume, every sabbath. We have believing friends to associate with; we enjoy the stated ordinances of the Gospel. But the dear Heathen have no such privileges. They are destitute of Bibles, Sabbaths, and Churches. The inhabitants of Hindostan,142 to atone for their sins, will submit to the most cruel tortures imaginable. Widows consent to be burned143 with their deceased husbands; parents sacrifice their infant offspring to appease the anger of their idol gods; they cast them into the river Ganges,144 where they perish. But this dreadful superstition vanishes before the benignant rays of the Gospel, as the morning dew before the rising sun. We enjoy its meridian splendours. Have we any benevolence? Are we susceptible of feeling for the distresses of our fellow creatures? As we value the salvation which a Saviour offers; as we value his tears, his labours, and his death, let us now seriously ask what we shall do for the salvation of the benighted Heathen? If we are not permitted to visit them ourselves, and declare to them the efficacy of a Saviour’s blood, yet we can ardently pray for them. And not only pray for them, but by our vigorous exertions we can awaken a missionary spirit in others, and excite them also to feel for those who are perishing in Pagan darkness. M. the subject is copious indeed. I might easily write till the rising sun, and then not give you a perfect delineation of the wretchedness of many of our fellow creatures. But I must leave these forlorn wretches. Suffice it to say, that when the whole universe shall stand collected at the bar of God, we shall meet them, and 67

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there render a solemn account for the manner with which we have conducted ourselves towards them in this world. I hope my dear M. you are living near to God, and enjoying times of refreshing from his presence. Oh pray often, and remember me in your prayers. Should stormy oceans roll between us, yet I shall ever continue to love you. Farewell, my dear M. Your affectionate HARRIET. Extracts of a Letter to her Sister M. at Charlestown. Aug. 1811. ——— “A FEW moments this morning shall be spent in writing to my dear sister. Accept my hearty congratulations for your returning health. I often think of you, and imagine you possessed of every comfort, which can render life desirable. I have been contrasting your present delightful situation with the trying one that is probably to be mine. Although I could shed floods of tears at the idea of bidding a final farewell to the dear associates of my youth, and the guardian and instructor of my early years; yet a consciousness that this is the path marked out for me by my Heavenly Father, and an assurance that the cause I have engaged in is a blessed one, impart at times an indescribable pleasure. If some unforeseen occurrence should prevent my going to the East Indies,145 I shall still enjoy the satisfaction of thinking that this also is ordered by God. Should I never go, Oh may I never forget the wretched inhabitants of Hindostan, nor cease to pray that they may enjoy the blessings of the Gospel. HARRIET ATWOOD. 1811. Aug. 13. How consoling has been the beloved promise, when sinking under the contemplated difficulties of a missionary life, “my grace is sufficient for thee.”146 Have I any thing but an unfaithful, depraved heart, to discourage me, in this great undertaking? Here the Almighty God, the Maker of all worlds, the infinite Disposer of all events, has pledged his word for the safety of his believing children. Sooner will the universe sink into nothing, than God fail of performing his promises. The cause is good, the foundation is sure. If the Saviour has promised a sufficiency of his grace, what have I to fear? Oh that I had a stronger confidence in God—a heart to rely on him for grace to help in every time of need! When I reach my journey’s end, how trifling will earthly sorrows appear! Aug. 14. This is indeed a wretched world. How few the joys! How many and various the sorrows of life! Well, if this world is unsatisfying, “if cares and woes promiscuous grow,” how great the consolation, that I shall soon leave it! “Loose, then, from earth, the grasp of fond desire, Weigh anchor, and the happier climes explore.”147 68

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In the Paradise of God, every rising wish that swells the heart of the celestial inhabitant, is immediately gratified. Oh for a dismission from this clayey tabernacle! Oh for an entrance into those lovely mansions! My soul pants for the full enjoyment of God. I cannot bear this little spirituality—this absurd indifference; I long to be swallowed up in endless fruition! Aug. 15. A letter from my friend, Mr. Newell. He appears much impressed with eternal concerns. May he enjoy the light of Immanuel’s countenance! Have just heard of Mr. J.’s arrival, and that he expects soon to set out for India. This unexpected news solemnized my mind. A consciousness of my unpreparedness for this arduous undertaking makes me tremble. But I will give myself to God; “’tis all that I can do.”148 Aug. 19. Conscious that the riches and honours of this world will not be mine, my deceitful heart often promises happiness in the society of a dear friend. But how vain this hope! Oh let me from this hour cease from anticipating creature happiness! Oh that I could look to God alone for permanent satisfaction! “Dear Saviour, let thy beauties be My soul’s eternal food; And grace command my heart away From all created good.”149 Aug. 20. How strong is Christian friendship! He who enjoined it upon his followers, to love God, has likewise commanded them to love one another. If I am a stranger to the joys of pardoning mercy; if I am an enemy to holiness; whence arises this union with Christians? What has produced this love to those who resemble God? Formerly, I preferred the friendship and society of those, whose hearts were at enmity with God; who disliked the sublime and humbling doctrines of the Gospel; but now I can say with Ruth, “thy people shall be my people.”150 My soul is cemented to them; and if I am not greatly deceived, my affection is the strongest for those who live nearest to God, and are most concerned for his glory. I love the most abject creature in existence, however despised by the wise men of this world, who bears the image of the lowly Jesus. Yes; how could I rejoice to give the endearing appellation of brother or sister, to one of the tawny natives of the East, whom grace had subdued. Aug. 22. Sweet is the name of Immanuel to believers. That name speaks peace and consolation to their troubled minds. In him they find a balm for every woe. “Jesus to multitudes unknown, Oh name divinely sweet! Jesus in thee, in thee alone, Wealth, honour, pleasure meet. Should both the Indies, at my call, Their boasted stores resign; With joy, I would renounce them all, For leave to call thee mine. 69

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Should earth’s vain treasures all depart; Of this dear gift possess’d, I’d clasp it to my joyful heart, And be for ever bless’d.”151 Is this the language of my heart? Am I willing to relinquish the pleasures, the honours, the riches, and the applause of the world, for leave to call Immanuel mine? If so, I may enjoy exalted happiness, in a land of strangers. To Miss H. B. of Salem, Haverhill, Aug. 23, 1811. INDUCED by the repeated solicitations of your sister S. I have retired to my chamber, determined to devote a leisure hour, in renewing a correspondence, which has for a long time been entirely relinquished. The attachments which I formed in the earlier part of my life, have of late been greatly strengthened. Those companions in whose society, “the longest summer days seemed too much in haste,”152 have become exceedingly dear to my heart. You, my H. were one of the choicest and most loved members of the dear familiar circle. Did pensive melancholy for a moment assume the place of mirth and gaiety in my mind, you were immediately acquainted with the cause. Did my youthful heart beat with joy, if you were a partner, joy was heightened. But particularly dear did the appellation of friend appear, when we were unitedly depressed with a sense of the divine displeasure, and when our souls, as we then thought, were irradiated with the light of truth, and washed in the peace-speaking blood of Immanuel. Should our lives be spared, very different will probably be our future destinies. Blest with those beloved friends, whose sympathy alleviates every grief, whose society contributes so largely to your happiness, and indulged, not only with a competency, but with affluence and ease, you may glide along through this world, almost a stranger to the ills attendant on mortals. But these joys remain not for me. Destined to a far distant land, my affectionate friends, my pleasant home, my much loved country, I must leave for ever. Instead of the soft delights and elegancies of life, self-denials, hardships, privations, and sorrows will be mine. Instead of the improved and polished society of Haverhill associates, will be substituted the society of the uncivilized Hindoos. Instead of being enlivened by the cheering voice of a believing friend, I shall behold thousands prostrating themselves before dumb idols, while the air will ring with the horrid sounds of idol music. No churches will be found for the refreshment of weary pilgrims; no joyful assemblies where saints can resort to unite in the reviving exercises of social worship. All will be dark, every thing will be dreary, and not a hope of worldly happiness will be for a moment indulged. The prime of life will be spent in an unhealthy country, a burning region, amongst a people of strange language, at a returnless distance from my native land, where I shall never more behold the friends of my youth. Amid these discouragements, 70

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I often find my sinking heart desponding. But this is not all. Even while blest with a habitation in my own country, I hear some of those friends, whom I fondly love, accusing me of the love of novelty, of an invincible attachment to a fellow creature, of superstition and of wanting a great name. Wretched, indeed, will be my future lot, if these motives bear sway in my determination. Surrounded by so many discouragements, I find consolation only in God! “None of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto me.”153 A consciousness that this is the path, which my Heavenly Father hath selected for me, and an ardent desire for the salvation of the benighted Heathen, constrains me to cry, Here am I, Lord, send me where thou wilt. Daily experience convinces me that the glittering toys of life are not capable of conferring real happiness. With my present feelings, I may enjoy as much happiness in India as in America. But my great consolation is that life is short. However great may be my trials, they will be soon over. H. I feel that this is a wretched world. It is nearly six years since, I humbly trust, I committed my all to God, willing that he should dispose of me, as he saw best. He has given me friends; he has given me many earthly comforts; but he is now appointing me trials, greater than I yet have known. But I think I can say, “It is well.” Give me but humble resignation to thy will, Oh my God, and I ask no more. The presence of Immanuel will make a mud-walled cottage, a foreign land, and savage associates, desirable. What but the light of the Redeemer’s countenance can make me happy here? and what but that can delight my soul, in a far distant country? “For me remains nor time, nor space, My country is in every place; I can be calm and free from care On any shore,—since God is there.”154 It seems a long time since we had the pleasure of seeing you at Haverhill. Your time, undoubtedly, passes away very pleasantly in Salem. May your happiness be constantly increasing at the return of each succeeding year. May you have that peace of mind, that heartfelt joy, which is known only by the decided followers of Jesus. This is pleasure that knows no alloy, and which death can never deprive you of. May I meet you with all my dear friends, in that world, where a wide sea can never separate us. I hope to spend many happy hours with you before I bid you a final farewell. I am affectionately yours. HARRIET. 1811. Aug. 25. With the light of this holy morning I desire to make a solemn surrender of myself to God, humbly requesting him, to accept the worthless offering. I think I can say with Mr. Newton, “Day of all the week the best, Emblem of eternal rest.”155 71

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Aug. 26. What word can be more impressive and weighty than ETERNITY? How replete with events, that deeply interest every intelligent creature! How full of ideas too big for utterance! And can ETERNITY be mine? If the word of Jehovah be true, I shall surely inhabit Eternity, when this short life is ended. Yes; I feel that I have an immortal part, which will continue the same when time and nature fail. And shall it exist in glory? Oh, let me fly to Jesus, and make his arms my resting place. Then shall I rest securely, when the heavens are rolled together as a scroll,156 and the elements melt with fervent heat.157 Sept. 1. Again have I been favoured with the blessed privilege of communing with God, at his table. How sweetly calculated are these Gospel ordinances to enliven the cold hearts of believers, and to prepare them for the marriage supper of the Lamb. I have renewedly given myself away to God, in the presence of the holy angels, of the assembly which convened at the house of prayer, and of that Being whose presence fills immensity; whose smile gives hope, whose frown, despair. How solemn the transaction!—Far from the happy land, where salvation is proclaimed, my thoughts have wandered over stormy seas, to regions, whose inhabitants are sitting in the shadow of death. No light of divine revelation beams on them. No sanctuaries—no communion tables—no bread and wine to remind them that a Saviour shed his blood on Calvary for them! Weep, Oh my soul, for the forlorn Heathen. Be astonished at the stupidity of Christians, be astonished at thine own. Oh, thou blessed Redeemer, thou who didst commission thy disciples of old to preach the Gospel to every creature, wilt thou send forth labourers, make the wilderness a fruitful field, and cause the desert to blossom like the rose! Sept. 3.

“I’m but a stranger and a pilgrim here, In these wild regions, wandering and forlorn, Restless and sighing for my native home, Longing to reach my weary space of life, And to fulfil my task.”158

Yes; my Redeemer, I know by experience, that this life is a tiresome round of vanities hourly repeated. All is empty. My thirsty soul longs for the enjoyment of God in heaven, where the weary and heavy laden find rest. How long, Oh my Father, shall I wander in this dreary land? When shall I bid a final adieu to these scenes of guilt! “Oh, haste the hour of joy, and sweet repose.”159 How refreshing will heavenly rest be to my soul, after a life of toil and hardship! Sept. 7. “Bless the Lord, Oh my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”160 Yes; I will bless and praise thy name, my God, my King, my everlasting all. I will bless thee for temporal, I will bless thee for spiritual favours. Thou hast ever been loading me with thy benefits. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear: The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? Lord, by thy 72

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favour thou hast made my mountain to stand strong. I will extol thee, for thou hast lifted me up; and hast not made my foes to rejoice over me. Thou hast brought up my soul from the grave, thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit. Sing unto the Lord, Oh ye saints of his; and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness; for his anger endureth but for a moment; in his favour is life; weeping may endure for a night; but joy cometh in the morning.”161 Sept. 10. Depressed with guilt, and tired with the vanities of this world, I have retired to my chamber, to seek pleasure within. When blest with a sense of Immanuel’s love, I find satisfaction in writing, conversing, and thinking on divine things; but when Jesus frowns, all is midnight darkness. No duties—no domestic employments—no earthly pleasures can charm or delight my mind. Sept. 12.

“The time is short, I soon shall rise, And bid farewell to weeping eyes, And reach the heavenly shore.”162

I have attempted this morning, to bring India, with the parting scenes between, near at hand. Surely, nothing but the sovereign power of God could have led me to contemplate, with serenity and composure, the painful scenes of a missionary life; and nothing but his grace will support me, when farewells are sounding around me. Oh, how can I think of that hour! But it is a glorious work, for which I am making these great sacrifices: it is nothing less than to assist in spreading the triumphs of the cross, in foreign lands. Oh, could I become the instrument of bringing one degraded female to Jesus, how should I be repaid for every tear, and every pain! To make a female Indian acquainted with the way of life, Oh what a blessing!—my soul exults at the thought! Sept. 17. How sweet is this text, “Be careful for nothing, but in every thing, by prayer and supplication let your requests be made known unto God.”163 When the difficulties of my future life depress me, how often am I insensibly relieved, and comforted by this and similar invitations. How precious, how exceedingly valuable is the word of God! Sept. 20. Life like an empty vapour flies. Soon will my mortal state be ended. The objects which now occupy so large a portion of my thoughts, will shortly lose their importance, and vanish as though I saw them not. Vanity is stamped on every earthly enjoyment. But pleasure without the least alloy will be found in heaven. To a Friend. Haverhill, Sept. 1811. FORGIVE, my dear M. the liberty I take in addressing you in this manner. From my first acquaintance with you, I have felt deeply interested for your happiness. Nothing but an affectionate regard for you, would induce me to write to you on a subject which the world will undoubtedly ridicule, but which engages 73

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the attention and constitutes the felicity of the holy inhabitants of heaven. This subject is the religion of the Gospel—a subject which is infinitely interesting to us both. You have of late witnessed a scene, trying indeed, and solemn as eternity. You have watched the sick-bed, you have heard the expiring groans of your beloved sister. You fondly hope that she was interested in the covenant of redemption, and is now perfectly happy in the enjoyment of her God in heaven. When standing by the dying bed of this dear sister, say, my friend, did you not ardently wish for piety similar to hers; for that faith which could triumph over the horrors of a dying hour? Was the hope then cherished that you should meet her in yonder world, when the trials of this short life are over? and did this hope support your sinking spirits in the trying hour of separation? She has gone for ever; but we are still prisoners of hope. Could we now draw back the covering of the tomb, and listen to her language, how earnestly would she beseech us to become reconciled to God, and devote our lives wholly to his service. My dear M. these are not idle dreams. If we reflect for a moment, we feel conscious that there is an immortal principle within, which will exist when time and nature dies. This principle is corrupted by sin, and without the sanctifying grace of God, we should be unhappy, even though admitted to Heaven. Do but examine the feelings of your heart one hour, and you cannot for a moment doubt the truth of this assertion. How important then that we should have this work of grace begun in our hearts, before it is too late. “Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.”164 Tomorrow our probation may be closed, and we may be irrecoverably lost. M. my heart is full. What inducements can I offer you to receive Jesus into your heart, and willingly sacrifice your all for him? Oh! think of the worth of the soul, the price paid to redeem it, the love of Immanuel, your obligations to live to him, the joys prepared for the righteous;—and oh, think of the torments in reserve for the finally impenitent, and be induced to flee from the wrath to come. If nothing in Providence prevents, before the return of another Autumn, Harriet will be a stranger in a strange land.165 I go, my friend, where Heathens dwell, far from the companions of my playful years, far from the dear land of my nativity. My contemplated residence will be, not among the refined and cultivated, but among females degraded and uncivilized, who have never heard of the religion of Jesus. How would it gladden my sad heart, in the trying hour of my departure, could I but leave a dear circle of females of my own age, engaged for God, and eminent for their usefulness in Haverhill. Well, I hope to find a circle of Hindoo sisters in India, interested in that religion which many of my companions reject, though blest with innumerable privileges. But my friend M. will not treat with indifference this religion. O no! I will cherish the fond hope, that she will renounce the world, become a follower of Immanuel, and be unwearied in her exertions to spread the triumphs of the cross through the world. I must leave you my dear M. with God. May you become a living witness for him! When our journey through this barren wilderness is ended, may we meet in heaven! HARRIET. 74

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1811. Oct. 10. I have this day entered upon my nineteenth year. Oh, how great the goodness of God which has followed me, through the last twelve months! And shall I be wholly destitute of gratitude? O no! let me this year, if my life should be spared, become a living witness for the truth, as it is in Jesus. How great a change has the last year made in my views and prospects for life! Another year will probably affect, not merely my prospects, but my situation. Should my expectations be realized, my dwelling will be far from the dear land of my nativity; and from beloved friends, whose society rendered the morning of my life cheerful and serene. In distant India, every earthly prospect will be dreary. “But even there, content can spread a charm, Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.”166 Oct. 13. How important is it, that I should be in a peculiar manner devoted to God, and dead to the world. I shall need a large supply of the graces of the Gospel, and of the consolations of religion, to support me amid the numberless trials of a missionary life. When dangers stand thick around, and the world is utterly incapable of affording me the least solid comfort—what will sustain me, but entire confidence in God, as my shield, my only sure defence? Oh, my Father! let a sense of thy love to my soul, influence me to yield implicit obedience to thy commands; and while this love is constraining me to walk in the path which thou hast selected for me, may thy grace be sufficient for me—as my day is, so may my strength be. Oct. 20.

“Soon I hope—I feel, and am assured, That I shall lay my head—my weary, aching head, On its last rest; and on my lowly bed, The grass green sod will flourish sweetly.” –

The perusal of the life, letters, and poems of Henry Kirke White, has been productive of much satisfaction. While I have respected him for his learning and superior talents, I have ardently wished for a share of that piety, which shone so conspicuously in his life, and which rendered his character so interesting and lovely. His “weary aching head,” is now resting in the silent tomb. Henry sleeps, to wake no more; but his spirit, unconfined, is exploring the unseen world! O that his example may affect my heart!167 To Miss S. H. Andover. Haverhill, Oct. 20, 1811. WILL my dear Miss H. pardon this seeming neglect, when I assure her it has not been intentional? Did you but know how numerous have been my engagements since I left Andover, I feel confident that you would not indulge one hard thought. 75

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I have thought much of you, and have often longed to see you. The kindness you showed me, while with you, greatly endeared you to my heart. I hope I shall ever recollect with gratitude the unmerited favours, which you, Mr. and Mrs. W. and my other friends, conferred upon me while in Andover. This day has been spent in melancholy dejection and sorrow of heart. The trials of a missionary life, united with my entire unfitness for the undertaking, and the fear of being under the influence of improper motives, have produced distress. But the return of evening has dissipated the gloom, and I have been led to rejoice in God, and willingly to surrender my eternal all to him. O my friend! is there not a balm in Gilead? is there not an all-powerful Physician there?168 Who can doubt of the abilities and willingness of Jesus, to lead his dear children along the green pastures, and beside the still waters? His sacred presence will cause the sinking heart to rejoice, and diffuse gladness around. Rightly is he styled Immanuel. Let us fly immediately to this hiding-place—this covert from the storm and tempest. In Jesus we are safe, though earth and hell combine against us. What are the trials, what the agonies attendant on this pilgrimage state! In Jesus, there is a fulness sufficient to supply our every want, healing for every wound, and a cordial for every fear. With the deepest interest I have lately read Buchanan’s Researches.169 You have probably read it. Has it not inspired you with an ardent missionary spirit? Can it be possible, that Christians, after perusing this invaluable book, can help feeling a deep concern for the salvation of the Heathen, and a strong desire for the promulgation of the Gospel throughout the world? How precious, how exceedingly valuable, is the word of God! How consolatory to the believer, to hear those who were once prostrating themselves before dumb idols, now exclaim with eagerness, “we want not bread, we want not money, we want the Word of God.”170 A FAMINE FOR BIBLES—how sweet, and yet how painful the expression. Surely this will lead us to estimate our glorious privileges in this christian land. Possessed of every means of learning the character of God, and the way of salvation by a Redeemer, how can we complain? If ever the religion of the cross has excited within us holy desires, oh let us not forget the destitute millions of Asia. God will be inquired of by his people to do great things for the Heathen world. How importunate then should we be at the throne of grace; and none ever cried unto God in vain. Dear Miss H. I could write an hour longer, but other engagements prevent. We long to see you; long to hear from you again. Do write us often. Mamma sends much love; intends writing you soon; thanks you for your last letter. Remember me affectionately to dear Mr. and Mrs. W.; likewise to Mr. L. and Mr. M. I am, dear Miss H. your affectionate HARRIET. 1811. Oct. 25. How strong are the ties of natural affection! Will distance or time ever conquer the attachment, which now unites my heart so closely to my mother, the dear guardian of my youth; and to my beloved brothers and sisters? Oh no; 76

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though confined to a foreign country, where a parent’s voice will no more gladden my melancholy heart, still shall that love, which is stronger than death, dwell within, and often waft a sincere prayer to heaven for blessings unnumbered upon her. Long shall remembrance dwell on scenes, past in the dear circle of Haverhill friends. Nov. 4. It is midnight. My wavering mind would fain dwell on some mournful subject. I weep; then sing some melancholy air, to pass away the lingering moments. What would my dear mother say, to see her Harriet thus involved in gloom? But why do I indulge these painful feelings? Is it because my Father is unkind, and will not hear a suppliant’s cries? Is he not not willing to direct my wandering steps; to guide my feet in the paths of peace? Oh yes; his ear is ever open to the prayer of the fatherless. Let me then go to him; tell him all my griefs, and ask of him a calm and clear conviction of duty. “Why sinks my weak desponding mind, Why heaves my soul, this heavy sigh? Can sovereign goodness be unkind, Am I not safe, if God be nigh?”171 Nov. 10. The rising sun witnesses for my heavenly Father, that he is good. Oh yes! his character is infinitely lovely—his attributes are perfect. I behold his goodness in the works of creation and providence. But the beauty of his character shines most conspicuously in the plan of salvation. In the Redeemer, beauty and worth are combined; and shall my heart remain unaffected, amidst such an endless variety of witnesses of the glory of God? Shall I be silent, for whom the Son of God, on Calvary, bled and died? Here the diary, from which the foregoing extracts have been made, closes. But amid the various engagements, which occupied the time of Mrs. Newell, and the many interesting subjects of her contemplation, she continued a frequent correspondence with her friends. The number of letters which she wrote, from the age of thirteen to her death, was remarkable. To Miss R. F. of Andover. Haverhill, Nov. 10, 1811. How shall I sufficiently thank my dear Miss F. for her affectionate communication, received a short time since by Mr. Judson? This was a favour which I had long wished for, but which I had ever considered an unmerited one. I have this day visited the sanctuary of the Most High. While listening to the joyful sound of the Gospel, my thoughts were insensibly led to the forlorn and destitute state of the Heathen, who are unacquainted with Bibles, Churches and Sabbaths. I 77

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thought of the glorious privileges, which the inhabitants of this my Christian country enjoy; and the thought afforded indescribable pleasure. I reflected on the many millions of Asia and Africa; and the reflection was full of anguish and sympathy. Oh my friend, when will the day dawn, and the day-star arise in Pagan lands, where Moloch reigns, “besmeared with blood of human sacrifice, and parent’s tears.” Oh! when, will the religion of Jesus, which has irradiated our benighted souls, be promulgated throughout the world? When will Christians feel more concerned for the salvation of the Heathen; and when will the heralds of the Gospel feel willing to sacrifice the soft delights and elegancies of life, and visit the far distant shores, where Heathen strangers dwell? Oh! when will those who have an interest at the mercy seat, intercede for the wretched Heathen! But my dear Miss F. though I sometimes feel deeply and tenderly interested for the Heathen, and even feel willing to contribute my little aid in the work of a mission; yet the trials of such a life often produce a melancholy dejection, which nothing but divine grace can remove. Often does my imagination paint, in glowing colours, the last sad scene of my departure from the land of my nativity. A widowed mother’s heart with anguish wrung, the tears of sorrow flowing from the eyes of brothers and sisters dear, while the last farewell is pronounced—this is a scene affecting indeed. But this is only the commencement of a life replete with trials. Should my life be protracted, my future residence will be far distant from my native country, in a land of strangers, who are unacquainted with the feelings of friendship and humanity. But I will no longer dwell on these sad subjects. I will look to God; from him is all my aid. He can support his children in the darkest hour, and cause their sinking hearts to rejoice. He has pledged his word, that his grace shall be sufficient for them, and that as their day is, so shall their strength be. How consoling the reflection, that we are in the hands of God! He can do nothing wrong with us: but if we are members of his family, all things will continually work for our good. Trials will wean us from this alluring world, and prepare us for that rest which is reserved for the righteous. And how sweet will that rest be, after a life of toil and suffering. Oh! how does the anticipation of future bliss, sweeten the bitter cup of life. My friend, there is a world, beyond these rolling spheres, where adieus and farewells are unknown. There I hope to meet you with all the ransomed of Israel, and never more experience a painful separation. “The thoughts of such amazing bliss, Should constant joys create.”172

H. A.

To Miss F. W. of Beverly. Haverhill, Dec. 13, 1811. I HAVE long been wishing for a favourable opportunity to return my thanks to my dear Miss W. for her affectionate letter received last June. A multiplicity of 78

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avocations, which could not possibly be dispensed with, have deprived me of this pleasure till now. But though my friends have been neglected, they have not been forgotten. Oh no! dear to my heart, are the friends of Immanuel; particularly those with whom I have walked to the house of God in company, and with whom, I have taken sweet counsel about things which immediately concern Zion, the city of our God. These dear Christian friends, will retain a lasting and affectionate remembrance in my heart, even though stormy oceans should separate me from them. There is a world, my sister, beyond this mortal state, where souls, cemented in one common union, will dwell together, and never more be separated. Does not your heart burn within you, when in humble anticipation of future blessedness, you engage in the delightful service of your covenant Redeemer? When your spirit sinks within you, and all terrestrial objects lose their power to please, can you not say, My journey here, Though it be darksome, joyless and forlorn, Is yet but short; and soon my weary feet, Shall greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest: The toils of this short life will soon be over.173 Yes, my friend, we soon shall bid an eternal farewell to this passing world, and if interested in the covenant, we shall find the rest which remaineth for the people of God. I thank you sincerely for the affectionate interest you have taken in my future prospect in life. I feel encouraged to hope that not only your good wishes, but fervent prayers will attend my contemplated undertaking. I know that the earnest supplications of the faithful will avail with God: plead then, my friend, with Jesus on my behalf. The path of duty is the only way to happiness. I love to tread the path which my Father points out for me, though it is replete with privations and hardships. Who, my dear Miss W. that has felt the love of Jesus, the worth of souls, and the value of the Gospel, would refuse to lend their little aid in propagating the religion of the Cross among the wretched Heathen, when presented with a favourable opportunity? However great the discouragements attending a missionary life, yet Jesus has promised to be with those who enter upon it with a right disposition, even to the end of the world. When will the day dawn, and the day-star arise in Heathen lands? Oh! when will the standard of the Cross be erected, and all nations hear of the glad tidings of Salvation? When will the millennial state commence, and the lands which have long lain in darkness, be irradiated by the calm sunshine of the Gospel? When will the populous regions of Asia and Africa, unite with this our Christian country in one general song of praise to God? Though darkness and error now prevail, faith looks over these mountains, and beholds with transport, the dawning of the Sun of Righteousness, the reign of peace and love. The clock strikes twelve; I must leave you my friend, for tired nature requires repose. Pray often for me. Write me immediately upon receiving this hasty letter. Affectionately yours, 79

HARRIET.

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To Miss R. F. Andover. Haverhill, Dec. 29, 1811. AN hour this sacred evening, the commencement of another Sabbath, shall be cordially devoted to my dear Miss F. Alone and pensive, how can the moments glide more pleasantly away, than in writing to a friend whose name excites many endearing sensations, and whom, from my first introduction to her, I have sincerely loved. Similarity of sentiment will produce an indissoluble union of hearts. How strong are the ties which unite the members of Christ’s family? While dwelling in this the house of their pilgrimage, they are subject to the same trials and privations; and the same hope encourages them to look forward to the happy hour of their release, when their weary souls shall rest sweetly in the bosom of their God. Such I would fondly hope, is the nature of that union which so strongly cements my heart to Miss F. Oh! that when “the long Sabbath of the tomb is past,”174 our united souls may be safely anchored in the fair haven of eternal security, where friendship will be perfected. I have thought much of you since the reception of your kind letter. I hope that divine grace has dissipated your doubts, and that you are now enjoying all holy consolation. May you be made eminently holy and useful, live near to God, and be favoured with those rich communications of his love, which he often bestows upon his children. I have been reading this afternoon, some account of the superstitions of the wretched inhabitants of Asia. How void of compassion must be that heart which feels not for the woes of its fellow mortals! When, my friend, will the day dawn and the day-star arise in those lands, where the prince of darkness has so long dwelt?175 The hour is hastening, when I must bid an eternal farewell to all that is dear in the land of my nativity, cross the boisterous ocean, and become an exile in a foreign land. I must relinquish for ever the friends of my bosom, whose society has rendered pleasant the morning of life, and select for my companions the uncivilized Heathen of Hindostan. I shall shortly enter upon a life of privations and hardships. “All the sad variety of grief”176 will probably be mine to share. Perhaps no cordial, sympathising friend will stand near my dying bed, to administer consolation to my departing spirit, to wipe the falling tear, the cold sweat away, to close my eyes, or to shed a tear upon my worthless ashes. But shall the contemplation of these adverse scenes, tempt me to leave the path selected by my Heavenly Father? Oh no! “I can do all things through Christ, who strengtheneth me.”177 This consideration, exhilarates my sinking soul, and diffuses an ardour within, which I would not relinquish for all the splendours of this world. You, my dear Miss F. will not forget to intercede with Jesus in my behalf. You will pray for the wretched Heathen of India; this will lead your thoughts to those who have devoted their lives to the work of spreading the Gospel among them. You will feel interested in their exertions; and as often as the sun rises in the East, you will invoke for them the blessing and protection of the universal Parent. 80

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When shall I be favoured with another interview with you? Will you not visit me this winter? I need not assure you, that it would be a source of the highest gratification. Preparations for a long voyage, together with visiting friends, has prevented my answering your letter before. Do write me again soon; recollect that I have a special claim on your indulgence. Affectionately yours. HARRIET. To Miss M. T. of Newbury. Boston, Jan. 24, 1812. NEITHER distance nor time has been able to efface from my mind the recollection of that affection, which I once so sincerely professed to feel for you, my beloved M. My pen would not thus long have lain inactive, had inclination been consulted. No, be assured, that nothing less than important, indispensable engagements has prevented me from acknowledging the receipt of your kind letter, which afforded me much pleasure. I hear from my friend N. that you have been indisposed of late. Such, my sister, is the lot of rebel man. Our world is doomed to agonize in pain and sickness, the just desert of sin. Pilgrims and strangers in a dry and thirsty land, where no living waters flow, we, though so young, feel the heavy effects of the first transgression. A composed and tranquil mind, a heart disposed cheerfully to acquiesce in the dispensations of Heaven, however trying, is desirable indeed. But this divine resignation is a gift of the Spirit. May you be favoured with a disposition to rejoice in God, not only when the calm sunshine of prosperity illumines your dwelling, but also when the dreary tempests of affliction beat upon you. The night of sorrow, though dark, is yet but short, if we are the children of the Most High. As Kirke White beautifully expresses the sentiment, “Our weary feet shall ere long greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest.”178 How sweet will be the rest enjoyed in that peaceful inn, after a life of repeated toil and sufferings for Christ! Let this idea stimulate us to a life of exemplary piety. If ever we are favoured with intimate communion with God, and feel the value of that Gospel which bringeth life and salvation, let us compassionate the forlorn Heathen. Let our souls weep for those who are unacquainted with the glad tidings; who spend their wretched lives in worshipping dumb idols; whose lips have never been vocal with redeeming love. Oh, when will the radiant star in the East direct them to Bethlehem!179 Oh when will the high praises of Immanuel resound from the lips of the Hindoo in Asia, the Hottentot of Africa, and the inhospitable Indian of our dear native America! The glorious morn of the Millennium hastens.180 With an eye of faith we pass the mountains, that now obstruct the universal spread of the Gospel, and behold with joy unspeakable, the beginning of a cloudless day, the “reign of peace and love.” Shall we, my ever dear M. who fondly hope that we are the lambs of Jesus’ flock, be content to live indolent, inactive lives, and not assist in the great 81

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revolution about to be effected in this world of sin? Oh no; we will not let it be said, at the great day, that one soul for whom the Son of God became incarnate, for whom he groaned away a dying life, has perished through our neglect. Let worldly ease be sacrificed; let a life of self-denial and hardships be welcome to us, if the cause of God may thereby be most promoted, and sinners most likely to be saved from destruction. Notwithstanding all the encouragements which the Scriptures afford to those who leave all things for God, and devote their lives to his service, still my heart often recoils at the evils of a missionary life. The idea of taking a last farewell of friends, and country, and all that is dear on earth, (a few friends only excepted) is exceedingly trying. Yes, my friend, Harriet will shortly be an exile in a foreign country, a stranger in a strange land. But it is for God that I sacrifice all the comforts of a civilized life. This comforts me; this is my hope, this my only consolation. Will M. think of me, will she pray for me, when stormy oceans separate us? Will imagination ever waft her to the floating prison or the Indian hut, where she, who was once honoured with the endearing appellation of friend, resides? May we meet in heaven, where friends will no more be called to endure a painful separation! May peace and happiness long be inmates of M.’s breast! May she increase in the enjoyment of her God, as days and years increase! How can I wish her more substantial bliss? Shall I not be favoured with one more undisturbed interview with you? Shall I not give you a parting kiss? Shall I not say, Farewell? Why may I not spend the little remnant of my days with you? Must I be separated? But enough—my heart is full; gladly would I fill my sheet with ardent expressions of lasting friendship. “But, hush, my fond heart, hush, – There is a shore of better promise; And I hope at last, we two shall meet In Christ to part no more.”181 A few more letters will probably close our correspondence for ever. Will you write me immediately? M. will gratify me if she loves me. Will you not visit Haverhill this winter? I long to see you. I cannot tell you how much I regretted the loss of your society last summer. I have since been favoured with an introduction to your dear Miss G. A lovely girl. Affectionately yours, HARRIET. To Miss S. H. Andover. Haverhill, Feb. 3, 1812. THE long expected hour is at length arrived, and I am called to bid an eternal adieu to the dear land of my nativity, and enter upon a life replete with crosses, privations, and hardships. The conflicting emotions which rend my heart, 82

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imagination will point out to my dear Miss H. better than my pen can describe them. But still peace reigns many an hour within. Consolations are mine, more valuable than ten thousand worlds. My Saviour, my Sanctifier, my Redeemer, is still lovely; his comforts will delight my soul. Think of Harriet, when crossing the stormy ocean—think of her, when wandering over Hindostan’s sultry plains. Farewell, my friend, a last, a long farewell. May we meet in yonder world, “where adieus and farewells are a sound unknown!” Give dear Mrs. W. a parting kiss from Harriet. Write to and pray often for HARRIET. To Miss S. B. of Haverhill. Haverhill, Feb. 1812. ACCEPT, my ever dear Sarah, the last tribute of heart-felt affection from your affectionate Harriet, which you will ever receive. The hour of my departure hastens; when another rising sun illumines the Eastern horizon, I shall bid a last farewell to a beloved widowed mother, brothers and sisters dear, and the circle of Haverhill friends. With a scene so replete with sorrow just at hand, how can I be otherwise than solemn as Eternity! The motives which first induced me to determine upon devoting my life to the service of GOD in distant India, now console my sinking spirits. Oh, how valuable, how exceedingly precious, are the promises of the Gospel! Eighteen years of my life have been spent in tranquillity and peace. But those scenes so full of happiness, are departed. They are gone “with the years beyond the flood,” no more to return. A painful succession of joyless days will succeed; trials, numberless and severe, will be mine to share. Home, that dearest, sweetest spot, friends, whose society has rendered the morn of life pleasant, must be left, for ever! The stormy ocean must be crossed; and an Indian cottage in a sultry clime, must shortly contain all that is Harriet. Perhaps no sympathizing friend will stand near my dying bed, to wipe the falling tear, to administer consolation, or to entomb my worthless ashes when my immortal spirit quits this earthly tabernacle. But why indulge these melancholy sensations? Is it not for Jesus that I make these sacrifices—and will He not support me by his grace? Oh, yes, my heart replies, he will. “The sultry climes of India then I’ll choose; There will I toil, and sinner’s bonds unloose; There will I live, and draw my latest breath; And, in my Jesus’ service, meet a stingless death.”182 My Friend, there is a rest for the weary pilgrim in yonder world. Shall we meet there, “when the long Sabbath of the tomb is past?”183 83

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Sarah, my much loved friend, farewell. Farewell, perhaps for ever. Though trackless forests separate, though oceans roll between, Oh, forget not HARRIET. These were the last letters written by Mrs. NEWELL, before her departure from America. On the 6th of Feb. 1812. when the Missionaries were ordained, at Salem, Mrs. NEWELL was present. On that interesting occasion, she manifested remarkable tranquillity and resolution. Feb. 19, 1812, with Mr. Newell, and Mr. and Mrs. Judson, she sailed from Salem, and took leave for ever of her native land, amidst the prayers and benedictions of multitudes. The following diary, written on her passage to India, and addressed to her mother, was lately received. 1812. March 9. To you, my beloved mother, shall these pages be cheerfully dedicated. If they afford you amusement in a solitary hour, if they are instrumental in dissipating one anxious sensation from your heart, I shall be doubly rewarded for writing. Whatever will gratify a mother, so valuable as mine, shall here be recorded, however uninteresting it might be to a stranger. The first week after our embarkation I was confined to my bed with sea-sickness. This was a gloomy week. But my spirits were not so much depressed, as I once expected they would be. The attendants were obliging, and I had every convenience which I could wish on board a vessel. Feb. 24, the vessel sprung a leak. We were in the greatest danger of sinking during the night. The men laboured almost constantly at the pump. Capt. H. thought it best to alter the course of the Caravan, and make directly for St. Jago. The wind changed in the morning. In a day or two the leak was providentially discovered, and prevented from doing any further injury. Though much fatigued, sleep departed from me. It was indeed an interesting night. Though a sudden exit from life appeared more solemn than ever before, yet I felt a sweet composure in confiding in God, and in leaving the disposal of my life with him. We have no family worship, which we consider a great affliction. Sabbath forenoon, Mr. N. or brother J. read a sermon and perform the other exercises of worship in the cabin. The captain and officers favour us with their attendance. I have found much enjoyment at these seasons. I often think on my American friends, who are blessed with the privilege of attending statedly on the means of grace. My thoughts were particularly fixed on my brethren and sisters the first sabbath in March. I thought that our dear pastor would not forget to intercede with God for an absent sister, while sitting at the communion table, where I have often had a seat. I shall devote much of my time to reading while on the water. There is but little variety in a sea life. I have noticed with pleasure that many little articles, which I accidentally brought with me; have contributed much to my comfort. 84

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The vessel is very damp, and the cabin collects some dirt, which renders it necessary that I should frequently change my clothes, in order to appear decent. I think I shall have clothes enough for the voyage, by taking a little care. We have had contrary winds and calms for ten days past, which will make our voyage longer. How can it be that I wish for those winds that waft me farther from my dear mother, and all that I have in a much loved native country. Surely this wish does not originate from want of affection for my friends. March 10. We have prayers regularly every evening in brother J.’s room, which is larger and more convenient than ours. We have met another brig, bound to America, as we imagine, but on account of contrary winds, which renders it difficult to come near enough to speak with her, she has proceeded on her passage. This is the second vessel which we have seen at a distance, going direct to America; but I have not been favoured with the privilege of sending letters to you. Oh, how ardently do I long to tell you, just how I am at present situated, and that I am happy and contented. We find there is great danger of speaking with any vessel, lest it should prove to be a French privateer. It is very difficult writing to-day, on account of the constant motion of the vessel. The wind is favourable; we go nearly seven miles an hour. March 12. A heavy sea to-day; the waves have repeatedly broken on deck, and rushed with violence down the gang-way into the cabin. Our room has not yet been wet. March 14. I have been on deck, and seen the sailors take a turtle. They went out in a boat two or three miles, and took it by surprise, with their hands. It weighs about twenty pounds. We have learned how to make yeast. We have occasionally flour-bread, nuts, apple-puddings, apple-pies, &c. We have baked and stewed beans twice a week, which you know are favourite dishes of mine, also fowls, ham, &c. We drink tamarind-water, porter, cyder, &c. I have been agreeably disappointed respecting our manner of living at sea, though we are not free from inconveniences, by any means. March 16. Yesterday morning, religious exercises were performed as usual in the cabin. Several pages in Law’s Serious Call read. My thoughts dwell on home, and my much-loved country, more intensely on the Sabbath, than on any other day. The sun rises much earlier here than in Haverhill. At one I think you are going to Church. Dined on turtle soup yesterday; do not like it. Saw a flying-fish to-day;184 breakfasted upon it. Several gales of wind last evening. I do not know why it is that I do not suffer more from fear than I do. Cousin J. will tell you how dreary every thing appears, in a dark evening, when the wind blows hard, and the vessel seems to be on the point of turning over. But we have been highly favoured, the weather has generally been remarkably pleasant. March 17. I have just seen a third vessel, bound, as we have every reason to think, to dear America. We came so near her as to see the men walking on deck: But Capt. H. received particular orders to speak with no vessel on the passage. I have a great desire to send you, my dear mother, some communication. But this gratification I must give up. Five weeks yesterday since I bid you adieu. Oh that 85

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you may never, for one moment, regret that you gave me up, to assist in so great, so glorious a work. I want more faith, more spirituality, more engagedness, in so good a cause. Possessed of these blessings, I shall be happy, while crossing the tempestuous ocean, and when I become an inhabitant of Pagan Asia. March 18. I am sometimes almost sick for the want of exercise. I walk fast on the deck three times a day, which is the only exercise I take. We have seen a number of flying-fishes to-day, which look very pretty. We are now more than 3000 miles from home. I shall ever find a melancholy pleasure in calling my mother’s house in Haverhill, my home, though the Atlantic floods roll between. Long may the best of Heaven’s blessings rest upon the dwelling, where I have spent my playful years in peace, and where in riper age I have known what tranquillity is, by happy experience: Long may my beloved mother, and dear brothers and sisters, enjoy the blessing of my Heavenly Father, and be strangers to affliction and woe. March 19. It is excessively warm to-day. We are now in the torrid Zone;185 while my dear mother, brothers, and sisters are probably shivering over a large fire, I am sitting with the window and door open, covered with perspiration. Brother and sister Judson are asleep on one bed, Mr. N. lounging on another, while I am writing. You know not how much I think of you all, how ardently I desire to hear from you, and see you. My time passes more pleasantly than ever I anticipated. I read, and sew, and converse at intervals; rise early in the morning, retire early at night. I find Mr. Newell to be every thing I could wish for. He not only acts the part of a kind, affectionate friend, but likewise that of a careful, tender physician. March 20. I have been into a bath of salt water this evening, which has refreshed me much. I think I shall bathe regularly every other day. I often think of many ways in which I could have contributed to your comfort and happiness, and that of my other dear friends, while with you. My mother, my dear mother, can you, will you forgive me for causing you so much pain, as I surely have done in the course of my life, and for making you so few returns for the unwearied care and kindness you have ever shown me. I think that if your heart is fixed, trusting in God, you will find consolation, when thinking of my present situation. You will be unspeakably happy in commending me to God, and the word of his grace, and praying for my welfare in Heathen lands. March 21. A large porpoise was taken yesterday. Cousin J. will describe this curious fish to you. I have had a return of my old complaint, the nervous headache. It has attended me for two or three days very severely. I think it is in some measure owing to the confined air of our lodging room. This is one of the greatest inconveniences to which we are subjected. When I awake these extremely hot mornings, I often think of our large cool chambers. The heat is not all. It is also attended with a disagreeable smell, occasioned by the bilge water which is pumped out of the ship. But this is a light trial. March 22. I have spent a quarter part of this holy day on deck, reading, singing, conversing, &c. I hope this has been a profitable and joyful Sabbath to my dear mother. 86

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Oh, how ardently do I long again to frequent the courts of my God, and hear from his ambassadors the joyful sound of the glorious Gospel! But though in a humbler manner, yet I trust we find his grace displayed towards us while meeting for his worship. The weather is hot in the extreme; we are within a few days sail of the line. I have not found a stove necessary more than once or twice since I left the harbour. The weather has been much warmer than I anticipated. But we keep pretty comfortable in the air. March 23. I cannot yet drink coffee or tea without milk. We have water porridge night and morning, and sometimes chocolate which is very good. We have every necessary which is possible on the ocean. I am thankful I feel no disposition to complain. I have for the most part of the time since we sailed, enjoyed a great degree of real happiness. The everlasting God is my refuge. March 24. Mr. Newell often regrets that he had no more time to spend with you previous to our departure. He often says, “Harriet, how I do long to see your dear mother!” We often look the way where Captain H. tells us Haverhill lies. But alas! a vast ocean, and the blue sky are all we can see. But there is a land, my dear mother, where stormy seas cannot divide the friends of Jesus. There I hope to meet you and all my beloved friends, to whom, on earth, I have bid adieu. Oh that, when the followers of the Lamb are collected from the East and West, from the North and South, Harriet, an exile, in a distant land, with her mother, father, brothers, and sisters, may be united in the family of the Most High in Heaven! March 25. The weather is about as warm as the extreme hot weather in America, last summer. Mamma may possibly be called to fit out another daughter for India. If so, I think some improvement might be made upon her plan. We all feel the want of more thin clothes. We are told, we shall not be likely to suffer more from the heat in Bengal, than we do now. We do not go more than a mile an hour. Are within 160 miles of the Equator. This is dear little Emily’s birthday. Sweet child, will she ever forget her absent sister, Harriet, whom once she loved? Oh no! I will not for one moment indulge the thought. I cannot bear to think of losing a place in the remembrance of dear friends. March 26. My attachment to the world has greatly lessened since I left my country, and with it all the honours, pleasures, and riches of life. Yes, mamma, I feel this morning like a pilgrim and a traveller in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is. Heaven is my home; there, I trust, my weary soul will sweetly rest, after a tempestuous voyage across the ocean of life. I love to think of what I shall shortly be, when I have finished my Heavenly Father’s work on earth. How sweet the thoughts of glory, while I wander here in this waste wilderness! I still contemplate the path into which I have entered with pleasure, although replete with trials, under which, nothing but sovereign grace can support me. I have at times the most ardent desires to see you, and my other dear friends. These desires, for a moment, are almost insupportable. But when I think seriously of the object of my undertaking, and the motives which first induced me to give up all, and enter upon it, I enjoy a sweet serenity of mind, a satisfaction which the heaviest trials cannot destroy. The sacrifices which I have made are great indeed; but the light 87

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of Immanuel’s countenance can enliven every dreary scene, and make the path of duty pleasant. Should I at some future period be destitute of one sympathizing friend, in a foreign sickly clime, I shall have nothing to fear. When earthly friends forsake me, then “the Lord will take me up.”186 No anticipated trials ought to make me anxious; for I know that I can do and suffer all things, “through Christ, who strengtheneth me.”187 In his hands I leave the direction of every event, knowing that he who is infinitely wise and good, can do no wrong. March 29. We crossed the Equator last night. The weather still continues excessively hot. Heavy gales of wind, and repeated showers of rain rendering it necessary for the captain and officers to be on deck, we had no religious exercises in the cabin. March 31. It is six weeks, this evening, since we came on board the Caravan. How rapidly have the weeks glided away. Thus, my dear mamma, will this short life pass. Why then do our thoughts dwell so much upon a short separation, when there is a world, where the friends of Jesus will never part more. April 1. Three sharks caught to-day. In their frightful appearance they far exceeded the description I have often heard given of them. April 7. The weather grows colder as we draw nearer the Cape.188 Some Cape birds are seen flying on the water, called Albatrosses. We have had a little piece of the gangway taken into our room, which renders it much more pleasant and cool. We can now sit together and read. Mr. J. and N.’s room is large and convenient. May 1. Again, my ever dear mother, I devote a few leisure moments to you, and my beloved brothers and sisters. The winds and the waves are bearing us rapidly away from America. I care not how soon we reach Calcutta, and are placed in a still room, with a bowl of milk, and a loaf of Indian bread. I can hardly think of this simple fare without exclaiming, oh, what a luxury! I have been so weary of the excessive rocking of the vessel, and the almost intolerable smell after the rain, that I have done little more than lounge on the bed for several days. But I have been blest with excellent spirits, and to-day have been running about the deck, and dancing in our room for exercise, as well as ever. What do some females do, who have unkind husbands in sickness? Among the many signal favours, I am daily receiving from God, one of the greatest is a most affectionate partner. With him my days pass cheerfully away; happy in the consciousness of loving and of being beloved. With him contented I would live, and contented I would die. This, my mother, is the language of your Harriet’s heart. We are in the latitude of the Cape. The weather is cold, and will probably be so for a month. The last winter we shall have. Ten weeks since we left Salem. I often think and often dream of you. Is mamma happy? Oh yes! blest with the rich consolations of the Gospel, she cannot be unhappy. But, mamma, the Heathen are wretched. For their sake shall not some Christians leave friends and country, cross the Atlantic, and submit to many hardships, to carry them the word of life. I do not repent, nor have I ever repented of my undertaking. My health is as good as I could reasonably expect. When I get to Calcutta, I will tell you more of that. 88

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When in the exercise of right feelings, I rejoice that I am made capable of adding to the happiness of one of Christ’s dear missionaries. This is the sphere, in which I expect to be useful, while life is prolonged. This is what you calculated upon, and I am now happy in seeing this wish daily accomplished. In Heaven I hope shortly to recount to you the many toils of my pilgrimage. My dear mother, and my dear brothers and sisters, farewell for the present. Lest I should forget, I mention it now, request brother E. W. and all who are interested enough to enquire for me, to write me long letters. Oh how acceptable will American letters be. You will think of it. May 8. My dear Mr. N. has been ill this week past with the dysentery, so ill that he has kept his bed the greater part of the time. Should he fall a victim to this painful disease, and leave me alone in a strange land: But I will not distrust the care of my Heavenly Father. I know he will never leave nor forsake me, though a widowed stranger in a strange country. The weather is rainy, the sea runs high, and our room is often overflowed with water. My health has been remarkably good since Mr. N.’s sickness, and I have been able to attend upon him a little. But think, mamma, how painful it must be to the feeling heart to stand by the sick bed of a beloved friend, see him in want of many necessaries, which you cannot provide. Four years to-day since my father’s death. You, my dear mother, have probably thought of it, and the recollection is painful. Dear cousin C. has probably before this time entered the world of spirits; and perhaps more of my dear Haverhill friends. “This life’s a dream, an empty show.”189 We find, that we have taken passage in an old leaky vessel, which, perhaps, will not stand the force of the wind and waves, until we get to Calcutta. But if God has any thing for us to do in Heathen Asia, we shall get there and accomplish it. Why then do we fear? It is God, “Who rides upon the stormy winds, And manages the seas.”190 And is not this God our God? May 10. Mr. Newell’s health is much improved. “I will bless the Lord because he hath heard the voice of my supplications.”191 The weather is still cold and unpleasant. We are tossing about on the stormy waves, and are subjected to the numerous inconveniencies of a sea-faring life. We go at the rate of 160 miles in 24 hours. We hope to reach our destined haven in six or seven weeks. Scarcely a night passes, but I dream of my dear mother, brothers and sisters. My sleeping hours are pleasant. Doubtless, mamma, sometimes dreams of Harriet. Does she not? May 11. I have been reading what I have written, and fear that mamma will conclude from some sentences, that I am not so happy in my present situation, as 89

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she could wish. It has never been my intention to leave this impression on your mind. Believe me, my mother, in the sincerity of my heart I can say, that with a very few exceptions, I am happy all the day long. Though I am deeply sensible of my want of many qualifications, which would render a female highly useful among those of her own sex in Asia, yet I delight in the thought, that weak and unqualified as I am, a sovereign God may see fit to make me the instrument of doing some good to the Heathen, either directly or indirectly. Recollect, mamma, that happiness is not confined to any particular situation. The humble cottager may enjoy as much happiness, as the king on his throne. Blest with a competency, what more do we want? This, God has hitherto granted me; and more than this, he has often given me the enjoyment of himself, which you know by happy experience is of greater value, than all this earth can afford: “Give what thou wilt, without thee we are poor, And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.”192 I think I never enjoyed so much solid peace of mind—never was so free from discontent and melancholy, as since I have been here; though I still retain a sinful heart, and often am led to doubt the reality of my being personally interested in the covenant. May 14. You will not doubt but what my health is excellent, when I tell you, that I eat meat three times a day with a very good relish. I generally drink watergruel morning and evening, instead of coffee and tea. The gingerbread, which the ladies in Salem made for us, is still good. But we find, that the crackers, which Captain Pearson put up for us, have been, and still are, more acceptable than any thing else, which we have. The preserves, which I brought from home, were almost useless; for in a week or two after we sailed they grew mouldy, and I gave them to the sailors. Those which Mrs. B. gave me, kept very well. Mr. N. relished them much in his sickness. I wish to thank her. May 17. Sabbath eve. This has been a pleasant day. We assembled in the cabin as usual, and joined in the worship of God. I have enjoyed as much this day, as I ever did in an American church. The presence of Jesus is not confined to a temple made with hands. Many hundreds flock to his house every Sabbath. The word preached does not profit them. They go, and return without a blessing; while the believing two or three, who are gathered together in his name are favoured with his presence. This thought often gives me great encouragement, when lamenting my long absence from the courts of the Lord. “I have loved the place where thine honour dwelleth.”193 Two albatrosses caught to-day. They are very pretty birds, about the size of a goose. We shall have what we call a sea pie made of them. We all long to see land again. May 20. This is probably a delightful month with you. “The winter is past, and the time of the singing of birds is come.”194 May health, peace, and joy, reside in my dear-loved native dwelling. Oh! may my mother dear and all her children be 90

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favoured with those joys, which the Gospel of Jesus affords. Pray that Harriet may possess them too, though far away from friends and home. May 21. How does our dear Church flourish? Is the little flock which our dear pastor is attempting to direct to glory, increasing in strength, piety and numbers? And how is it with the pious few, whom I left walking closely with God, like pilgrims and strangers, and daily expectants of rest? Oh! that I were with them, to speak a word to our dear sisters, and exhort them to be faithful unto the end. But no, mamma, do not regard the opposition of the world, or Satan; but oh! be active, be engaged in promoting piety around you. Oh! that I had done more for Jesus, when with you. Oh! that those evenings which were spent in vanity, had been sacred to prayer! Tell cousin J. to exert every faculty of his soul for God. May 22. How does dear little A. do? I should love to see the sweet child. May he long live to comfort his parents, and do good in the world! Our dear Mr. W. is probably now at Haverhill. It would have been pleasant to see him once more. Do give my love to him. Will he write me one letter? M. I hope, has become very good, and is affording you much assistance and comfort. C. likewise, and little E. I hope are great blessings to their dear mother. Do kiss all the children for me. I shall expect letters from every one. I shall not ask for them; for mamma knows what I want. I cannot yet give up the idea of having a visit from you, when I get settled in my little Indian hut. Perhaps E. S. or C. may accompany some Missionary to Asia. If the mission-ship should be sent—but let me stop. I have thought more than ever, since I left home, that I shall return to America again, if deprived by death of my dear, dear Mr. N. Oh! that such an event might never happen. But life is uncertain, particularly in burning India. I am trying to familiarize my mind to every affliction. We often converse of a separation. It is his wish, that I should return to you immediately, should such an event take place; unless I am positive of being more extensively useful among the Heathen. May 24. Hope my Haverhill friends have enjoyed as much comfort as I have, this holy sabbath. May 29. Do you not think, mamma, I have acquired a little courage since I left home? I have had two teeth extracted to-day; they came very hard; but I think I shall have all my defective ones taken out. May 31. We have, this evening, been reading some account of Birmah.195 Never before did I so much feel my dependence on God. We are going among a savage people, without the protection of a religious government. We may possibly, one day, die martyrs to the cause, which we have espoused. But trusting in God, we may yet be happy, infinitely more happy, than all the riches and honours of this world can make us. I hope you will never indulge an anxious thought about us. Pray often, and pray earnestly for us. Oh! how does the hope of heaven reconcile me to a life of trials. When my friends in America hear of my departure from this vale of tears, let the thought, that I am at rest in Jesus, influence them to rejoice rather than to weep. June 7. The weather grows warmer, and the heat will probably continue to increase, until we reach Calcutta. But we have fine winds, which render the 91

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weather comfortable. Worship as usual in the cabin to-day. We have commenced and ended this Sabbath, nearly at the same time with the Christians in India. If mamma and our other friends were now to look on the map, they would see us in the torrid zone, passing near the fertile island of Ceylon. The idea of being within some hundred miles of land is really pleasant. We have had strong gales of wind, and heavy rains, attended with thunder and lightning of late; which might terrify a heart, more susceptible of feeling than mine. I know not how it is, but I hear the thunder roll, see the lightning flash, and the waves threatening to swallow up the vessel, and yet remain unmoved. June 9. We are now looking forward in expectation of shortly seeing the shores of Calcutta. The idea of again walking on the earth, and conversing with its inhabitants, is pleasing. Though, as we often remark to each other, this may be the pleasantest part of our lives. We do not calculate upon a life of ease. June 10. We have been packing some of our things to-day. Hope to reach port Sabbath-day, if the winds prove favourable. June 11. Some visitors from land to-day,—two birds and a butterfly. We suppose, that we are about one hundred miles from land. The weather unpleasant and rainy last night and to-day. I dread rainy weather very much at sea. How does dear E. do? Is she a very good child? Do, dear mother, talk often to the children about their sister Harriet. Do not let them forget me. I think much of dear sister E. How happy should I feel, if she were with me. Dear girl! with what sensations do I recal the scenes of other years! I hope that E. is happy. Perhaps ere this, she has given herself to God, and commenced a serious and devout life. If this is the case, my heart congratulates her. My mother, shall so much loveliness be lost? June 12. Rejoice with us, my dear, dear mother, in the goodness of our covenant God. After seeing nothing but sky and water for one hundred and fourteen days, we this morning heard the joyful exclamation of “land, land!” It is the coast of Orissa, about twenty miles from us. Should the wind be favourable, we shall not lose sight of land again until we get to Calcutta. We hope to see the pagoda which contains the Idol Juggernaut,196 before sunset. The view of the Orissa coast, though at a distance, excites within me a variety of sensations unknown before. For it is the land of Pagan darkness,197 which Buchanan so feelingly describes. June 13. A calm. Passed the temple of Juggernaut, and the Black Pagoda; but the weather being hazy, we could not see them. In the afternoon for the first time, spoke a vessel. An American ship from the Cape of Good Hope. It seemed good to hear the voice of a human being not belonging to our number. Agreed to keep company during the night. June 14. No public worship to-day. The last night, a sleepless, tedious one. Sounded every half hour all night. The water shallow, and of a dirty light green. Surrounded by shoals, in perpetual danger of running upon them. Many vessels have been shipwrecked here, and in the Hoogly river. May that God, who has hitherto been our protector, still stand by us. Anxiously looking for a pilot, but no vessel in sight. The ship and brig close by us. Pleasant having company. Spoke 92

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with the brig to-day, owned by some one in Calcutta, and manned by Bengalees. I could see them distinctly with a spy glass. Lost sight of land. No sun for three days. June 15. We anchored last night. Dangerous sailing in this place in the dark; providentially discovered a pilot’s schooner this morning. Vessels are sometimes kept waiting ten days or more for a pilot. The pilot, an English lad, called the leadsman, and the pilot’s Hindoo servant, came on board, bag and baggage. I should like to describe this Hindoo to you. He is small in stature, about twenty years of age, of a dark copper colour. His countenance is mild, and indicates the most perfect apathy and indolence. He is dressed in calico trowsers, and a white cotton short gown. He is a Mahometan. I should not imagine that he had force enough to engage in any employment. June 16. Last night by sunset the anchor was thrown again. A heavy sea; the vessel rocked violently all the evening. The water rushing in at the cabin windows, overflowed our rooms. The birth is our only place of refuge at such times. About eleven the cable broke, and we were dashed about all night in continual danger of running upon some shoal. The anchor was lost, yet we were miraculously preserved from a sudden and awful death, by that God who rules the seas, and whom the winds obey. I slept the greater part of the night sweetly; though the dead lights were in, which made our room excessively hot, and much confusion was on deck; all hands hard at work the most of the night. What a blessing, oh, my mother, is health. Were I on land, I think no one would be so free from complaints as I. Even here, notwithstanding all the fatigue to which I am unavoidably subjected, I get along surprisingly. Saugor Island about two miles from us. This is the island where so many innocent children have been sacrificed by their parents, to sharks and alligators.198 Cruel, cruel! While I am now writing, we are fast entering the river Hoogly. For several days past, we have had frequent showers of rain. This is the time at which the rainy season commences in Bengal. It is the most unhealthy part of the year. The weather is not uncomfortably warm. 12 o’Clock. A boat filled with Hindoos from Cudjeree,199 has just left our vessel. It is called a port-boat. They have taken letters, which will be sent post haste before us, to Calcutta. These Hindoos were naked, except a piece of cotton cloth wrapped about their middle. They are of a dark copper colour, and with much more interesting countenances, than the Hindoo we have now on board. They appeared active, talkative, and as though they were capable of acquiring a knowledge of the Christian religion, if instructed. Their hair is black; some had it shaved off the fore part of the head, and tied in a bunch behind; that of the others, was all turned back. I long to become acquainted with the Hindoo language. 1 o’Clock. We are now so near land as to see the green bushes and trees on the banks of the river. The smell of the land air is reviving. We hear the birds singing sweetly in the bushes. 5 o’Clock. I wish my ever dear mother could be a partaker of our pleasures. Were it in my power, how gladly would I describe to you, the beauties of the scenery around us. After passing hundreds of the Hindoo cottages, which resemble 93

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hay-stacks in their form and colour, in the midst of cocoa-nut, banana and date trees, a large English stone house will appear to vary the scene. Here will be seen a large white Pagoda through the trees, the place where the idol gods are worshipped; there a large ancient building in ruins. Some Hindoos are seen bathing in the water of the Ganges; others fishing; others sitting at their ease on their banks; others driving home their cattle, which are very numerous; and others, walking with fruit and umbrellas in their hands, with the little tawny children around them. The boats frequently come to our vessel, and the Hindoos chatter, but it is thought best to take no notice of them. This is the most delightful trial I ever had. We anchor in the river to night, twenty-five miles from Calcutta. Farewell. June 17. After a tedious voyage, we have, my dear mother, arrived at Calcutta. We reached here yesterday, at three o’clock in the afternoon. Mr. N. and brother J. went on shore immediately, and returned in the evening. They called at the Police office, entered their names, called upon Dr. Carey200 at his dwelling-house at Calcutta, were cordially received, and by him invited to go immediately to Serampore. They likewise saw Dr. Marshman and Mr. Ward. I cannot say that our future prospects are at present flattering, but hope before I send you this, they will wear a different aspect. Mr. N. and J. will go on shore again this morning; we hope to be permitted to land and reside here for a season, but know not how it will be. The English East India Company are violently opposed to missions; but I will tell you more at some future time. Oh that their hearts might be opened to receive the blessings of the Gospel. Oh my mother, my heart is pained within me at what I have already seen of these wretched Pagans. Here we are, surrounded by hundreds of them, whose only object is to get their rice, eat, drink, and sleep. One of the writer cast, dressed in a muslin Cuprash and white turban (which is the common habit of that cast) who can talk English, has just left the cabin. His name is RamJoy-Gos. Your pious heart, my dear mother, would melt with compassion to hear him talk. Oh the superstition that prevails through this country! I am sure, if we gain admittance into Asia, I shall plead harder with American Christians to send missionaries to these Bengal heathen, than ever a missionary did before. Three miles from Calcutta, a native came with a basket of pine-apples, plantains, (which taste like a rich pear) a pot of fresh butter, and several loaves of good bread—a present from one of Capt. H.’s friends. At night, I made a delicious meal on bread and milk. The milk, though thin, was a luxury. Yesterday and last night we were not uncomfortably warm, as the day was cloudy, attended with a little rain. But to-day it is excessively hot. I dare not go on deck, for I burned my face so yesterday, that it is almost ready to blister; owing to my going on deck without a bonnet. You have heard of the natives dying by being sun-struck. I think I can say, I never felt better in America, than I do here. Calcutta harbour is a delightful place. But we are quite tired of the noise. The natives are as thick as bees; they keep a continual chattering. I like the sound of the Bengalee much. June 18. Yesterday afternoon we left the vessel, and were conveyed in a Palanquin201 through crowds of Hindoos to Dr. Carey’s. 94

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No English lady is here seen walking the streets. This I do not now wonder at. The natives are so numerous and noisy, that a walk would be extremely unpleasant. Calcutta houses are built almost entirely of stone. They are very large and airy. Dr. C.’s house appeared like a palace to us, after residing so long in our little room. He keeps a large number of Hindoo servants. Mrs. Carey is very ill at Serampore. The Doctor is a small man and very pleasant. He received us very cordially. This morning we saw some of the native Christians. Ram-Mo-Lund was one. They cannot talk English. A son of Dr. C.’s is studying law at Calcutta. He is an amiable young man. An invitation to go to Serampore to-morrow. June 20. At Serampore. We came here last evening by water. The dear Missionaries received us with the same cordiality, as they would, if we had been own brothers and sisters. This is the most delightful place I ever saw. Here the Missionaries enjoy all the comforts of life, and are actively engaged in the Redeemer’s service. After a tedious voyage of four months at sea, think, my dear mother, how grateful to us is this retired and delightful spot. The mission-house consists of four large commodious stone buildings. Dr. Carey’s, Dr. Marshman’s, Mr. Ward’s, and the common house. In the last we are accommodated, with two large spacious rooms, with every convenience we could wish. It has eight rooms on the floor, no chambers; viz. the two rooms above-mentioned, with two other lodging rooms, the dining hall, where a hundred or more eat, a large elegant chapel, and two large libraries. The buildings stand close to the river. The view of the other side is delightful. The garden is larger and much more elegant, than any I ever saw in America. A few months since, the printing-office was destroyed by fire. This was a heavy stroke; but the printing is now carried on very extensively. There is a large number of out buildings also; the cook-house, one for making paper, &c. &c. June 21. Mr. N. preached this morning in the Mission chapel. Mr. W. in the afternoon in the Bengalee language to about fifty Hindoos and Mussulmen. This afternoon, I shall ever recollect with peculiar sensations. The appearance of the Christian Hindoos when listening to the word of life, would have reproved many an American Christian. Had you been present I am sure you could not have refrained from weeping. Had an opposer of missions been present, his objections must have vanished. He would have exclaimed, what hath God wrought! To hear the praises of Jesus sung by a people of strange language; to see them kneel before the throne of grace; to behold them eagerly catching every word which proceeded from the mouth of their minister, was a joyful, affecting scene. Rejoice, my mother; the standard of the blessed Immanuel is erected in this distant Pagan land; and here the Gospel will undoubtedly continue, till the commencement of the bright millennial day. In the evening, brother J. preached. How precious the privileges I now enjoy! June 22. I have every thing here which heart could wish, but American friends. We are treated with the greatest possible kindness. Every thing tends to make us happy and excite our gratitude. You would love these dear Missionaries, could you see them. 95

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June 24. I have just returned from a scene, calculated to awaken every compassionate feeling. At nine in the morning we took a budgerow,202 and went three or four miles up the river to see the worship of Juggernaut. The log of wood was taken from his pagoda and bathed in the sacred waters of the Ganges. The assembled worshippers followed the example; and thousands flocked to the river, where, with prayers and many superstitious rites, they bathed. Miserable wretches! Oh that American Christians would but form an adequate idea of the gross darkness which covers this people! July 14. A letter from Calcutta informs us that the Frances will sail for America in a day or two. With this information I must be expeditious in writing. As the Caravan will sail in a short time, I shall neglect writing now to many of my dear friends, to whom I shall then be very particular. I hope the contents of this little book will be gratifying to my dear mother. She will remember that they were written while the events were passing, and that they were the feelings of the moment. You will therefore feel disposed to pass over all errors, and think it like the private conversation of one of your daughters. I am sure I love my dear, dear mother, and my beloved brothers and sisters; and all my dear American Friends, as well now, as I did on the morning when I took my last farewell of home. I long to hear from you all. Whenever you think of me, think, I am happy and contented; that I do not regret coming here. But life is uncertain, especially in this country. Should God in judgment, remove far from me lover,203 and the best of friends, and leave your Harriet a lonely widow in this laud of strangers, say my mother, ever dear, shall I be a welcome child in your house? I know not what would be my feelings, should such unknown trials be mine. Perhaps I might feel that here I ought to stay. But I want to feel, that a mother’s house and a mother’s arms, are open to receive me, should my all be removed before me into the land of darkness. Assurance of this gives me joy. My dear mother, unite with me in praising God for one of the best of husbands. Oh what would have been my wretchedness, had I found Mr. N. a cold inattentive partner. But he is all that I could wish him to be. Do give much love to all my friends in Haverhill. I cannot stop to particularize them. They are all dear to me, and I shall write to many of them by the Caravan. Dear mother, if I supposed you had one anxious thought about me, I should not feel happy. I think I see you surrounded by your dear family, taking comfort in their society, and blessing God for one child to consecrate to the work of a mission. Oh that you might find the grace of Jesus sufficient for you! As your day is, so may your strength be! Trust in God, he will support you under every trial. I hope to meet my dear mother, and brothers, and sisters, in Heaven, where we shall never be separated. Farewell, my dear, dear mother. May you enjoy as large a share of earthly bliss, as your God shall see best to give you; and oh, that the joys of that Gospel, of which the Heathen are ignorant, may be yours, in life, and in the solemn hour of dissolution. Farewell. A letter to our dear Miss H. almost finished, lies by me; will be sent by the Caravan. One to Mr. Dodge likewise. Love to both. HARRIET NEWELL. 96

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The first of the following letters was begun at sea, and finished after her arrival in India. On board the Caravan, at Sea. April 14, 1812.

My dear Mrs. K.

MOST sensibly do I feel the loss of the society of my Christian friends in Haverhill, with whom I often took sweet counsel. How repeatedly have I commemorated the death of the blessed Jesus at his table, with my sister and friend, my ever dear Mrs. K. The ties are still strong which attach my heart to her; and though I no more anticipate another meeting with her on earth, yet I hope to sit with her at the Gospel feast in Heaven, where all parting tears will be wiped away. Two months this day since I left my native shores and became a resident of this floating prison. The change has been great indeed which the last months have effected in my situation. Many have been the inconveniences and privations, to which I have been subjected. I have relinquished a life of ease and tranquillity, in the bosom of my relatives and friends, for the hardships of a voyage across the Atlantic, and a habitation in an unhealthy clime among the Heathens. But I am far from being unhappy. I have found many valuable sources of enjoyment, and I believe I can say in the sincerity of my heart, that notwithstanding my separation from every object which once I loved, yet I never was happier, or more contented in my life. In one bosom friend I find the endearing qualities of a parent, a brother, and a husband, all united. This sympathy alleviates every sorrow; his prayers diffuse joy and consolation through my heart; and while he lessens my earthly griefs, he points me to that world, where the weary are at rest. June 9, lat. 10°, long. 36°. We are rapidly advancing to the place of our destination. A few days more will probably land us on the shores of Asia. I feel, my dear Mrs. K. a mixture of pleasing and melancholy sensations, as I approach nearer Calcutta. Melancholy, because I can see none of my friends there, and it is an unhealthy, sultry region, which the Gospel has never illuminated; pleasing, because a hope is indulged that ere long the darkness of Paganism will be scattered, and the news of salvation be diffused far and wide. My health has been remarkably good, since we crossed the equator the last time. This I consider a very great blessing, and some encouragement that I shall enjoy the same favour in India. The weather is excessively hot; the nights are very uncomfortable, owing to the confined air of our rooms. But what is this compared with India? The recollection of departed pleasures often casts a gloom over my present enjoyments. “I think of the days of other years, and my soul is sad.” How does dear Haverhill, my much loved native town, appear. How are its dear inhabitants? How is the little flock of Jesus, of which you are a member? How flourishes that dear society of praying females? How is our dear pastor? Are the weekly 97

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conferences continued? Are there many who attend them? Are there many enquiring the way to Zion? Are there any new converts to the power of Truth? Are there numbers daily added to the Church of such as shall be saved? Were I with my dear Mrs. K. how gladly would I particularize. But I must stop. In one or two years I may have an answer to these questions. Oh that it might be such an answer, as will gladden my heart, and cause our little Mission band to rejoice. I hope that it will not be long before glad tidings from the East, will give you joy. Oh that this infant Mission might ever live before God. May that quarter of the globe, where so many wonderful transactions have been performed, be filled with the glory of God. Oh that the standard of Immanuel’s cross were already erected in Heathen Asia, and that Mahometans and Pagans were prostrated before it. I cannot but hope that the labours of our missionary brethren will be abundantly successful in winning souls to Christ, and that we shall afford them some comfort and assistance in the arduous, but glorious work. June 16. My dear Mrs. K. I think will congratulate us on again seeing land. I have been walking on deck, and have seen a boat filled with Hindoos approach our vessel. I like their appearance much, and feel more reconciled to the idea of living among them than ever before. My heart burns within me while I write. O my friend, will these degraded Pagans ever be brought to Jesus? Serampore, July 14. I have not time to review what I wrote to you, my dear Mrs. K. on board the Caravan, but send it you full of errors, with a promise to write you shortly again by vessels which will soon go to America. Do let me hear from you: I long to have letters from Haverhill. You will be kind enough to visit my dear mother often, and console her with your pious conversation. I think much of her. Oh that Jesus would support her under all her trials. Dear woman!—Mrs. K. do not forget me, though I am far away. Let me have your prayers, and the prayers of all my Christian friends in America. A short farewell. Affectionately yours, HARRIET. Respects and love to your dear mother and sister, and all other dear friends. To her Brother J. Member of Yale College. Mission House, Serampore, June 27, 1812. I HAVE just received the welcome intelligence that a vessel bound to America will sail in a few days. With sensations of pleasure unknown before, I have taken my pen to address a brother, who, though far distant, is unspeakably dear to my heart. I cannot tell you how I long to see you; nor how much joy a letter from you would give me. Neither distance, nor a long absence, has in the least diminished 98

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my affection for you. No, my brother; although the pathless ocean rolls between, and I no more anticipate another interview with you on earth; yet I love you, ardently and sincerely love you. Your happiness will ever make me happy. I sometimes indulge the fond hope that Almighty grace will incline your heart to visit this distant Heathen clime, and here proclaim the joyful news of salvation to multitudes of dying Pagans, immersed in superstition and wretchedness. But if this laborious part of the vineyard should not be assigned you, oh that your days might be spent in winning souls to Jesus, in happy America, where you can enjoy ease and security, in the bosom of your friends. I feel assured that my dear brother will be gratified by a recital of the various scenes through which I have passed, since I bid a last farewell to our dear maternal abode, and left my country. I suffered all the horrors of sea-sickness the first week after I left Salem harbour. At the conclusion of the week we were, one dark and stormy night, alarmed by the intelligence, that our vessel had sprung a leak, and that, unless Providence interposed, we should sink in twenty-four hours. In this trying hour I thought of death, and the thought was sweet. Nothing, but anticipating the long-continued anxiety and distress of my dear American friends, made such a sudden exit from life, in such an awful manner, melancholy and painful. But God, who is rich in mercy, interposed in our behalf the following day, by sending a favourable wind, which enabled the mariners to repair the vessel, when their strength was nearly exhausted by long pumping. We proceeded on our passage with pleasant weather, favourable winds, few heavy gales, until we reached the Cape of Good Hope. The weather was then cold and boisterous, the sea rough, and our room was repeatedly overflowed with water. The newly discovered shoals round the Cape rendered this part of the voyage extremely dangerous. The first land we saw was the Orissa coast, 114 days after sailing. The sight of the adjacent country, after we entered the river Hoogly, was beautiful beyond description. Leaving America in the winter, and for a length of time seeing nothing but sky and water, think what must have been our delight to gaze upon the trees, the green grass, the little thatched cottages of the Hindoos, resembling a stack of hay, the elegant buildings of the English, the animals feeding, and the Hindoos themselves rambling near the shore. My friend Nancy and I were detained two days on board the Caravan, after our arrival at Calcutta. This was a time of great confusion. The Hindoos, of every class, flocked around our vessel like bees round a hive. We were carried in palanquins to the house of Dr. Carey, Professor at the College at Fort William of the Oriental Languages. No white female is seen walking in the streets, and but few gentlemen. English coaches, chaises, chairs, and palanquins are numerous. Every street is thronged with the natives. If you ride in a chaise, it is necessary for a Hindoo to run before to clear the way. The houses in Calcutta, and indeed all the buildings, the Hindoo huts excepted, are built with stone, or brick white-washed. These are lofty, and have an ancient appearance. Some of them are very elegant. There are many half English children in Calcutta. There is a charity school204 close by Dr. Carey’s, supported by subscription, managed by the Baptist missionaries, consisting of about 100 Portuguese children. Here they enjoy the benefit of religious instruction. We 99

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attended the English church one evening. This is an elegant building. The Friday after our arrival, we took a boat, and came to Serampore, 15 miles from Calcutta. This is a delightful place, situated on the river Ganges. It is inhabited chiefly by Danes. This retired spot is best calculated to prepare us for our future trials, and our arduous work. There are five large buildings belonging to the Mission; viz. the printing-office, the common house, Dr. Carey’s, Dr. Marshman’s, and Mr. Ward’s dwelling houses, besides several convenient out-houses, one for making paper, one for cooking, &c. &c. There is one of the most delightful gardens here I ever saw. It contains a large number of fruit trees, plants, flowers, &c. The fruit is not as good as ours. Mangoes, plantains, pine-apples, cocoa-nuts, are very plentiful now. Dr. Carey spends most of his time at Calcutta. Dr. and Mrs. Marshman have large schools of English and half English children, about eighty in both schools. The boys are instructed in Chinese and other languages. These children all eat with us in the hall, and attend prayers morning and evening in the Mission chapel. Many of them are sweet singers. Mr. Ward superintends the printing. Here a large number of Hindoos are employed. Mr. Ward has the care of providing for the whole Mission family. Servants are numerous. This is necessary, for their religion will not permit them to do but one kind of work: for instance, one servant will sweep a room; but no persuasion will be sufficient to make him dust the things. The church of Christian natives is large. It is a delightful sight to see them meet together for the worship of God. The missionaries preach to them in Bengalee. They sing charmingly in their language. We went in a budgerow, (a boat with a little room in it, cushions on each side, and Venetian blinds) the 24th of this month, to see the worship of the Hindoo god, Juggernaut, a few miles from Serampore. They took the idol, a frightful object, out of the Pagoda, and bathed him in the water of the Ganges, which they consider sacred. They bathed themselves in the river, repeated long forms of prayer, counted their fingers, poured muddy water down their children’s throats, and such like foolish, superstitious ceremonies, in honour of their god. Thousands on thousands were assembled to perform these idolatrous rites. In witnessing these scenes, I felt more than ever the blessedness, the superior excellence of the Christian religion. The Hindoos are very well formed, straight black hair, small, near a copper colour. Their dress is cool and becoming. It consists of white muslin, or cotton cloth wrapped about them. Some wear white muslin turbans. I shall write you again, my dear brother, by the Caravan, and other vessels, which will shortly sail to America. I can then give you a more correct history of the Hindoos, the manners and customs of this country, &c. You will wish to know whether I regret coming to this distant land. I do not; but feel an increasing satisfaction, in thinking of my arduous undertaking. Since I have been an eye witness of the idolatry, and wretchedness of the Asiatics; and find it confirmed by the long experience of the Baptist missionaries, whose names will be remembered with honour, by the latest generations, that females greatly promote the happiness and usefulness of missionaries, I am inclined to bless God for bringing me here. I have not as yet had sufficient trials to shake my faith. Providence has smiled upon us, and we know but little of the hardships of a 100

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mission. But we shall shortly leave these abodes of peace and security, and enter upon that self-denying life, among a savage people, upon which we calculated when we left our native country. It is not determined where our future lot will be cast. With respect to my connection with Mr. Newell, let me tell you that I am, and ever have been, perfectly satisfied with my choice. He is all that I could wish; affectionate, obliging, attentive, and in one word, every way deserving of my strongest attachment. It shall be my study through life, to render him happy and useful in the fatiguing path which he has selected. Oh that God would grant me the accomplishment of my wishes, in this respect! I have enjoyed far better health than I expected, when I left home. I have been miraculously supported through the fatigues of our tedious voyage. This is the rainy, hot season, and the most unhealthy in the year; but I think I never felt better in America; though many around us are suddenly dropping into eternity. There has been ten deaths in the mission family the last year. This is a sickly, dying clime. You are probably still at New Haven, I hope making great proficiency in your studies, and preparing for eminent usefulness in the world. Oh, my brother, shall we meet in Heaven, or shall we be separated for ever? Let us be solicitous to obtain an interest in Jesus, whatever else we lose. When the glad tidings reach this distant land, that a brother of mine, dear to my heart, has been redeemed from eternal woe, and become a disciple of the blessed Immanuel; oh how will this delightful intelligence make me rejoice! how will it gladden the days of separation! I long to see our dear mother. Do your utmost, my dear John, to make her happy. The thought of meeting her, in a world where there will be no parting, is sweet. All my beloved brothers and sisters will ever be dear to me. I cannot tell you how much I think of you all. I feel much happier than ever I expected to feel, in this Heathen land. I am glad I came here; I am glad that our dear mamma was so willing to part with me, and that no opposition prevailed with me to relinquish the undertaking. Let me hear from you, my dear, by every vessel bound to Asia. You know not how large a part of my happiness will consist in receiving letters from my American friends. Every particular will be interesting. For the present I must bid you farewell. May you be distinguished for your attachment to the cause of Jesus, and be made an eminent blessing to your dear friends, and to the world. Oh that by sanctifying grace you might shine as a star of the first magnitude in Heaven, when dismissed from this life of toil and pain. Farewell, my dear, ever dear brother, a short Farewell. While I live I shall ever find pleasure, in subscribing myself your affectionate sister, HARRIET NEWELL. Extract from a Letter to her Sister M. at Charlestown. Serampore, June, 1812. I have found, my dear sister, that the trifling afflictions I have already had, have been more sanctified to me, than all the prosperity of my former life. They have taught me that this is a state of discipline, that permanent bliss must 101

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proceed from God alone, and that heaven is the only rest that remains for the children of God. While I write, I hear the dear christian natives singing one of Zion’s songs in the mission chapel. The sounds are melodious; they remind me of that glorious day, when the children of Jesus, collected from Christian and Heathen lands, will sing the song of Moses and the Lamb, on the blest plains of the new Jerusalem.205 Letter to Mrs. C. of Boston. Calcutta, June, 1812. THE last request of my dear Mrs. C. (when quitting the beloved land of my nativity), and the sincere affection which I feel for her, are my principal inducements for ranking her among the number of my American correspondents. I have witnessed scenes this morning calculated to excite the most lively sensations of compassion in the feeling mind. My heart, though so often a stranger to pity, has been pained within me. Weep, O my soul, over the forlorn state of the benighted Heathen; and, O that the friends of Immanuel in my Christian country would shake off their criminal slothfulness, and arise for the help of the Lord against the mighty, in lands where the prince of darkness has long been adored. The worship of the great god of the Hindoos has this day been celebrated. We were apprised yesterday at sunset of its near commencement, by the universal rejoicing of the natives, which lasted through the night. This morning we went in a budgerow to see the worship. Between fifteen and twenty thousand worshippers were assembled. The idol Juggernaut was taken from his pagoda, or temple, and bathed in some water taken from the river Ganges,206 and then replaced in his former situation with shouts of joy and praise. This I did not see, the crowd was so great. After this, the people repaired to the river side, where they bathed in the sacred waters, said their prayers, counted their fingers, poured the muddy water down their infants’ throats, and performed many other superstitious ceremonies with the utmost solemnity, and with countenances indicative of the sincerity of their hearts. Many of the females were decked with garlands of flowers, nose jewels, large rings round their wrists, &c. Some deformed wretches and cripples attracted our attention, and excited our compassion. One man, bent almost to the ground, was supported by two of his companions, to the holy Ganges. There he doubtless hoped to wash away the pollution of his heart, ignorant of the blood of Jesus which does indeed cleanse from all sin. Oh! that an abler pen than mine would delineate to my dear Mrs. C. this idol worship. Surely her pious heart would be filled with tender sympathy for these benighted Asiatics, and her prayers would become more constant more fervent, for the introduction and spread of the blessed Gospel among them. Gladly would American believers leave the healthy civilized land of their birth, and spend their lives in preaching Jesus to the natives of India, did they but know how wretched, how ignorant, they are, and how greatly they need the Gospel. Do Christians feel the value of that Gospel which bringeth salvation. 102

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Let us leave the melancholy subject, and turn to one calculated to fill our minds with holy joy and devout thanksgivings to God. In this land of darkness, where the enemy of souls reigns triumphant, I see the blessedness of the Christian religion. Yes, my friend, there is in Heathen Asia a favoured spot, where the darkness of Heathenism is scattered, and the benign influences of the Holy Spirit are felt. Here Jesus has a people formed for his praise, redeemed by his precious blood from eternal woe, and made heirs of bliss everlasting. Bless the Lord, O our souls, and all that is within us, bless and praise his holy name.207 Last Sabbath afternoon, I shall ever remember with peculiar emotions. Mr. Ward, a missionary blessed and beloved of our God, preached in Bengalee to a large collection of Hindoos and Mahometans. The dear converted natives appeared to enjoy the precious season greatly. To hear them join in singing one of Zion’s songs; to see them kneel before the throne of almighty grace, and listen with eagerness to the word of life, was sufficient to draw tears of joy from eyes which never wept before. After service each dear Christian Hindoo of both sexes came to us with looks expressive of their joy to see new missionaries; and, offering us their hands, they seemed to bid us a hearty welcome. I said to myself, such a sight as this would eternally silence the scruples, and the criminal opposition to missions, of every real believer. While such persons would intercede for the success of Missionaries, and praise the Lord for what he has already done for these once degraded wretches, they would weep and repent in dust and ashes for their former criminality. Oh! that every American might be prevented by sovereign grace from opposing or discouraging those who feel willing to engage in this work, lest the blood of the Heathen, at the last day, should be required at their guilty hands. Last evening, while thousands were preparing for the impure and idolatrous worship of Juggernaut, the native Christians assembled at the Missionary Chapel for prayer. Their engagedness in prayer, though I could not understand a word they said, made a deep impression on my mind. To Miss S. H. of Andover. Serampore, June 27, 1812. I HAVE taken my pen with an intention of writing my dear Miss H. a very long letter. I know she will not expect the wife of a Missionary to study correctness of style, or to make her hand writing appear beautiful; the easy, unreserved, unstudied style of a friend will better suit her. “They that cross the ocean change their climate, but not their minds.”208 This is confirmed by my own experience. In this distant Heathen land, far from the dear spot of my birth, my attachment to my American friends is as strong as ever. Those whom I once loved, I now sincerely, strongly love, though the anticipation of meeting them again in this world is totally relinquished. But would you infer from this, that a separation from the friends I love so dearly, renders me unhappy? Far otherwise, my dear 103

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Miss H. Let me assure you (and do you remember it for the encouragement of those females who anticipate walking in the same path), that I never enjoyed more solid happiness, never was so free from discontent and anxiety, as since I left my native country. It is true I have suffered many privations and inconveniences, and some hardships. But I have likewise had many blessings, and found valuable sources of pleasure, which I did not expect. Since I have been in India, every wish of my heart, as it respects temporal things, has been gratified. The voyage was tedious, but remarkably short. We were blest with a commander, who treated us with uniform respect, kindness, and attention. Our accommodations were good, and we spent many happy hours in our little rooms. The sight of land was very pleasant, as you will imagine. Sailing up the river Hoogly, we were delighted with the variegated charming scenes around us. When we reached Calcutta, we were surrounded by the tawny natives, and half stunned with their perpetual chattering. We had some interesting conversation with the Circars,209 who could talk English, on board the vessel. While our astonishment was excited at hearing their superstitions, how could our hearts remain unaffected about their wretched state! We were affectionately received by the good Dr. Carey, at his mansion at Calcutta, and treated with the greatest hospitality. Imagine to yourself a large stone house, with six lofty, spacious keeping and lodging rooms, with the same number of unimproved rooms below: such is the building. Imagine a small bald-headed man, of sixty; such is the one whose name will be remembered to the latest generation.210 He is now advanced to a state of honour, with six thousand dollars a year. We accepted his invitation to visit the mission family at Serampore; took a boat, and at eleven the next evening reached the happy dwelling of these friends of Immanuel. Here, peace and plenty dwell, and we almost forget that we are in a land of Pagan darkness. Dr. Carey’s wife is ill; he has only one son residing with him, who has lately commenced preaching—aged sixteen. Felix is stationed at Rangoon, where he has lately married a native; William is at Cutwa; Jabes is studying law at Calcutta. Mr. Ward superintends the printing. Mrs. Ward has the care of providing for the whole mission family. Dr. and Mrs. Marshman are engaged in schools. Mrs. Marshman has had twelve children; six are dead. She has now thirteen, six of her own, and seven adopted ones. These schools are productive of much good. We attended the worship of the great god of the Hindoos a fortnight since. The idol was taken from his temple, and bathed in the sacred waters of the Ganges. Here were thousands of our fellow creatures, washing in the river, expecting to wash away their sins. A sight which will not admit of description. My heart, if insensible as steel before, was pained within me, when witnessing such a scene. Oh, the beauty of the Gospel of Jesus! Shall a Christian be found in America, who is opposed to missions? Forbid it heaven! To day the great Juggernaut is removed from his temple, placed on his car, and drawn in triumph through the assembled mass of worshippers. Some will probably sacrifice their lives,211 and this only three miles distant from Serampore. While writing, I hear the drum, and the instruments of idol music. 104

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July 31. I have only time to tell my dear Miss H. that I shall this day leave Calcutta for the Isle of France.212 I have not time to read the above, but send it full of errors. Do write me; do let me hear soon from all my American friends. In the greatest haste, your’s, Love to dear Mr. and Mrs. W. H. NEWELL. To her Sister E. Mission-house, Serampore, July 14, 1812. HOW is my dear, ever dear Elizabeth? Happy, I would hope, in the possession of every temporal blessing heart can wish, and in the still richer blessings of the Gospel. To tell you that I long ardently to see you, would be only saying what you already know. Though at a great distance from you, the ties are still strong which unite me to you. Never shall I cease to love you. I have given our dear mother many particulars, respecting my past and present situation and prospects. Such is our unsettled state at present, that I can say little or nothing to any one. The Harmony has not yet arrived, we are daily expecting her. No determination can be made without the other brethren. The East India Company have ordered us to return to America. We have relinquished the idea of stationing a Mission at Burmah entirely. Several other places have been thought of, but it is still uncertain where we shall go. You will, perhaps, hardly credit me, when I tell you, that it is fully as expensive living here, as in America. I am disappointed greatly in this respect. Some things are cheap; others very dear. As soon as we fix upon a station, I am positive I shall write you to send me a box of necessaries from America. Tell mamma that my bedquilt I shall value very highly. India calico bears the same price here as in America. English calicoes, an enormous price. Common English stockings between 3 and 4 rupees. The country stockings 1 rupee, and they are not worth half that. Some articles of provision are very high, and likewise house rent; and yet we are told that no where in Asia can we live so cheap as here. We have excellent accommodations at the Mission-house;—indeed we have every thing at present to make us happy. We shall remove to some rooms in the Garden, when the Harmony arrives, where all our brethren will be invited to stay till we leave Bengal. I love these dear Missionaries very much. I never expected so many kindnesses from them. Mrs. Marshman has a lovely school of English young ladies, where they are instructed in embroidery, working muslin, and various other things. Miss Susan Marshman of 14, is studying Latin, Greek, and Hebrew.213 Mrs. Ward is a motherly woman, very active and kind. Miss Hobson, a niece of Dr. C. from England, is here, a very pretty girl. Col. Moxen from the Mahratta country is likewise at the Mission-house. Mr. Carapeit Aratoon, the Armenian and wife, are residing here. These, with Drs. Carey, Marshman, and Mr. Ward’s families, and all the scholars, make the Mission Family immensely large. Serampore is a charming place. We frequently walk out to admire its beauty. About a week since I went to Gundle Parry, with Mrs. Ward and family, to visit Mrs. Kemp, a charming woman, much like our dear Mrs. B. There I saw something of 105

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Eastern luxury, so much celebrated. We spent the day, returned home in the evening in the budgerow, saw two dead bodies burning on the shore, and a Bengalee wedding. Yesterday we crossed the river at Barry-pore, and walked over the Governor General’s park;214 saw the wild beasts, variety of birds, &c. One of the most delightful places I ever saw. Artificial hills and dales supplied the want of real ones. This is the rainy season, but very pleasant. It is sometimes excessively hot; but a shower of rain cools the air. The jackalls make a tremendous yell every night under our windows; the noise is like a young child in great distress. I find the musquetoes very troublesome, though not so large and numerous as I expected. I have not seen one snake yet. I bathe every day, which is very refreshing. I have not yet suffered half so much from the heat as I calculated. I can sew or read all day, except an hour or two at noon, very comfortably. I have often thought that you would like the climate of Bengal. I think I shall enjoy at least as good health here, as in America. When I first came here, I disliked all the fruit of the country but pineapples, and those made me ill. The mangoes, plaintains, guaves, &c. were all alike disagreeable. But I love them all now. We were obliged to submit to a great many inconveniences on our passage, and were exposed to many dangers. But on the whole, I think no missionaries ever had a pleasanter voyage to the East Indies. I used to think, when on the water, that I never should return to America again, let my circumstances in Asia be as bad as they could be. But I think now, that the long tedious voyage would not prevent my returning, if nothing else prevented. Mr. Robinson, one of the Baptist missionaries, married a lady from Calcutta, about 15 years of age, and set sail for Java. They slept in the open air for a fortnight on deck; were out in a violent storm, and returned to Calcutta again. How different this from our comfortable passage. Oh, that we might be ever grateful to God for past favours, and learn to trust Him for the time to come. Surely we, above most others, have reason to say, “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us.”215 I regret that time obliges me to be so short. But you shall have letters by the Caravan sufficiently long to make up for this short one. I will begin a journal on the morrow, and write in it every day, till I can send it you. I will not be so negligent again. I have many letters partly written to friends, but must leave them now. My time has been so much occupied since our arrival, that I have scarcely found leisure to write a line. I hope soon to be more at liberty. Do give love to Sarah, Caroline, Moses, Charles, and Emily. I shall write them all by the Caravan, and shall expect letters from every one of them. Kiss them all for me. Dear, dear Elizabeth, must I leave you? But I shall talk with you again in a week or two. Till then, and ever, I shall love to call you my dear sister, and subscribe myself your HARRIET. To a Female Friend. MANY have been the changes through which I have passed, since I left my beloved country. I have found many precious sources of enjoyment, and have had some light afflictions. Our voyage was comparatively short, but very tedious. 106

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But one week after we left the harbour, the vessel sprung a leak, and we were for some time under the apprehension of perishing. Many gales of wind threatened our vessel with instant destruction; but our gracious God preserved us from every danger, and brought us in safety to these sultry shores, where hundreds of missionaries are needed. Though a mission among the Heathen is attended with many difficulties and discouragements, yet I do not feel sorry that I have joined the little company engaged in one. Since I have been here, I have been more decidedly positive than ever before, that a pious female, deeply interested for the Heathen, can greatly increase the usefulness of a missionary, and promote the good of the mission. Let me give you one instance of this truth. Mrs. Marshman has had twelve children; (6 are dead, and 7 adopted ones fill their places.) With this numerous family, she has been engaged in a school for 13 years, consisting of 20, 30, 40, and sometimes 50 children. These children are mostly half-cast, i. e. their fathers are Europeans, their mothers natives. The good done in this school is incalculable. The children are not only instructed in all the branches of education taught in our American Academies, but are particularly instructed in the religion of the blessed Gospel. I drank tea with her and her little family a day or two since, under a large tree. Extracts from her Diary. I feel more and more willing to be any thing, or to do any thing, that the cause of Jesus might be prospered. I am not discouraged by the trials of a missionary life. July 15. Spent the greater part of this day in my room alone. Mr. N. went to Calcutta this morning to carry letters to the captain of the ship Francis—Went with Mrs. Ward to one of the mission buildings in the garden, to see the rooms intended for us. There are four convenient pretty rooms, with bathing apartments, which they have kindly offered us and our missionary company. In the afternoon called upon Mrs. M.*—The good woman, as usual, busily engaged in her school. How firm a constitution must she have, to occupy a station attended with so many cares. At four P. M. another message from government was received. Mr. N. and Mr. J. ordered to appear before the police again, to receive further commands. Mr. J. immediately took the Buggy [chaise]216 and set out for Calcutta. In the evening went with Nancy,† and Mrs. W.’s family, to the car of Juggernaut, which stands in the road. A huge building five stories high; images painted all over it; two large horses, with a charioteer made of wood in

* Mrs. Marshman, we presume. † Mrs. Judson

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front; with many wheels, drawn by the natives with large cables. From the car we walked through the Bazar [market] to the temple, where the great god of the Hindoos is now residing—a horrid object indeed! Not allowed to enter the temple; but could see him plainly—a log of wood, painted red, with large hideous eyes. Little images were kept for sale in the Bazar. We walked through an immense crowd of Hindoos home. I was confused with the noise and bustle of the place, and excessively wearied with my long walk. July 16. Called with Mrs. W. upon Mrs. Carapeit, the Armenian. Mr. Carapeit, has gone with brother Kristno on a mission to Jessore—will be absent four weeks. Mrs. C. very ill; can only talk Hindostanee. Brother J. returned about sunset. A letter from Mr. Newell. He states that a collection has been made for us among the friends of missions in Calcutta. Mr. Thomason presented 500 rupees already collected. How dark and intricate are the ways of Providence! We are ordered by government to leave the British territories, and return to America immediately. Captain H. will be ready to sail in three weeks. He has requested a clearance, but it has been absolutely refused him, unless we engage to leave India with him. Thus is our way hedged up; thus are all our prospects blasted. We cannot feel that we are called in Providence to go to Birmah. Every account we have from that savage, barbarous nation, confirms us in our opinion, that the way is not prepared for the spread of the Gospel there. The viceroy would not hesitate to take away our lives for the smallest offence. The situation of a female is peculiarly hazardous. But where else can we go? Must we leave these Heathen shores? Must we be the instruments of discouraging all the attempts of American Christians, to give these nations the word of life? My spirit faints within me. These are trials great and unexpected. 9 o’Clock. Just returned from family worship in the chapel. My depressed spirits are a little revived. The good Dr. Marshman felt deeply interested for us, and has been interceding in our behalf. Not mine, O Lord, but thy will be done. I know that the gracious Redeemer will take care of his own cause, and provide for the wants of his little flock. How consoling this; I will trust him, and doubt no more. July 17. I find that writing has become quite pleasant now I am alone. My natural cheerfulness has returned, and I hope I shall never again make myself unhappy by anticipating future evils, and distrusting the care of my heavenly Father. I have been taking a solitary walk in the mission garden; a charming retreat from the bustle of the world. How happy would a walk with my dear absent mother, or dear brothers and sisters, make me: and yet much as I long for their society, I am not willing to return to them. Yes, I am positively unwilling to go to America, unless I am confident that God has no work for me to do here. How far preferable to me would be an obscure corner of this Pagan land, where the wretched idolaters would listen to the Gospel of Jesus, to all the glittering splendour of a civilized land.

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July 18. My dear Mr. N. returned last evening fatigued in body and depressed in mind. There is now no alternative left but a return to America, or a settlement among some savage tribe, where our lives would be in constant danger. Lord we are oppressed; graciously undertake for us. We know not which way to direct our steps. O that the Harmony would arrive. Insurmountable obstacles attend us on every side. Pity us, O ye friends of Immanuel; pity our perplexed situation, and intercede with the prayer hearing Redeemer for direction in the path of duty. A prayer-meeting in the mission chapel on our account—the dear Baptist brethren deeply interested for us. Fervent were their prayers that God would direct our steps! Four prayers offered, three hymns sung, one chapter read. The exercises were all calculated to comfort our hearts. I hear the distant sound of Heathen voices. These miserable wretches are probably engaged in some act of idol worship; perhaps in conveying the log of wood, which they call Juggernaut, to his former place of residence. A conference in the chapel this evening. The bell calls us to breakfast at eight in the morning. Immediately after, we have worship in the chapel. At half past one we dine, at seven drink tea, go directly to the chapel again. Sabbath morning and evening service in English; afternoon in Bengalee. Monthly prayer-meeting, Monday morning. Weekly prayer-meeting, Tuesday evening. A lecture for the children, Wednesday evening. A conference, Saturday evening. With respect to the climate, manners of the people, &c. we have selected from Mrs. Newell’s journal the following particulars: July 18. Excessively warm weather; but not so hot as the last July in America. The Bengal houses are made so as to admit all the air stirring. In the room where I now keep there are four large windows, the size of American doors, with Venetian blinds, and three folding doors. There are no glass windows. A bathing house is commonly connected with each lodging-room, and verandas to walk in, in the cool of the day. The floors of the houses are made of stone; the partitions and walls white washed. 20. From nine to eleven last evening I spent in walking in the garden with Mr. Newell. I do not suffer the least inconvenience from the evening air in this country. When on the ocean we were very cautious of the least exposure. But here, physicians, and every one else, advise walking in the evening. The jackalls are all that I am afraid of here. Mr. Judson preached yesterday morning; Mr. Ward in the Bengalee, afternoon; Mr. Newell in the evening. Some good people from Calcutta present at worship, a large collection of hearers, all very attentive. Dr. Marshman returned to day from Calcutta. Brought us some intelligence which has revived our spirits a little. He has had some conversation with Mr. Rickets, the secretary, about us. He said the Caravan should have leave to depart, if we would engage to leave the British

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territories, and that possibly we might have leave to go to the Isle of France or Madagascar. So, then, we shall not go to America in the Caravan, but wait the arrival of our dear brethren in the Harmony, and then conclude which way to direct our steps. The Lord is merciful, and full of compassion. 21. Intend going to Calcutta to-morrow, should the weather permit. I like the climate of Bengal much. I do not long for a seat by an American fire-side, nor for pleasant winter-evenings, as I once thought I should; but feel perfectly contented and satisfied with this hot, sultry weather. I am obliged to guard against heating my blood by walking in the sun, or by using too violent exercise. Fevers, and the prickly heat,217 are in consequence of this imprudence. Rosy cheeks are never seen in India, except where a lady uses paint. 24. Went early on Wednesday morning in the mission budgerow to Calcutta, in company with brother and sister Judson, Colonel Moxen, Miss Hobson, and Mr. Newell. Spent the day and night at Dr. Carey’s house. The air of this confined place does not agree with me; a severe head-ache kept me all day within doors. Wednesday morning, breakfasted with Captain Heard at his house. I hope my dear mother and other friends will have an opportunity of seeing and thanking him on his return for his kindness to us. Heard of Mr. Thomason’s death of Madras. He had received positive orders from government to return to England, chargeable with no other crime than that of preaching the Gospel. He has now gone to his everlasting home, and will trouble his opposers no more. Tired of the confusion and noise of Calcutta, I reached Serampore last evening. Found friends to welcome our return. Why these great favours? Mr. and Mrs. Robinson, Mr. and Mrs. More and family at the mission house. Mrs. R. the second wife of Mr. R. is about 15 years of age, country-born; i. e. has an English father and native mother. Mr. and Mrs. M. a charming couple, are stationed at Patna; have come hither on account of their health. 25. I have become a little familiarized to the sound of the Bengalee language. It has become quite natural to say chene for sugar, tony for water, &c. &c. One servant’s name is Bozu, another Lol,218 another Golove, another Ram Done. Ram is the name of one of their gods, and is therefore often added to their own name. 26. I am happy in finding, that the expectations of my American friends, respecting my health in India, will not be disappointed. I think I can say, that I never felt so strong in the summer season, nor ever had such an excellent appetite, as since I have been here. The weather is sometimes excessively hot and sultry, but to me not uncomfortable. July 27. Moved last Friday to a retired, pretty room in the garden. Letters from the brethren at the Isle of France. Rejoice to hear of their safe arrival there. Long to see them. They will undoubtedly be here in a few days. How welcome will their arrival be to us. Mr. Newell, Mr. Judson, and Nancy [Mrs. Judson] went to Calcutta this morning. Another order from government received last Saturday; and now our fate will be decided. I long to know the result. I do not intend to have one anxious feeling about our future destiny. I know that the cause of Zion is precious to the blessed Jesus, and that he will provide graciously for those who trust in him. I have spent the day alone. 110

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July 28. I love dear Mrs. Ward more and more every day. She is remarkably obliging and kind to us. I go constantly to her for advice. Mr. Newell returned this afternoon from Calcutta. We have obtained liberty from the East India Company to go to the Isle of France. A vessel will sail for that place next Saturday, commanded by Captain Chimminant, a serious man. But he cannot accommodate us with a passage. No other vessel is expected to sail at present. We hear that the English Governor favours missions; that a large field for usefulness is there opened; 18,000 inhabitants ignorant of Jesus. Is not this the station that Providence has designed for us? A door is open wide, shall we not enter and begin the glorious work? This must be a subject for fervent prayer. July 29. A world of changes this! Early this morning brother Judson called at our room, unexpectedly from Calcutta. Captain Chimminant has agreed to carry two of us in his vessel, to the Isle of France, for 600 rupees. Sail next Saturday. How can such a favourable opportunity be neglected? Halted long between two opinions. If we go we shall relinquish the pleasure of meeting the dear brethren, and sister Roxana [Mrs. Nott.] Perhaps we shall never see them more. They may conclude to labour in some distant part of the Lord’s vineyard, and we be separated from them through life. I shall go far away, without one single female acquaintance; the dangers of a long voyage must be hazarded at a critical period. But here let me stop, and review all the way in which God has led me, since I left my mother’s house, and the land of my birth. How have I been surrounded with mercies! What precious favours have I received! And shall I doubt? Oh, no; my heart gladdens at the thought of commencing with my ever dear companion the missionary work, and of entering upon missionary trials and arduous engagements. So plain have been the leadings of Providence thus far, that I cannot doubt its intimations. I will go, leaning on the Lord, and depending on him for direction, support, and happiness. We shall leave the dear mission family at Serampore, when another rising sun dispels the darkness of the night. Have packed all our things to-day; fatigued much, and very sleepy. The wanderer and the stranger will, ere long, repose sweetly on the bosom of Jesus. It is sweet to be a stranger and a wanderer for such a friend as this. A valuable present from my dear Mrs. Marshman. Thus are all my wants supplied. O for more thankfulness! When will this heart of adamant be susceptible of stronger emotions of gratitude? Bless the Lord, O my dear American friends, for his kindness to me a stranger in a strange land. O pray that these abundant mercies may melt me into deep contrition. July 30. I have this morning taken my leave of my dear Serampore friends. After a visit of six weeks, I regret parting with them exceedingly. But such are the changes of this changing world. Friends must be separated; the parting tear will often flow. How consoling the hope, that there is a world where separation will be for ever unknown. A pleasant time in going from Serampore to Calcutta in the budgerow, with brother Judson and Mr. Newell. Went on board the ship; much pleased with the accommodations. Our birth is on deck, a cool, pretty place. Dined at Dr. Carey’s; spent the afternoon at Mr. Myers’s, a charming family, willing to assist us in every thing. Mr. and Mrs. More now residing with 111

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them. Drank tea with Mrs. Thomason, one of the kindest, best of women. More money collected for us. Mrs. T. has provided me with many necessaries. Went to church with Mr. and Mrs. T. in the evening; a most elegant church; heard Mr. T. preach. To her Sister C. Serampore, July, 1812. My ever dear sister C. I CANNOT forget you among the numerous friends I have in America, but must say a few words to you, though in great haste. Can it be possible that I shall never see you again in this world? Have we then parted to meet no more this side eternity? We probably have. But what is this short separation? Nothing, when compared to eternal separation, which will take place at the last day, between the friends and enemies of Jesus. My dear C. listen, I entreat you, to a sister who loves you, who ardently wishes for your everlasting happiness. Make the Friend of Sinners your friend, now while an opportunity is presented. Oh, let not the adversary of souls cheat you out of an interest in the Saviour! Gladden the heart of your dear widowed mother, of saints and angels, by becoming a devout and holy follower of Jesus. Mamma has no child now to go with her to the sacramental supper; will not our dear C. renounce the world and all its vanities, embrace religion, and in the morning of her life openly consecrate herself to God? Think how much good you might do among your dear brothers and sisters. Perhaps you might be made the instrument of rescuing them from endless death. It may possibly be that I may never write you again; will you not then, my dear girl, seriously think of these things? I hope we shall meet in Heaven after death, no more to part. But we never shall, unless our hearts are renewed, and we are made the friends of Immanuel in the present life. Farewell my dear girl; comfort the heart of your mother, and make her declining days as happy as possible. Do write me. From your sister HARRIET. Extracts from a Letter to her Mother. Calcutta, July 31, 1812. Dear Mother, WITH a week’s employment before me this day, I take my pen to write you a few lines. By reading my enclosed journal you will become acquainted with our reasons for leaving Bengal and going to the Isle of France. We sail early to-morrow morning; have furniture and a thousand little necessaries to get to-day.

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I go without one female companion; but I go with renewed courage, rejoicing that the Lord has opened us a way to work for him. I have received favours unmerited, unexpected, and great. My health is really excellent; I never felt so well in America. After stating that the inhabitants of the Isle of France are chiefly French, she observes, “I long to engage in the great object for which I left my home. I shall begin to study the French language with Mr. N. on the passage. Capt. Chimminant talks French. “Oh, for more ardent piety!” The following letter from Mr. Newell to Mrs. Atwood, completes the affecting history of Mrs. Newell: “Port Louis, (Isle of France) Dec. 10, 1812. “ON account of the unhappy war between us and England,219 it is probable I shall have no opportunity for a long time of sending directly to America. I enclose this letter to Joseph Hardcastle, Esq. of London,220 depending on his benevolence to pay the postage at the General Post Office there, without which it would not be forwarded. I beg your particular attention to this circumstance, because it is the reason why my letter is not longer, and also the reason why I do not write to my other friends. You will oblige me by informing my friends of this; particularly Drs. Woods, Griffin, and Worcester. “When I sit down to address you, my dear mother, from this distant land, to me a land of strangers and a place of exile, a thousand tender thoughts arise in my mind, and naturally suggest such inquiries as these. How is it now with that dear woman to whom I am indebted for my greatest earthly blessing—the mother of my dear Harriet? And mine too; (for I must claim the privilege of considering you as my own dear mother). Does the candle of the Lord still shine on her tabernacle, and is the voice of joy and praise yet heard in her dwelling? Or, what is not improbable in this world of disappointment, has some new affliction, the death perhaps of a dear child, or of some other beloved friend, caused her heart again to bleed and her tears to flow? Ah! my mother, though we may live many years, and see good in them all, yet let us remember the days of darkness, for they too will be many. It is decreed by Infinite Wisdom alone, that through much tribulation we must enter into the kingdom of heaven. You, my dear mother, have had your share of adversity; and I too have had mine. But we will not complain. Sanctified afflictions are the choicest favours of heaven. They cure us of our vain and foolish expectations from the world, and teach our thoughts and affections to ascend and fix on joys that never die. I never longed so much to see you as I have these several days past. What would I now give to sit one hour by that dear fire side, where I have tasted the most unalloyed pleasure that earth affords, and recount to 113

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you and the dear children, the perils, the toils, and the sufferings, through which I have passed since I left my native land. In this happy circle I should for a moment forget ——— “Yes, my dear friends, I would tell you how God has disappointed our favourite schemes, and blasted our hopes of preaching Christ in India, and has sent us all away from that extensive field of usefulness, with an intimation that He has nothing for us to do there, while He has suffered others to enter in and reap the harvest. I would tell you how He has visited us all with sickness, and how He has afflicted me in particular by taking away the dear little babe which He gave us, the child of our prayers, of our hopes, of our tears. I would tell you—but, oh! shall I tell it or forbear? “Have courage, my mother, God will support you under this trial; though it may, for a time, cause your very heart to bleed. Come then, let us mingle our griefs, and weep together; for she was dear to us both; and she too is gone. Yes, Harriet, your lovely daughter is gone, and you will see her face no more! Harriet, my own dear Harriet, the wife of my youth, and the desire of my eyes, has bid me a last farewell, and left me to mourn and weep! Yes, she is gone. I wiped the cold sweat of death from her pale, emaciated face, while we travelled together down to the entrance of the dark valley. There she took her upward flight, and I saw her ascend to the mansions of the blessed! O Harriet! Harriet! for thou wast very dear to me. Thy last sigh tore my heart asunder, and dissolved the charm which tied me to earth. “But I must hasten to give you a more particular account of the repeated afflictions with which God has visited me. “Harriet enjoyed good health from the time we left you, until we embarked on our voyage from Calcutta to the Isle of France; (excepting those slight complaints which are common to females in her situation.) During the week previous to our sailing for this place, she went through much fatigue in making numerous calls on those dear friends in Calcutta, who were anxious to see her, and who kindly furnished her with a large supply of those little things which she was soon expected to want, and which on account of her succeeding illness, she would not have been able to prepare on the voyage. The fatigue of riding in a palanquin, in that unhealthy place, threw her into a fever, which commenced the day after we were on board. She was confined about a week to her couch, but afterward recovered, and enjoyed pretty good health. We left Calcutta on the 4th of August, but on account of contrary winds and bad weather, we were driven about in the Bay of Bengal without making much progress during the whole of that month. On or about the 27th, it was discovered that the vessel had sprung a leak; and on the 30th, the leak had increased to such an alarming degree, as to render our situation extremely perilous. A consultation of the officers was called, and it was determined to put about immediately, and make the nearest port, which was Coringa, a small town on the Coromandel coast, about 60 miles south of Vizigapatam. We got safe into port on Saturday, Sept. 5th. The vessel was found to be in a very bad case.” [Four days before the arrival of the vessel in port, Mrs. Newell was seized with severe pain in the stomach and bowels, the disease of the country; but in three 114

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days, after going on shore, she was so far recovered as to write thus in her journal: “Have been able to sit up most of the day. Begin to look around me a little; find myself again surrounded with Hindoo cottages, and the tawny natives as thick as bees.” On the 19th of September they re-embarked, and Mrs. N. enjoyed comfortable health till nearly three weeks after leaving Coringa, and about three weeks before reaching the Isle of France, when she became the joyful mother of a fine healthy daughter. Four days after, in consequence of a severe storm of wind and rain, the child took cold, and died on the evening of the next day, after having been devoted to God in baptism. On the 14th of October, Mr. N. writes thus in his journal: “About eight o’clock last evening, our dear little Harriet expired in her mother’s arms. A sweet child. Though she had been but five days with us, it was painful, inexpressibly painful, especially to the mother, to part with her. To-day, with many tears, we committed her to a watery grave. ‘So fades the lovely blooming flower,’ &c. May God sanctify this bereavement to us, and oh, may he spare my dear wife!” About a week after Mrs. N.’s confinement, the symptoms of a consumption appeared. Though Mr. N. feared the worst, he did not consider her case as fatal, till the last fortnight of her life, which commenced about ten days after their arrival at the Isle of France. Mr. N. immediately on their arrival, called in the aid of Dr. Burke, the chief surgeon of the British army in that island, and of Dr. Walluz, a Danish physician, a friend with whom they had become acquainted at Serampore, who had lately buried his wife in Bengal, and had come to the Isle of France for his health. There was but little alteration in Mrs. N.’s health, (excepting that she gradually lost strength) till about a fortnight before her death, when she declined more rapidly, and all hope of her recovery was extinguished. About four o’clock P. M. on Monday, the 30th of November, her eyesight failed her, soon after which she calmly, and with apparent ease, expired, seven weeks and four days after her confinement. These events, with all the attending circumstances, are related by Mr. N. with great tenderness and particularity. He then proceeds as follows: “There, my dear mother, I have finished the story of Harriet’s sufferings. Let us turn from the tale of woe to a brighter scene; one that will gladden your heart, as I am sure it does mine. During this long series of sufferings, the bare recital of which must affect every feeling heart, she meekly yielded to the will of her Heavenly Father, without one murmuring word. ‘My wicked heart,’ she writes, ‘is inclined to think it hard, that I should suffer such fatigue and hardship. I sinfully envy those whose lot it is to live in tranquillity on land. Happy people! Ye know not the toils and trials of voyagers across the rough and stormy deep. Oh, for a little Indian hut on land! But hush my warring passions; it is for Jesus who sacrificed the joys of his Father’s kingdom, and expired on a cross to redeem a fallen world, that thus I wander from place to place and feel no where at home. How reviving the thought! How great the consolation it yields to my sinking heart! I will cherish it, and yet be happy.’ “In view of those sufferings which she afterwards experienced, she writes thus: ‘I hope to reach the place of our destination in good health. But I feel no anxiety 115

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about that. I know that God orders every thing in the best possible manner. If He so orders events, that I should suffer pain and sickness on the stormy ocean, without a female friend, exposed to the greatest inconveniences, shall I repine, and think he deals hardly with me? Oh no! Let the severest trials and disappointments fall to my lot, guilty and weak as I am, yet I think I can rejoice in the Lord, and joy in the God of my salvation. “In the first part of the sickness which succeeded the birth of our babe, she had some doubts, which occasionally interrupted her spiritual comfort; but they were soon removed, and her mind was filled with that peace of God which passeth all understanding. When I asked her, a few days before she died, if she had any remaining doubts respecting her spiritual state, she answered with an emphasis, that she had none. During the whole of her sickness she talked in the most familiar manner, and with great delight, of death and the glory that was to follow. When Dr. Burke one day told her, those were gloomy thoughts, she had better get rid of them; she replied, that on the contrary they were to her cheering and joyful beyond what she could express. When I attempted to persuade her that she would recover, (which I fondly hoped) it seemed to strike her like a disappointment. She would say, ‘You ought rather to pray that I may depart, that I may be perfectly free from sin, and be where God is.’ “Her mind was from day to day filled with the most comforting and delightful views of the character of God and Christ. She often requested me to talk to her on these interesting subjects. She told me that her thoughts were so much confused, and her mind so much weakened, by the distress of body she had suffered, that she found it difficult steadily to pursue a train of thought on divine things, but that she continually looked to God and passively rested on him. She often spoke of meeting her friends in Heaven. ‘Perhaps,’ said she, ‘my dear mother has gone before me to Heaven, and as soon as I leave this body I shall find myself with her.’ At another time she said, ‘We often talk of meeting our friends in Heaven; but what would Heaven be with all our friends, if God were not there?’ “She longed exceedingly for the brethren to arrive from India, that we might form ourselves into a church, and celebrate the dying love of Jesus once more before she died. Her desires to enjoy the benefit of this ordinance were so strong and our situation so peculiar, that I thought a deviation from the usage of our churches in this instance would be justifiable, and accordingly on the last Sabbath in November, the day before she died, I gave her the symbols of the body and blood of our Lord; and I trust it was a comfortable season to us both. “A few days before she died, after one of those distressing turns of coughing and raising phlegm, which so rapidly wasted her strength, she called me to come and sit on the bed beside her, and receive her dying message to her friends. She observed, that her strength was quite exhausted, and she could say only a few words; but feared she should not have another opportunity. ‘Tell my dear mother,’ said she, ‘how much Harriet loved her. Tell her to look to God and keep near to Him, and He will support and comfort her in all her trials. I shall meet her in heaven, for surely she is one of the dear children of God.’ She then 116

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turned to her brothers and sisters. ‘Tell them,’ said she, ‘from the lips of their dying sister, that there is nothing but religion worth living for. Oh! exhort them to attend immediately to the care of their precious, immortal souls. Tell them not to delay repentance. The eldest of them will be anxious to know how I now feel with respect to missions. Tell them, and also my dear mother, that I have never regretted leaving my native land for the cause of Christ. Let my dear brothers and sisters know, that I love them to the last. I hope to meet them in heaven; but oh, if I should not’—Here the tears burst from her eyes, and her sobs of grief at the thought of an eternal separation, expressed the feelings that were too big for utterance. After she had recovered a little from the shock, which these strong emotions had given to her whole frame, she attempted to speak of several other friends, but was obliged to sum up all she had to say in ‘Love and an affectionate farewell to them all.’ Within a day or two of her death, such conversation as the following passed between us. “Should you not be willing to recover, and live a while longer here? “On some accounts it would be desirable. I wish to do something for God before I die. But the experience I have had of the deceitfulness of my heart leads me to expect, that if I should recover, my future life would be much the same as my past has been, and I long to be perfectly free from sin. God has called me away before we have entered on the work of the mission, but the case of David affords me comfort; I have had it in my heart to do what I can for the Heathen, and I hope God will accept me. “But what shall I do, when you are gone? How can I bear the separation? “Jesus will be your best friend, and our separation will be short. We shall soon, very soon, meet in a better world; if I thought we should not, it would be painful indeed to part with you. “How does your past life appear to you now? “Bad enough; but that only makes the grace of Christ appear the more glorious. “Jesus, thy blood and righteousness My beauty are, my heavenly dress; Midst flaming worlds in these array’d, With joy shalt I lift up my head.”221 “When I told her that she could not live through the next day, she replied, ‘Oh, joyful news; I long to depart.’ Sometime after, I asked her, ‘How does death appear to you now?’ She replied, ‘Glorious; truly welcome.’ During Sabbath-night she seemed to be a little wandering; but the next morning she had her recollection perfectly. As I stood by her, I asked repented of any sacrifice she had made for Christ; that on her dying bed “she was comforted with the thought of having had it in her heart to do something for the Heathen, though God had seen fit to take her away before we entered on our work.” Tell that dear woman, that Harriet’s bones have taken possession of the promised land, and rest in glorious hope of the final and universal triumph of Jesus over the gods of this world. 117

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“Give my love to all our friends. How glad should I be to see you all! Tell little Aaron about my dear babe; we called her Harriet Atwood in her baptism. Poor thing, she found a watery grave. Mary, my dear sister, do not grieve too much for Harriet; she is well now. O may we be counted worthy to meet her in the mansions of the blessed! Dear creature, she comforted me with this hope on her dying bed; and this blissful hope is worth more to me than all the wealth of India. Farewell, SAMUEL NEWELL.”

THE END.

118

FUNERAL SERMON.

A

SERMON DELIVERED ON OCCASION OF THE LAMENTED DEATH OF

MRS. HARRIET NEWELL, BY LEONARD WOODS, D. D.222 MATTHEW XIX. 29 And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundred fold; and shall inherit everlasting life.

T

HE Scripture sums up all that is in the world under three heads; “the lust of the flesh,

the lust of the eye, and the pride of life.” According to this, it has been common to make a threefold division of natural men; the sensual, the covetous, and the ambitious. But our blessed Lord, in the text, exhibits a character widely different; a character formed on another principle; a character altogether superior to any thing, which can result from man’s unrenewed nature. The devoted Christian is born of the Spirit. All his moral beauty, his usefulness, and enjoyment, are the work of divine grace. But where shall we find the singular character exhibited in the text? I answer, in every place, and in every condition of life, where we find true religion. The poor cottager, far removed from public notice, and destined to the meanest employment, possesses this character. He gives himself and all that he has to the Lord. He loves Christ above his cottage, his food, and his rest, and is ready to part with them all for his sake. In the sight of God, that same poor man forsakes all for Christ. He who can forsake his sins, and resist the claims of corrupt passion, performs, to say the least, as difficult a service, as to forsake houses, brethren, and lands. The poor man, who has little to give, and much to bear, frequently shows the self-denying spirit of religion to the greatest advantage. In his heart often burns as pure a flame of love and zeal, as in the heart of an Apostle. It may not be visible to the world; but it is visible to Him, who seeth in secret. His prayers are animated by fervent affection for God and man. And when he contributes his 121

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mite for the advancement of the Redeemer’s kingdom, he does it with a heart large enough to part with millions. The character here exhibited belongs to the devoted Christian, who is possessed of opulence. Though he does not literally forsake houses and lands, he uses them for the glory of Christ. And as he supremely regards the divine glory, and uses the things of this world in subserviency to it, he is ready, when duty calls, to surrender them for the same object. To use riches for Christ, and to forsake them for Christ, evince the same elevation above self-interest, and the same devotedness to the cause of God. He, then, who values his estate for Christ’s sake, and uses it for the advancement of his cause, has the same disposition and character with those, who for the same object actually suffer the loss of all things. In heart he gives his earthly all to Christ; saying with sincerity, here Lord, I am; and here are my possessions. I yield them all to thee. I will either use them, or part with them, for thy sake, as thou wilt. Animated with such sentiments, he esteems it comparatively loss, to do any thing with his property, which tends merely to secure his private advantage; while he esteems that, as the best use of his property, which tends most to advance the kingdom of Christ. It is for the sake of that kingdom that he values his earthly possessions. Take away that kingdom, and his possessions lose their highest worth. The character presented in the text clearly belongs to every faithful minister of the Gospel, even in the most peaceful days. Whatever may be his earthly prospects, he cheerfully resigns them for Christ’s sake. The love of Christ bears him on. He declines no labour, no sacrifice, no suffering. He foregoes indulgence and ease. In private, he gives himself to reading, meditation, and prayer. In public, he preaches the word, and is instant in season, and out of season. Worldly pursuits he totally abandons, and sets his affections on the kingdom of Christ. “If I forget thee,” he says, “O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.”223 This character is strikingly exhibited by a devoted Christian in times of persecution. He feels as Paul did, when his friends, anxious for his safety, besought him not to go to Jerusalem. “What mean ye,” he said, “to weep, and to break mine heart?224 For I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” Times of persecution and distress, have a favourable influence upon Christian character. In such seasons, as the prospect of earthly happiness is overcast, the followers of Christ are led to a more serious contemplation of the heavenly inheritance, and naturally form a stronger and more operative attachment to that kingdom, in which their all is contained. They are reduced to the necessity of feeling that they have no other interest, and no hope of enjoyment from any other quarter. Accordingly, they make a more unreserved surrender of every thing for Christ, and become more consistent and more decided in their religious character. In the discharge of difficult duties they have less hesitation. They are less ensnared by the friendship of the world, and less awed by its frowns. The prospect of suffering, as it becomes familiar to their minds, ceases to move them. To give up the interests and pleasures of the world for the sake of Christ, becomes habitual and easy. It costs them no struggle, and no sigh. They are prepared to 122

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encounter any trial, even a violent death, without fear or reluctance. Yea, they rejoice in their sufferings, and gladly fill up what is wanting of the afflictions of Christ in their flesh, for his body’s sake, which is the Church.225 The Christian Missionary, whose motives are as sublime as his office, forsakes all for Christ in a remarkable sense. The proof which he gives of devotion to Christ, is indeed of the same nature with that which other Christians give; but it is higher in degree. Others forsake the world in affection, but enjoy it still. He renounces the enjoyment, as well as the attachment. Other Christians esteem Christ above friends and possessions, and yet retain them far enough for the gratification of their natural affections. The Missionary, who has a right spirit, counteracts and mortifies natural affection, by actually abandoning its dearest objects. The distinction in short is this; other Christians have a willingness to forsake all for Christ; the Missionary actually forsakes all. The cause of Christ among the Heathen possesses attractions above all other objects. It has the absolute controul of his heart. He forsakes father and mother, house and land, not because he is wanting in affection for them, but because he loves Christ more. He forsakes them, because his heart burns with the holy desire, that Christ may have the Heathen for his inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession. The wife of a Missionary, when influenced by the Spirit of Christ, gives still more remarkable evidence of self-denial and devotion;—evidence, I say, more remarkable, because for her to forsake friends and country, is an instance of greater self-denial. The tie, which binds her to her relatives and her home, is stronger. Her mind is more delicate in its construction; more sensible to the tenderness of natural relations, and to the delights of domestic life. When, therefore, she forsakes all, for the name of Christ, she makes a higher effort; she offers a more costly sacrifice; and thus furnishes a more conspicuous proof, that her love of Christ transcends all earthly affection. My friends, have I been entertaining you with visions and dreams? Or have I been teaching realities? If you admit the truth of the Bible, you must admit that men of the character above described, have existed in all ages of christianity. Indeed, no other can be acknowledged, as disciples of Christ. For he himself has declared, that whosoever forsaketh not all that he hath, cannot be his disciple.226 And again, to teach us in the most forcible manner, that our affection for all other objects must fall below our affection for him, he says;—If any one come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.227 However severe and impossible these conditions of discipleship may seem, they have often been performed. Yea, there are multitudes who daily perform them, and to whom the performance appears not only just, but pleasant. Multitudes, now on earth, have that supreme love for the Lord Jesus, which leaves little of the heart for any thing else. When they enlisted into the service of Christ, they engaged to follow him, though at the expense of every earthly interest. In the very act of faith, there is an implicit forsaking of all things for Christ. So that when the trial comes, and they really forsake all things on his account, they only do in open act, what they 123

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did in heart before. When they are called to surrender all things, even life itself, for Christ’s sake, they are not called to perform a new condition, to which they did not consent in the first exercise of faith. They made choice of Christ and his ways, Christ and his cross. Had they certainly known, when they first received Christ, that they did it at the expense of every earthly good, they would not have received him with any the less cordiality and joy. Paul knew from the first, that he must sacrifice every thing for Christ;—which, in his view, was only parting with trifles to purchase a pearl of great price. “What things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ. Yea, doubtless, and I count all things loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord; for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ.”228 Such was the spirit and practice of the first Christians. They rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for Christ. To honour him, they gladly took the spoiling of their goods, resigned their dearest friends, and endured persecution and death. There are those at the present day, who possess the same spirit; who willingly give up their worldly interest, and subject themselves to the hatred of men, for the sake of their Lord; who willingly suffer reproach, and expose their name to be trampled under foot, that Christ may be magnified; who hold nothing so dear, that they will not cast it away for Christ’s sake. Do you still ask, where such characters are to be found? I answer again, wherever there are CHRISTIANS. You may fix your eye upon ministers of the Gospel, upon ambassadors of Christ in Pagan lands, and upon good men in the various walks of life, who give, I say not, the same degree, but the same kind of evidence of devotion to Christ, with that which was given by the holy Apostles. And he who slights the evidence of supreme love to Christ, which these exhibit, would equally slight the evidence, which should be exhibited by a new race of APOSTLES and MARTYRS. The reward of Christians is as certain, as their devotion to Christ is sincere. They receive an hundred fold in this present life. Great peace have they, who love God’s law. The wicked, from the very nature of their affections, are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.229 But cordial devotion to Christ, imparts serenity and peace to the soul. How happy are they, who have cast off the slavery of passion, who have given up the vain cares and pursuits, which distract the minds of worldlings, and yielded themselves wholly to God, resting in him as their all in all. To them belong the pleasures of benevolence. As this is their ruling affection, they must be happy in proportion as its object is promoted. That object, which is primarily the prosperity and happiness of the kingdom of Christ, is absolutely secure. Christians know it to be so, and therefore enjoy a peace, which no adversity can destroy. In all that they do; and in all that others do, to advance the welfare of the Redeemer’s kingdom, they partake the purest pleasure. Let them see the glory of God displayed in the salvation of sinners; let them see the Church look forth as the morning; let them enjoy communion with Christ; and they have enough. This is their object, their treasure, the heritage which they have chosen. 124

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The eternal glory of God, and the boundless good of his kingdom, is an object infinitely excellent, and worthy of supreme regard. The pleasure of those who are devoted to this glorious object, and see that it is perfectly secure, is a kind of divine pleasure, partaking of the nature of its divine and infinite object. I am well aware, that these are unintelligible things to those who are destitute of religion. What does a man, without taste, know of the sweetness of the honey-comb? How can blindness perceive the pleasantness of light, or deafness the charms of music? But inquire of those who are entitled to speak on the subject,—inquire of fervent Christians, what the rewards of self-denial are. With one voice they answer, that those who forsake all for Christ, receive an hundred fold, even in this life.230 It is the uniform method of divine grace, to give spiritual comfort to those who are freed from earthly affection. The more the world is excluded from the hearts of believers, the more they are filled with all the fulness of God. Blessed exchange! What tongue can describe the happiness of the saints, when they part with all that they have for the name of Christ, and He, their all-gracious Saviour and Friend, takes up his dwelling in their hearts! O what peace! What quietness! What a beginning of Heaven! Ask the Apostles, in the midst of their labours, privations, and sufferings, whether they are losers on Christ’s account? You hear them speaking of perpetual triumph, of comfort in tribulation, of joy unspeakable and full of glory. The lonely desart, through which, with weary steps, they travel, witnesses their joy. The dungeon, where they are chained, witnesses their holy transports, and hears their midnight praises. Perils innumerable by land and sea, weariness and painfulness, cold and hunger, prisons, stripes, and tortures, cannot deprive them of their joy. But all the enjoyment of Christians in this life, is only the beginning of their blessedness. The consummation of it, is the everlasting life, which they will inherit in the world to come. It will be a life of perfect holiness, and perfect endless joy. They will live in the society of holy Angels, and dwell in the presence of their blessed Lord, who loved them, and gave himself for them. While they behold his glory, and enjoy his love, they will perfectly possess the object of all their desires. They wish for no higher happiness, than to enjoy God for ever. This is everlasting life. Give them this, and they ask no more. I have been led to this train of reflections, by an event which has lately arrested the attention of the public, and caused sensations of unusual tenderness in the friends of Zion. You are aware, that I refer to the lamented death of MRS. HARRIET NEWELL. I rejoice that, after the most intimate acquaintance with that excellent woman, I am able to say, that she happily exemplified the character which I have drawn. From the uniform tenour of her conduct for several years, we are fully persuaded that she was one who forsook all for Christ, and who received an hundred fold in this present life. And on the ground of God’s immutable promise, we are equally persuaded, that she now inherits everlasting life in heaven. But let God, our Saviour, have the glory of all the moral beauty which adorned her character. The temper of mind which she manifested, was contrary to every 125

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principle of human nature, while unrenewed. If she was indeed, what she appeared to be, it was by the washing of regeneration, and the renewing of the Holy Ghost. Before she indulged a hope that she was a subject of spiritual renovation, she had a long season of distressing conviction, careful self-examination, and earnest prayer. She could not admit the comfortable conclusion, that she was born again, before she was conscious that she had given herself to the Lord, and yielded sincere obedience to his holy commands. Long before she thought her own salvation secure, she began to exercise an enlarged affection for the kingdom of Christ, and to be fervent in her prayers for the building up of Zion, and the salvation of the Heathen. This became the prominent feature of her religion—the supreme object of her pursuit. A considerable time before a Foreign Mission from this country was contemplated, the universal diffusion of the Christian Religion was the favourite subject of her meditations and prayers. When, in the course of Divine Providence, one of those, who had devoted themselves to the Foreign Mission, sought her as the companion of his labours and sufferings, her great concern was to discover the will of God. When she became satisfied respecting her duty, her determination was fixed. Here you come to the point where her character began to assume a lustre, which excited the admiration of all who shared her friendship. Through the grace of God, she entirely consecrated herself to the establishment of the kingdom of Christ in Pagan lands. To this great and glorious object, all her thoughts and studies, her desires and prayers tended. It was with a view to this, that she considered her talents and acquirements of any special importance. Even her health and life seemed of little consequence to her, except in relation to this grand object. But this entire self-devotion had no more tendency to blunt the sensibilities of her heart, or to extinguish her natural affections, than the supreme love of God has in any case whatever. Every Christian is the subject of an affection, which holds an entire superiority over the natural affections, and makes them subservient to its purposes. Had our natural affections been designed, as the highest principles of action, the Lord Jesus would never have set up another principle above them. Our dear departed friend, did not more truly rise above the natural principles of action, than every Christian does, when he seeks the glory of God in the common business of life. The nature of her affections was the same with that of Christians generally. If there was a difference, it consisted in this, that she was more earnest and undivided in her attachment. It is to this circumstance, that we must trace her peculiar magnanimity, and elevation of spirit. As all the powers of her soul were united in one grand object, she rose to an uncommon pitch of energy, and things, seemingly impossible to others, became practicable and easy to her. In acquiring the force and decision of character, which she finally exhibited, it was of great importance, that the question of duty was fully settled in her own mind. Had not this been done, she must have been often turned aside from her object by secret misgivings of conscience. Her attachment to the object must have been weakened; and every step must have been taken haltingly and tremblingly. 126

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But by much deliberation, and many prayers to God for direction, the question of duty was at length settled; after which she proceeded without wavering. Devoted, as she was, to the cause of Christ, and borne on with a strong desire of advancing it in Heathen lands, she was prepared for trials. The hardships and sufferings, peculiar to the missionary life, became perfectly familiar. They were so closely associated in her mind with the glory of God, and the conversion of the Heathen, and so continually mingled with her purest affections and joys, that, instead of aversion and dread, they excited sensations of delight. Is it possible that a character so elevated, should not be universally admired? Is it possible that any should be found capable of admitting the thought, that conduct so noble, so Christ-like, was owing to a weak or misguided zeal? Shall I stoop to notice so unworthy a surmise? If compassion to those who indulge it require, I will. Look, then, upon the Apostles, and primitive Christians, who were so united and consecrated to the Saviour, that they were willing to endure the greatest evils for his sake; whose ardent love to him rendered every affliction light, and reconciled them to the agonies of a violent death. Will you urge the charge of misguided zeal against the holy Apostles? The character of Mrs. NEWELL, instead of being exposed to any dishonourable imputation, had an excellence above the reach of mere human nature. Behold a tender female, when all the sensibilities of the heart are most lively, united to friends and country by a thousand ties; a female of refined education, with delightful prospects in her own country; behold her voluntarily resigning so many dear earthly objects, for a distant Pagan land. But this fact becomes still more remarkable, when we consider the circumstances attending it. She made these sacrifices calmly; with a sober deliberation; in the exercise of those sensibilities which would be overwhelming to mankind in general, and yet with steady, unyielding firmness; and all this, not for wealth, or fame, or any earthly object, but to make known among the Heathen the unsearchable riches of Christ. I should blush to offer a vindication of a character so fair and exalted, as that of HARRIET NEWELL, a lovely saint, who has finished her course, and gone to receive an unfading crown. But if there be any one base enough to envy such excellence, or rash enough to impute extravagance, and folly; I would refer him to a case not wholly unlike the present. On a certain occasion, Mary came to Jesus, as he sat at meat, having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head. Judas, and some others, instigated by him, charged her with extravagance and waste. But Jesus approved her conduct, declared that she had wrought a good work, and that it should be known for a memorial of her, wherever the Gospel should be preached in the whole world. Do I still hear it said by some selfish calculator, that “she threw herself away?” But do you not applaud the conduct of a man, who goes to the earth’s end to gratify a worldly passion? And can you think it reasonable to make greater sacrifices for self-interest, than for the kingdom of Christ?—“Threw herself away! What! Does a devoted Christian, who, for the love of Jesus, forsakes all that she has, to receive an hundred fold here, and life everlasting in Heaven, throw herself away? 127

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Should any ask, what that hundred fold reward was, our appeal would be to herself, to her peace, and quietness, and joy in God. For several of the last months that she spent at home, and from the time of her leaving America till her death, her religious enjoyment was almost constant, and at times elevated. In her last interviews with her beloved friends in America, and in the scene of final separation, the consolations of the Spirit supported her, and produced not only a tender meekness and calmness of mind, but astonishing resolution. Her happy serenity continued through the dangers of a long voyage, and amid all the difficulties which befel her, after arriving in India. Her spiritual enjoyment was not materially interrupted by the various distresses, which prevented the establishment of the mission; nor by the sufferings she was subsequently called to endure; no, not even by the pangs which rent her heart, over a dear infant child, wasting away with sickness, and soon committed to a watery grave. Through all this sorrow and suffering, the Lord was with her, and gave her rest. During her last long and perilous voyage, separated by half the globe from the presence of a mother, whose presence was more than ever needed, and without a single female companion, she could thus write: “It is for Jesus, who sacrificed the joys of his Father’s kingdom, and expired on the cross to redeem a fallen world, that thus I wander from place to place, and feel no where at home. How reviving the thought! How great the consolation it yields to my sinking heart!—Let the severest trials and disappointments fall to my lot, guilty and weak as I am, yet I think I can rejoice in the Lord, and joy in the God of my salvation.” In her last illness, which was attended with many distressing circumstances, she possessed her soul in patience and peace. God was pleased to manifest himself to her, as he does not to the world. “During her whole sickness, she talked in the most familiar manner, and with great delight, of death and the glory that was to follow.” At a certain time, being advised by a physician to cast off such gloomy thoughts, “she replied, that those thoughts were cheering and joyful beyond what words could express.” When it was intimated to her, that she could not live through another day; “Oh joyful news! she replied, I long to depart;” and added soon after, “that death appeared to her truly welcome and glorious.” But the simple narrative of her afflicted husband shows, better than any thing which I can say, that amid all the pain and languishment of sickness, and in the near view of death, she had that enjoyment of God her Saviour, and that hope of a blessed immortality, which was an hundred fold better than all she had forsaken. To her widowed Mother, this is an affecting scene. But in the midst of your sorrows, dear Madam, forget not what reason you have to be comforted. Remember the grace of God, which was manifested to your dear Harriet, which, we trust, effectually sanctified her heart, and brought her to love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. While you mourn for her early death, bless God that you do not mourn over a child, who lived without God, and died without hope. Call to remembrance her dutiful and pious temper; her resolved and peaceful mind in the parting hour; and the fortitude and resignation, which she afterwards exercised under her various afflictions. Give thanks to God for the consolations which were afforded her 128

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through a languishing sickness. Her amiable and elevated conduct reflected honour upon the grace of God. Through all her sufferings, especially when her dissolution drew near, she displayed a character that was ripe for Heaven. It must afford you peculiar satisfaction to contemplate the usefulness of her life. “That life is long, which answers life’s great end.”231 This was eminently the case with your beloved daughter. Had she lived in retirement, or moved in a small circle, her influence, though highly useful, must have been circumscribed. But now, her character has, by Divine Providence, been exhibited upon the most extensive theatre, and excited the attention and love of Christian nations. Yea, may we not hope, that her name will be remembered by the millions of Asia, whose salvation she so ardently desired, and that the savour of her piety will, through Divine grace, be salutary to Pagan tribes yet unborn? Madam, what comforts are these? comforts, which many mourning parents would gladly purchase with their lives. Let your sorrow then be mingled with praise. Render thanks to God, and magnify his name, that he has given you a daughter, so lovely in her character, so useful in her life, so resigned in her sufferings, so tranquil and happy in her death. It is better to be the parent of such a daughter, than to have brought forth a child to bear the sceptre of the earth. Nor is she the less precious, or the less yours, because she is absent from the body and present with the Lord. Dwell upon these cheering thoughts, and enjoy these comforts; and may all your surviving children enjoy them too. In her example, in her diary and letters, and in her dying counsels, she has left them a legacy, which cannot be too highly prized. Let me affectionately entreat you, my beloved friends, to attend seriously to the weighty counsels, which you have received from the dying lips of a dear sister. In her name, in the name of her bereaved husband, by whose request I now address you, and in the name of her God and Saviour, I do now, from this sacred place, repeat that solemn counsel. God Almighty open your hearts to receive the message. “Tell them, she said, tell them from the lips of their dying sister, that there is nothing but religion worth living for. Oh exhort them to attend immediately to the care of their immortal souls; and not to delay repentance. Let my brothers and sisters know that I love them to the end. I hope to meet them in Heaven. But oh, if I should not”–—No wonder that tears bursting from her eyes, and her sobs of grief at the thought of an eternal separation from you, prevented her saying more. “May the Spirit of Truth carry her dying entreaties, and tears, and sighs to your hearts,” and engage you to follow her, as she followed Christ. This dear departed friend wished you to partake with her the joys of salvation. She never repented of her undertaking; never regretted leaving her native land for the cause of Christ. And could she return and live on earth again, instead of retracting her labours and sacrifices for the advancement of the Redeemer’s cause, she would repair to him earlier, give up all for him more cheerfully, and serve him with greater zeal. Imitate her humility, self-denial, and faith, that you may again enjoy her society, and dwell with her for ever, where sorrow and death shall never enter. In the death of Mrs. Newell, her husband sustains a loss, which no language can adequately describe, and no earthly good compensate. God, whose ways are 129

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unsearchable, has taken from him the wife of his youth; a companion eminently qualified to aid him in all his labours, to soothe him in all his sorrows, and to further the great work in which he is engaged. Had he nothing but earthly good to comfort him, a mind so quick to feel, would be overwhelmed with grief. But he will not forget the God of all comfort. He will remember that gracious Redeemer, who took him out of the horrible pit and miry clay; who shed upon the darkness that once enveloped him, a cheering light; who inspired him with hope, and put it into his heart to preach salvation to those who were perishing for lack of vision. This mighty Redeemer will be the rock of his confidence, and a very present help in trouble. It must be a subject of delightful recollection to our afflicted brother, that he has enjoyed the privilege of being united, in the dearest of all relations, with one of so amiable a temper, of an understanding so highly improved, of benevolence and piety so eminent, and so entirely devoted to the best of causes. He will also love to remember the favour which God has conferred upon his beloved partner, in enabling her to do and suffer so much, and permitting her to die thus early for the name of Jesus; in permitting her to be the first martyr to the missionary cause from the American world; in removing her after so short a warfare, from a world of sin and sorrow, and carrying her so quickly through a course of discipline, which prepared her for a crown of distinguished glory. The God of Jacob bless and comfort our dear brother, and give him strength according to his day. And may this severe trial be turned to the furtherance of the Gospel among the Heathen. FRIENDS OF THE MISSIONARY CAUSE! Let not your hearts be troubled by the adverse circumstances which have attended the commencement of our FOREIGN MISSION. Recollect the various hindrances, disappointments, and sufferings, encountered by the APOSTLES, THE FIRST MISSIONARIES OF CHRIST; who yet were destined to spread the triumphs of his cross through the world. The experience of ages leads us to expect that designs of great moment, especially those which relate to the advancement of Christ’s kingdom, will be opposed by mighty obstacles. The adverse circumstances, therefore, which have attended the outset of our Foreign Mission, are far from presenting any discouragement. They rather afford new evidence, that this Mission is to be numbered with all other enterprises, calculated to promote the honour of God and the welfare of men. These various trials, Brethren, are doubtless intended not only to qualify Missionaries for greater usefulness, but also to humble and purify all, who are labouring and praying for the conversion of the Heathen. How effectually do these events teach us, that no human efforts can ensure success; that the best qualifications of missionaries abroad, with the largest liberality and most glowing zeal of thousands at home, will be of no efficacy, without the blessing of God. When, by salutary discipline, he shall have brought his servants to exercise suitable humility and dependence, and in other respects prepared the way, no doubt he will give glorious success. The cause is his; and it is vain to depend for its prosperity on human exertions. The death of Mrs. NEWELL instead of overcasting our prospects, will certainly turn to the advantage of missions. It will correct and 130

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instruct those who are labouring for the spread of the Gospel. The publication of her virtues will quicken and edify thousands. It will also make it apparent, that the missionary cause has irresistible attractions for the most excellent characters. Her character will be identified with that holy cause. Henceforth, every one who remembers HARRIET NEWELL, will remember THE FOREIGN MISSION FROM AMERICA. And every one, who reads the history of this Mission, will be sure to read the faithful record of her exemplary life and triumphant death. Thus, all her talents, the advantages of her education, the beauties of her mind, and the amiableness of her manners, her refined taste, her willingness to give up all that was dear to her in her native land; her fervent love to Christ, her desires and prayers for the advancement of his kingdom; her patience and fortitude in suffering, and the divine consolations which she enjoyed, will all redound to the honour of that sacred cause, to which all she had was devoted. Her life, measured by months and years was short; but far otherwise, when measured by what she atchieved. She was the happy instrument of much good to the holy kingdom of Christ, which deserved all her affections and all her labours. She died in a glorious cause. Nor did she pray, and weep, and die in vain. Other causes may miscarry; but this will certainly triumph. The LORD GOD of Israel has pledged his perfections for its success. The time is at hand, when the various tribes of India, and all the nations and kindreds of the earth shall fall down before the KING OF ZION, and submit cheerfully to his reign. A glorious work is to be done among the nations. Christ is to see the travail of his soul, and all his benevolent desires are to be satisfied. The infinite value of his atoning blood is to be completely and universally illustrated; and the full orbed splendour of redeeming love is every where to shine forth. The power of God will soon accomplish a work, which, seen in distant prospect, has made thousands, now sleeping in Jesus, before leap for joy. Blessed are they who are destined to live, when the earth shall be filled with the glory of the Lord. And blessed are we, who live so near that day, and even begin to see its bright and glorious dawn. O SUN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS arise. Shine upon the dark places of the earth; illuminate all the world. AMEN.

Editorial notes Abbreviations EIC Hobson-Jobson OED

East India Company H. Yule and A. C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson: The Anglo-Indian Dictionary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) Oxford English Dictionary

Notes 1 late Treaty of Peace: Signed 24 December 1812, the Treaty of Ghent ended the War of 1812. 2 Reverend Joshua Marsden: (1777–1837): Wesleyan minister and missionary worker in Bermuda, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia, after which (in 1815) he emigrated to England.

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3 4

5

6

7

8

9

In 1816 he published The Narrative of a Mission to Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and the Somers Islands (Plymouth-Dock: J. Johns, 1816). He died in 1837 at Hoxton, near London. “Mr. Marsden’s prospects . . . abundantly realized”: Untraced. WILLIAM JAQUES: Little is known about William Jaques other than his publications. In the same year as the London edition of Memoirs of Harriet Newell (1815), Jaques also published an abridgment of John Arndt’s True Christianity (1605–1610) as The True Christianity of the Venerable John Arndt, 2 vols (London: Hatchard, 1815). Announcing the book in their ‘Literary Intelligence’, Gentleman’s Magazine for March 1815 calls Jaques a ‘Private Tutor’ (85, p. 256). Jaques is also author of A Practical Essay on Intellectual Education (London: Hatchard, 1817) and translator of August Hermann Francke’s Guide to the Reading and Study of the Holy Scriptures (London: Hatchard, 1819). these Memoirs contain only a part of her letters and journal: An expanded edition of the Newell’s letters and journals appeared in 1831 under the title The Life and Writings of Mrs. Harriet Newell (Philadelphia, PA: American Sunday School Union, 1831). It saw a second printing in 1832. Academy of Bradford: Bradford Academy was founded in 1803; originally it was one of New England’s first coeducational institutions, and many of its early graduates became Christian missionaries. In 1836 it changed to an academy for women only, and over the next 140 years evolved from a secondary school to a college granting bachelor’s degrees. It closed in May 2000. Doddridge’s Sermons to Young People: Most likely Philip Doddridge, Sermons to Young Persons, on the Following Subjects (London: Fowler, Batley, and Wood, 1735), a popular work in its fifth London edition by 1790, and reprinted by at least two Philadelphia booksellers, Joseph Cruikshank and William Young, by 1794. Paul and Silas say to the jailor: Referring to Acts 16:25–40, which relates Paul and Silas’s imprisonment in Philippi. While the two pray with their fellow prisoners, an earthquake occurs, opening the prison doors and breaking the prisoners’ bonds. In suicidal despair, the Philippian jailer next enters, expecting to find his prisoners escaped. When he finds them still there, in gratitude he leads them out of the prison, asks what he must do for his soul to be saved, and, on hearing the gospel, is converted. dancing school: Dance was considered an important part of a liberal education, and dancing schools were popular in Massachusetts. As her diary suggests, though not ‘criminal’, dancing was criticized as a frivolous, expensive, and even irreligious pursuit. While no academies are advertised in Bradford’s local weekly newspaper, the Haverhill Museum (1804–1806), the Boston Gazette and the Washingtonian newspapers from these years mention several, the most prominent run by a Mr. Turner and a Mrs. Ruggles, both charging tuition of $5 per quarter for two lessons per week. Curiously, the possibility of dancing for Newell was probably created by John Hasseltine, a founder of the Bradford Academy and father to one of Newell’s closest friends, Nancy (‘Ann’) Hasseltine. John Hasseltine had recently added a large room or dance hall to the second story of his house to host assemblies. Controversially, the dances that followed were not only approved, but also attended, by the progressive minister at West Bradford, Parson Allen. An anonymously published pamphlet of 1805, ‘A Letter from Fidelis to His Friend, Exhibiting some Leading Traits of the Character and Conduct of Modern Liberal, Frolicing Ministers’, accuses Parson ‘A’ of being ‘corrupted by doctrines of Arians and Socinians, which are infinitely below the true standard of gospel and morality . . . He pretends to be a Calvinist, yet he can be (on occasion) a thorough Arminian. But that is not the worst. At a meeting of ministers, Mr. A. and Mr. E[aton of Boxford] zealously advocated the cause of frolicing and dancing . . . They said that they themselves did attend the frolics with their young people . . . . In seasons past Mr. A. has attended frolicings and dancings with his young people, not only till nine o’clock, and ten o’clock, and eleven o’clock, and twelve o’clock at night, but even till one o’clock in the morning’ (See Pond, Bradford, pp. 7–8).

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10

11 12

13 14 15

16 17 18 19

John Hasseltine, together with his wife and daughters, later became a central figure in the religious revival of the community brought about by the appointment of a new teacher at the Bradford Academy, Abraham Burnham (see note 10). A revival of religion commenced in the neighbourhood: Abraham Burnham was a key figure in the Protestant religious revival (now called the ‘Second Great Awakening’) experienced in Bradford and Haverhill after 1805. The self-taught son of a New Hampshire famer, Burnham graduated from Dartmouth in 1804 and was appointed as preceptor at Bradford Academy the following year. According to one historian of the Academy, Burnham ‘looked upon his office as an opportunity for the personal guidance of each student into a religious experience as a preparation for a life of Christian service. His fervor soon kindled a revival of religion which spread from the school into the church and the town’ (Pond, Bradford, p. 71). Studying theology with a minister in neighbouring Byfield, Burnham later left the Academy to become pastor of a church in Pembroke, New Hampshire. He married one of his former students, Mary White of Haverhill. with the Psalmist, Whom . . . besides thee: Referring to Psalms 73:25. The destitute broken state of the church at Haverhill: The Atwoods attended the First Parish Church at Haverhill, established in 1641 and the oldest in the city. Its first pastor was John Ward, son of founder and English Non-Conformist minister Rev. Nathanial Ward, who took charge of the Church in 1645. During Newell’s early life (1795–1803) the church became a centre of Unitarian controversy because its pastor, the Harvard-trained Abiel Abbot (1770–1828), was not sufficiently orthodox for many members of his congregation (Abbot left the congregation and moved to nearby Beverly, Massachusetts after 1803 when his request for an increase to his salary was refused). He was appointed once again to a Congregationalist parish; within a short time, and apparently with the support of his parishioners, the Church became Unitarian. Haverhill had no settled pastor until the Reverend Joshua Dodge arrived in 1808, and must have presented a stark contrast with the religious revival underway at Bradford with Burnham at its centre. See F. A. Gilmore, Historical Sketch of First Parish Haverhill, Mass. (Haverhill, MA: C. C. Morse and Sons, 1895); and J. H. Moore, ‘The Abiel Abbot Journals: A Yankee Preacher in Charleston Society, 1818–1827 (Continued)’, South Carolina Historical Magazine 68:2 (1967), pp. 51–73. Jehovah: One of the many names of the god of the ancient kingdoms of Israel and Judah, ‘Jehovah’ is a late medieval translation of the Tetragrammaton, the four Hebrew characters (‫ )יהוה‬also pronounced Yahweh. “My willing soul . . . everlasting bliss”: Quoting Isaac Watts, ‘Welcome, Sweet Day of Rest’, ll. 13–16. superabounding grace of God: Although not a direct Biblical quotation, the phrase refers to Romans 5:20 (‘Moreover the law entered, that the offence might abound. But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound’) and was popular in sermons of the time. “Oh, to grace how great a debtor!”: Newell here quotes from line 25 of the hymn, ‘Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing’, by Robert Robinson. Itself an expansion of Samuel 7:12, the hymn expands on the idea of divine grace. “Why was . . . than come?”: Quoting Isaac Watts, ‘How sweet and awful is the place’, ll. 13–16. March 25: This date is corrected in The Life and Writings of Mrs. Harriet Newell (Philadelphia, PA: American Sunday School Union, 1831), to ‘March 10’, and new entries are added from February 2, 3, and 10. Immanuel’s kingdom: Referring to Isaiah 7:14, where Ahaz is promised that God will protect the house of David and will send a sign: ‘Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and

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20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

34

35

36 37 38

bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel’. In Hebrew, Immanuel ( ‫ )לֵאּונָּמִע‬literally means ‘God with us’. her sister M. at Byfield: Newell’s sister Mary Atwood (1789–1833). Miss F. W.: Fanny Woodbury (1791–1814), author of Journals and Writings of Miss F. W., Including Some Interesting Correspondence between Her and Mrs. Newell (Edinburgh: James Taylor Smith, 1818; London: Longman, 1818), which appeared after her death. epistolary visits: Letters and correspondence. this time of awful declension: Here, ‘awful’ denotes ‘awe-inspiring’, i.e., inspiring dread and reverential fear. In telling her friend that the present moment is a ‘time of awful declension’, therefore, Newell means that they live in a time of fearful decay, decline, and apostasy. “Not unto us . . . the glory?”: A slight truncation and misquoting of Psalms 115:1: ‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory, for thy mercy, and for thy truth’s sake’. everlasting covenant: Here, Newell echoes Jeremiah 32:40: ‘And I will make an everlasting covenant with them, that I will not turn away from them, to do them good; but I will put my fear in their hearts, that they shall not depart from me’. conference: Here, a meeting for spiritual lectures and conversation on serious subjects; for conferring or taking counsel. “I pray thee have me excused”: From Luke 14:18. love of many waxeth cold: Slightly altered from Matthew 24:12: ‘And because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold’. H.: Haverhill. “where the worm . . . is not quenched”: Quoting Mark 9:44. A dear and beloved parent is in a declining state: Referring to Newell’s father, Moses Atwood (1761–1808), who died of consumption later that year (May 1808). “not my will, O Lord! but thine be done”: Paraphrased from Luke 22:42: ‘Saying, “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done”’. I do not expect to attend Bradford Academy this summer . . . I expect to attend: Established as a co-educational school in 1803, Bradford Academy took boys in winter and summer terms, and girls only in the summer; the ‘Female Apartment’ was open from the first week of May. For this reason, Harriet returns home for half the year. Such limitations – in addition to the costs of boarding their daughters at Bradford – likely contributed to the founding of the Female Seminary at Haverhill under Deacon Ben Colman at Byfield 1806. Harriet’s older sister Mary was made headteacher at Byfield, and, instead of attending Bradford, Harriet accompanied her together with her former schoolfellow from Bradford, Ann Hasseltine, in the autumn of 1810. To Miss C. P. of Newburyport: As the next letter makes clear, Miss Catherine Pearson is a friend from the Bradford Academy, a young woman perhaps undergoing the same spiritual trials as Newell. Their shared carelessness of their spiritual ‘improvement’ in favour of ‘trifling conversation’ while at school together, and now again once returned to their families, is a repeated topic of their correspondence. See Pond, Bradford, pp. 78–9. Feb. 16, 1808 . . . death has entered our family: This letter appears out of chronological order to provide a dramatic culmination to the fears of the previous letter. The uncle is likely Joshua Atwood, brother of Moses Atwood, Newell’s father. The revised and expanded Life and Writings of Mrs. Newell (1831) retains this temporal anomaly. “Mourn not for me, my friends, but mourn for yourselves”: Altered slightly from Luke 23:28: ‘But Jesus turning unto them said, Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children’. “Tis greatly . . . welcome news”: Quoting lines 376–9 of ‘Night the Second’ of Edward Young’s The Complaint: or, Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality, published in nine parts between 1742 and 1745. promised to be the father of the fatherless, and the widow’s God: Paraphrasing Psalms 68:5: ‘A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation’.

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39 From some passages . . . religious declension and darkness: Here, the editor interrupts Newell’s own testimony of letters to comment on her ‘state of religious declension’ during the year 1808, supporting this interpretation of her spiritual state by further evidence from another observer, unnamed, but ‘competent to testify’. Here the power of the editor – her husband? – in selecting, arranging, and framing interpretation of Newell’s narrative, becomes apparent, as 1808–9 is presented as a period wasted ‘in the vanities of the world – thoughtless and unconcerned’, before she is returned to spiritual resolution. 40 Miss Helen Maria Williams’ Letters on the French Revolution: Helen Maria Williams’s chronicle of the French Revolution was originally published as Letters Written in France, in the Summer of 1790, to a Friend in England (London: T. Cadell, 1790). Over the next six years she published further installments narrating the rise of Robespierre, the Terror, and its aftermath. Popular and controversial, she was praised as a ‘friend of liberty’ (Critical Review (1796), p. 210) by progressives and criticized as ‘a misguided female’ (British Critic (1796), p. 7) by conservatives. That Newell is depicted reading Williams during a period of ‘declension and darkness’ serves as a telling register of her editors’ political and religious views. 41 Rollin’s Ancient History: Born in Paris, Charles Rollin was a distinguished scholar of ancient languages and educational reformer whose works were extremely popular in France, Great Britain, and the United States. The first English translation of his monumental Histoire ancienne des Égyptiens, des Carthaginois, des Assyriens, des Babyloniens, des Mèdes et des Perses, des Macédoniens, des Grecs, 14 vols (Paris, 1730–1738) appeared as The Ancient History of the Egyptians, Carthaginians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Medes and Persians, Macedonians, and Grecians, 10 vols (London: Knapton, 1738–1740), and went through at least 12 editions and abridgments by 1810. A version published by the Religious Tract Society of London appeared in 1841–1842. 42 “And make each day a critic on the last”: Quoting Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism (1711), Part 3, line 12. 43 What am I . . . knowledge of Christ: July 1809 seems to represent a turning point or sedimentation of Newell’s convictions, introducing a new preoccupation with the duty of bringing the gospel to those ‘in heathen darkness’. This passage is revealing for the way it predicates Newell’s own salvation on her extending ‘the gospel’s joyful sound’ to others: the first clear statement of a missionary calling provided by the Memoirs. Shortly after 20 July, Newell attempts her first ‘conversion’ of a ‘dear and intimate companion’. 44 aggravated transgressions: According to Newell’s own account in the preceding letters, these transgressions are probably levity, ‘vain and idle conversation’, and the ‘bustle of crowded life’. 45 “go the way from whence no traveller returns?”: Here Newell appears to be loosely quoting from ll. 86–7 of Act 3, scene 1 of Hamlet (‘That undiscovered country from whose bourn / No traveller returns’), although the quoted phrase also echoes Job 10:20–1 and Job 16:22. 46 wrestle with him in prayer: Recalling Jacob’s wrestling with God in Genesis 32:24–8. 47 Zion: In Hebrew ‫ןֹוּיִצ‬, a name synonymous with either Jerusalem or the biblical Land of Israel as a whole. Its earliest appearances occur in 2 Samuel 5:7 (‘Nevertheless David took the strong hold of Zion: the same is the city of David’) and 1 Kings 8:1 (‘Then Solomon assembled the elders of Israel, and all the heads of the tribes, the chief of the fathers of the children of Israel, unto king Solomon in Jerusalem, that they might bring up the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of the city of David, which is Zion’). 48 This afternoon I attended meeting . . . Mr W.: This would have been a service at the First Parish Church at Haverhill now under the leadership of Rev. Joshua Dodge. The ‘Mr. W.’ is possibly the Rev. Mr Samuel Worcester of Salem, part of the growing network of pastors preaching in the region. 49 Matt. xxvi. 6–13: Matthew 26:6–13 tells the story of the woman who comes to the house of Simon to anoint Jesus with precious ointment. When his disciples object to

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50

51 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69

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the act as an extravagant waste, Jesus replies, ‘For ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she did it for my burial’ (11–12). our beloved pastor: Reverend Joshua Dodge (1779–1861). Born in Hamilton, Massachusetts, Dodge attended Atkinson Academy and then Dartmouth College, graduating in 1806. He then entered on a course of study with Rev. Abiel Abbot, who had recently left Haverhill in 1803 and moved to Beverly, before become pastor of the First Parish Church in Haverhill in 1808. See G. W. Chase, The History of Haverhill (Haverhill, MA: published by the author, 1861), p. 559. Gospel trump: Likely echoing, ‘Hark! How the gospel trumpet sounds’, a popular hymn written by Samuel Medley (1732–1799). “ready and willing . . . by him”: Likely a paraphrase of Hebrews 7:25. And why . . . lack of knowledge?: This is the first time Newell explicitly speaks of the attractions of missionary work abroad, and of converting ‘the Heathen’. “no more sacrifice . . . fiery indignation”: Quoting Hebrews 10:26–7. “He knows . . . the same”: Quoting lines 7–8 of ‘With Joy We Meditate the Grace’ by Isaac Watts, itself a rumination on Hebrews 2:18 (‘For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succour them that are tempted’). that fountain: Referring to Joel 3:11–21, which prophesies the desolation of Egypt and Edom and a new Jerusalem: ‘And it shall come to pass in that day, that the mountains shall drop down new wine, and the hills shall flow with milk, and all the rivers of Judah shall flow with waters, and a fountain shall come forth of the house of the LORD, and shall water the valley of Shittim’ (18). “Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked”: Quoting 1 Samuel 24:13. “As we have . . . all men”: Quoting Galatians 6:10. “In the multitude . . . my soul”: Quoting Psalms 94:19. “Jesus answered . . . this world”: Quoting John 18:36. “Unto you . . . of men”: Quoting Proverbs 8:4. “God be merciful to me a sinner”: Quoting Luke 18:13. “Laden with guilt, a heavy load”: Quoting line 37 of Isaac Watts, ‘Remember your Creator’, an adaptation of Ecclesiastes 12. Who can dwell . . . everlasting burnings?: Quoting Isaiah 33:14. Come and . . . done for me: Paraphrasing Psalms 66:16. delivered me . . . to his name: Quoting Psalms 40:2–3. the Lord doeth all things well: Paraphrasing Mark 7:37. Restraining prayer . . . his knees: Quoting William Cowper, ‘Olney Hymn 29: Exhortation To Prayer’, ll. 9–12. Have just returned from our reading society: Here, and a week later, Newell describes her feelings after the meeting of a regular reading group. After both meetings, she condemns herself for her ‘gaiety and lightness’ and expresses frustration with the company assembled. It is not immediately clear whether this is a religious or secular gathering; in the second meeting of 30 October, the group are introduced to David Ramsay’s Life of Washington (New York: Hopkins, 1807), which suggests the latter and shows how quickly new books were taken up even in regional areas. Part of the popularity of reading societies arose from the high cost of books in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, which led to the rapid growth of for-profit libraries and other institutions by which members might pool their resources to purchase worthwhile books so that, over time, a working library might be formed. Usually democratic in nature, reading societies were created by and for their members, who customarily paid a weekly or monthly subscription; books to be purchased were either chosen by the membership or by a subcommittee. Mr W. and Mr E.: Probably Reverend Samuel Worcester of Salem (and the Massachusetts Missionary Society), and Reverend Joseph Emerson, pastor of the Third

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72 73 74 75 76 77

78 79 80

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Congregational Church at Beverly. Both men were active in the missionary cause, and mentors and supporters of the Williams College and Andover Theological Seminary students (Samuel Mills, James Richards, Luther Rice, Gordon Hall, Samuel Newell, Samuel Nott, and Adoniram Judson) who were dedicated to establishing a society for foreign missionary work. Early in 1810, Emerson married Rebecca Hasseltine, daughter of John Hasseltine and sister of Nancy (‘Ann’) Hasseltine (later Judson). He is credited with encouraging the female missionaries (Newell and Judson) to accompany their husbands to India in the face of general opposition. See Life of Rev. Joseph Emerson (Boston, MA: Crocker and Brewster, 1834), pp. 199–201. a serious intention . . . commencing in A: Newell refers here to Andover, where several students (including the newly arrived Samuel Newell) attending Williams College and Andover Theological Seminary began planning to undertake missionary work. Their plans culminated in the presentation by the group to the General Association (27 June 1810) of the proposal to establish an American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. “as in months past”: Quoting from Job 29:2: ‘Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me’. My dear friend, and as I humbly trust my spiritual father, Mr B. called upon us: At the invitation of Dodge, Abraham Burnham, a preceptor at the Bradford Academy, preached at Haverhill on 12 November. “What shall I do to inherit eternal life”: Quoting Luke 18:18. “that all things . . . love him”: Quoted, with a few changes, from Romans 8:28. Search me, O God, and know me: Slightly misquoted from Psalms 138:23 (‘Search me, O God, and know my heart’). valley of the shadow of death: Referring to Psalms 23:4 (‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me’), and the notion that the world would be a place of darkness and death without the presence of God. the commencement of the Millenium: Referring to Revelation 20:1–5, in which an angel comes down from heaven, binds Satan and casts him into a bottomless pit, and the few who comprise the first resurrection sit in thrones and reign with Christ for a thousand years. tasting that the Lord is gracious: Referring to Psalms 34:8 (‘O taste and see that the Lord is good: blessed is the man that trusteth in him’) and to 1 Peter 2:3 (‘If so be ye have tasted that the Lord is gracious’). “the chief among ten thousands, and altogether lovely”: Newell brings together parts of the Song of Solomon 5:10 (‘My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand’) and 5:16 (‘His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem’). “robes have been washed and made white in the blood of the Lamb”: Altered from Revelation 7:14 (‘And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb’). “iniquity abounds, and the love of many waxes cold”: Slightly altered from Matthew 24:12. ball: For Newell’s reservations against dancing, see note 9. “put their hands . . . against God”: Significantly altered from Luke 9:62 (‘And Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God’) and Proverbs 29:1 (‘He, that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy’). The wording of the second half of this passage appears to be entirely Newell’s adaptation, and appears in no published Bible or sermon we have been able to discover. “Why was I . . . starve than come”: Quoting lines 13–16 of Isaac Watts, ‘How Sweet and Awful is this Place’. The italicization of ‘I’ is Newell’s. “I will bear . . . sinned against him”: Quoting Micah 7:9. “It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good”: Quoting 1 Samuel 3:18.

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88 Shepherd of Israel: Another term for God, taken from Psalms 80:1. 89 blood-washed millions: Popular in later nineteenth-century missionary hymns such as ‘Blood-washed Throng’ and ‘Resurrection Morning’, which features separate verses on the conversion of India and China to Christianity, the phrase likely finds its source in Revelation 1:5 (‘Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood’) and 7:14 (‘These . . . have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb’). The earliest occurrence of ‘blood-washed millions’ that we have been able to locate occurs in A Sermon Delivered at the Installation of the Rev. Reuben Emerson, A. M. over the First Church of Christ in Reading, Massachusetts: October 17, 1804 (Salem, MA: Joshua Cushing, 1805), p. 31. Given the sermon’s date, location, and place of publication, it is likely that Newell would have encountered the text by 1810. 90 “Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return”: Quoting Genesis 3:19. 91 “Search me . . . way everlasting”: Quoting Psalms 139:23–4. 92 “Do thyself no harm”: Quoting Acts 16:28. 93 “to flee from the wrath to come”: Quoting Matthew 3:7. 94 The children of God . . . lights in the world: Qdapted from Matthew 5:14. 95 “tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind of doctrine”: Quoting Ephesians 3:14. 96 “Ye are the salt . . . be salted”: Quoting Matthew 5:13. 97 Mr. E. called upon us . . . great revival of religion in his society and town: Reverend Joseph Emerson (1777–1833), pastor of the Third Congregational Church at Beverly and member of the growing foreign mission movement in the region. 98 Her very countenance declared the importance of religion: Newell’s use of ‘countenance’ here – italicized in the original text – refers not only to facial appearance, expression, or mien, but encompasses a deeper meaning of conduct and moral comportment. This is emphasised by her allusion to the power of her friend’s gestures: she was ‘speechless, though not senseless’. 99 “the meat that perisheth”: Quoting John 6:27. 100 Praise the lord oh my soul: Quoting Psalms 103:1. 101 To-day we may imagine . . . a deceiver: Possibly gesturing to Matthew 7:15 (‘Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves’). 102 July 1. Hail sacred morning! . . . rose from the grave: Easter in 1810 occurred on April 22; by ‘sacred morning’ Newell here means only ‘Sunday’. 103 “How long halt ye between two opinions?”: Quoting 1 Kings 18:21. 104 A female friend . . . India’s sultry clime: Nancy (‘Ann’) Hasseltine, who was very shortly to marry Adoniram Judson and also become a missionary. The daughter of John Hasseltine, whose dance room had created such pleasure and controversy in Bradford, Ann had come – with her family – under the influence of Abraham Burnham at the Bradford Academy and had joined the Bradford church in September of 1809. Although Ann was four years older than Harriet, the girls had become close friends at Bradford and Byfield; between attending the Academy, Ann taught at small schools in Salem, Haverhill, and Newbury. As this diary entry shows, her missionary vocation has a profound impact on Harriet. See Memoir of Mrs. Ann H. Judson, Late Missionary to Burmah (Boston, MA: Lincoln & Edmands, 1829), pp. 32–75; Emerson, Life of Rev. Joseph Emerson, pp. 199–201; and C. Anderson, To the Golden Shore: The Life of Adoniram Judson (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1972), pp. 85–6. 105 “When I am weak, then am I strong”: Quoting 2 Corinthians 12:10. 106 “fear not . . . the kingdom”: Quoting Luke 12:32. 107 neither Paul nor Apollos: Referring to 1 Corinthians 3:4–6 For while one saith, I am of Paul; and another, I am of Apollos; are ye not carnal? / Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers by whom ye believed, even as the Lord gave to every man? / I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.

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108 “I had rather . . . tents of wickedness”: Quoting Psalms 84:10. 109 Oct 23. Mr M introduced Mr N. to our family: Harriet’s introduction to her future husband, Samuel Newell (1784–1821). The youngest of nine children, Newell lost both parents early, and seems to have become independent at a very young age. He took himself at 14 to study in Boston and, at 19, to Harvard where he was influenced by the Baptist preaching of Dr Stillman before joining the First Congregational Church in Roxbury in 1804. After his 1807 graduation from Harvard, Newell taught at several schools in the Massachusetts area and then entered the Andover Theological Seminary in 1809. Together with Adoniram Judson, Samuel Mills, Gordon Hall, and Samuel Nott, he offered himself to the Congregational Clergy of Massachusetts as a missionary in 1810, prompting the foundation of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM). In February 1812 he married Harriet Atwood and the couple left (with the Judsons and the Notts, and with Hall and Rice) for India in the same month. After Harriet’s death in November of that same year, Newell travelled to Ceylon and Bombay to undertake preaching and mission work. In 1818 he married Philomela Thurston, a fellow missionary; in 1821 he died suddenly of cholera. Newell published A Sermon Preached at Haverhill (Massachusetts) in Remembrance of Mrs. Harriet Newell in 1814, and his wife’s highly-influential Memoirs the following year (1815). With his fellow missionary Gordon Hall he published The Conversion of the World, or the Claims of the Six Hundred Millions, and the Ability and Duty of the Churches (Andover, MA, 1818). 110 Law’s Serious Call to a holy life: William Law, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life, originally published in 1729 by William Innys of London. By 1800 it had gone through at least fifteen authorized editions as well as several abridgements. The first decades of the nineteenth century saw Massachusetts printings in Boston (1818, 1821) and Andover (1821). 111 “there is no future state”: Likely a reference to ‘A Second Letter to the Reverend Dr. Francis Atterbury’: ‘You say, you suppose Mankind persuaded that there is no Future State; and yet confess, you represent them, as uneasie under the presages of one: which you take to be the case of all who profess to disbelieve a Future State’. See The Works of Benjamin Hoadly, DD, 3 vols (London: W. Bowyer and J. Nichols, 1773), vol. 1, p. 64. 112 “Whom have I . . . beside thee”: Quoting Psalms 73:25. 113 “way of all the earth”: Quoting 1 Kings 2:2. 114 “I have heard this sentence, and received their doom”: Source not identified, though possibly taken from Thomas Wilson, ‘The Great Danger of Not Knowing the Day of Visitation’, in Sermons, 4 vols (8th edition, Bath: R. Crutwell, 1795), vol. 2, p. 339: ‘we tread upon the graves of those that have already received their doom’. 115 “and exclaim with Thomas,‘My Lord and my God!’”: Quoting John 20:28. Here Newell aligns her only capacity to doubt with that of the apostle Thomas, who, on being told by other apostles of Jesus’s return from the dead, states that he will not believe that Jesus has risen from the dead unless ‘I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe’. When Jesus next appears he invites Thomas to ‘reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing’ (John 20:27). The episode is the foundation for the term ‘doubting Thomas’, denoting a sceptic who refuses to believe except from first-hand experience. 116 “an evil heart of unbelief” prone to “depart from the living God”: Both quotations are from Hebrews 3:12. 117 “A soul redeemed demands a life of praise”: Quoting line 289 of William Cowper, ‘Truth’, first published in Poems (London: J. Johnson, 1782). 118 “When I was a child, I spake as a child”: Quoting 2 Corinthians 13:11. 119 “Lord, what a wretched land is this”: Hymn by Isaac Watts.

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120 “teaching young ideas how to shoot”: Quoting line 1070 of James Thomson, ‘Spring’, originally published in Spring: A Poem (London: A Millar, 1728). 121 Newton’s works: Likely The Works of the Right Reverend Thomas Newton, D. D. Late Lord Bishop of Bristol, originally published in London by the Rivington brothers after Newton’s death in 1782. Today Newton is best remembered for his variorum edition of John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1752) and for his extremely popular Dissertations on the Prophecies (1754–1758), which included a systematic analysis of Revelation. 122 the mercy seat: Referring to the lid of the ark of the covenant, described in Exodus 25:17 and further referred to in Exodus 30:6 and 31:7, 1 Chronicles 28:11, and Leviticus 16:2. In Hebrews 9:5 and Ephesians 2:6 it is compared to the throne of grace described in Revelation 20:4. 123 the name of—– : Samuel Newell. 124 “not knowing the things which shall befall me there”: Quoting Acts 20:22. 125 “that wisdom which is profitable to direct”: Quoting Ecclesiastes 10:10. 126 “Guide me, O thou great Jehovah”: Hymn written by William Williams (1717–91). 127 “a desert world, replete with sin and sorrow”: Quotation not traced, but possibly combining two lines from different psalms by Isaac Watts: line 23 of ‘Psalm 107 Part 1’ and line 5 of ‘Psalm 90 Part 3’. See The Psalms of David, Imitated in the Language of the New Testament, and Applied to Christian State and Worship (London: Rivington, Buckland, Longman, Field, and Dilly, 1776). 128 “not knowing the things which shall befal me there”: Quoting Acts 20:22. 129 Mr Newton . . . “only thee”: Newell here misattributes ll. 17–20 of ‘Walking with God’, a poem by William Cowper, to Thomas Newton. 130 Mr. Hall: Gordon Hall, an associate of Samuel Newell whose missionary work in Bradford is praised by J. D. Kingsbury in Memorial History of Bradford, Mass (Haverhill, MA: C. C. Morse, 1883), p. 117. See also Memoir of Mrs. Ann H. Judson, Late Missionary to Burmah (Boston, MA: Lincoln & Edmands, 1829), pp. 32–44. 131 My leave of Mr. N. . . . nine months: Samuel Newell left Haverhill for Philadelphia to study medicine, most likely at the College of Philadelphia (founded 1765). 132 “adverse fortune frowns”: Quoted from Hannah More, ‘Daniel Part VI’, in Sacred Dramas; Chiefly Intended for Young Persons: The Subjects Taken from the Bible (London: T. Cadell, 1782). 133 “life’s vale is strew’d with flowerets fresh”: Untraced. 134 “And as he drew nigh to the city, he wept over it, saying”: Quoting Luke 19:41. 135 Did Christ . . . every eye: Quoting ll. 1–4 of a hymn by S. M. Beddome, the earliest printing of which occurs in J. Rippon (ed.), A Selection of Hymns from the Best Authors, Intended To Be an Appendix to Dr. Watts’s Psalms and Hymns (London: Thomas Wilkins, 1787), p. 367. 136 Oh that thou . . . to thy peace: Slightly altered from Luke 19:42 (‘Saying, If thou had’st known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes’). 137 Should fate command . . . must be joy: The original passage is from ll. 107–14 of ‘Winter’ in James Thomson’s The Seasons (1730); the final line in Newell’s passage is of her own composition. 138 Horne on Missions: Melville Horne (c. 1761–1841) was an Anglican clergyman who served as chaplain to the Sierra Leone Company in 1792–1793. On his return he wrote and published Letters on Missions: Addressed to the Protestant Ministers of the British Churches (Bristol: Bulgin and Rosser, 1794), which helped to spur the founding of London Missionary Society in 1795. While it is possible that Newell means Horne’s 1794 text, she also might be referring to the locally published A Collection of Letters Relative to Foreign Missions; Containing Several of Melville Horne’s ‘Letters on Missions,’ and Interesting Communications from Foreign Missionaries. Interspersed with Other Extracts (Andover, MA: Galen Ware, 1810).

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139 Yes, Christian heroes! . . . rose of Sharon there: Lines 1–4 of a hymn composed in 1797 by Bourne H. Draper, a student of the Baptist Academy of Bristol. A possible source for Draper’s lyrics appears to be Hhadash Hamishcan: or, the New Chapel, at Halifax, in Yorkshire, a Poem (Halifax: E. Jacob, 1772), which boast similar lines: ‘The everlasting Love of God proclaim, / And free Salvation through Immanuel’s Name’ (p. 10). 140 adorable: Here, meaning ‘inspiring adoration’. 141 “I think of the days of other years, and my soul is sad”: Newell here likely cobbles together two phrases from ‘The War of Caros’, a poem by Ossian (James Macpherson). Having recounted the tale of Lamor killing his son (‘his soul is sad’), Ossian confesses, ‘Darkness comes on my soul . . . let me think on the days of other years’. See The Poems of Ossian, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Elder and Brown, 1797), vol. 1, pp. 95, 98. 142 Hindostan: Or ‘Hindustan’, the Persian name for India. 143 Widows consent to be burned: Newell refers to the practice of sati or suttee, the selfimmolation of widows on the funeral pyres of their dead husbands. This tradition attracted much attention from European visitors, and became a stock topic for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century travel accounts. The practice was eventually banned by the British in 1829; however, there is considerable scholarly debate as to how common sati actually was in Indian society. For a range of views, see L. Mani, Contentious Traditions: The Debate on Sati in Colonial India (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1992); A. Major, Pious Flames: The European Encounter with Sati, 1500–1830 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); N. G. Cassels, Social Legislation of the East India Company: Public Justice versus Public Instruction (Los Angeles, CA and London: Sage, 2010), pp. 88–112. 144 parents sacrifice . . . river Ganges: Ritual sacrifice, whether of animals or of humans in effigy, is very rare in Hinduism, and is mostly associated with Shaktism. As with sati, reports of Hindu human sacrifice were widely circulated among European visitors, and Newell references these stories here. 145 East Indies: Referring to the lands of South and Southeast Asia. 146 “My grace is sufficient for thee”: Quoting 2 Corinthians 12:9. 147 Loose, then . . . climes explore: Quoting ll. 387–8 of ‘Night the Second’ of Edward Young’s The Complaint; or, Night-Thoughts (1742–5). 148 “’tis all that I can do”: Quoting line 24 of Isaac Watts, ‘Alas, and did my Savior bleed?’. 149 “Dear Saviour . . . created good”: Quoting ll. 17–20 of Isaac Watts, ‘How vain are all things here below’. 150 “thy people shall be my people”: Quoting Ruth 1:16. 151 Jesus to multitudes . . . ever bless’d: Quoting lines 9–20 of ‘Ye glittering toys of earth, adieu’ by Anne Steele, printed in Poems, on Subjects Chiefly Devotional, 3 vols (Bristol: W. Pine, 1780), vol. 3, pp. 142–3. 152 “the longest summer days seemed too much in haste”: Quoting ll. 106–7 of Robert Blair, The Grave (1743). 153 “None of these things move me, neither count I my life dear to me”: Quoting Acts 20:24. 154 “For me remains . . . God is there”: Quoting ll. 9–12 of ‘The Soul That Loves God Finds Him Every Where’, in Poems, Translated from the French of Madame de La Mothe Guion by the Late William Cowper (Newport Pagnell: J. Wakefield, 1801). 155 “Day of all . . . eternal rest”: Quoting John Newton, ‘Safely through another week’. 156 when the heavens are rolled together as a scroll: Drawing from the language of Isaiah 34:4 and Revelation 6:14. 157 elements melt with fervent heat: Quoting 2 Peter 3:10. 158 “I’m but a stranger . . . and sweet repose”: Quoting Elizabeth Singer Rowe, ‘III. Longing after the Enjoyment of God’, originally published in Devout Exercises of the Heart in Meditation and Soliloquy, Prayer and Praise (London: R. Hett, 1738), p. 11.

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159 “Bless the Lord . . . his benefits”: Quoting Psalms 103:1–2. 160 The Lord is my light . . . morning?: Quoting Psalms 27:1, 30:7, 30:1, and 30:3–5. 161 “The time is short . . . heavenly shore”: Quoting lines 49–51 of Susannah Harrison, ‘I Think My Table Richly Spread’, in Songs in the Night; by a Young Woman under Deep Afflictions (London: T. Hawes, 1780), p. 113. 162 “Be careful for nothing . . . unto God”: Quoting Philippians 4:6. 163 prisoners of hope: Quoting Zechariah 9:12. 164 “Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation”: Quoting from 2 Corinthians 6:2. 165 stranger in a strange land: Quoting Exodus 2:22. 166 “But even . . . rage disarm”: Quoting ll. 175–6 of Oliver Goldsmith, The Traveller (1765). 167 “Soon I hope” . . . his example may affect my heart!: Newell quotes from Henry Kirke White, ‘Fragment of an Eccentric Drama: The Dance of the Consumptives’, first published in R. Southey (ed.), The Remains of Henry Kirke White, (London: Vernor, Hood, and Sharpe, 1807), p. 300. Though largely unread today, Kirke White’s Remains were extremely popular in the early nineteenth century, seeing ten editions, two of them American, by 1818. His combination of evangelical faith – he found a patron in Charles Simeon of King’s College, Cambridge – followed by an early death from consumption in 1806 would have rendered him a fascinating figure to Newell, particularly at this highly anxious time in her life. 168 is there not a balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?: Quoting Jeremiah 8:22. Balm of Gilead (also called balm of Mecca) is a resin exuded from the Balsam tree (Balsamodendron Gileadense) that was valued in the eighteenth century for its antiseptic qualities and as a cure-all. American Balm of Gilead derives from a different tree, the balsam fir. 169 Buchanan’s Researches: Reverend Claudius Buchanan, D. D., Christian Researches in Asia: With Notices of the Translation of the Scriptures into the Oriental Languages (London: Cadell and Davies; Boston, MA: S. T. Armstrong, 1811), which went through nine editions in two years. A chaplain in Calcutta for the EIC, Buchanan zealously supported missionary operations and laboured to promote Christianity in India, raising money for translations of the scriptures and prize essays and poems. Returning to England in 1810, he wrote against the censorship of Christian works in India and campaigned to force the Company to give missionaries unrestricted access there. 170 We want not bread . . . FAMINE FOR BIBLES: Referring to the following passage in Buchanan’s Researches: They were clamorous for Bibles. They supplicated for teachers. ‘We don’t want bread or money from you’, said they; ‘but we want the word of God’ . . . Christianity flourishes; but I found that here, as at other places, there is a ‘famine of Bibles’. (London edition, p. 79) 171 Why sinks my weak . . . God be nigh?: Lines 1–4 of a hymn by Anne Steele, published in The Hartford Selection of Hymns from the Most Approved Authors (Hartford, CT: John Babcock, 1799). 172 “The thoughts . . . joys create”: Quoting ll. 27–8 of Isaac Watts’s ‘Heavenly Joy on Earth’, a standard hymn first published in Hymns and Spiritual Songs (London: John Lawrence, 1707), pp. 105–6. 173 My journey here . . . will soon be over: Quoting from Henry Kirke White, ‘Fragment of an Eccentric Drama: The Dance of the Consumptives’, in Remains (1807), p. 300. 174 “the long Sabbath of the tomb is past”: Quoting line 13 of Henry Kirke White, ‘Fanny! Upon Thy Breast I May Not Lie!’ 175 the day dawn . . . so long dwelt?: Quoting 2 Peter 1:19. 176 “All the sad variety of grief”: Quoted from J. Norton, The Blessedness of Those Who Die in the Lord, Illustrated . . . in a Discourse Delivered at Weymouth, Feb. 3, 1811 (Boston, MA: Lincoln & Edmands, 1811), p. 13.

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177 “I can do all things through Christ, who strengtheneth me”: Quoting Philippians 4:13. 178 As Kirke White . . . “everlasting rest”: Slightly misquoted from ‘Fragment of an Eccentric Drama: The Dance of the Consumptives’, in The Remains of Henry Kirke White (1807), p. 300; the line correctly reads ‘Will greet the peaceful inn of lasting rest’. 179 Oh! when will the radiant star in the East direct them to Bethlehem!: Referring to Luke 2:1–18 and the story of Christ’s nativity, where shepherds are visited by an angel and directed to see a child lying in a manger in Bethlehem. Here Newell uses the story as a metaphor for missionary work, the ‘star in the East’ in this case leading them to India. 180 The glorious morn of the Millenium hastens . . . ‘reign of peace and love’: Source not identified, though Newell’s reference to the millennium suggests she is thinking of Revelation 20:4–6, which tells of the first resurrection of souls and Christ’s reigning for 1,000 years on earth. 181 “But, hush . . . part no more”: Adapting ll. 11–14 of Henry Kirke White’s sonnet, ‘Fanny! Upon thy breast I may not lie!’. The original lines go as follows: Yet hush! my fond heart, hush! there is a shore Of better promise; and I know at last, When the long sabbath of the tomb is past, We two shall meet in Christ – to part no more! 182 The sultry climes . . . stingless death: Source not identified. 183 when the long Sabbath of the tomb is past: Quoting line 13 of Henry Kirke White, ‘Fanny! Upon they breast I may not lie!’ 184 flying-fish: Any one of the many kinds of exocoetidae, of which over sixty species exist, called ‘flying’ because they are capable of leaping out of the water and using their long fins like wings to propel themselves, skimming the top of the water, for significant distances. 185 the torrid Zone: Geographically, the area between the Tropic of Cancer (23.5° north latitude) and the Tropic of Capricorn (23.5° south latitude) that includes the Equator. 186 “the Lord will take me up”: Quoting Psalms 27:10. 187 “through Christ, who strengtheneth me”: Quoting Philippians 4:13. 188 the Cape: The Cape of Good Hope, a little more than 50 kilometres south of Cape Town, South Africa. 189 “This life’s a dream, an empty show”: Quoting line 5 of Isaac Watts, ‘The Hope of the Christian’. 190 “Who rides . . . the seas”: Quoting ll. 15–16 of Isaac Watts, ‘Heavenly Joy on Earth’. 191 “I will bless the Lord . . . my supplications”: Loosely quoting and compressing Psalms 31:21–2: ‘Blessed be the Lord: for he hath shewed me his marvellous kindness in a strong city. / For I said in my haste, I am cut off from before thine eyes: nevertheless thou heardest the voice of my supplications when I cried unto thee’. 192 “Give what thou . . . wilt away”: Slightly misquoting Book V, ll. 905–6 William Cowper, The Task (1785): ‘Give what thou can’st, without thee we are poor, / And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away’. The italics are Newell’s. 193 “I have loved the place where thine honour dwelleth”: Contracting Psalms 26:8: ‘Lord, I have loved the habitation of thy house, and the place where thine honour dwelleth’. 194 “The winter is past, and the time of the singing birds is come”: Quoting and compressing The Song of Solomon 2:11–12: ‘For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; / The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land’. 195 some account of Birmah: Untraced, though possibly William Hunter’s A Concise Account of Climate, Produce, Trade, Government, Manners, and Customs of the

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196

197

198

199

Kingdom of Pegu; Interspersed with Remarks Moral and Political (Calcutta; J. Hay, 1785; London: J. Sewell and J. Debrett, 1789). Juggernaut: A deity worshipped in some regional Hindu traditions, Jagannath is generally considered an avatar of Vishnu. In her letter of 27 June 1812 to Miss S. H., Newell describes the annual celebration of the deities Jagannath, Balabhadra, and Subhadra, where colossal representations of the gods are transported to the temple in chariots. This is the origin of the modern English word ‘juggernaut’. Early European accounts of this festival described devotees being crushed under the wheels of the chariots, perhaps even as a form of honourable suicide. the land of Pagan darkness, which Buchanan so feelingly describes: Likely quoted from Rev. Charles Buchanan, L.L.D., The Star in the East; Containing some Extracts from a Sermon Preached in the Parish-Church of St. James, Bristol, on Sunday, Feb. 26th, 1809, for the Benefit of the ‘Society for Missions to Africa and the East’ (Danbury, CT, 1810), p. 31. Saugor Island . . . sharks and alligators: Sagar is a large island in the Bay of Bengal, in the mouth of the Hooghly river. Although the details are now unclear, some local Hindu communities seem to have regarded being killed and consumed by sharks in the waters around Sagar Island as a purificatory fate that might lead to ‘moksha’, or freedom from the cycles of mortal existence. Alternatively, local traditions suggested that sacrificing a child in these waters might lead to greater fertility in the future. Whatever the precise motivation here, an EIC ordinance of 1802 proscribed such sacrifices (although not voluntary suicide in such a manner) and a company of sepoys was posted during religious festivals to prevent them. See H. H. Wilson, Essays and Lectures Chiefly on the Religion of the Hindus, 2 vols (London: Trubner, 1862), vol. 2, pp. 166–7; Cassels, Social Legislation of the East India Company, pp. 86–88. Cudjeree: Also spelled Kedgeree, Khijiri, or Kijari, located 68 miles south of Calcutta in the lowlands near the mouth of the Hooghly on the West bank. The Edinburgh Gazetteer, or Geographical Dictionary (Edinburgh: Constable, 1822) describes it as situated near the mouth of the Horgley [sic], where ships frequently stop, either coming out or entering the river. It is esteemed healthier than Diamond Harbour, and has a good bazar. A marine officer is stationed here, who makes a daily report to the master attendant, of the ships that sail and arrive. It is situated on the western bank of the river, and is surrounded by a swampy and unhealthy district. (vol. 3, p. 567)

200 Dr. Carey . . . Dr Marshman and Mr Ward: William Carey (1761–1834), English missionary and translator who arrived in Calcutta in 1793 and, forced by the EIC to leave British territory, founded schools for impoverished children in Serampore. He is now known as the ‘father of modern missions’. Joshua Marshman (1768–1837), English missionary, linguist and Oriental scholar, and William Ward (1769–1823), missionary, printer, and translator: both joined Carey at the Baptist mission at Serampore in 1799. 201 Palanquin: ‘A box-litter for travelling in, with a pole projecting before and behind, which is borne on the shoulders of 4 or 6 men – 4 always in Bengal’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 502). 202 budgerow: Hobson-Jobson is much less impressed with this craft, calling it a ‘lumbering keel-less barge’ (p. 91). 203 remove far from me lover: Quoting Psalms 88:18. 204 charity school: Also called ‘The Institution for the Instruction of Indigent Christian Children’, founded in 1810. Its progress is reported in the 17 December 1810 Missionary Magazine, which regularly related activities in Serampore and Calcutta: ‘The charity school of Calcutta has 50 scholars in it. Great progress is making in the translations of the scriptures, and in printing there’. See the Missionary Magazine XV (1810), p. 576. Newell’s is one of the earliest eye-witness accounts provided by

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205

206

207 208 209

210 211 212 213

214

someone other than one of its founders. A detailed though highly ideological description of the school’s origins and aims was published in A Friend to India (Serampore: At the Mission Press, 1818), pp. 131–7. christian natives . . . new Jerusalem: Newell again references the events of Revelation, particularly 21:1–5, in which John envisions ‘the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband’ (21:3). Of interest is her term ‘Christian natives’, and her desire to imagine the ‘children of Jesus’ as ‘collected from Christian and Heathen lands’. I have witnessed scenes this morning . . . the holy Ganges: See note 196 above on ‘Juggernaut’. Of interest here is Newell’s double critique: not only of what she calls Hindu ‘superstition’, but also the ‘criminal slothfulness’ and lack of compassion of Christians back home. Bless the Lord . . . his holy name: Slightly altered from Psalms 103:1: ‘Bless the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name’. “They that cross the ocean . . . their minds”: A popular quotation from Horace’s Epistles I:XI: ‘Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt’ [Those who hurry across the sea change their sky, not their souls or state of mind]. The italics are Newell’s. Circars: The term usually refers not to a class of people but to a region. The OED defines the Northern Circars as ‘a large maritime province extending along the west side of the Bay of Bengal . . . granted to the East India Company by the Great Mogul in 1765’. This sense is echoed in Hobson-Jobson, which describes the Circars as the ‘territory to the north of Coromondel Coast . . . obtained by Clive in 1765, confirmed by treaty with the Nizam in 1766’ (p. 170). An earlier account defining the ‘Circar, or Sircar’ as a ‘general name for the government, or persons concerned in the administration’ occurs in the ‘Glossary of Persic and Indian Names’ found in R. Owen, An Account of the War in India, between the English and French, on the Coast of Coromandel, from the Year 1750 to the Year 1760 (London: T. Jefferys, 1761), p. xv. such is the one . . . generation: Paraphrasing Psalms 45:17: ‘I will make thy name to be remembered in all generations’. Some will probably sacrifice their lives: See note 196 on ‘Juggernaut’. Isle of France: Now Mauritius, conquered by British forces from the French in November, 1810. The surrender eliminated the last French territory in the Indian Ocean. Mauritius was held by Britain until 1968. Mrs. Marshman has a lovely school . . . Latin, Greek, and Hebrew: The passage reminds us not just of Newell’s high level of education but also the educational ambitions among female missionaries generally. Here the study of languages exceeds that common among even well-to-do American and British women. Governor General’s park: Located at Barrackpore, the land was placed under the Governor General’s control in 1803. At the time the Newells arrived, it already had become a park where colonial elites could enjoy the flora and fauna of the tropics. By 1830 its collection of exotic plants and animals had become famous, as is noted by the Sporting Magazine 75 (1830), p. 253: The Governor has a good menagerie at his country-residence near Barrackpore. I saw the lions, tigers, bears, gluttons, &c. devouring their mess at night . . . . The Government grounds slope down to the brink of the Hoogly with the beautiful appearance of an English park; the lines and cantonments are very agreeable – the country excellent for jackal-hunting; and, altogether, it is to Calcutta what Windsor or Richmond is to London.

215 “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us”: Quoting 1 Samuel 7:12. 216 Buggy [chaise]: A light horse-drawn vehicle for one or two people.

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217 prickly heat: According to the OED, ‘An itchy or prickly skin eruption consisting of small vesicles or papules at the openings of sweat glands, occurring in very hot weather or climates (a kind of miliaria)’. 218 Bengalee language . . . tony for water: Also called Bangla, ‘Bengalee’ is the language of modern West Bengal, the foremost language of the north-eastern part of India and Bangladesh, and is the language of the writer Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941). In modern phonetic spellings, sugar is cini and water is pani. 219 the unhappy war between us and England: Referring to the War of 1812, which broke out between Britain and the United States in the summer of that year because of disputes over British trade restrictions to impede neutral trade with France, British impressment of American sailors to maintain that blockade, and a number of small naval skirmishes by each intended to insult the other nation. Napoleon’s abdication in 1814 rendered most of these issues irrelevant, and a peace treaty was signed in 1815. 220 Joseph Hardcastle, Esq. of London: A merchant and evangelical activist, Joseph Hardcastle (1752–1819) was one of the directors (with William Wilberforce, Henry Thornton, and Thomas Clarkson) of the Sierra Leone Company that established the freed slaves colony in West Africa in 1792; and in 1795 one of the founders of the London Missionary Society, holding the office of Treasurer for over twenty years. 221 Jesus, thy blood . . . my head: Lines 1–4 of the hymn composed in 1739 by Count Nicolaus Ludwig and subsequently translated by John Wesley. 222 LEONARD WOODS, D.D.: The first professor of Andover Theological Seminary, Woods (1774–1854) helped establish several societies including the American Tract Society, the American Education Society, the Temperance Society, and the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions. 223 If I forget . . . cunning: Quoting Psalms 137:5. 224 “What mean ye . . . to break mine heart?”: Quoting Acts 21:13. 225 they rejoice . . . is the Church: Quoting Colossians 1:24. 226 whosoever forsaketh . . . be his disciple: Quoting Luke 14:3. 227 If any one come . . . cannot be my disciple: Quoting Luke 14:26. 228 “What things . . . may win Christ”: Quoting Philippians 3:7–8. 229 The wicked . . . mire and dirt: Quoting Isaiah 57:20. 230 those who forsake . . . this present life: Paraphrasing Mark 10:30. 231 “That life is long, which answers life’s great end”: Quoting line 773 of ‘Night the Fifth’ of Edward Young’s The Complaint: Or, Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality (1742–1745).

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The daughter of a shipwright, Eliza Fay, née Clement, was born in 1755 or 1756 and died on 9 September 1816 at Calcutta. The details of her education are unknown, although by 23 she was well-read, fluent in French, and had already travelled to France at least three times. She married Anthony Fay in 1772, and in 1779 embarked with him on the first of a series of voyages to India. A resourceful and entrepreneurial woman, Fay engaged in multiple businesses over the next 35 years, including a millinery shop at Calcutta (Kolkata), a boarding school in Surrey, and trade between Britain, America, and India. At 60 years old she prepared for publication her Original Letters, her only known work. The Original Letters describes three voyages to India: the first (1779–83) details the couple’s journey overland through Egypt and their imprisonment at Calicut on the west coast of India by Sardar Khan and Hyder Ali in the build-up to the Second Anglo-Mysore War (1780–1784). Escaping in February 1780, the Fays finally arrived in Calcutta a year after their departure. Anthony Fay was formally established in legal practice by June 1780, and her own proximity to the highest administrative circles provided Fay with an insider’s perspective on the developing conflicts within the Council and Supreme Court, which culminated in the impeachment trial of Warren Hastings. While at Calcutta, Anthony Fay’s conduct led to the breakdown of the already precarious marriage, with a private deed of separation signed in August 1781. Left destitute, Fay departed for Britain in 1782. Fay’s second voyage to India (1784–1794) was her longest residence. With her travelling companion Avis Hicks (who later married local businessman John Lacey), Fay established a milliners shop in the former Post Office, adjacent to St John’s Church, Calcutta. Her business failed in the general recession of 1788, but she was allowed to continue to trade and gradually repaid her creditors. Leaving her venture in the hands of Benjamin Lacey (John Lacey’s brother), Fay sailed for Britain. On route at St Helena she was called to answer charges that in 1782 she had abandoned – without her consent – her servant Kate Johnson, who was subsequently sold into slavery. Fay paid a

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fine of £60 for the repatriation and compensation of Johnson, rather than stand trial. Fay’s father died in 1794; her mother had died earlier – between 1780 and 1783 – while Fay was in India. Together with her sister Eleanor, Fay inherited family property in London and Ireland. It was probably this windfall that allowed her to launch her career as a merchant later that same year, and to undertake her third voyage to Calcutta (1795–1796). Arriving in the Minerva, the ship in which all her personal capital had been invested, Fay disposed of her British cargo at Calcutta and swiftly loaded new freight bound for America. Seeing her ship off at Calcutta in April 1796, Fay made ready to follow: travelling via Madras (Chennai) and Cape Town, and narrowly avoiding a plague-ridden Philadelphia, she arrived in New York in December 1796. Fay’s narrative stops at this point, but we can trace some of her movements, and at least two further voyages to India. In 1800 ‘Mrs Elizabeth Fay, of Fenchurchstreet, London, Widow’, and Benjamin Lacey, ‘Merchants, Dealers, Chapmen and Copartners’, had a commission of bankruptcy awarded against them.1 In August 1804 Fay again departed England, arriving in Calcutta in January 1805. Her stay was brief: taking up an earlier suggested project of education, Fay left again for England at the end of 1805 accompanied by fourteen children. On her arrival, and in association with a Marian Cousins, she opened a girls’ boarding school at Ashburnum House in Blackheath. In 1814 Fay dissolved the partnership with Cousins, although the school continued to run under other ownership. Fay’s fifth journey to India was her final. Departing England in the spring of 1815 she spent only a few months in Calcutta, dying on 9 September 1816 while preparing her letters for publication. Her burial is recorded at St John’s Church, a building whose planning and construction she had witnessed over the course of her residence in the city. The text of the Original Letters was composed in two parts: a series of journal letters describing in detail her first voyage, composed for her family and addressed to her sister Eleanor Preston (wife of Thomas Wilkinson Preston of Rotherhithe); and a shorter set of memoirs of her second and third voyages written, by her own account, in 1815 for the perusal of a friend. The Calcutta Gazette (9 May 1816) gives notice of the forthcoming publication of Fay’s ‘Narrative’ and invites subscriptions, but Fay’s death intervened in the publication of her book. Further documents – whether letters or memoirs – were preserved at the time of Fay’s death, but her executors declined to include these in the published volume, as being of insufficient interest. They are now, unfortunately, lost. Original Letters from India was published in 1817 at Calcutta, with a Preface by the author, and bearing as a frontispiece an engraved plate of Fay in the Egyptian costume she had purchased at Cairo and carried with her to India on her first voyage. No reviews have been discovered, but the book was evidently successful enough to warrant a second edition in Calcutta, which

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appeared in 1821. For subsequent twentieth-century editions, see the Introduction to the present volume. Our edition takes its copytext from the first, 1817 publication.

Note 1 Bell’s Weekly Messenger 211 (11 May 1800), p. 5.

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Engraved by I. Alais from a Drawing by A. W. Devis. The Author Dressed in the Egyptian Costume See Letter 7th

OR I G I N A L L E T T E R S FROM INDIA;

CONTAINING A NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY THROUGH EGYPT, AND THE AUTHOR’S IMPRISONMENT AT CALICUT

B Y H Y D E R A L LY. TO WHICH IS ADDED, AN ABSTRACT OF THREE SUBSEQUENT VOYAGES TO INDIA.

B Y M R S . FAY.

PRINTED AT CALCUTTA.

1817

PREFACE

THE volume now submitted to the public, exhibits a faithful account of certain remarkable occurrences1 in the history of an individual, whose lot has been to make frequent visits to several distant regions of the globe, to mingle in the society of people of different kindreds and tongues, and to experience many vicissitudes of fortune. At a time when fictitious representations of human life are sought for with so much avidity, and constitute one of the principal sources of amusement in the hours of solitude, such a work as the present will, it is presumed, not be unacceptable. Those whose curiosity is attracted by the recital of incidents that never took place, or whose sensibility can be awakened by the description of emotions that were never felt, may perhaps derive a similar gratification from the following unembellished narrative of simple facts and real sufferings. Five and thirty years ago, it was the fate of the author to undertake a journey over land to India, in company with her husband the late Anthony Fay Esq.2 who, having been called to the bar by the honorable society of Lincolns Inns,3 had formed the resolution of practising in the courts of Calcutta. They travelled through France, and over the Alps to Italy, whence embarking at Leghorn they sailed to Alexandria in Egypt. Having visited some of the curiosities in this interesting country, and made a short stay at Grand Cairo, they pursued their journey across the Desert to Suez. After passing down the Red Sea the ship in which they sailed touched at Calicut, where they were seized by the officers of Hyder Ally,4 and for fifteen weeks endured all the hardships and privations of a rigorous emprisonment. When, after residing two years in India, the author, on account of circumstances explained in the course of the work, returned to her native country, she was repeatedly urged by several of her friends to publish some account of the events that had befallen her, which, it was supposed would engage the attention of the public, being connected with important circumstances in the lives of well known and respectable individuals,5 and illustrative of the character of a Potentate whose movements were the subject of serious alarm in India. But, at this period a woman who was not conscious of possessing decided genius or superior knowledge could not easily be induced to leave “the harmless tenor of her way,”6 and render herself amenable to the “pains and penalties”7 then, generally, inflicted on female authorships; unless inspired by that enthusiasm that tramples on difficulties, or goaded by misfortune which admits not 153

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of alternative. Being utterly uninfluenced by either of these motives, and having all the fear of criticism and aversion to publicity which characterizes the young women of her day, the author at that time declined complying with the wishes of those she yet highly honored, and never enquired farther after the fate of her letters, than to learn that they were duly received by those dear friends, to whom all her peregrinations and the knowledge of her eventual safety could not fail to be highly interesting. Since then, a considerable change has gradually taken place in public sentiments, and its developement, we have now not only as in former days a number of women who do honour to their sex as literary characters, but many unpretending females, who fearless of the critical perils that once attended the voyage, venture to launch their little barks on the vast ocean through which amusement or instruction is conveyed to a reading public: The wit of Fielding is no longer held over them in terrorem,8 and the delineations of Smollet would apply to them in vain. The race of learned ladies ridiculed by these gentlemen is extinct. A female author is no longer regarded as an object of derision, nor is she wounded by unkind reproof from the literary Lords of Creation. In this indulgent era the author presumes to deliver her letters to the world as they have been preserved by the dear sister to whom they were partly addressed, trusting that as this is, in its nature, the most unassuming of all kinds of writing, and one that claims the most extensive allowances, they will be received with peculiar mercy and forbearance. Since the period to which these letters refer, the Author has made voyages to India, touching in the course of them at various places in all the quarters of the globe, and has been engaged in commercial and other speculations. Her trials and anxieties, however, have produced only a long train of blasted hopes, and heart rending disappointments.— An account of these subsequent occurrences is therefore subjoined in a series of letters lately drawn from the original Journals and Memorandums, and addressed to a lady,9 whom the Author has the happiness to rank in the number of her friends. Shadows, clouds, and darkness still rest on the remainder of her pilgrimage, which calls for the pilotage of kindness and the Day-star of friendship. She has, however, by the blessing of Providence been constantly enabled to rise superior to misfortune, and will not now in the evening of her days, derogate from the unostentatious energy of her character, or seek to solicit the pity of her readers by wearisome retrospect or painful complaints. With feelings acutely alive to kindness and truly grateful for every expression of it, she most thankfully esteems the generous patronage with which she has been honoured, and is rendered the more sensible of its value, because she is conscious, that it was not meanly solicited or unworthily obtained. To the inhabitants of Calcutta, she begs more particularly to render her thanks. Long acquaintance, high esteem, and unfeigned affection call for this peculiar tribute. Five times has she visited this city, under various circumstances, and with different feelings, yet never had cause to regret the length or the dangers of the voyage, secure of ever meeting here all that could encrease the joys of social life, in its happiest moments, or soothe the hours of languishment in the days of adversity. CALCUTTA, Anno. 1816. 154

LETTER I. FROM MRS. F——. PARIS, 18th April, 1779. I BELIEVE before I left England it was agreed that, my Letters should not in general be addressed to any one particularly, as they will be something in the style of journals;10 therefore a contrary method would be rather embarrassing—I suppose you begin to think that I have forgotten you all; but it really has not been in my power to write till now, of which assertion an account of our route will furnish abundant proof.—We reached Dover at about seven in the evening of the (in my eyes,) ever memorable 10th of April. The thoughts of what we all suffered on that day, can never be banished one instant from my recollection, till it shall please God to grant us a happy meeting. My constant prayers are that, we may be enabled to support this dreadful separation with fortitude—but I dare not trust myself with the subject; my very heart seems to melt as I write, and tears flow so fast as to compel me to shut one eye while I proceed. It is all in vain, I must leave off. And must weeks, nay months elapse before I can have the satisfaction of even hearing from you? How shall I support the idea! oh my dear Father! my beloved Mother! for your poor girl’s sake, take care of your precious health; do not be unhappy. The Almighty will, I doubt not, preserve us to each other; something tells me that we shall meet again; and you have still two excellent children left to be your comfort; they I know will use every effort to keep up your spirits; happy to be so employed! but let me not repine; this trial is not permitted, but for all wise purposes. I will now lay down my pen and endeavour to acquire a calmer set of ideas, for I must either write with more fortitude or not at all. Adieu for a little while; I will try to take some refreshment, and then resume my pen.—Half past four P. M.—In vain I strive, the thoughts of home still prevail, and totally preclude every other consideration. I know no better method of chasing these intruders, than by proceeding with the narrative of our journey; allons donc.11 We embarked at Dover for Calais on the 11th at 5 P. M. and had a most delightful passage of just three hours, from port to port. I wished for a little sea sickness but either the wind was not high enough, or I am become too good a sailor, to expect benefit this way, for I remained perfectly well. I assure you there is a deal of ceremony used here now. On coming within gunshot of the Fort, we hoisted a French flag, and were permitted to sail quite up to the Quay. We met the other packet coming out, which accounts for my not writing by that mail.—I have neglected to mention that Mr. B—— the young gentleman whom Captain Mills recommended12 as a travelling companion, joined us before we left England. His appearance is by no means prepossessing; he seems a dissipated character and more calculated to shine in convivial parties than to render 155

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himself agreeable in the common routine of society; whether this opinion be just or not, time will discover. On landing we were all drawn up together, and ordered to the Custom House, where we gave in our names, occupations, &c. they next marched us about half a mile farther to wait on the Governor, in order that he might put any questions he chose to us; his Lordship not being visible, we were forced to arm ourselves with patience and proceed to his Commissary, where we found it a mere matter of form, they asking but what was known before. However I assure you, we thought more than we dared to express on the occasion. Only imagine how disagreeable to be dragged about in such a manner immediately after a Sea voyage instead of reposing ourselves. After all was settled, we first took places in the Diligence13 for the next day: then called on Monsr. Pigault de l’Epinoye,14 to whom you will remember I had been formerly introduced. He received us with his usual kindness and hospitality. This gentleman is descended in a direct line from one of the six brave Citizens of Calais, who so nobly offered themselves as victims to save their beloved country from the barbarous sentence pronounced against it by our third Edward.15 He is much esteemed by his countrymen on this account. This being my fourth visit to Calais, I must of course have formerly described every thing worth notice there, so shall merely say we set off from thence on the 12th Inst. at 8th A. M. and reached Boulogne about noon. The sight of this place brought to my mind many pleasant recollections of the social hours passed there. I called on several friends, and was much urged to prolong my stay among them, but that you know was impossible. Indeed far rather would I, had time permitted, have taken one turn round the ramparts, to enjoy the melancholy satisfaction of once again beholding the white cliffs of my dear native land, so frequently viewed from thence. You must expect me to make frequent omissions and mistakes, for two men have just placed themselves under my windows with humstrums;16 and indeed there is constantly some noise or other through the day and evening; sometimes two or three dancing bears; and a few hours ago they exhibited a poor little Porcupine. I pitied the miserable animal from my heart. What can these unhappy creatures have done to merit being so tormented? (now by way of parenthesis, I could almost wish that a London mob had possession of the two musicians, as possibly the discipline of a horse-pond17 might be of use in teaching them for the future, better employment on Sunday evenings); but to proceed: We left Boulogne (a place I shall ever admire, and perhaps regret), and about ten at night reached Montreiul, from whence we departed at three on Tuesday morning, dined at Abbeville, and by eight in the evening were set down at the same Inn, where you may remember we stopped when travelling this road before,18 but were hurried away when we had scarcely tasted a morsel, under pretence of the Diligence being ready, and afterwards detained in the yard an hour; nor did our hostess in any respect deviate from her former character, as you shall hear. As a lady in company and myself were greatly fatigued we chose tea, but none being procurable there, were forced

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to use our own; the rest sat down to supper, which I had predetermined to avoid doing. Before they had a quarter finished, in came the woman; never did I behold such a horribly looking great creature. “Well” said she “the coach is ready” and on being asked if she wanted to get rid of us, replied that it was equal to her whether we went or staid provided she were paid for our suppers: at last when compelled to relinquish her claim on that score from the lady and me, she insisted on being allowed twenty-four sous for the hot water, this we complied with; to oblige our hospitable countrywoman, (tell it not in Gath19 I blush to acknowledge the claim) but persisted in remaining till on being summoned by the driver, nearly an hour afterwards, we set off and travelled sixty miles without alighting, to Chantilly, where is a famous palace belonging to the Prince of Condé,20 but to my great mortification, I was through weariness obliged to remain in the house while the rest of the party went to see it. Well never mind, you can read better descriptions of it, than mine would have been. From thence we proceeded to St Denis, where I was fortunate enough to obtain a cursory view of the ancient abbey; a most magnificent structure, the burying place of the Kings of France.21 Such scenes naturally induce reflections on the vanity of all human grandeur, and lead to a melancholy, rather soothing than otherwise, to minds wearied by exertion, or irritated by disappointment. Having however little leisure to indulge these reveries, we passed on to the Library, where among other trophies is deposited the sword of our illustrious Talbot;22 a pang shot across my heart at the exulting manner in which it was exhibited; in short I felt as an Englishwoman, a more severe degree of national mortification than this Memento of an event so long gone by seemed calculated to produce. The sacred relics were next displayed, amongst which are, an eye of St Thomas the apostle,23 the shoulder blade of I forget what saint, and a small phial of the Virgin Mary’s milk; at the sight of these absurdities I silently blessed God, that my religious instruction had not been blended with such cunningly devised Fables.24 If all the gems they shewed us were genuine, the Treasury must be immensely rich, for many of the shrines were almost covered with them. We arrived at Paris about eight on Wednesday; and most dreadfully fatigued was I; nor will that appear strange when one considers that, for the last sixty miles the carriage went as fast as eight horses could draw it, over a strong rough pavement; never stopping but to change horses, and at St. Denis to repair a wheel. As the post went off next morning, I could not recover myself sufficiently to write by it; but now feel quite strong again, and having brought you to Paris, may venture to take a little repose as it is past eleven. 9th 7 A. M. I have arisen thus early on purpose to finish my letter (which must be in the Office before ten). I find little alteration in this Place; the people behave as politely as if there were no War, or even dispute between us.25 This you know is not the region of Politics,26 therefore little can be mentioned under that head. I could communicate some few observations, but as perhaps this may be inspected, judge it more prudent to suppress them. A variety of circumstances has contributed to detain us here much longer than we intended; and I am fearful we shall not leave Paris before Thursday; however this will be

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the only letter I shall write until I can give you intelligence of our safe arrival at Marseilles, which will be I suppose in about a fortnight. From thence to Leghorn we must coast it in a Feluca. So if you write by the mail of the 29th addressed to me at the Post Office Leghorn, your letter will be sure to meet me there. I have a thousand things more to say, but must reserve them for my next, for if I miss the post it will I am sure, make you very uneasy—God bless you. Your’s affectionately.

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LETTER II. PARIS 24th April 1779. MY DEAR FRIENDS, Being detained for want of our passports,27 I find it necessary for my comfort to hold the only communication now in my power with you. Last night we were at the Colissée, a place resembling our Ranelagh;28 there were some brilliant fire works to be exhibited, and as it is the custom for Ladies to stand upon chairs to see them, a gentleman of our party having placed us with our backs against a box, went to procure some. During his absence the Queen entered the box attended by the Duchess D’Alençon,29 and several other ladies. I had seen her Majesty before at Verseilles, and thought her at that time very handsome, but had no idea how much better she would look, by candle light. She is delicately fair and has certainly the sweetest blue eyes that ever were seen; but there is a little redness, a kind of tendency to inflammation around them, and she is likewise slightly marked with the small pox; both which trifling blemishes were then imperceptible, and she appeared perfectly beautiful. On entering the box she sat down, and pressed the Dutchess to sit also, which the latter in terms of great respect declining, the Queen in a tone of kindness that it is impossible to forget, said, “Then you will oblige me to stand,” rising as she spoke. The Duchess then complied, and they conversed together very agreeably during their stay. Her majesty seemed highly gratified by the entertainments, and expressed her approbation, in what I could not help thinking, rather too familiar a way for a person of her exalted rank: frequently clapping her hands and exclaiming aloud, “Ah! mon Dieu que c’est charmant, ah! que c’est joli.”30 The Royal party soon retired, and we afterwards walked in the Rotunda!31 than which a more brilliant spectacle can scarcely be imagined. The ladies were all splendidly dressed, and their heads adorned with feathers in greater profusion, and far more lofty, than is customary with us. But enough of this, I must now turn to a very different subject, having hitherto neglected to inform you of a singular conversation (and its result) which passed in the Diligence, as we came to this place. We had among the passengers a Mr. H— an English Jew, and two brothers, named Ar—f diamond merchants, who were just returned to their native country after a long residence in London. The former had left Paris some years and resided in a provincial town. Speaking of this circumstance he observed that, his principal reason for quitting the Capital was his dread of assassination,32 to which he thought it probable that his religion might render him more liable, than other inhabitants; although he admitted he had no proof that persons of his persuasion were among the more frequent Victims. This statement, of course, excited both surprize and curiosity in us, who were foreigners; and the elder Mr. A—f 159

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evidently mortified at such discourse, and doubting a representation of facts from so prejudiced a quarter, and about which it had not fallen in his way to inquire, stoutly denied the charge; but the Jew would not give up the point. He said that in a certain part of the City, where there were many houses of ill fame, it was but too common to rob and murder those, who were inveigled into them, and afterwards throw the bodies into the Seine; when taken out they were conveyed to the Petit Chatelet33 to be owned, and that who ever would take the trouble to visit that place would find that, out of the numbers deposited there were very few (as reported) merely drowned persons; but evidently such as had died by violence. This conversation ended (as that of men frequently does) by a wager between the parties, both of whom agreed to refer the matter to Mr. F—. The Jew was to lose, if, in one week seven bodies under such suspicious circumstances should not be found exposed at the Petit Chatelet. I thought this a monstrous supposition; for though I had often heard of people being drowned in the Seine, and the explicit detail of Mr. H— led me to fear that, the manner in which they met their fate, was but too truly described, yet I could not believe the number of victims to be so great. The result of Mr. F—’s researches has unhappily placed the fact beyond a doubt. Within the last seven days, ten miserable wretches have been exposed, who had marks of violence on their bodies, and of these, there were two dreadfully mangled. But I will say no more on this shocking subject than merely to observe, that there must be either some radical defect in the police, or a degree of ferocity in the people, not to be repressed by the severe penal Laws, which in other countries are found nearly adequate to the purpose. The slight degree of feeling expressed by the lower order in speaking of such things, even when pressed on their senses, evinces a hardness of heart approaching to absolute insensibility, that to me seems quite revolting: I myself asked a young woman, who had been peeping through the gate at the Petit Chatelet, what was to be seen there? “Oh” replied she, with great apparent indifference, “seulement quelques bras et jambes” (only some arms and legs). I have written myself into a train of most uncomfortable thoughts, so lest I infect you with the gloomy ideas that fill my mind, the wisest way will be to say adieu! We shall now soon be out of Paris. Ever your’s, &c. &c.

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LETTER III. PARIS, 27th April, 1779. MY DEAR SISTER. As I do not propose sending this before Monday, I shall have full time to write every particular. I date once more from this sink of impurity, contrary to my expectation. We have been detained thus long that the Lieutenant de Police34 might have time to make the necessary enquiries about us, but have at last obtained our passports, and thank Heaven shall soon breathe a purer air. From the first place we stop at, I purpose giving you a further account of our accommodations in the superb and elegant city of Paris, famous throughout the world for its superiority over all others, especially in the points of cleanliness and delicacy. I assure you that, so long as I before resided in France, I never till now formed an adequate idea of it: but adieu for the present: I am going to drink tea. How do you think I make it? Why in an earthen pot an inch thick at least, which serves the double purpose of tea kettle and teapot, so it is all boiled up together and makes a most curious mess. AUXERRE EN BURGOYNE

130 MILLES, DE PARIS.

When I wrote the above I was in a great rage and not without reason, pent up as we were in a street scarce wide enough to admit the light; our chamber paved with tiles, which most likely have never been wetted, nor even rubbed, since the building of the house; add to this two Commodités35 in the same state, on the stairs, and you will not wonder that my constitution was not proof against the shock; the very air I breathed seemed almost pestilential. However thank God I escaped with one of my feveretts36 of four days continuance. When I began this letter I was but just recovering: no creature to do the least thing for me in the way I had been accustomed to; obliged to prepare for my departure the next morning, though scarcely able to crawl; and to crown the whole a most extravagant bill for being poisoned with Dirt. Well we sat off, and the fresh country air soon restored me to myself—but I have not told you how we travel. We found the route totally different from what we expected,37 and that we must be positively under the necessity of going by land to Chalons sur Soane, which is three hundred miles from Paris: now as we could get no remittances till our arrival at Leghorn,38 it did not suit us to take the Diligence, so after mature deliberation we determined on purchasing two horses, and an old single horse-chaise; but how to avoid being cheated, was the question; for Mr. Fay did not care to depend on his own judgement in horseflesh—He made enquiry and found that there were many englishmen employed in the stables of Noblemen here; so putting a good face on

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the matter he went boldly to the Duc de Chartres’ Castle, and scraped acquaintance39 with his head groom, who was very proud to see a countryman, and immediately on being told the affair, offered his assistance. Accordingly they went next day to the cattle Fair, where he pitched on an excellent draught horse, only a little touched in the wind,40 on which account he procured him for six guineas,41 so there cannot be much lost by him, even if he turn out amiss. But I dare say he will prove a most useful beast, for he has drawn Mr. B—r, and myself in our chaise (which by the bye we bought for seven guineas) at the rate of thirty five miles a day: and does not seem in the least fatigued, though we had our heavy trunk at our back: so much for Azor—now for his help-mate Zemire.42 In the course of conversation with his new friend, Mr. Fay found that, there was a very pretty mare in the Duc de Lausanne’s stables, which had been intended for the course, but would not bear training; so he agreed to give eight guineas for her. Mr. B— was to ride her next day to a horse-race in the Bois de Boulogne,43 and we were to accompany him in a post chaise. But alas! poor man! it was an unfortunate attempt. It seems he had never been used to riding, and was ashamed to own it, (one of the weaknesses to which I really believe men are almost invariably subject), so wishing to pass for an excellent horseman, he mounted with pretended courage: but through actual fear, reined her in so tight that miss, knowing the weaknes of her rider, reared up on her hind legs, threw him first, and then fell backward over him. We thought by the violence of the fall that he must have been killed, but he came off with a few bruises; we had him bled immediately,44 put him to bed and left him in good hands till our return. Mr. Fay mounted Zemire, and we proceeded to the course, where we were very agreeably entertained, only it grieved me to see so many beautiful English horses galloping about; I could hardly believe myself in France, for all the gentlemen were dressed after our manner. The Count D’Artois might very well have been taken for a Jockey in his buck-skin breeches, and round hat. The bets were chiefly between him and the Duc de Chartres; the horses were all rode by englishmen: as to our little mare she would fain have been amongst them, but she had now a rider who knew how to manage her, and is punished for her audacity; for Mr. B— has not the courage to mount her again, and she is forced to carry Mr. Fay with a portmanteau of twenty pounds weight—You will wonder at my temerity when I acknowledge having myself ventured to mount Zemire, after Mr. B—’s accident. I first however saw her tried by several persons, and wishing to be able to vary the exercise by riding now and then, during our journey, was induced to make the attempt. She performed twice very well; but on the third day, an umbrella being snapped close to her nose, just as I was going to set off, she began to rear, on which I instinctively abandoned both whip and reins, and throwing my whole weight forward, clasped her round the neck with all my might, this sudden manœuvre fortunately kept her down: I seized the critical moment and alighted in safety with no other injury, than a little fright, and the consciousness of looking rather foolish. Nor has she ever been guilty of the like towards any one; so that my character for horsemanship is completely established. We have been certainly very lucky in our purchases: the horses perform well, and the chaise, 162

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without being particularly uneasy, seems very strong. I am told they will bring a good price in the South, but you shall hear. I have nothing particular to say of the country; perhaps it may be national prejudice from which no person is entirely free, but notwithstanding all their boasting, I do not think it equals my own dear England. It must be allowed that the present season is not the most favourable for making observations, for they cut the Vines close to the stumps in the winter, and as they are not yet much sprouted, one sees nothing but a parcel of sticks in the manner of our hop poles, but not above thirty inches high, which gives an air of barrenness to the prospect. I do not know what my mother would do here, as she is not fond of wine; for there is nothing else to drink. For my own part, and I believe I may answer for my companions, I cannot say that I find any great hardship in being obliged to put up with tolerable Burgundy at about four pence a bottle; it is not at all heady, so no creature thinks of drinking it with water. A pint every meal is the allowance of each. We have all necessaries with us,45 such as tea, sugar, bread, butter, corn for the horses &c: so we have little to do with the Inns, except at night, when we provide ourselves with meat for the next day. As to breakfast and dinner we fix on a place where there is water at hand, and there sit down under the shade of a tree, and make a fire, while the horses graze comfortably, and eat their corn. Ask my dear father if he does not think this a good plan? at least we find it pleasant, and much more to our taste, than spending more time as well as money, in the wretched public houses we have hitherto met with—I wish we were hardy enough to make the grass our pillow; but that is impossible, so we must submit to be disgusted and pillaged once a day. You may remember my remarking that, I was afraid we should suffer during our journey, for the fineness of the spring which has proved to be the case. The weather has been excessively boisterous for the last fortnight with much rain, than which nothing can be more disagreeable on a journey, especially when conducted on a plan like ours.—We were obliged to stop at Fontainbleau46 on account of the weather by which means we saw the Palace, and gardens, and were almost wet through, for our pains. It is an immense place; the Chapel has been beautiful, but the paintings are much injured by time. There is an elegant theatre which I was much pleased with. The apartments of the royal family are truly superb. We were shewn the council chamber where the last peace was signed, and I, as an Englishwoman, beheld it with great pleasure you may be sure. We saw likewise the gallery of Stags, famous for containing above a hundred stags’ heads all ranged in order with an account, when they were killed and by whom, and infamous (at least in my opinion) as being the place where Christina, Queen of Sweden, caused Monaldeschi her chief chamberlain to be beheaded,47 if not absolutely in her presence, at least while she remained in an adjoining room. I cannot bear that woman. She abdicated her crown from sheer vanity but retained that passion for despotism which shewed what kind of feelings she had cherished, while seated on the throne. I think that in her, the faults of either sex were blended, to form a character, which without possessing the firmness of a man or the gentleness of a woman, was destitute of the virtues 163

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expected in both. Christina may have been an accomplished female; but she can never be called great, even by her admirers. The gardens of Fontainbleau are all in the old fashioned-gingerbread-style, ornamented with box in a thousand fantastical shapes.48 The Swiss who shewed us the Palace, was very thankful for a shilling, which is more than any person in the same situation would be in England for twice as much. The forest of Fontainbleau is thirty miles across, and nobody can hunt there without the Kings permission; he comes here every season.—We found the roads very heavy, but Azor was strong enough to go through them; however we have given him a day’s rest, and after dinner shall set off Jehu like.49 Now don’t you envy us all this pleasure? I assure you I should be very glad to go all the way in the same manner, for we travel without fatigue, and the way of living just suits me; for you know I always preferred wine to beer, but I would not have you imagine that I can shake off all thoughts of home; they return but too frequently, and I really believe now, that my illness at Paris, was brought on principally by uneasiness of mind: but I find myself unequal to this subject. I must make a resolution never to enter upon it; for what service can it do to either of us, to be continually recalling unpleasant ideas; especially when I have need of every possible consolation to support me in the arduous task, which Providence has called upon me to undertake. I have now literally exhausted my paper, and must therefore leave you to imagine every thing my heart says to all, and how truly I am, your affectionate &c. &c.

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LETTER IV. LEGHORN, 17th June, 1779. MY DEAR SISTER. I suppose you have been long uneasy at my silence, but indeed it has not been in my power to write sooner—In my last I gave you reason to imagine we should arrive here in less than three weeks, by way of Marseilles; but after we reached Lyons we were informed, that this would prove a very uncertain and dangerous method; as between the English and French scarcely any vessel can pass free: therefore after mature deliberation, we determined as we had still our carriage and horses, to push our way boldly through Savoye, and cross the Alps to Italy. We stopped several days at Lyons, which as you and all the world know has long been famous for its incomparable silks, and velvets; I think it ought to be so for its asparagus which is the finest I ever tasted; and remarkably cheap. Being a vegetable I am very fond of, and having found it at all times beneficial to my constitution, I wished to eat it freely; but was almost disgusted by the manner in which it was constantly brought to table at the Inn, covered with a thick sauce composed of eggs, butter, oil and vinegar.50 Having in vain remonstrated against this cookery, I at length insisted on seeing the Cook himself; and when he made his appearance, arrayed as is customary, in a white waistcoat, cap, and apron, with a meagre face almost as sharp as the large knife he held in his hand, I calmly represented to him that the sauce he had sent up, totally disagreed with my stomach, and requested to have the asparagus simply boiled with melted butter, the poor man looked much distressed “What without oil!” yes! “Without eggs”? certainly! this answer completed his misery, “Ah madame” exclaimed he, with clasped hands and uplifted eyes “de grace un peu de vinaigre”.51 Madame was inexorable, and the shrug of contemptuous pity with which he retreated was ludicrous beyond expression. On arriving near the Alps, it appeared that I had formed a very erroneous idea of the route, having always supposed that we had only one mountain to pass, and that the rest of the way was level ground; instead of which when we came to Pont de Beauvoisin (50 miles from Lyons, and the barrier between France and Savoye) we heard the agreeable news, that we had a hundred and twelve miles to travel thro’ a chain of mountains, to the great Mont Cenis. You may imagine how uncomfortable this information made us all; with what long faces we gazed upon each other, debating how the journey was to be performed; but being happily you know very courageous, I made light of all difficulties, and whenever there was a hill, mounted Zemire, while the two gentlemen took it by turns to lead me as I had not a proper side saddle, so poor Azor made 165

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shift to drag the chaise up pretty well, and in the descents we made him pay for the indulgence. I forgot to mention that they were very particular about our passports at this Barrier, and detained us while the Governor examined them minutely, though justice compels me to acknowledge that in general we were treated with great politeness in our passage through France; no one ever attempted to insult us, which I fear would not be the case were three French people to travel in England; I wish I could say as much for their honesty; but I must confess that here they are miserably deficient, however my being acquainted with the language saved us from flagrant imposition. Our method was this: we always if possible, contrived to stop at night in a large Town, (as to dinner we easily managed that you know how), but never did we suffer the horses to be put into the stable till I had fixed the price of every thing; for they generally ask four times as much for any article as it is worth. If I found there was no bringing them to reason, we left the house. In particular, at Chalons sur Soane, the first Inn we stopped at, the woman had the conscience to ask half a crown for each bed; you may suppose we did not take up our abode there, but drove on to another very good house, where they shewed us two rooms with six excellent beds in them, at the rate of four sous a bed, for as many as we wanted; so for once I committed an act of extravagance by paying for the whole; or we might perhaps have been disturbed in the night by strangers coming to take possession of those left vacant. For they are not very nice about such matters in France. I have seen rooms with six beds in them more than once during our route. I only mention the difference of price by way of shewing what people may gain by choosing their houses, for we were really better accommodated at less than one fourth of what we must have paid at the other house. Speaking of Chalons reminds me of a very unpleasant circumstance that occurred to us at the following stage. Mr. Fay had most unwisely and contrary to my earnest intreaty, pinned our passports to the book of roads,52 which he usually carried with him on horse back, and as might be expected, they, in a short time worked themselves loose, and we were on our arrival at the end of the next day’s journey alarmed with the idea of their being intirely lost, and that we should be compelled to return all the way to Paris to procure others: happily Mr. Fay went back & found them at a place where we had stopped, I need not tell you what fright and vexation, this folly and obstinacy cost us: but I hope it will have a salutary effect for the rest of our journey. In further proof of my assertion on the subject of honesty, I must relate a little incident which occurred on our way to Lyons. Mr. Fay had changed as many guineas at Paris, as he thought would be sufficient to bring us to Chalons, and received by weight twenty four livres ten sous,53 for each, that is seven pence halfpenny profit: well, the last day but one we finished our current money, but as we were in a city, doubted not of being able to obtain nearly the value of our guineas. On inquiry we were recommended—to a very religious goldsmith who by the landlord’s account spent almost his whole life in acts of piety: after waiting an hour and a half till he returned from mass, Mr. F. delivered him a guinea, confident of receiving its full value: when behold this conscientious gentleman after the most 166

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minute inspection and weighing it in a pair of sugar scales generously offered eighteen livres as a fair price: which so enraged Mr. Fay that he immediately left him and went to another shop, where the utmost they would give was twelve livres: only think what wretches! since it was impossible for them to be ignorant of its real value. Mr. Fay declared that he would rather fast all day than submit to become such a dupe. This subjected us to great inconvenience; after discharging the reckoning we had only thirty sous remaining; and sat out with a sum not sufficient to procure a single refreshment for our poor horses; so that at every Inn we were obliged to represent our situation: but found none who had honesty enough to offer us a fair price for our guineas, or the charity to give us even a glass of wine or a morsel of bread. I leave you to guess if our appetites were not pretty keen by the time we arrived at Lyons. I shall never forget how foolishly we looked at each other all day; however a good supper obliterated all grievances, and the next morning we found a way to change our guineas for Louis-d’ors on equitable terms. So much for our starving adventure. To proceed on our journey. On the 20th we reached Lanneburg, a village at the foot of Mont Cenis situated in what is called a valley, which though really so with respect to the mountains that surround it, is even with the clouds. I had a tolerable proof of its elevation, for the weather was so sharp, that I could not keep a minute from the fire. By the way I must observe, that having travelled through North Wales, I supposed myself to have acquired a tolerable idea of mountains and their appendages, such as cascades, torrents, and apparently air-hung-bridges &c. but the passage of the Alps set at defiance all competition, and even surpasses whatever the utmost sketch of my imagination could have pourtrayed. The valley of Lanneburg is itself, the most strange wild place you can conceive, in some parts grotesque, in others awfully terrible.54 The rocks rise around you so fantastically, that you might almost think yourself transported to a place which nature had made a repository of these stupendous productions, rather with a view of fixing them hereafter in appropriate situations, than of exhibiting them here. But above all, the cascades throughout the road are charming beyond description; immense sheets of water are seen sometimes, falling from rock to rock; foaming fretting and dashing their spray on every side; and sometimes descending in one grand flow of majestic beauty: in short they went so far beyond any idea I had formed of such appearances in nature, that they seemed to communicate new powers of perception to my mind, and if I may so express it, to expand my soul, and raise it nearer to its Creator.55 The passage has been so ably described by various writers that any formal account I could give you of it, would rather waste your time than add to your information. I shall only tell you how I felt and acted for I know your affection prompts the wish to travel in imagination with the sister you love; come then let us ascend Mont Cenis together.—After various deliberations it was concluded that I should go up across a mule,56 as the safest way; both the gentlemen determined on walking, which Mr. Fay knew not to be very difficult, having made the experiment the evening before. I was strictly forbidden to touch the reins, being assured that the animal would guide himself, and that any attempt 167

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to direct him could hardly fail to prove fatal. Under this charge, judge what I must have felt when my mule, in the very steepest part of the ascent and when I had become fully sensible of the “high and giddy height,” all at once, thought proper to quit the pathway, and with great sang froid stalk out upon one of those precipitous projections, where only the foot of a wild Goat or Chamois ought to tread. What did I not suffer! I durst not touch the rein, durst not even call to the guide for help. Every instant appeared fraught with destruction, it seemed madness to die without an effort to save one’s self, yet to make an effort was to invite the fate one dreaded. Happily this dreadful poise between life and death lasted not long; for, the sagacious animal calmly picking its way fell into the track by a path, which no human eye could discern, and the guides gave me great praise for my self-command; a praise I never desire to purchase again by a similar trial. If however anything could render a stranger easy in crossing the heights, it would be the amazing skill and celerity which these people display; the road winds in a zigzag direction; and in the most acute, and of course, in the most dangerous turns they leap from crag to crag as if they held their lives on lease, and might safely run all risks, till the term expired.—The plain, as it is called, at the top of this mountain is six miles across: as we proceeded we found “still hills on hills, and Alps on Alps arise”;57 for we continued to be surrounded by snow top mountains, where reigns eternal frost. The heat of the sun had thawed the passage, so that we met with no inconvenience, but we passed great quantities of ice lodged in the crannies. There is a very large lake on the plain, said to be unfathomable; that I can tell nothing about, but that it contains excellent salmon and trout, am well convinced, for we stopped at the Inn according to the laudable custom of all travellers, for the sole purpose of tasting it. An Inn, say you, at the top of Mont Cenis! Yes, it is really a fact, not that I envy them their situation, but they are not the only inhabitants: for there are more than twenty farm houses, where they make most excellent butter and cheese. Every spot around, where it is possible for the hand of cultivation to scatter seeds for the use of man, is treasured with care and nourished by industry; and you see gardens no bigger than a dining table, and fields like a patch of carpet, from time to time, smiling beneath the rugged battlements of rocks, like the violets peeping in the hedges. Far, among the apparently inaccessible heights of this “cloud capt” region, they pointed out to me a Chapel, vulgarly called notre Dame de Neige;58 and justly have they named her, for eternal snows designate her dwelling; if however these simple and sequestered beings can there draw near to God, and experience the comfort of religious hope, and providential care, this singular edifice has not been reared in vain, to bless such a region of desolation. When you read an account of the road, it will readily be perceived that my fellow travellers must have found some difficulty in getting the horses over, as the poor beasts were not accustomed to such a rugged path; for you are to understand that, the people in the neighbouring villages of Lanneburg and Novalese have no other means of subsistence than carrying passengers over the mountain. It is therefore their interest to render it impassable to any but themselves, so that the whole passage of fifteen miles, is covered with great loose pieces of rock, which 168

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must be clambered over: the guides skip from one piece to another like goats, and go at the rate of five or six miles an hour; but my unfortunate companions could not proceed at this pace; so every ten minutes we had to wait for them—As I was carried down in an armed chair, fastened to poles and slung upon straps, in the manner of our sedans, between two men and in which I soon felt tolerably at my ease; I had the pleasure of seeing them continually: sometimes in the clouds, and at others nothing visible but their heads, which was rather amusing to me, knowing they were in no danger, especially as Mr. Fay had affected to make very light of it, and even said “I might walk very well if I chose it,” but when we reached the bottom, he told a very different tale, and stormed violently at his own sufferings. The drollest part of our procession was, that of the poor mule which bore our chaise in a kind of machine, on its back; and another with the two wheels placed on each side, in the oddest way imaginable. A good night’s rest put us all in good humour, and we proceeded cheerfully forty miles along a very delightful road, for the most part planted with double rows of trees, to Turin, where we remained three days and were much amused; but having crossed the mountain, I must allow myself and you a little rest. JUNE, 26th.—I was more pleased with the Palace at Turin59 than any other I have met with during our journey, not for its external appearance certainly, for that is unpromising, but the inside simply atones for the deficiency. The rooms are all in long ranges, opening into each other by doors, which by folding within the pannels become invisible. The furniture is beyond description rich and elegant, but the best part of every finely decorated house must ever be the paintings, and this palace seemed to say, “You are already in Italy:” like a true Englishwoman however, I looked more, I believe, at a picture of our Charles the first, and afterwards at one by Vandyke of that unfortunate monarch’s three children,60 than at any other in the collection. The face of the King is exquisitely done, but his dress struck me as too fine, and withal so stiff, that I could not admire it. Poor Charles! we are tempted to forget the errors of the Prince, in considering the amiable qualities and long sufferings of the man: nor is it possible to contemplate the benevolent melancholy of his countenance, and credit every accusation of his enemies. I looked on his mild penetrating eyes, till my own were suffused with tears. As to his children, they are the sweetest creatures I ever beheld; and to see them thus, was perhaps the more pleasant, from a consciousness of its being the only period wherein they could communicate that sensation to a reflecting mind.—There was no tracing the selfish, and eventually, callous libertine in Charles; nor the tyrant and bigot in James;61 all seems playful grace, and dignified gentleness; and the painter appears to have given a kind of royal polish to the beauty (certainly far beyond nature) which he had so happily depicted in these unfortunate children. Among what I deemed the most curious portraits, were those of Martin Luther, and his wife.62 I have frequently meditated on this great character, and always felt myself so much obliged to him (especially since my residence in a Catholic country,) that I confess I was disappointed to see him a homely, and rather vulgar looking man. I cannot believe this is a good likeness; at least the one I saw of him in the 169

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abbey of St Bertin at St Omers left a very different impression on my mind. The Reformer might not be handsome, in the common acceptation of the word, but surely, penetration courage and firmness must have stampt their expression on his features. Here is a terrible representation of another great man, tho’ in my opinion deficient in the first mentioned quality (Sir Thomas Moore)63 of his head rather, for it appears just severed from the body; his daughter has fainted at the horrible spectacle; and her complexion is so exactly what it should be, that the whole scene appears natural, and you feel too much for her, even to offer her restoratives to life and misery. I would not live in the same room with such a picture for the world; it would be worse than the cave of Trophonious.64 I was doomed to experience another disappointment in what is affirmed to be a faithful portrait of Petrarch’s Laura,65 which I had fancied was like the Venus of Apelles,66 an assemblage of all that was lovely and graceful in woman. You remember my saying, that it was worth all the pains I took in learning Italian, to read his sonnets in praise of this idolized being. So no wonder that I ran eagerly to seize on features that had inspired such verses, and awakened such tender constancy as Petrarch displayed. Judge then how disagreeably I was surprised at seeing a little red-haired, formal looking, old maidish thing, no more like the beauty in “my mind’s eye” than “I to Hercules.”67 Petrarch too was as ugly as needs be. Well, well, they are not the only couple seen to most advantage in their Poetic dress. What further I have to say about the Palace, must be very concise. I cannot help informing you though, that we saw the King of Sardinia68 at mass with his whole family but none of them seem to be remarkable for beauty. Though not esteemed rich, yet he lives in great splendour; the furniture of his state bedchamber, even to the frames of the chairs, is all of massive silver. The Theatre69 is a vast building and so magnificent in every respect, that nothing you have seen can give you any idea of it; the stage is so extensive, that when they want to exhibit battles, triumphant entries, or any kind of grand show they have room enough to produce the finest effect, and really seem to transport you to the scene they would represent. It is not uncommon to have fifty or sixty horses, at a time upon this stage, with triumphal cars, thrones &c &c. The King’s box, is consistent with his superb Palace; it is as large as a handsome parlour, and lined throughout with mirrors, which have a beautiful effect, as they reflect the stage and thus double the display of its grand processions &c: all the boxes in this Theatre are neat and commodious; furnished with chairs and curtains, so that if the party choose to be retired they are at full liberty; and, as coffee and other refreshments are served, they frequently pay little attention to the Stage, except when some celebrated performer or grand spectacle excites their curiosity. There is a smaller Theatre,70 which opens when this is closed, but I did not see it. I visited the royal gardens,71 but thought them very uninteresting, as all appear after those that surround the seats of our English Nobility and gentry; and on running thro’ another Palace, an academy and various other places, nothing struck me as sufficiently novel to merit your attention; and, I have written such an intolerably long letter, that I must conclude for the present, tho’ I mean to bring you on my journey 170

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to-morrow, as I have not yet told you half that is on my mind; but there is such an uncertainty in my present movements, that it is desirable not to lose a single day in forwarding a letter. Believe me however and wherever I may be, most affectionately yours, E. F.

IN CONTINUATION. LEGHORN, 28th June. I resume my journal of yesterday which I shall now inclose in this; I am still waiting a summons for departure, and anxious to say all I can, to my dear friends, before what may probably be a long adieu. From Turin we sat out on the 26th ultimo, to Genoa, a distance of 130 miles; and now I own my courage begun to fail; for having been some days ill, I grew so much worse, from the motion of the chaise, that we were obliged to stop and get Mr. Fay’s horse ready for me to ride, which was a great ease to me; but notwithstanding this relief, on the second evening I was seized with every symptom of fever, and that of the most violent kind; “Well,” thought I, “it is all over with me for a week at least;” but thank God I was mistaken, for at two o’clock in the morning, I fell into the most profuse perspiration I ever experienced, which, tho’ it exceedingly weakened me, yet considerably abated the disorder, and altho’ I felt ill, dispirited, and every way unfit to travel, yet I made a sad shift to pursue my journey. Unfortunately, in coming out of Alessandria the place where I had been so ill, we had a wide river to ford, and there was no way for poor miserable me to get over, but by Mr. Fay’s taking me before him across the mare, which was tolerably well accomplished. When he had landed me safe he went back, and with great difficulty whipped the old horse through; he was up to the girth in water, and I expected every moment, he would break the chaise to pieces for he frequently attempted to lie down. When we had overcome this difficulty we continued in tolerable spirits, until our arrival next day at the Buchetta, an appenine mountain, by the side of which Mont Cenis would appear contemptible; it is near twenty miles over, without any plain at the top, so that no sooner do you reach its summit, than you turn short, and descend immediately. Had the weather proved fine, the prospect from this prodigious eminence must have been glorious; but so thick a fog enveloped us, that we could not distinguish any thing of five yards distance, and the cold was as piercing as with us in January. Never shall I forget the sense of wearisome, overbearing desolateness, which seemed to bow down both my body and mind at this juncture. I felt a kind of dejection unknown before through all my peregrinations, and which doubtless tended to increase the unusual fears that operated on my mind, when we arrived at the end of this day’s journey. It was nearly dark; the Inn was little better than a large barn or hovel, and the men we found in it, so completely like all we conceive of Banditti, and assassins, that every horrible story72 I had heard or read of, instantly came into my head; 171

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and I perceived that the thoughts of my companions were occupied in the same painful way; our looks were the only medium of communication we could use, for we were afraid of speaking, lest we should accelerate the fate we dreaded. Every thing around us combined to keep alive suspicion and strengthen fear; we were at a distance from every human habitation: various whisperings, and looks directed towards us, continually passed amongst the men, and we fancied they were endeavouring to find whether we had any concealed arms. When we retired for the night worn out as we were, not one dared to sleep and surely never night appeared so long. With the earliest dawn we departed, and as the people saw us set out without offering us any injury, we are now persuaded that we wronged them; but yet the impression made upon our minds will not easily be effaced: we feel as if we had escaped some projected mischief. We arrived pretty early at Genoa, a grand but gloomy disagreeable city, owing to the houses being very high, and the streets so narrow you might almost shake hands across them out of the window. It abounds with magnificent Churches and Palaces, principally built of the most beautiful marble, at least they are faced and ornamented with it. Their roofs flat, and rendered very agreeable gardens, by flowering shrubs, little arbours, covered with wood-bine and jessamine, elegant verandahs, awnings &c. In these the ladies wander from morning to night.—As far as I can hear or see, they are more remarkable for pride than any thing else. Their dress costly, but heavy and unbecoming, except so far as they manage their veils, which are so contrived as to give very good play to a pair of fine eyes. They wear rouge; but apply it better than the French ladies, who may be said rather to plaster than to paint: when the best however is made of this practice it is still a very hateful one in my opinion.—I went to view the Palaces of Doria, Doraggio, and Pallavicini,73 where are many fine pictures and statues; but the rooms are so large, and so many of them are only half furnished, that they had on the whole an uncomfortable look. I was much pleased with several of the churches; the Cathedral74 is completely lined with marble, but I was attracted more by the Jesuits’ church75 on account of the paintings, though, I have neither health nor spirits to enter into a particular description of them. The assumption of the Virgin by Guido,76 is a most delightful performance to my taste. I always admire his pictures, but being simply an admirer, without knowledge on the subject, I seldom hazard a remark as to the manner in which a piece is executed.—The theatre here is large, but not to be compared with that at Turin. The gardens are every where in the same style, all neat and trim, like a desert Island in a pastry cook’s shop, with garnish and frippery enough to please a Dutchman. There are many admirable churches in this city; but its chief boast, in my opinion, consists in being the birth place of Columbus, who was undoubtedly a great man, and from his talents, firmness, wisdom and misfortunes, entitled to inspire admiration and pity. I often thought of him, as I passed these streets and was ready to exclaim, you were not worthy of such a Citizen. The velvets, goldwork, and artificial flowers manufactured here, are said to be unrivalled; but I made no purchases for very obvious reasons. 172

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We saw a very grand procession on Corpus Christi day,77 at which the Doge78 assisted, and all the principal nobility, clothed in their most magnificent habiliments, and each carrying a lighted taper; several images also, adorned with jewels (as I was informed) to an almost incredible amount, were borne along to grace the spectacle. It is to be lamented that, this noble city should disgrace itself by the encouragement given to assasination, for a man after committing half a score murders, has only to take a boat which nobody prevents him from doing, and claim the protection of any foreign ship, which none dares to refuse, and there he remains in safety.79 Mr. Fay saw five of these wretches on board one vessel. What you have heard respecting the custom of married women in Italy being attended by their Cicisbeos,80 is perfectly true. They speak of it with all the indifference imaginable. Surely, after all that has been said, the usage must be an innocent one, if any thing can be called so which tends to separate the affections of husband and wife, and that, the constant attendance, the profound respect of another man, must be likely to effect. Altogether it is a vile fashion, make the best of it, and I heartily hope never to see such a mode adopted in old England. We sold our horses at Genoa, for about three guineas profit—and no more, as Mr. Fay embraced the first offer that was made him. You who know me, will be well aware, that I could not part with these mute but faithful companions of our journey without a sigh. Far different were my sensations on bidding adieu to our fellow traveller Mr. B—r, who left us on our arrival at this place. My first impression of his character was but too just, and every day’s experience more fully displayed a mind, estranged from all that was praise worthy, and prone to every species of vice. He professed himself almost an Atheist, and I am persuaded, had led the life of one; it was perhaps fortunate that his manners were as disgusting as his principles were wicked, and that he constantly reminded one, of that expression of the Psalmist “the Fool hath said in his heart there is no God”;81 as the comment, he was but a fool, rose to remembrance at the same moment. We took our passage in a Felucca from Genoa, and arrived here in thirty three hours. My first message was to the Post Office, where was only one letter for me, dated 10th May. I am impatient for more, being kept in daily expectation of sailing, and it would be mortifying to leave any behind. I must now conclude; believe me, Ever most affectionately your’s, E. F. P. S. I open this to say, our letters and remittances are arrived. Ten thousand thanks for your kindness, but I have not time to add another word.

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LETTER V. OUTER MOLE, LEGHORN, ON BOARD THE HELLESPONT, July 2d, 1779. MY DEAR FRIENDS, You may perceive from this date that I have quitted Leghorn, but how I came to take up my quarters here, cannot be explained, till after the relation of some particulars which I must first notice, in order to proceed regularly with my journal. Our letter of introduction from Mr. Baretto of London to his brother,82 the king of Sardinia’s Consul at Leghorn, procured us the kindest attentions from that gentleman and his family, indeed they were so friendly to us in every respect, that I soon felt all the ease of old acquaintance in their society, and shall ever remember them, with sentiments of the most cordial esteem. Through this kind family I saw whatever was worthy of note in Leghorn, and its environs; but my increasing anxiety as to our journey, took from me all power of investigation. When one sees merely with the eye, and the wandering mind is travelling to the friends left far behind, or forward to the unknown clime whither its destiny points, few recollections of places and things will remain on it. But far different will be its recognition of persons. When these have softened an anxious hour by kindness, or relieved its irksomeness, by smiles and gaiety, the heart will register their action and their image, and gratitude engrave their names on the tablet of remembrance. What a romantic flight! methinks I hear you exclaim; but consider, this is the land of Poesy, surely, I may be permitted to evince a little of its spirit. I shall never forget that Leghorn contains the Baretti’s, and Franco’s. The latter are eminent merchants; the house has been established above a century. The eldest of the present family is above eighty years of age; a most venerable and agreeable old man; with more of active kindness and benevolent politeness, than I ever met with in one, so far advanced in life, and who has seen so much of the world. He not only shewed us every attention during our stay, but has given us a letter recommending us in the strongest terms to a Mr. Abraham, of Grand Cairo; which should Mr. Baldwin, the East India Company’s resident, be absent when we arrive there, may prove useful. At all events, we are equally indebted to Mr. Franco’s friendly intentions. We have often boasted of the superiority of the British flag, but alas poor old England! her flag is here humbled in the dust; we have several ships in the mole,83 but if one dare venture out, so many French Privateers84 are hovering round, that she must be taken in a few hours. I pity the poor Captains from my heart, but the person for whom I feel most interested, is a Captain Les—r of the Hellespont, (Mr. P—’s relation). I cannot express half what I owe to his civility. From the 174

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moment he knew of my probable connection with his family, he has uniformly shown us every possible attention. His situation is very disagreeable, to be forced either to abandon so fine a ship, or incur almost a certainty of being taken prisoner in her, as she must soon venture out; for she has already eaten her head off,85 by lying here a whole twelvemonth on expence, as such is the deplorable state of our commerce in the Mediterranean, that no one will now underwrite an English ship at any premium. I think the number lying here is seven, and believe they intend soon to make a bold push together; but it will be all in vain; they never can get through the Straits of Gibraltar, unmolested. 4 o’clock p.m. A Hard Gale. I told you this morning what reason I had to esteem Captain L.—He is now entitled to at least a double portion of my gratitude, if estimated by the service done. As there was no likelihood of meeting with an English vessel, we engaged a passage in a Swedish one, called the Julius, Captain Norberg, for Alexandria, at £6 each, (cheap enough you will say); and had all in readiness: so last night I quitted the shores of Europe, God knows for how long: his will be done. Captain L— as his ship lay next but one to our’s, and we were not to sail ’till day break, offered us his cabin, because, as he very considerately observed, we could not sleep confortably in our own, amidst the noise of preparing for Sea. I readily complied, well knowing the advantages of his proposal, having already dined several times on board the Hellespont, which is kept clean and in good order, equal to the nicest house I ever saw. This morning the Julius went out to the Road, and we prepared to follow; but just at that time arose a sudden squall of thunder and lightning, succeeded by a very strong gale of wind; the poor Julius was forced to drop anchor, and there she lies, two miles off, pitching (driving piles Captain L— calls it) and has just struck her lower yards; she slipped one cable two hours ago, but the other brought her up. I see her now and would not exchange cabins for a trifle. Several vessels have been driven in, in distress; one dashed directly against the Hellespont and snapped her Bowsprit86 short; we had but just time to secure the poop lanthorn from the stroke of another; the iron was torn away, so you may guess it blows smartly, but I feel perfectly easy. I am luckily sheltered now, and no one shall persuade me to leave this ship ’till all is over, and the weather settled again. I doubt we shall not be able to sail this day or two, for the wind is rising; but so that we arrive, time enough to save our season at Suez, all will be well. Tea is waiting, and they are tormenting me to death. Adieu. God bless you all, prays, Your affectionate E. F.

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LETTER VI. SHIP JULIUS AT SEA, 20th July, 1779. I HOPE, my dear friends will safely receive my letter of the 2nd Instant, from Leghorn, wherein I mentioned the kindness of Captain L.—and our situation in his Ship. We remained with him ’till Sunday evening, when we embarked on the Julius, and the following morning, sailed with a fair wind; but it changed in less than six hours, and came on so strong, that we were forced to put back again and cast anchor. The gale lasted ’till Wednesday evening; however we made shift to ride it out, though we were continually paying out cable (as it is called;) and expected every moment to be driven on shore. When the weather moderated, Mr. Franco sent off a letter to Mr. Fay, stating that he had just heard from Mr. Abraham of Grand Cairo, who was about to proceed to Europe, with his family, by the first ship; therefore to guard against any future disappointment, this kind gentleman inclosed a general letter to the Jewish merchants, Mr. Franco’s name being well known throughout the East. Having already seven letters of introduction to persons in Grand Cairo, we shall not, I imagine, have occasion to make use of this. On Thursday the 8th, we ventured to sail once more, and have hitherto gone on pleasantly enough. Tuesday, 20th July. Since my last date, I have been a good deal vexed at an accident which, perhaps, will appear very trivial. I had a pair of beautiful pigeons given me at Leghorn, which furnished me with much amusement. These pretty little creatures, their wings being cut, ranged at liberty about the ship. At length one of them fell, or rather was blown overboard. I saw it a long while struggling for life, and looking towards the vessel, as if to implore assistance; yet, notwithstanding my fondness for the poor bird, and anxious desire to extricate it from its perilous situation, if such a thing were possible, I could not even wish that, a ship running eight knots an hour, should be hove to, and a boat sent out after a Pigeon. The widowed mate lived only three days afterwards, never touching a morsel of food, from the time the other disappeared, and uttering, at intervals, the most plaintive sounds, which I could not avoid hearing, my cabin being upon deck. For you must know, it is a regulation on board Swedish vessels, that the whole ship’s company join twice a day, in devotional exercises; so Capt. Norberg reserved his great Cabin for the purpose, of assembling them together, or we would willingly have engaged it. So much for my little favourites. I shall now advert to a more chearful topic. My voyage has been rendered very interesting, and instructive, by the conversation of one of our passengers, a Franciscan Friar, from Rome, who is going as 176

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a Missionary to Jerusalem; and in my opinion no man can be better calculated for the hazardous office he has undertaken. Figure to yourself, a man in the prime of life (under forty), tall, well made, and athletic in his person; and seemingly of a temperament to brave every danger: add to these advantages a pair of dark eyes, beaming with intelligence, and a most venerable auburn beard, descending nearly to his girdle, and, you cannot fail to pronounce him, irresistible. He appears also to possess, all the enthusiasm and eloquence necessary for pleading the important cause of Christianity; yet one must regret that so noble a mind, should be warped by the belief of such ridiculous superstitions, as disgrace the Romish creed.— He became extremely zealous for my conversion, and anxiously forwarded my endeavours, after improvement in the Italian language, that I might the more readily comprehend the arguments, he adduced to effect that desirable purpose. Like other disputants, we sometimes used to contend very fiercely, and one day on my speaking rather lightly of what he chose to call, a miracle of the Catholic Church, he even went so far as to tell me, that my mouth spouted forth heresies, as water gushes from a fountain. This morning (the 22d) at breakfast, he intreated me to give up my coffee, as a libation to the bambino (child) Jesus, and on my declining to do so, urged me with the most impressive earnestness, to spare only a single cup, which he would immediately pour out in honour of the Blessed Infant. Professing my disbelief in the efficacy of such a sacrifice, I again excused myself from complying with his request: upon which declaring that he was equally shocked at my willful incredulity and obstinate heresy he withdrew to another part of the vessel, and I have not seen him since. 23d A. M. We are now off Alexandria, which makes a fine appearance from the sea on a near approach; but being built on low ground, is, as the seamen say “very difficult to hit.” We were two days almost abreast of the Town. There is a handsome Pharos or light-house in the new harbour, and it is in all respects far preferable; but no vessels belonging to Christians can anchor there, so we were forced to go into the old one, of which however we escaped the dangers, if any exist. My acquaintance with the Reverend Father has terminated rather unpleasantly. A little while ago being upon deck together, and forgetting our quarrel about the libation, I made a remark on the extreme heat of the weather, “Aye” replied he, with a most malignant expression of countenance, such as I could not have thought it possible, for a face benign like his to assume, “aye you will find it ten thousand times hotter in the Devil’s House” (Nella Casa di Diavolo). I pitied his bigotry and prayed for his conversion to the genuine principles of that religion, whose doctrines he professed to teach. Mr. Brandy87 to whom Mr. Fay sent ashore an introductory letter, came on board to visit us. I rejoice to hear from him, that there are two ships at Suez, yet no time must be lost, lest we miss the season. This gentleman resides here, as Consul for one of the German Courts, and may be of great use to us. We received an invitation to sup with him to-morrow; he has secured a lodging for us, and engaged a Jew and his wife to go with us to Grand Cairo as dragoman, (or interpreter) and 177

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attendant: should we proceed by water, which is not yet decided on, Mr. B— will provide a proper boat. I am summoned to an early dinner, immediately after which we shall go on shore with our Dragoman, that we may have time to view whatever is remarkable. 24th July. Having mounted our asses, the use of horses being forbidden to any but musselmans, we sallied forth preceded by a Janizary, with his drawn sword, about three miles over a sandy desert, to see Pompey’s Pillar,88 esteemed to be the finest column in the World. This pillar which is exceedingly lofty, but I have no means of ascertaining its exact height, is composed of three blocks of Granite; (the pedestal, shaft, and capital, each containing one). When we consider the immense weight of the granite, the raising such masses, appear beyond the powers of man. Although quite unadorned, the proportions are so exquisite, that it must strike every beholder with a kind of awe, which softens into melancholy, when one reflects that the renowned Hero whose name it bears, was treacherously murdered on this very Coast, by the boatmen who were conveying him to Alexandria; while his wretched wife stood on the vessel he had just left, watching his departure, as we may naturally suppose, with inexpressible anxiety. What must have been her agonies at the dreadful event! Though this splendid memorial bears the name of Pompey, it is by many supposed to have been erected in memory of the triumph, gained over him at the battle of Pharsalia. Leaving more learned heads than mine to settle this disputed point, let us proceed to ancient Alexandria, about a league from the modern town; which presents to the eye an instructive lesson on the instability of all sublunary objects. This once magnificent City, built by the most famous of all Conquerors,89 and adorned with the most exquisite productions of art, is now little more than a heap of Ruins; yet the form of the streets can still be discerned; they were regular, and many of the houses (as I recollect to have read of Athens) had fore-courts bounded by dwarf walls,90 so much in the manner of our Lincoln’s-Inn Fields, that the resemblance immediately struck me. We saw also the outside of St. Athanasius’s Church, who was Bishop of this Diocese, but it being now a Mosque were forbidden to enter, unless on condition of turning mahometans, or losing our lives, neither of which alternatives exactly suited my ideas, so that I deemed it prudent to repress my curiosity. I could not however resist a desire to visit the Palace of Cleopatra,91 of which few vestiges remain. The marble walls of the Banqueting room are yet standing, but the roof is long since decayed. Never do I remember being so affected by a like object. I stood in the midst of the ruins, meditating on the awful scene, ’till I could almost have fancied I beheld its former mistress, revelling in Luxury, with her infatuated lover, Marc Anthony, who for her sake lost all. The houses in the new Town of Alexandria thro’ which we returned, are flat roofed, and, in general, have gardens on their tops. These in some measure, in so warm a country, may be called luxuries. As to the bazars (or markets) they are wretched places, and the streets exceedingly narrow. Christians of all denominations live here on paying a tax, but they are frequently ill treated; and 178

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if one of them commits even an unintentional offence against a musselman, he is pursued by a most insatiable spirit of revenge and his whole family suffers for it. One cannot help shuddering at the bare idea of being in the hands of such bigotted wretches. I forgot to mention that Mr. Brandy met us near Cleopatra’s needles,92 which are two immense obelisks of Granite. One of them, time has levelled with the ground; the other is intire; they are both covered with hieroglyphic figures, which, on the sides not exposed to the wind and sand from the Desert, remain uninjured; but the key being lost, no one can decypher their meaning. I thought Mr. B— might perhaps have heard something relative to them; he, however, seems to know no more than ourselves. A droll circumstance occurred on our return. He is a stout man of a very athletic make, and above six feet high; so you may judge what a curious figure he must have made, riding on an ass, and with difficulty holding up his long legs to suit the size of the animal; which watched an opportunity of walking away from between them, and left the poor Consul standing, erect, like a Colossus: in truth, it was a most ludicrous scene to behold. 25th July. The weather being intensely hot, we staid at home ’till the evening, when Mr. Brandy called to escort us to his house. We were most graciously received by Mrs. B— who is a native of this place; but as she could speak a little Italian, we managed to carry on something like conversation. She was most curiously bedizened93 on the occasion, and being short, dark complexioned, and of a complete dumpling shape, appeared altogether the strangest lump of finery I had ever beheld; she had a handkerchief bound round her head, covered with strings composed of thin plates of gold, in the manner of spangles but very large, intermixed with pearls and emeralds; her neck and bosom were ornamented in the same way. Add to all this an embroidered girdle with a pair of gold clasps, I verily think near four inches square, enormous earrings, and a large diamond sprig on the top of her forehead, and you must allow, that altogether she was a most brilliant figure. They have a sweet little girl about seven years of age, who was decked out much in the same style; but she really looked pretty in spite of her incongruous finery. On the whole, though, I was pleased with both mother and child, their looks and behaviour were kind: and to a stranger in a strange land94 (and this is literally so to us) a little attention is soothing and consolatory; especially when one feels surrounded by hostilities, which every European must do here. Compared with the uncouth beings who govern this country, I felt at home among the natives of France, and I will even say of Italy. On taking leave, our Host presented a book containing certificates of his great politeness and attention towards travellers; which were signed by many persons of consideration: and at the same time requesting that Mr. Fay and myself would add our names to the list, we complied, though not without surprize, that a gentleman in his situation, should have recourse to such an expedient, which cannot but degrade him in the eyes of his Guests. It being determined that we shall proceed by water, for reasons too tedious to detail at present, I must now prepare to embark. I shall endeavour to keep up my 179

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spirits. Be assured that I will omit no opportunity of writing, and comfort yourselves with the idea, that before this reaches you, I shall have surmounted all my difficulties. I certainly deem myself very fortunate in quitting this place so soon. Farewell; all good be with you, my ever ever dear Friends prays, Your own, E. F.

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LETTER VII. GRAND CAIRO, 27th August, 1779. MY DEAR FRIENDS, In coming to this place, we were in great peril, and bade adieu to the sea at the hazard of our lives, the Bar of the Nile95 being exceedingly dangerous. Fourteen persons were lost there, the day before we crossed it, a circumstance that of course tended to increase our anxiety on the subject, and which was told me just before I closed my last letter; but for the world I would not have communicated such intelligence. Our only alternative to this hazardous passage, was crossing a desert, notorious for the robberies and murders committed on it; where we could not hope for escape, and from the smallness of our number, had no chance of superiority in case of attack. The night after we had congratulated ourselves on being out of danger from the bar, we were alarmed by perceiving a boat making after us, as the people said, to plunder, and perhaps, to murder us. Our Jew interpreter, who, with his wife, slept in the outer cabin, begged me not to move our dollars, which I was just attempting to do, lest the thieves should hear the sound, and kill us all, for the supposed booty. You may judge in what a situation we remained, while this dreadful evil seemed impending over us. Mr. Fay fired two pistols, to give notice of our being armed. At length, thank God, we out-sailed them; and nothing of the kind occurred again, during our stay on board; though we passed several villages, said to be inhabited entirely by thieves. As morning broke, I was delighted with the appearance of the country, a more charming scene my eyes never beheld. The Nile, that perpetual source of plenty, was just beginning to overflow its banks; so that on every side, we saw such quantities of water drawn up for the use of more distant lands, that it is surprising any remains. The machine chiefly used for that purpose is a wheel with earthen pitchers tied round it, which empty themselves into tubs, from whence numerous canals are supplied. Oxen and Buffaloes are the animals generally employed in this labour. It is curious to see how the latter contrive to keep themselves cool during the intense heat that prevails here; they lie in the River by hundreds, with their heads just above water, for hours together. Rosetta is a most beautiful place, surrounded by groves of lemon and orange trees; and the flat roofs of the houses have gardens on them, whose fragrance perfumes the air. There is an appearance of cleanliness in it, the more gratifying to an English eye, because seldom met with in any degree, so as to remind us of what we are accustomed to at home. The landscape around, was interesting from its novelty, and became peculiarly so on considering it as the country where, the children of Israel sojourned. The beautiful, I may say, the unparalleled story of Joseph 181

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and his brethren,96 rose to my mind as I surveyed those Banks, on which the Patriarch sought shelter for his old age; and where his self convicted sons bowed down before their younger brother, and I almost felt as if in a dream, so wonderful appeared the circumstance of my being here. You will readily conceive that, as I drew near Grand Cairo, and beheld those prodigies of human labour, the Pyramids of Egypt, these sensations were still more strongly awakened; and I could have fancied myself an inhabitant of a world, long passed away: for who can look on buildings, reared, (moderately computing the time) above three thousand years ago, without seeming to step back as it were, in existence, and live through days, now gone by, and sunk in oblivion “like a tale that is told.”97 Situated as I was, the Pyramids were not all in sight, but I was assured that those which came under my eye, were decidedly the most magnificent. We went out of our way to view them nearer, and by the aid of a telescope, were enabled to form a tolerable idea of their construction. It has been supposed by many that the Israelites built these Pyramids,98 during their bondage in Egypt, and I rather incline to that opinion; for, altho’ it has lately been proved that they were intended to serve as repositories for the dead, yet each, being said to contain only one sarcophagus,99 this circumstance, and their very form, rendered them of so little comparative use, that most probably, they were raised to furnish employment for multitudes of unfortunate slaves; and who more aptly agree with this description, than the wretched posterity of Jacob? I understand there is a little flat, on the tops of the larger Pyramids, from which it is conjectured that the Egyptians made astronomical observations.100 The largest, is said to be, above five hundred feet high, perpendicularly. The inclined plane must measure much more: the steps are nearly three feet distant of the Pyramids; though I very anxiously wished to have inspected them, and the sphinx,101 prudence forbade me from making the attempt, as you will allow, when I proceed farther in my narrative. On the 29th, we reached Bulac the port of Grand Cairo, and within two miles of that city, to my great joy; for on this river, there is either little wind, or else it comes in squalls, so suddenly, that the boats are often in danger of being overset, as they carry only, what I believe is called, a shoulder-of-Mutton-sail, which turns on a sort of swivel, and is very difficult to manage, when the wind takes it the wrong way. It seems indeed almost miraculous how we escaped. Mr. Fay set out almost immediately to Mr. Baldwin’s,102 who received him with much civility, and sent an ass for me, with directions to make all possible haste, as a Caravan was to set off in three hours. I must now give you a description of my dress,103 as my Jewess decked me out, preparatory to our entering the Great City. I had, in the first place, a pair of trowsers, with yellow leather half-boots and slippers over them; a long sattin gown, with wide sleeves, open to the elbows; and a girdle round my waist, with large silver clasps; over that another robe with short sleeves: round my head a fine, coloured, muslin handkerchief, closely bound, but so arranged that one corner hung down three quarters of a yard behind. This is the dress for the House; but as I was 182

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going out, she next put on a long robe of silk, like a surplice, and then covered my face with a piece of muslin, half a yard wide, which reached from the forehead to the feet, except an opening for the eyes; over all, she threw a piece of black silk, long and wide enough to envelop the whole form; so, thus equipped, stumbling at every step, I sallied forth, and with great difficulty got across my noble beast: but, as it was in the full heat of the day and the veil prevented me from breathing freely, I thought I must have died by the way. However, at last, I was safely housed, but found a great change had taken place; all thoughts of going were now laid aside. I dare not at present enter into particulars, and can only say that, some thing was wrong, and on that account we were kept in suspense, ’till about a week ago, when just as we had determined to proceed, if possible, another way, matters were adjusted: so to-morrow afternoon we are to enter on the Desert, and shall, please God, arrive at Suez, most likely, on Monday, from whence I propose writing again. The season is so far advanced that a good passage cannot be expected: we have no hopes of reaching Calcutta in less than three months, but at any rate, the voyage is preferable to going through the long Desert, from Aleppo to Bassora. When I write from India I will give a full detail of the affair to which I allude, though as it is very important, you will, most probably, see the whole in the papers. Adieu for the present it is bed time. 28th. Again I take up the pen to hold a little further converse with my dear friends, while waiting the summons to depart; and as health is the most important of all earthly subjects, shall begin with that. It will, I know, give you pleasure to hear that I have found scarce any inconvenience from the heat, though all of our Party, who have been in India agree that, they never felt the weather so oppressively hot as here; which proceeds from the terrible sandy deserts, that surround the town, causing the air to smell like hot bricks. This however I could have borne, but just on our arrival, there broke out a severe epidemical disease, with violent symptoms.104 People are attacked at a moments warning with dreadful pains in the limbs, a burning fever, with delirium and a total stoppage of perspiration. During two days it increases; on the third, there comes on uniformly a profuse sweat (pardon the expression) with vomiting, which carries all off.—The only remedies prescribed, are lying in bed and drinking plentifully, even two gallons a day, of Nile water: no nourishment, and not so much as gruel, is allowed until after the crisis; not one has died of the disease, nor, I believe, scarcely one escaped: even the beasts have been affected. Mr. Fay had it three weeks ago, and among all I conversed with here, I remained the only healthy person, and really hoped to have proved the truth of what is asserted by physicians, that nervous persons are not subject to be attacked by contagious distempers, not even by the Plague itself. However, this day sennight, I was seized with most violent symptoms, so that at the three days end, my strength seemed entirely exhausted; but I have, thanks be to Providence, recovered as surprizingly; and am already nearly well. It had every sign of the Plague, except that it was not mortal. Do not be frightened at the name, but I assure you, it is commonly called “la queue de la Peste,”105 and the general opinion is, that had 183

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it arrived in the month of February, the living would scarce have been sufficient to bury the dead. Grand Cairo by no means answers to its name at present, whatever it may have done formerly.—There are certainly many magnificent houses, belonging to the Beys106 and other rich individuals, but as a city, I can perceive neither order, beauty, nor grandeur; and the contrast between the great, who seem to wallow in splendour and luxury, and the people at large, who appear to want the common necessaries of life, is not more striking, than disgusting; because, those who are raised above their fellows, do not look, as though they merited the distinction, either by talent, manners or even the most ordinary pretentions. The Christians (who are called Franks)107 live all together in one street, which is closed at each end every night; a precaution neither unpleasant nor useless. An agreeable variety is given to the appearance of the town by the Mosques, or I should consider the whole wretchedly stupid. A wedding, here, is a gay and amusing spectacle, from the procession which accompanies the Bride in all her movements, drums, hautboys108 and every other kind of noise and parade they can make, seem indispensible: but the circumstance of completely veiling, not only the face, but the whole figure of the woman, in the enveloping mantle of black silk, before described, gives an air of melancholy to these exhibitions. To show the face is considered here, an act of downright indecency; a terrible fashion for one like me, to whom free air seems the great requisite for existence. I must not conclude without mentioning a disappointment I met with. As the fertility of Egypt depends on the due increase of the Nile, persons are hired to go round Grand Cairo, twice a day, and report how many inches the water has risen; returning solemn thanks to Almighty God for the blessing. This is continued ’till it gain a certain point, when the Dykes are broken down, and the river flows majestically into the Canal, formed for its reception; while the inhabitants hail its approach with every demonstration of joy. Such was the account I heard, and great was my anxiety, lest I should not be permitted to witness this August ceremony. At length the period arrived, but never, sure, were highly raised expectations more miserably deceived: For this famous Canal,109 being dry nine months out of the twelve, and serving during that interval as a receptacle for the filth of a populous, and not over cleanly City, I leave you to judge, how beautifully pellucid its waters must appear: nor could St. Giles’s110 itself pour forth such an assembly of half naked, wretched creatures, as preceded this so vaunted stream; crying aloud, and making all sorts of frantic gestures, like so many maniacs. Not a decent person could I distinguish amongst the whole group. So much for this grand exhibition, which we have abundant cause to wish, had not taken place, for the vapours arising from such a mass of impurity, have rendered the heat more intolerable than ever. My bed chamber overlooks the Canal, so that I enjoy the full benefit to be derived from its proximity.

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I am now compelled, much against my inclination, to bid you adieu; for I have a thousand things to do, and this immense letter has left me little time. Ever your’s most truly, &c. &c. ————————— P. S. Not being able to enlarge on the only interesting subject,111 has induced me to be rather diffuse on others, as I wished to convey some information by this, perhaps, last opportunity, ’till our arrival in India; for it is doubtful whether I may have any safe channel of conveyance from Suez.

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LETTER VIII. FROM MR. TO MR. C. ON BOARD SHIP, IN THE RED SEA, NEAR SUEZ. 1st September 1779. HONOURED SIR, I seize the chance of three minutes, to tell you that we yesterday arrived at Suez from Grand Cairo, after a journey of three days, over a most dreadful Desert,112 where every night we slept under the great canopy of Heaven, and where we were every hour in danger of being destroyed, by troops of Arabian robbers. But having a little party of English gentlemen, and servants (among whom I held a principal command) well armed, and under the orders of Major Baillie,113 and another military officer, we marched the whole way in order of battle, and though we could frequently see superior numbers, they never dared to molest us. Your daughter behaved most courageously and is extremely well, considering the extraordinary fatigue she has undergone. There is another English lady and her husband on board, which promises to make it an agreeable voyage. The ship is a very fine one, and we have a handsome little chamber, and I hope in all things shall find ourselves well accommodated. We expect to sail in four hours. The ship is called the Nathalia, Captain Chenu, a Frenchman, and apparently a very polite good-natured man, which is a great matter in a long voyage. I thank God I was never in better health and spirits, tho’ I never slept during the whole journey on the Desert, and lived the whole time on bread and water, notwithstanding we had abundance of wine and provisions; but the heat being excessive, I found no other food agree with me so well, and Mrs. Fay by adopting the same diet, preserved her health also; whereas all the rest were knocked up before we got half way over that confounded Desert, and some are now very ill; but I stood it, as well as any Arabian in the Caravan, which consisted at least of five thousand people. My wife insists on taking the pen out of my hands, so I can only say God bless you all. ————————— MY DEAR FRIENDS I have not a moments time, for the boat is waiting, therefore can only beg that you will unite with me, in praising our heavenly Protector for our escape from the various dangers of our journey. I never could have thought my constitution was so strong. I bore the fatigues of the desert, like a Lion, though but just recovering from my illness. We have been pillaged of almost every thing, by the Arabs. This is the Paradise of thieves, I think the whole population may be divided into two 186

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classes of them; those who adopt force, and those who effect their purpose by fraud. I was obliged to purchase a thick cloak, and veil, proper for the journey, and what was worse, to wear them all the way hither, which rendered the heat almost insupportable.—Never was I more happy, than when I came on board; although the ship having been for six weeks in the hands of the natives, the reason of which I cannot enlarge on here, is totally despoiled of every article of furniture; we have not a chair or a table, but as the carpenter makes them, for there is no buying such things here. Our greatest inconvenience is the want of good water; what can be procured here, is so brackish, as to be scarcely drinkable. I have not another moment. God bless you! pray for me my beloved friends.

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LETTER IX. FROM MRS. FAY. MOCHA 13th September 1779. Thank God my dear friends, I am once more enabled to date from a place of comparative liberty, and an European Gentleman having promised me a safe conveyance for my packet, I shall proceed to give you a hurried and melancholy detail of circumstances of which it has been my chief consolation to know that you were ignorant. You are of course impatient to be informed to what I allude; take then the particulars: but I must go a good way back in order to elucidate matters, which would otherwise appear mysterious or irrelevant. The East India Company sent out positive orders some time ago, to prohibit the trade to Suez, as interfering with their privileges; but as there never was a law made, but means might be found to evade it, several English merchants freighted a ship (the Nathalia114) from Serampore,115 a Danish settlement on the Hooghly, fourteen miles above Calcutta, whose commander, Vanderfield, a Dane, passed for owner of the ship and cargo. Mr. O’Donnell one of the persons concerned, and who had property on board to the amount of above £20,000, came as passenger, as did Mr. Barrington the real supercargo, also a freighter, and two Frenchmen, brothers, named Chevalier. They left Bengal on New year’s day 1779, and came first to Calicut on the coast of Malabar, where they arrived in February; found English, French, Danish and Portuguese Factors, or Consuls there; and trade in a flourishing state, so not apprehending any danger they entered into a contract with one Isaacs, a rich old Jew, who has great influence with the government, to freight them with pepper for Bengal on their return from Suez; that being the greatest town on the Coast for that commodity.—The price was settled and £700 paid as earnest. This business arranged, they proceeded on their voyage; and having luckily disposed of some part of the cargo at this place, reached Suez with the remainder in the beginning of June, landed their Goods to the amount of at least £40,000, and prepared to cross the Desert on their way to Cairo. The company besides those already mentioned, consisted of Chenu the second mate, with some officers and servants, in all twelve Europeans, strengthened by a numerous body of Arabian guards, camel drivers &c., for the conveyance of their property: more than sufficient in every body’s opinion; for no one remembered a Caravan being plundered, for altho’ sometimes the wandering Arabs were troublesome, yet a few presents never failed to procure a release from them. Thus were they lulled into a fatal security; each calculating the profits likely to accrue, and extremely willing to compound for the loss of a few bales, should they happen to meet with any strolling depredators, not even once supposing their lives were in danger, or intending to use their firearms should they be molested. 188

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On Monday the 14th June they left Suez, and next morning at day break, had travelled about twenty miles (nearly one third of the way) when suddenly an alarm was given of an Attack, as they, poor souls, were sleeping across their baskets (or panniers.116) Capt. Barrington on awaking ordered a dozen bales to be given to them immediately: but alas! they were already in possession of the whole; for the Camel drivers did not defend themselves an instant, but left their beasts at the mercy of the robbers; who after detaching a large body to drive them away with their burthens, advanced towards the passengers. Here I must request you to pause, and reflect whether it be possible even for imagination to conceive a more dreadful scene to those concerned, particularly to Mr. O’Donnell, who from a concurrence of fortunate circumstances, had in less than four years realized a fortune of near £30,000; the bulk of which he laid out in merchandise on the inviting prospect of gaining 50 Per Cent, and as his health was in a very weak state proposed retiring to Europe. What must that man have felt, a helpless spectator of his own ruin. But this was nothing to what followed on their being personally attacked. The inhuman wretches not content with stripping them to the skin, drove away their camels, and left them in a burning sandy Desert, which the feet can scarcely touch, without being blistered, exposed to the scorching rays of the sun and utterly destitute of sustenance of every kind; no house, tree, or even shrub to afford them shelter. My heart sickens, my hand trembles as I retrace this scene. Alas! I can too well conceive their situation: I can paint to myself the hopeless anguish of an eye cast abroad in vain for succour! but I must not indulge in reflections, let me simply relate the facts as they occurred. In this extremity they stopped to deliberate, when each gave his reasons, for preferring the road he determined to pursue. Mr. O’Donnell, Chenu, the cook and two others resolved to retrace their steps back to Suez, which was undoubtedly the most eligible plan; and after encountering many hardships, they at length, arrived there in safety. Of the remaining seven who went towards Cairo, only one survived.—Mr. Barrington being corpulent and short breathed, sunk under the fatigue the second day; his servant, soon followed him.— One of the French gentlemen was by this time become very ill, and his brother perceiving a house at some miles distance (for in that flat country, one may see a great way,) prevailed on him to lie down under a stunted tree, with his servant, while he endeavoured to procure some water, for want of which the other was expiring. Hope, anxiety, and affection combined to quicken his pace, and rendered poor Vanderfield, the Danish captain, unable to keep up with him, which he most earnestly strove to do. I wept myself almost blind; as the poor Frenchman related his sufferings from conflicting passions; almost worn out with heat and thirst, he was afraid of not being able to reach the house, though his own life and that of his brother, depended on it. On the other hand the heart piercing cries of his fellow sufferer, that he was a dead man unless assisted by him, and conjuring him for God’s sake, not to leave him to perish now they were in view of relief, arrested his steps and agonised every nerve. Unable to resist the solemn appeal, for some time he indulged him, ’till finding that the consequence of longer delay must be inevitable destruction to both, he was compelled to shake him off. A servant belonging 189

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to some of the party still kept on, and poor Vanderfield was seen to continue his efforts, ’till at length nature being completely exhausted, he dropped and was soon relieved from his miseries by Death. Nor was the condition of the survivors far more enviable, when having, with difficulty, reached the building after which they had toiled so long, it proved to be an uninhabited shed. Giving himself up for lost, the French gentleman lay down under shelter of the wall, to await his last moment, (the servant walked forward and was found dead a little further on). Now it so happened that an Arabian beggar chanced to pass by the wall, who seeing his condition, kindly ran to procure some water, but did not return for an hour. What an age of torture, of horrible suspense! for if “hope deferred maketh the heart sick,” the sensation must cause ten-fold anguish at a moment like this. The unhappy man was mindful of his brother, but utterly unable to undertake the task himself, he directed the beggar, as well as he could, to the spot where he had left him, with a supply of water. But alas! all his endeavours to find the unfortunate men were ineffectual, nor were their bodies ever discovered: It is supposed that they crept for shelter from the sun, into some unfrequented spot, and there expired. The survivor by the assistance of the beggar, reached the hut of a poor old woman, who kindly received him; and through whose care he was soon restored to strength, and arrived safely at Cairo, after as miraculous an escape, as ever human being experienced. This melancholy story had been mentioned by Mr. Brandy before I landed at Alexandria, (Oh with what horror did I hear his brief recital) and the particulars I soon learnt at Cairo. The subject was in fact closely connected with my fears and sufferings, at that place, and which I hinted at the impossibility of my then revealing, neither could I, for the same reason, give you any account of the Egyptian Government, lest they should intercept my letter, altho’ it is necessary you should know a little of it, for the sake of comprehending what I have further to relate, concerning these unfortunate adventurers. Egypt, then, is governed by twenty four Beys,117 of whom one presides over the rest, but this superiority is very precarious; for he holds it no longer than ’till some other of the number thinks himself strong enough to contend with him; and as they have here but two maxims in War, the one to fly, the other to pursue, those contests last not long: the vanquished, should he escape assassination retires up the country, ’till Fortune changes her aspect: while the victor takes his place. Thus do their lives pass in perpetual vicissitudes. To-day a Prince, to-morrow a Fugitive, and next day a prince again. These things are so common, that nobody notices them; since they never disturb the inhabitants or compel them to take part in their disputes. In order to be a check on these gentlemen, the Grand Signor sends a Bashaw, to reside among them, whom they receive with great respect and compliment with presents of value, pretending the utmost deference for his authority, but at the same time a strict eye is kept over him, and on the least opposition to their will, he is sent in disgrace away—happy if he escape with life, after refunding all his presents and paying enormous sums besides. 190

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By the above statement you will perceive that, the Beys are in reality independent, and likewise discern the hinge on which their politics turn, for as long as under colour of submission, they consent to receive a Bashaw,118 it is in their power constantly to throw the odium of every disagreeable occurrence on his shoulders, under pretence of Orders from the Porte. Now briefly to proceed with my little history, some time after the fatal robbery, another ship called the St. Helena, arrived at Suez, under Danish colours with the real owner, a Mr. Moore, on board. He justly apprehensive of a similar fate, refused to land his Cargo ’till the then Chief Amurath Bey, had accorded him a solemn permission or rather protection, under which he safely reached Cairo, disposed of his effects, and prepared for his return to his ship with a fresh Cargo. But in the interim, Mr. O’Donnell had been advised to present a memorial to the Beys, by which he reclaimed his property as an Englishman, threatened them with the vengeance of his nation if not immediately redressed, and declared himself totally independent of the Danes. This rash procedure alarmed the people in power, who however still continued apparently friendly, in hopes of a larger booty, ’till the 30th July, when they threw off the mask, seized the Caravan even to the passenger’s baggage, and made Mr. Moore a prisoner. You may recollect that in my letter from Cairo, I told you what a hurry Mr. Fay was in, to fetch me from Bulac, not having, as he then thought, a moments time to spare. It so happened that I arrived within an hour after the seizure of the Caravan and when all the gentlemen concerned, were in the first transports of that indignation, which such a daring outrage could not fail to excite; at once exasperated by this treacherous behaviour and alarmed, lest some new crime should be committed against them. Every one is of opinion that their design was to cut us all off, had we gone out ignorant of the seizure of the Caravan. I had scarcely sat down in Mr. Baldwin’s parlour, when this terrible news, which seemed to involve the fate of every European alike, burst upon me like a stroke of lightning. Never shall I forget the terrors I felt.—: In a few moments the room was filled with Europeans, chiefly English, all speaking together,—calling out for arms, and declaring they would sell their lives dearly; for not one appeared to entertain a doubt of their being immediately attacked. In the midst of this confusion, Mons. Chevalier (the poor man who escaped from the Desert) cast his eyes upon me, exclaiming “Oh Madam how unhappy you are in having come to this wretched place.” This drew the attention of the rest,—and “what shall we do with the lady?”—was every one’s question— at last they resolved on sending me to the house of an Italian Physician, as a place of safety; thither I was instantly taken by a native, who even in the distress and confusion of the house, and although the Italian’s was only a few steps distant across a narrow lane, felt greatly shocked, because my veil chancing to be a little loose, he could see one corner of my eye, and severely reprehended the indecency of such an exposure. On reaching my expected Asylum a scene of more serious alarm (if possible) than I had left at Mr. Baldwins awaited me. The lady and her daughter were wringing their hands, and crying out in agony, that they were utterly ruined—; that all 191

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the Europeans would be murdered; and they even appeared to think, that receiving another of the proscribed race increased their danger. Imprisonment and massacre in every shape, were the sole subjects of their conversation; and so many terrible images did their fears conjure up, and communicate to my already disordered mind, that there were times, when the reality could have been scarcely more appalling. Oh England! dear England! how often did I apostrophise thee, land of liberty and safety—: but I must not review my thoughts—; a simple narrative is all I dare allow myself to write. For several days we remained in this harrassing state of suspense, and alarm; at length news arrived that the two ships which had brought these ill-fated adventurers to Egypt’s inhospitable shores, were seized by the Government, three days before they took possession of the Caravan. Their prisoners indeed, we already virtually were, not being allowed to quit the City. I should have mentioned that the Bashaw was the tool made use of on this occasion; who pretended he had Orders from Constantinople, to seize all English merchandise and confiscate the Vessels, suffering none but the East India Company’s packets to touch at Suez. This Firman119 was said to be obtained of his sublime highness, by the British resident at the Porte, on behalf of the E. I. Company; whether this pretence was true or false, we could never learn. Many other reports were propagated, as must always be the case in a country under arbitrary government: there being no certain rules to judge by, every one pronounces on the event as his hopes or fears dictate. Some times we were all to be sent prisoners to Constantinople, then we were assured that after a general plunder of our effects, we should certainly be released; and once it was confidently reported that, the Bowstring120 would be secretly applied to prevent our telling tales. What added much to our mortification and justified our fears was, that all the Christians belonging to the two ships, were on the 10th of August dragged to Cairo in the most ignominious manner, having previously suffered, during their imprisonment at Suez, every species of hardship which barbarity and malice could inflict. The people also at whose house we lodged, behaved to us continually with marked disrespect, if asked a question they seldom deigned to reply, and took care to enlarge perpetually on their condescension in suffering themselves to be incommoded with strangers. To be thus treated, at a time when perpetual solicitude and terror had unbraced my nerves and subdued my spirit, seemed so cruel, that I think it absolutely hurt me more than even our detention; a detention which was certainly harder upon us, than any other Europeans in one sense, since we had no connection whatever with the parties, were coming from a different quarter of the globe; not concerned in trade, and unknown to those who had visited their country on that account: no demon of avarice had led us into their power, nor could we afford a prey to theirs. These considerations however evident, made no impression on our host, they were rather motives of exultation over us, and what enhanced our misfortune, it was irremediable, for we could not change our abode, without going into another street, where we should have been unprotected. 192

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All the Christians live in one part of the town as I before noticed: during the time when the Plague rages, they visit each other by means of bridges thrown across the streets, from the tops of the houses, and this is a convenience they often resort to at other times, as it saves them from insult, which they often meet below. I find I have written myself into such a strange humour, that I cannot proceed methodically; but I must try to arrange my thoughts and go forward better. At length the Beys, enchanted by that Deity whose bewitching attractions few mortals can resist, whether on the banks of the Nile or the Thames: in other words, influenced by the promise of three thousand pounds, and an absolute indemnification from Mr. O’Donnell, gave us leave to proceed on our Voyage in defiance of the tremendous order of their master, and thus ended this most disagreeable and distressing business. I will release you from this wearisome letter. I shall have time at Mocha to continue my journal—, Adieu till to-morrow. Ever most affectionately your’s, E. F.

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LETTER X. INCLOSED IN THE FOREGOING MOCHA 15th September. MY DEAR SISTER, I resume my pen in order to give you some account of our passing the Desert, which being done by a method of travelling totally different from any thing in England, may afford amusement, and even without the charm of novelty could not fail to interest you, as the narrative of one so nearly and dearly connected. When a Caravan is about to depart, large tents are pitched on the skirts of the City, whither all who propose joining it repair: there they are drawn up in order, by the persons who undertake to convey them. Strong bodies of Arabian soldiers guard the van and rear; others flank the sides—; so that the female passengers, and the merchandise, are completely surrounded, and, as one would hope, defended in case of attack. Each gentleman of our party had a horse, and it is common to hire a camel between two, with panniers to carry their provisions &c.—: across the panniers, which are of wicker, a kind of mattress is thrown, whereon they take it by turns to lie, and court repose, during their journey. Females who can afford the expence, are more comfortably accommodated—; these travel in a kind of litter, called a Tataravan; with two poles fastened between two camels, one behind, the other before. The litter has a top and is surmounted by shabby, ill contrived Venetian blinds, which in the day, increase the suffocating heat, but are of use during the nights which are cold and piercing.—Every camel carries skins of water, but before you have been many hours on the Desert, it becomes of the colour of coffee. I was warned of this, and recommended to provide small guglets of porous earth, which after filling with purified water, I slung to the top of my Tataravan; and these with water melons, and hard eggs, proved the best refreshments I could have taken. The water by this means was tolerably preserved; but the motion of the camels and the uncouth manner in which the vehicle is fastened to them, made such a constant rumbling sound among my provisions, as to be exceedingly annoying. Once I was saluted by a parcel of hard eggs breaking loose from their net, and pelting me completely: it was fortunate that they were boiled, or I should have been in a pretty trim; to this may be added the frequent violent jerks, occasioned by one or other of the poles slipping out of its wretched fastening, so as to bring one end of the litter to the ground; and you may judge how pleasing this mode of travelling must be. At our first outset, the novelty of the scene, and the consolation I felt, on leaving a place which had been productive of so much chagrin, and so many too well founded apprehensions, wrought an agreeable change on my harrassed feelings—; but when 194

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we had proceeded some distance on the Desert; when all traces of human habitation had vanished—; when every sign of cultivation disappeared; and even vegetation was confined to a few low straggling shrubs, that seemed to stand between life and death as hardly belonging to either—; when the immeasurable plain lay around me, a burning sun darted his fierce rays from above, and no asylum was visible in front, my very heart sunk within me.—I am sure you will do justice to my feelings, the late Catastrophe being deeply imprinted on my mind, and indeed never absent from it. For the world, you should not have known what was passing there, when I made so light of the journey in my letter from Grand Cairo. In the midst of these soul-subduing reflections, the guides gave notice of a body, apparently much larger than our own, being within view of us.—All the sufferings related by the poor French gentleman, my active imagination now pourtrayed, as about to be inflicted on me. My dear Parents, my sisters, cried I, will never see me more!—should they learn my fate what agonies will they not endure!—but never can they conceive half the terrible realities, that I may be doomed to undergo! Happily, for once, my fears outwent the truth; the party so dreaded, turned off in pursuit of some other prey, or perhaps intimidated by our formidable appearance, left us unmolested. It is impossible even amidst fear and suspense not to be struck with the exquisite beauty of the nights here; a perfectly cloudless sky, and the atmosphere so clear, that the stars shine with a brilliancy, infinitely surpassing any thing I witnessed elsewhere. Well might the ancient Egyptians become expert astronomers, possessing a climate so favourable to that study; nor were we less indebted to those Heavenly luminaries; since, by their refulgent light, and unvarying revolutions, the guides cross these trackless Deserts with certainty, and like the mariner, steer to the desired haven. You will perceive, that my boast of having crossed the Desert, like a lion, was not literally just;—but then remember, it was his strength, not his courage to which I alluded: for it is true that, considering how much I had suffered in Cairo, I really did perform the journey well, and on the second day being convinced by the behaviour of some around me, how greatly dejection increased the actual evils of our situation—I rallied my spirits to the utmost, and lifting up my heart in gratitude to the Almighty, for having thus far supported us, I determined to trust in his goodness, and not desert myself. On this day I was exceedingly affected by the sufferings of one of our party— Mr. Taylor, going out as assistant surgeon on the Bengal establishment. He complained of illness when we sat out, and seemed overwhelmed with melancholy. He had been plundered of all by the Arabs—had sustained various misfortunes, and of late, appeared to be consumptive. The extreme heat of the weather so overpowered him, that he resigned all hope of life, and at length, in a fit of despondency, actually allowed himself to slide down from his horse, that he might die on the ground. Mr. Fay seeing him fall, ran to assist him in regaining his seat, but he earnestly begged to be left alone, and permitted to die in peace. It was impossible to inspire him with hope and as he appeared to have so little strength, I did 195

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not believe that, with so strong a predilection for death, he could have been kept alive—: yet to see a fine young man, a countryman and fellow-traveller expiring amongst us, without striving to the last to preserve him, would have been inhuman. Thank God, our cares so far prevailed that he is still with us, though his disorder is now confirmed, and his melancholy but little abated—He thanks us for life, as if grateful for our attention, but not for the gift. I fear his heart is breaking, as well as his constitution. When my mind was a little relieved on poor T—’s account, I had leisure to think of the horses;—you recollect how partial I ever was to these noble animals; and we had several with us, of such singular beauty and docility, that they would have attracted the attention, I had almost said the affection, of the most indifferent spectator. The wretched creatures suffered so much from heat and thirst, that their groanings were terrible, and added to this an involuntary rattling in the throat, as if they were on the point of expiring, so that one heard them with a mixture of compassion and horror extremely painful to bear: yet notwithstanding that this continued for many hours, we were so fortunate, as not to lose a single horse in the Caravan.—With the dogs, we were less successful,—three very fine ones sat out with us, but none survived—one of them was the most beautiful Italian greyhound, I ever beheld;—he cost seven guineas at Venice. The first day he got tolerably well forward; but during the second his strength failed, and he appeared to suffer excruciating pain from the heat. When he was in the most frightful state, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his eyes wildly staring, and altogether presenting the idea of madness, rather than death, his master Mr. T— had the modesty to bring him to me, and request that I would admit him into my Tataravan. I hope no person will accuse me of inhumanity, for refusing to receive an animal in that condition,—self-preservation forbade my compliance. I felt that it would be weakness, instead of compassion, to subject myself to such a risk; and you may be certain, my sympathy was not increased for its owner, when he solemnly assured me, by way of inforcing his intreaty, that it would cost him a less severe pang, to see his own father thus suffering, than he then felt—I was induced to credit this assertion; knowing that when last in England, he had remained there seventeen months without visiting the old gentleman; though he acknowledged having been within 150 miles of his residence. A very short time after this, the poor creature dropt down gasping, but ere he had breathed his last, a brutal Arab cut him to pieces before his masters face; and on his expressing anger at his cruel behaviour, ran after him with a drawn scymiter—you may judge from this incident, what wretches we were cast amongst. We found Suez a miserable place,121—little better than the Desert which it bounds, and were, as probably I have already told you, impatient to get on board, where we found every portable necessary of life had been carried off. We had been pretty well pillaged ourselves, and could therefore sympathize with the losers, as well as lament our own personal inconvenience, however, thank Heaven that we escaped as we did;—if ever they catch me on their Desert again, I think I shall deserve all they can inflict. 196

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Our passage down the Red Sea was pleasant, the wind being constantly favourable, but afforded no object of interest, save the distant view of Mount Horeb,122 which again brought the flight of the children of Israel to my mind; and you may be sure, I did not wonder that they sought to quit the land of Egypt, after the various specimens of its advantages that I have experienced. The only vessels we saw, were those built for the conveyance of coffee,123 for which this port is famous;—they are so bulky, clumsy, and strangely constructed, that one might almost take them for floating mountains. I cannot be expected to say a great deal of my shipmates, having been so short a time together, but to own the truth, I do not look forward to much comfort, where the elements are so discordant;—however, as we are to touch at Calicut on the Coast of Malabar, you shall from thence have the particulars: for, by that time we shall be pretty well familiarized with each other. May the detail be more agreeable than my present ideas will warrant me in supposing. Let me now proceed to say a few words of Mocha, which is a pretty considerable place, walled round, and guarded by soldiers.—It appears to great advantage after Suez, being plentifully supplied with fruit and vegetables;— the provisions not bad, and the water excellent. The worst I know of it, is the excessive heat, which is even beyond that of Cairo. Our sailors have a proverb, that there is only a sheet of paper between that and another place—too shocking to be mentioned—I should yet say there were many sheets; for we have really met with so much kindness and hospitality here, as to make us almost forget the heat. The principal trade is carried on by Banians124 and Rajaputs,125 (as they are called, tho’ I cannot yet tell why) who come here from India—make comfortable little fortunes and return. A family of the former, consisting of three brothers, named George, has shewn us every possible attention ever since we landed, and the Chevalier de St. Lubin,126 a French gentleman, of elegant manners and superior information, has treated us, in the most sumptuous style. It is whispered among the English here, that Mons De St. L— has been on a mission from the French Court to Hyder Ally, for the express purpose of sowing the seeds of discord between him, and the English; and that he has to a great degree succeeded; how far this is true, we cannot yet say, but so intirely was Mr. Fuller, one of our passengers, persuaded of the fact, that he just now proposed we should arrest the Chevalier, who is about to proceed in a day or two to Europe. How far Mr. F— may be politically right, I cannot tell; but my heart revolted at the idea of receiving every mark of attention from a man one hour, and on bare suspicion, making him a prisoner the next; and most truly did I rejoice when this scheme was overruled. There should be very sufficient reasons for conduct, so despotic and apparently ungrateful, and we certainly were not in possession of documents to authorise such a procedure. I am much better pleased that this gentleman should return peaceably to his native country, and forward my letters to you, which he has promised on his honour to do, and to secure them amongst his private papers.—I might have written twice as much if I chose. 197

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And now my dear Friends, I must again bid you adieu. I trust my next accounts will be more pleasant, than this sad detail must prove, and that I shall meet letters at Calcutta, with good news of you all. My heart aches with thinking of the distance between us; but after surmounting so many difficulties and happily escaping from so many dangers; I feel inspired with hope for the future. Ever most affectionately your’s E. F.

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LETTER XI. ON BOARD THE NATHALIA AT SEA. 28th October 1779. MY DEAR FRIENDS, I wrote you from Mocha, in date the 15th September, by the Chevalier de St. Lubin who has most solemnly engaged to forward my letter, and I trust will keep his word. We have now been six weeks at sea, and in the course of a few days hope to reach Calicut. Our passage across the Indian Ocean, we found very pleasant: the Monsoon being against us,127 made it tedious, but no boisterous seas had we to contend with, as in the Mediterranean:—all has been calm, easy and free from alarm of every kind hitherto; fortunate indeed may we deem ourselves in having experienced such fine weather; for our ship is not half laden and has not Cargo enough to keep her steady. You will now expect me to say some thing of those with whom we are cooped up, but my account will not be very satisfactory, although sufficiently interesting to us—to begin then. The woman, of whom I entertained some suspicion from the first, is I am now credibly informed, one of the very lowest creatures taken off the streets in London;128 she is so perfectly depraved in disposition, that her supreme delight consists in rendering everybody around her, miserable.—It would be doing her too much honour to stain my paper with a detail of the various artifices she daily practices to that end.—Her pretended husband having been in India before, and giving himself many airs, is looked upon as a person of mighty consequence, whom nobody chooses to offend; therefore Madam has full scope to exercise her mischievous talents, wherein he never controuls her—not but that he perfectly understands how to make himself feared; coercive measures are some times resorted to; it is a common expression of the lady. “Lord bless you, if I did such, or such a thing, Tulloh would make no more to do, but knock me down like an ox.” I frequently amuse myself with examining their countenances, where ill nature has fixed her Empire so firmly, that I scarcely believe either of them ever smiled unless maliciously. Miss Howe’s description of Solmes, in Clarissa Harlowe,129 recurs to me as admirably suiting this amiable pair—to that I refer you. Chenu, the Captain, is a mere “Jack in office;”130 being unexpectedly raised to that post from second mate, by the death of poor Capt. Vanderfield and his chief officer on the fatal Desert, is become from this circumstance so insolent and overbearing, that every one detests him. Instead of being ready to accommodate every person with the few necessaries left by the plundering Arabs, he constantly appropriates them to himself. “Where’s the Captain’s silver spoon? God bless my 199

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soul. Sir, you have got my chair, must you be seated before the captain? What have you done with the Captain’s glass?” and a great deal more of the same kind; but this may serve as a specimen. And altho’ the wretch half starves us, he frequently makes comparisons between his table, and that of an Indiaman, which we dare not contradict while in his power; tell me now, should you not doat on three such companions for a long voyage?—but I have a fourth who at least, merits to be added to the triumvirate; his name John Hare, Esqr., Barrister at Law,131 a man of the very first fashion I assure you, and who would faint at the thought of any thing Plebeian. Taylor was one day shewing him a very handsome silver hilted sword, which he greatly admired, till chancing to cast his eye on the scabbard he read “Royal Exchange.” “Take your sword” said he, “its surprizing a man of your sense should commit such an error; for fifty guineas I would not have a City name on any article of my dress; now St. James’s or Bond street, has a delicious sound, don’t you think so my dear friend?”—Now would any one suppose this fine gentleman’s father was in trade, and he himself brought up in that very City, he effects to despise? very true nevertheless—Quadrille132 he would not be thought to know; it is only played by the wives and daughters of Tradesmen, in country towns: I want to make you see him; figure to yourself a little mortal, his body constantly bent in a rhetorical attitude, as if addressing the Court, and his face covered with scorbutic blotches.133 Happily from an affectation of singularity, he always wears spectacles. I say happily, as they serve to conceal the most odious pair of little white eyes mine ever beheld. What Butler says of Hudibras—that “he could not ope His mouth, but out there flew a trope,”134 may literally be applied to this Heaven-born Orator, who certainly outdoes all I ever heard, in the use of overstrained compliments and far-fetched allusions. But with all those oddities, were he only a good-natured harmless simpleton, one might pity him. At first he took so much pains to ingratiate himself with us, that he became a sort of favorite;—so many confessions of superior abilities in Mr. Fay—such intreaties to spare him, when they should practise in the Courts together,—a studied attention to me in the minutest article—effectually shielded him from suspicion, till his end was answered, of raising a party against us, by means of that vile woman, who was anxious to triumph over me; especially as I have been repeatedly compelled (for the Honour of the Sex) to censure her swearing, and indecent behaviour. I have therefore little comfort to look forward to, for the remainder of the voyage. It is, however, only justice to name Mr. Taylor as an amiable, tho’ melancholy companion, and Mr. Manesty135 an agreeable young man, under twenty, going out as a writer on the Bombay Establishment, from whom I always receive the most respectful attention. Mr. Fuller, is a middle aged man; it is easy to see, that he has been accustomed to genteel society. How different his manners from those of H—! Poor man he has, it seems, fallen into the hands of sharpers,136 and been 200

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completely pillaged. He has the finest dark eyes, and one of the most intelligent countenances I ever met with. His trip to Bengal is, I doubt, a last resource. May it prove successful. I have no enmity towards him; for though he has joined the other party, it is evidently with reluctance. Mr. Moreau a musician, going out to India to exercise his profession, is very civil and attentive. Dissentions have run very high on board. The very day after we sailed from Mocha, a sudden quarrel arose between the Captain, and H— the Barrister;137 on which the ship was ordered about, and they were going ashore in a great hurry to decide it; but by the interposition of friends, they were prevailed upon to curb their wrath, ’till their arrival at Calicut, as in case of an accident, no officer remained to supply Chenu’s place. About a month after, they were reconciled; and so ended this doughty affair. I had almost forgotten to mention Pierot, the purser138 of the ship—a lively, well informed little Frenchman,—full of anecdotes and always prepared with a repartée; in short, the soul of the party. He sings an excellent song, and has as many tricks as a monkey. I cannot help smiling at his sallies, though they are frequently levelled at me; for he is one of my most virulent persecutors. Indeed, such is our general line of conduct; for, having early discovered the confederacy, prudence determined us to go mildly on, seemingly blind to what it was beyond our power to remedy. Never intermeddling in their disputes, all endeavours to draw us into quarrels are vainly exerted—: indeed I despise them too much to be angry. During the first fortnight of our voyage my foolish complaisance stood in my way at table; but I soon learnt our genteel maxim was “catch as catch can,”139— the longest arm fared best; and you cannot imagine what a good scrambler I am become,—a dish once seized, it is my care, to make use of my good fortune: and now provisions running very short, we are grown quite savages; two or three of us perhaps fighting for a bone; for there is no respect of persons. The wretch of a captain wanting our passage money for nothing, refused to lay in a sufficient quantity of stock; and if we do not soon reach our Port, what must be the consequence, Heaven knows. After meals I generally retire to my cabin, where I find plenty of employment, having made up a dozen shirts for Mr. F— out of some cloth, I purchased at Mocha, to replace part of those stolen by the Arabs—Sometimes I read French and Italian, and study Portugueze. I likewise prevailed on Mr. Fay to teach me short-hand; in consequence of the airs H— gave himself because he was master of this art, and had taught his sisters to correspond with him in it. The matter was very easily accomplished—in short I discovered abundant methods of making my time pass usefully, and not disagreeably. How often since, in this situation have I blessed God, that he has been pleased to endow me with a mind, capable of furnishing its own amusement, in despite of every means used to discompose it. 4th November.—We are now in sight of the Malabar hills, and expect to reach Calicut either this evening, or to-morrow; I shall conclude this letter, and send it 201

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under charge of Mr. Manesty, to forward it from Bombay. I am in tolerable health, and looking with a longing eye, towards Bengal, from whence I trust my next will be dated. The climate seems likely to agree very well with me, I do not at all mind the heat, nor does it affect either my spirits, or my appetite. I remain Ever affectionately your’s, E. F.

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LETTER XII. CALICUT,140 12th February, 1780. MY DEAR FRIENDS It was my determination never to write to you, during the state of dreadful Captivity141 in which we have long been held, but having hopes of a release, think I may now venture to give you some account of our sufferings, which have been extreme, both in body and mind, for a period of fifteen weeks, which we have spent in wretched confinement, totally in the power of Barbarians. I must premise that, such is the harrassing confusion of my mind, and the weakness of my nerves, that I can merely offer you a simple statement of facts, and even that must necessarily be incorrect; for incessant anxiety and constant anticipation of more intolerable evils, have totally unhinged my faculties. God knows whether I may ever recover them; at present all is confused and clouded.—Reflections on the importance of our speedy arrival in Bengal, which so many circumstances had contributed to prevent, and the apprehension lest our delay should afford time to raise serious obstacles against Mr. Fay’s admission into the Court, as an advocate, had long been as so many daggers, piercing my vitals: add to this the heart-breaking thought what immense tracts lie between me and those dear dear friends, whose society alone can render me completely happy. Even were the most brilliant success to crown our future views, never could I know comfort, ’till the blessed moment arrive, when I shall clasp you all to my fond heart, without fear of a future separation; except by that stroke, to which we must all submit; and which has been suspended over my head as by a single hair.142 I trust that I have been spared, to afford me the means of proving more substantially than by words, how inestimably precious, absence has made you in my sight.—Well may it be said that, the deprivation of a blessing enhances its value; for my affection rises now to a pitch of Enthusiasm, of which I knew not that my heart was capable;— but which has been its consolation, amidst all the horrors of imprisonment and sickness: no congenial mind to which I could declare my feelings, sure of meeting with sympathizing affection, as I so delightfully experienced in the company of my beloved sister—But I forget that all this while you are impatient to hear how we fell into so distressing a situation; take then the particulars. I told you in my last that we expected to reach Calicut very shortly, and accordingly next day, on the (to me ever memorable) 5th November, we anchored in the Roads, and to our great concern saw no English flag up.143 In a short time we were surrounded by vessels which approached us with an air of so much hostility that we became seriously alarmed,—with one exception; this was the redoubtable

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Mrs. Tulloh. She had frequently, in the course of the voyage, expressed a violent desire for some species of adventure,—a passion for some romantic danger, on which she could descant hereafter; and far from congratulating herself on having arrived at Grand Cairo, when the Caravan was setting off in safety, she ever expressed a wish, that she had been present during that period of terror and confusion, of which she envied us the participation. On hearing Chenu declare that he feared he must make a shew of engaging, notwithstanding the deficiencies under which he laboured, and which evidently rendered the idea of resistance on our part, a mere farce; since we had neither arms, ammunition, nor men on board sufficient to abide the contest, she positively insisted on having a chair brought upon deck, in which she was determined to sit, and see the engagement; observing that, it was the next best thing to escaping from shipwreck.—Having no ambition to play the Heroine in this way, I resolved on going below, and exerting, (should it be necessary) my limited abilities in assisting Mr. Taylor, who had agreed to officiate as Surgeon—not feeling myself inclined to brave horrors of this nature, for the mere love of exhibition. Most probably had the matter become serious, she would not have been permitted to indulge her fancy; but by degrees our suspicious visitants sheered off, without venturing to commence an attack, seeing us apparently so well prepared to resist them; and we flattered ourselves that our fears had been altogether groundless. The next morning H— and two others, going on shore to reconnoitre brought back intelligence, that we might all be safe in the Danish Factory, on condition of our passing for Danes;—as a misunderstanding actually subsisted between Hyder Ally and the English. Mr. Passavant, the Danish Consul,144 had been on board meanwhile, and given us pretty nearly the same information, and from others we soon learnt a circumstance, which confirmed our apprehension, that some mischief was brewing,—this was the departure of Mr. Freeman, the English Consul, who had left the place some weeks before, taking with him his furniture and effects,—a positive proof that he supposed hostilities were about to commence; as it has been found a common procedure in these cases, for Asiatic Princes to begin a War, by imprisoning the Embassadors or Residents, of course, a wise man will fly when the storm lowers. Now our most worthy fellow-passengers, had privately agreed to continue their journey by land, and rejoiced in the opportunity of leaving us in the lurch:—they therefore accepted Mr. Passavant’s invitation immediately, without consulting us. At first this behaviour affected me a good deal and I resolved to follow them;—Mr. Fay concurring in opinion.—But on calm reflection, we judged it most prudent to learn what reception they met with, before we ventured on such slippery ground. On Sunday Chenu dined on board; and appeared very earnest for our quitting the Ship: but we did not attend to his persuasions. The Gunner who had charge of the vessel was a very respectable man, and we had lately held many conversations with him; he had a vile opinion of the Captain, believing that money would tempt him to commit any act, however atrocious; and had resolved in case an armed force was seen approaching the ship, to cut and run down to Cochin, with all the 204

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sail he could set,—but alas! before Chenu left us this day, he ordered all the yards to be struck, saying he should stay six weeks. This was doubtless done to frighten us, and to induce us to go on shore; but having taken our resolution, we were not to be moved; especially as he dropped some dark hints, respecting the situation of those, who were there; in so much that we had reason to think our only chance of escaping imprisonment, was by remaining where we were. Meantime intelligence reached us from various quarters, that disputes ran high between the Captain and passengers, about the remaining half of their passage money. As they proposed leaving the ship there, he demanded payment; which they refused till they should arrive in Bengal. On the 8th came Lewis, Hare’s servant, for his own clothes;—he brought news that a challenge had again passed between his master and Chenu, on the occasion of his master’s trunks being stopped for the passage money—he left them on the point of deciding it when he came off. You may suppose we became exceedingly anxious to learn the event, but had soon other matters to engross our attention. During the three days we staid here, after every one else departed, boats full of people, were continually coming on board by permission of our worthy Captain, under pretence of viewing the ship,—we thought this rather odd; but John the Gunner being, as I observed before, a prudent steady man, we trusted to his discretion. About four, on Monday afternoon, I was sitting in the round-house at work, when a large boat came along side, with more than twenty armed men in her;—one of them shewed a written chit145 as he called it from Chenu; notwithstanding which, John insisted on their leaving their arms behind them—this, they at length complied with, and were then permitted to enter. I ran down half frightened to Mr. Fay, who was reading in our cabin, and told him the affair. “Pho,” said he, it is impossible they should mean any harm: are we not under the protection of the Danish flag?” this silenced me at once, and he went upon deck to see the issue. All this while our visitors feigned to be mighty ignorant, and inquisitive, peeping into every hole and corner, as if, they never saw such a sight in their lives—purposely dallying on the time ’till just dark, when to my great joy they departed. A heavy squall came on, which they sheltered from under the ship’s stern, there another boat met them, and after some parley, they both (as I thought) went away. But in a few minutes down came Mr. Fay “you must not be alarmed, said he, I have news to tell you:—we are to have a hundred and fifty sepoys on board tonight!” Seapoys:146 for what! “Why the English are coming to attack Calicut147— Chenu has promised Sudder Khan, the Governor, his assistance, who has sent these troops for our defence”—“Oh Mr. F—” replied I, “this is a very improbable story, for God’s sake suffer not these people to enter the ship, if you can avoid it; otherwise we are ruined. I see plainly this is a second Suez business;”148 (for by the same treacherous pretext they gained possession of the ships there) and at that instant, all that those unfortunate men suffered, coming fresh into my mind, I really thought I should have fainted—Seeing that I was rendered more uneasy by being kept in suspense, he now acknowledged, that under favour of the night, a large party, headed by a Capt. Ayres,149 an Englishman in Hyder’s service, had 205

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already made good their entrance. The Commander had indeed related the above nonsensical tale to our Gunner, as an excuse for his proceeding; but did not seem himself to expect, it would gain belief: however being nearly destitute of Arms and Ammunition (the Arabs had taken care of that) what could we do, but recommend ourselves to the Divine Protection? which I may truly say, was never more earnestly solicited by me.—When the redoubtable Captain Ayres had settled every thing upon Deck, he favoured us with his company below.—As this Gentleman is in great power, and had a large share in the subsequent transactions, I must here devote a few moments to giving you a little sketch of his history. He was born in London, and at the usual age bound apprentice to a saddler; but being a lad of spirit, and associating with other promising youths of similar talents, and courage, he soon found an employment more suited to his active genius; in a word, he became a Gentleman Collector on the Highway.150 This post he maintained several years, and if we may credit what he relates when in a boasting humour, performed many notable exploits; it is true he sometimes got inclosed within the hard gripe of the Law, but always found means to liberate himself, from it, ’till on one unlucky trial, proofs ran so strong against him, that in spite of money and friends (which in his case were never wanting) he was Capitally convicted; though, afterwards, pardoned on condition of transportation for life—This induced him to enlist for the East Indies, where he exercised his former profession, and was twice imprisoned at Calcutta on suspicion; but having acted cautiously, nothing positive appeared against him: so by way of changing the scene, he was draughted off for Madras, where finding his favourite business rather slack, and his pay insufficient to support him without it, our hero determined on deserting to Hyder Ally, which resolution he soon found means to put in practice,—carrying with him two horses, arms, accoutrements, wearing apparel, and every thing else of value he could lay hands on, to a pretty considerable amount. This shew of property, (no matter how acquired) gave him consequence with Hyder, who immediately promoted him to the rank of Captain. Being a thorough paced villain, he has during these seven years taken the lead in every species of barbarity.— He even advised his General, who is Governor of this Province,151 to massacre all the natives by way of quelling a rebellion which had arisen.—The least punishment inflicted by him was cutting off the noses and ears of those miserable wretches, whose hard fate subjected them to his tyranny. In short a volume would not contain half the enormities perpetrated by this disgrace to human nature— but to proceed. At sight of him I shuddered involuntarily, though at that time ignorant of his real character, such an air of wickedness and ferocity overspread his features. The sergeant who accompanied him was (always excepting his master) the most horrid looking creature, I verily believe, in existence: from such another pair the Lord defend me! Ayres told me, with the utmost indifference that the people at the Factory had all been fighting duels:—that Mr. Passavant the Danish Chief, had sent for a guard to separate them; and that the Governor finding the ship had no owner, as all these disputes arose about dividing the spoil, had thought proper to take 206

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possession of her in the Nabob’s name,152 until matters were inquired into; after which he faithfully promised to restore her, without the least embezzlement— the love of Justice alone inducing him thus to act. Though we perceived the fallacy of these pretences, yet as it was useless to argue with the vile instrument of oppression, we only requested to be set free on shore with our effects. This he engaged for, and even offered to take charge of any valuables or money—You may be sure we pleaded poverty; declaring that except our clothes, (which could be no object in a country where so few are worn) a guinea would purchase all we possessed; in the mean time we requested a guard to protect our persons from insult.—Having pledged his Honour for our security, the captain retired. You will believe that sleep did not visit our eyelids that night: The fright had disordered me so much, that a violent retching came on, succeeded by a strong fever, which occasioned dreadful pains in my limbs. In the midst of these excruciating tortures, I heard Ayres tell his Serjeant, that orders were come to plunder the Ship, and make all the officers prisoners in the Round-house. Can any thing be imagined more distressing, than my situation without the means of relief,—no possibility of obtaining advice, and no female to whom I could look for succour or assistance. This was about two in the morning,— these words sounded like the signal of death in my ears. Immediately a party of armed men surrounded our Cabin, and demanded entrance. I clung round my husband and begged for God’s sake that he would not admit them; for what could be expected from such wretches but the most shocking treatment. All this while there was such a noise without, of breaking and tearing, to come at their plunder, as convinced me that should we once lose sight of our little property, every thing was lost: at first they were pacified on being told that I was asleep, but soon grew out of patience, brandished their scymitears153 and one man who spoke a little English, threatened with horrible execrations to murder us, if we did not instantly comply with their demands, and open the door.—Mr. Fay drew his sword on this declaration, swearing solemnly that he would run the first man through the body, who should presume to enter his wife’s apartment. His air of resolution and menacing actions, had their effect so far, as to prevent them from breaking open the door; the top of which being sashed, I beheld through it, their terrific countenances, and heard them incessantly calling “ao, ao,” (in English come). This word has made an impression on me, which is indescribable. I can never hear it pronounced on the most common occasion, without trembling: but to return—Mr. Fay now intreated me to rise if possible, being fearful he could not keep them much longer at bay. I endeavoured to comply; but the agonising pains I suffered, and the extreme weakness brought on by fever, rendered it impossible for me to stand upright; there was however no remedy—so by degrees I got my clothes on (I recollect now that I must have been above an hour employed in this business.) Through the glass door, I could see the villains outside, use menacing gestures and urge me to make haste,—vowing vengeance on me if I kept them longer waiting. 207

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Expecting a strict search and being desirous of rescuing something from the general wreck, Mr. Fay contrived to conceal our watches in my hair, having first stopped their going by sticking pins in the wheels; and the little money we possessed, and what small articles I could take without exciting suspicion, were concealed about my person. Thus equipped I crawled out, bent double, and in an instant, the Cabin was filled with Seapoys. I must here pause, and intreat my dear sister to imagine herself in my situation at that dreadful moment; for no language can I find, that would do justice to my feelings. But when I came on deck, the scene which presented itself would have appalled the stoutest heart;—mine already weakened by grief and apprehension could not withstand it. A sudden burst of tears alone saved me from fainting. The poor sailors were so distracted, that many of them could scarcely be restrained from jumping over board to escape slavery;—sometimes crying for their wages, and asking the Officers to pay them; who incapable of affording any consolation, walked about like men bereft of reason: no wonder, since this fatal event would, to say the least, occasion them the loss of twelve month’s pay, exclusive of their private ventures. We were immediately ordered on shore, together with the carpenter and ship’s steward;—we demanded our baggage, but in vain; at length having represented the necessity of a change of linen, a person was sent down with me, in whose presence I put up a few common things, in a handkerchief, not being allowed to take any thing of value; but having laid out a silk gown the day before, to put on in case I went ashore, I begged hard for that, and obtained it; though my husband was not suffered to take a second coat, or even to change that he had on. Our beds were likewise refused, lest they should contain valuables; and upon deck the bundle was again examined in search of hidden treasure,—but finding nothing, they, contrary to my expectations, searched no further; but permitted us to leave the vessel unmolested; except that they had the cruelty to toss several half extinguished Blue lights154 into the boat, the smoke of which, from the rancid oil and abominable rags used in their composition, almost stifled me.—At this time it rained hard, and continued to do so the whole day, which forced me to creep under the shelter of a kind of half deck, where I sat, bent double, for two long long hours, and then a remarkably high surf, prevented large boats from landing,—we had no remedy but to go into a canoe, scarcely bigger than a butcher’s tray, half full of water,—so that we reached the shore dripping wet—Compare this account with the many chearful and flattering conversations we have held together on the subject of my arrival in India. What a striking difference! It is true we were in the hands of the natives; but little did I imagine that, any power on this Continent, however independent, would have dared to treat English subjects with such cruelty, as we experienced from them. As if to aggravate our miseries by every species of insult, they compelled us to walk above a mile thro’ a heavy sand, surrounded by all the mob of Calicut, who seemed to take pleasure in beholding the distress of white people, those constant objects of their envy and detestation.—When we had proceeded about half way, 208

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our Guards detained us nearly an hour, in an open Square, till the Governor’s pleasure should be known. He sat all the while smoking his Hooka,155 and looking down upon us; when having sufficiently feasted his eyes, he ordered us to be taken to the English Factory—How I dragged on my weary aching limbs, I know not. The rain still poured and as we went, a lad who had deserted from Madras, and was then a serjeant in Hyder’s service, seeing a country-woman in such distress, offered to procure me an umbrella, but could not prevail on the barbarians to stop, while he ran for it, though he was their officer. I thanked the poor lad for his kind intention and Mr. Fay insisted that I should take his hat, while he walked on bare-headed to the place of our confinement.—But here I cannot describe the horror which seized me on finding, we were totally in the power of wretches, who, for, aught I knew, intended to strip and murder us: why else were we sent to an empty house? not a single chair to sit on, or any other bed than the floor. These were my heart-breaking reflections, as I threw myself in despair on a window seat, worn out with fatigue and want of nourishment; without means of procuring even a draught of water to assuage my thirst, which grew excessive; for the offer of a bribe would have been dangerous. In this miserable condition we remained till two o’clock, when Mr. Passavant having heard of our misfortune, sent us a dinner; but his messenger had very great difficulty in obtaining admittance, with even this temporary relief. From him we learnt that, the other passengers were hitherto unconfined, but expected every moment to be made prisoners. After Mr. Fay had dined, (for my anxiety continued so great, that exhausted as I was, I could not touch a morsel of what was brought) I besought him to look round for some place into which I might crawl, and lie down unseen by the Seapoys, that guarded us. He was averse to this, lest they should imagine that we were seeking to escape, and make that a pretext for ill usage:—but perceiving that the sight of them prevented me from taking that repose, so necessary to recruit my poor worn out frame, he complied with my request, and having discovered a lumber-room leading out of the Veranda which surrounded the house, he assisted me into it—Here with my little bundle for a pillow, I stretched myself on the floor, amidst dirt and rubbish, and enjoyed a fine sleep of more than three hours, when I awoke completely refreshed and entirely free from the dreadful tortures, which had racked me the whole night.—I did not even feel any symptoms of fever. Surprized and thankful for the change, I joyfully went down to Mr. Fay, declaring that I would continue to make use of the lumber-room to sleep in, and as Mr. Passavant had, during my nap, sent me a rattan couch, tho’ by the bye without either mattress, pillow, or musquito curtains, I was just going to have it conveyed there, when the place was found to be swarming with venomous reptiles; perhaps a hundred scorpions and centipedes—happily I slept too soundly to feel them, and I remained unmolested; but had I moved hand or foot, what might have been the consequence! The next morning we had a visit from Mr. Hare; less, it appeared, to condole with us on such unexampled suffering, than to embrace the occasion of displaying 209

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his own eloquence; for which having a very strong passion, it was no wonder, if he thought the misfortunes of others proper subjects to expatiate on. Mounting his rhetorical hobbyhorse,156 the Orator harangued a long while, though to little purpose, endeavouring to turn our situation into ridicule;—offered to convey letters for us to Bengal;—pretended to be in raptures with the fine view of the Sea from our Veranda, which I hinted to him he might still have time to admire at his leisure, though he affected to be certain of leaving Calicut in a few hours. At length he concluded, by advising me to address a tender memorial to Hyder Ally, whose general character for gallantry, would not admit of his refusing any request made by a fair Lady. This was wonderfully witty in the speaker’s opinion, as you may conceive, how fair the Lady in question looked. How a man could break a jest on a creature so bowed down by affliction, I know not: but I envy not his feelings. I forgot to tell you that, the duel between the Captain, and the Orator, was prevented by the guard, doubtless to the regret of these heroes. It seems the day they went on shore, Ayres accompanied by another Captain of a pretty similar description, named West, made Mr. Passavant a visit, to look at the strangers.157 Now as it was of the utmost importance, that they should remain undiscovered by such dangerous people, and as their visitants, though illiterate, were sufficiently acute, all perceived immediately the necessity of being guarded;—accordingly they, every one spoke French, and this, together with their long wide coats, and preposterous hats, which had just then become fashionable in England, effectually shielded them from suspicion; when behold, a sudden fit of Patriotism, aided by an irresistible fondness for exhibition, rendered the great Mr. H— incapable of persevering in deception. “What” exclaimed he, “shall Englishmen harbour distrust of each other! perish the ignoble idea!—be the consequences what they may, I will no longer restrain myself from embracing my beloved country-men.” At the conclusion of this heroic speech, “Suiting the action to the words”158 advancing theatrically, he grasped the hand of Ayres, and shook it, with such violence as if he meant to demonstrate the excess of his joy and confidence, by dislocating the shoulder of his newly acquired friend. The most unreserved intimacy, immediately took place between these congenial souls, and it is asserted that unable to keep any secret from his bosom confidant, H— was really so mad, (I may say, so cruel) as absolutely to acknowledge the ship to be English property. I could not have believed that his folly and imprudence would carry him so far; thus much is, however, undoubtedly fact, that the man in the spectacles is constantly pointed out, as the author of every mischief which followed.—It is surprizing how often we find weakness and malignity united, or rather let us say, that providence has thus ordained it, for the benefit of mankind. Probably the former induced H— to injure the party to which he had attached himself:—the latter undoubtedly led him to visit us, for he could not conceal his exultation at the circumstance of our accidental capture in the Vessel, seeming to involve us exclusively in her fate. The unfeeling wretch availed himself of this to lay a scheme, that had it been adequately seconded, must have brought on our destruction. 210

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Ayres was first prevailed on by large presents, to dissuade the Governor from confining them, and that point gained, he pushed their interest forward thus, “These gentlemen” said he, “have no concern here of any kind; besides, as they are people of the highest consequence, their detention would bring half India on our back, so take my advice and let them go.” “Well, but replies Sudder Khan,159 what must I do with my prisoners?” “Oh keep them by all means” replies Beelzebub,160 “the man is a stout fellow, and after a little breaking in, will make a most excellent soldier: send him and his wife up the country, there feed them on dry rice,161 he will soon be glad to enlist I warrant you. The chief of the other party Mr. H— is a brother lawyer, so you need not fear, but he will be happy enough to get rid of him; indeed he owned as much to me privately, and pledged his honour that no ill consequence could possibly arise from the transaction;—the person in question not being of sufficient importance for the English to reclaim him solemnly; especially as he came out without leave.” You will wonder how I came by all this information;162 have patience, you shall know in time. The Governor heard this argument calmly, promised fair, and acted so far agreeably to his professions that, while we were closely confined and miserably situated, our worthy fellow passengers enjoyed full liberty to walk about, and amuse themselves as they pleased.—This procedure could not fail to vex us excessively, though we were then ignorant of its real cause, and whenever we ventured to expostulate on our unreasonably harsh treatment with Ayres or any other, who chanced to call, the only answer we could obtain was, with a shrug of affected compassion, “why did you stay on board! nothing can be done for you now, you must abide the event.” These insinuations created fears, that a distinction would really be made in our eventual disposal, as much to our disadvantage, as the present state of things, but we had no remedy—all avenues to relief were closed. I think I told you that, our watches were concealed in my hair, being secured with pins to prevent them from going; one of the pins however came out, at the very time I was set on shore. Never shall I forget what a terrible sensation the ticking of the watch caused! I think had it continued long, I must completely have lost my senses; for I dared not remove it, from a fear of worse consequences; but happily it stopped of itself. When we were fixed in our prison Mr. Fay took these watches, (we had three you know) and all the money we had power to secure in chequins,163 which are of easy conveyance (about twenty-five pounds) and putting them into his glove, hid them in a snug place, as he thought, about the Verandah. The day after we were taken prisoners, a most dreadful hurricane of rain and wind came in, (it was the breaking up of the monsoon) and next morning we found to our extreme grief, that the place where Mr. Fay had concealed our treasure, to which alone we could look for the means of escape, was entirely blown down; and no vestige of our little property remaining. Mr. Fay was in despair from the first; but after he had told me, I searched diligently all round, but in vain. At length it struck me, from the direction in which the wind blew, that if I could make my way into an inclosure, at the back of the house, it might possibly be found there. The seapoys guarded the front, but there being only one door backwards, they seldom 211

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took the trouble of going round. I did not tell Mr. Fay of my scheme, as there was nothing he opposed so strongly, as the appearance of seeking to escape; but when he was completely absorbed in contemplating this new misfortune, I stole to the back door. There was a large lock and key inside and to my surprize, when I had turned this, my passage was clear to the stairs, leading to the inclosure; and not a soul in sight. The grass was excessively high and wet, but I struggled to make my way through it and waded about, determined at least not to leave an inch unexplored. Imagine my joy, when in the midst of a deep tuft I found the old glove, with all its contents safe, and uninjured. What a treasure it seemed! how many are there who never felt so much true delight on receiving a magnificent fortune, as we experienced in again beholding this sheet anchor of our hopes, thus unexpectedly restored. But alas! the little unlooked for liberty I had regained, was too tempting not to be enjoyed again; and a day or two afterwards as I was walking about in the grass, I espied a seapoy coming round. I was not certain that he saw me, so I endeavoured to reach the house unobserved. At the moment I turned round to fasten the heavy door, he ran to it, pushing it against me, with such violence that the large key which had unfortunately a very long shank, was by this means struck directly against my right breast, and gave me the most excruciating pain. I fainted through excessive agony, and was with difficulty recovered. Much I fear the consequences of this accident will embitter my future life. Having no other nurse than my poor husband, who was not only ignorant of what ought to be done, but totally without the necessaries for any kind of emollient application,—my case was truly distressing; so that even Ayres who chanced to call, expressed some concern for me, and sent plenty of milk which I used as an embrocation with success. I believe he punished the seapoy for his insolence, but this could not repair the mischief. At the very time when this painful variety took place in the cheerless monotony of our prison days, the cruel designers who had assisted in dooming us to this wretched abode, fell completely into the pit which they had digged for us.—The evening before Ayres Tulloh and Hare had called on us together, the former was (according to his general policy) endeavouring to discover whether we had any concealed property; on which I exclaimed “Captain Ayres how should we have any thing left, except the baggage in the vessel, which is of little value? as the Arabs pillaged us to the utmost of their power; we were altogether a set of poor creatures when we came to Calicut; and you are well aware we have received nothing since.” “Answer for yourself Mrs. Fay” cried Hare, “for my own part I feel happy in saying, that, I am not poor, I have property, valuable property and shall not shrink from avowing that I possess it.” I marked the eye of Ayres during this bombastic speech, and have since found, that I was not deceived in its expression. Sudder Khan induced by this and other similar stories, which the passengers had told of their own consequence, determined to frighten them into the payment of a large sum of money. Accordingly next morning (the 13th) he sent a large party of seapoys to the Danish Factory, who peremptorily demanded them as the 212

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Nabob’s prisoners.164 Mr. Passavant at first refused, but on their threatening to fire into his house, was constrained to yield to this outrageous violation of the most sacred rights, and delivered his guests to slavery. God forbid that I should, generally speaking, be capable of rejoicing in the miseries of my fellow creatures, even where they merit punishment, but I must own, (blame me if you will) that for a short time I did feel satisfaction in this stroke of retributive justice, in as far as regarded the Tullohs, and Hare, for the vile conduct of these people, and the malevolence of their dispositions, had steeled my heart against them. It was certainly a curious sight to behold them, after all their airs of superiority reduced to take up their residence with us, whose situation, while singular, was the object of their ridicule and contempt. The scene was however now changed; although they, like many others in the world, were able to support their neighbour’s misfortunes with stoical firmness, and even render them a source of amusement, each readily discovered when personally attacked by a similar calamity, that close imprisonment is by no means a proper subject on which to exercise wit, and that people when in distress are not precisely in the humour for relishing the pleasantry of others on their troubles. Tulloh fortunately understood Moors,165 which is the general language among the military throughout India;— by this means he got his trunks on shore the day after the seizure, and saved them from the violent storm, which came on next morning, wherein every one imagined the ship must have been wrecked. How we wished to see her drive on shore! especially when Sudder Khan the Governor who is Hyder’s brother-in-law, was seen walking about in great perturbation on the beach anxiously watching the vessel, praying to Mahomet, and from time to time, casting up the sand towards Heaven with earnest invocation and entreaties, that she might be spared, as a present to the great Hyder; very probably fearing that some blame might attach to him in case she were lost. As it happened, however, all things went wrong for us—The cabin and steerage where our trunks had been placed were soon filled with water, and every thing, such as books, wearing apparel, beds, with laces, buckles, rings &c. was either stolen or totally spoiled. These latter I might have saved, when we were brought on shore, but unfortunately the trunk, which contained my clothes, was just without the cabin-door, and two of the wretches who watched us sat on it, so that I could not remove an article. This disaster left us nothing except our lives to be anxious about—why do I say anxious! since life itself on the terms we held it, was hardly worth preserving. The other passenger’s baggage was injured but not like our’s; for we, not being favorites, had been forced to keep our packages at hand, during the voyage, as we had no one to get them up when wanted, whereas the rest had theirs stowed away in the hold and consequently little damage befel them. Many ships perished in this terrible hurricane. The St. Helena which left Mocha a week after us, met with it, and suffered so much that she was forced to put into Cochin, (a Danish settlement in Latitude 10) with the loss of her masts; and so greatly shattered besides, as to be compelled to undergo a thorough repair.—If this happened to a fine new vessel, one of the best sailors in India, what must 213

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have become of us, had we continued five days longer at Sea?—badly found in all respects, and worse manned; not half people enough to work the ship properly, even in good weather, was not this another hairsbreadth escape think you, though by a dreadful alternative? The ways of providence are inscrutable! But to revert to my main subject,—glad shall I be when it is concluded; for I detest matter of fact writing, almost as much as matter of fact conversation:—yet this story must be told in my own way, or not at all. When the gale ceased, the whole cargo was landed and deposited in the Governor’s warehouses, where he caused the Gentlemen’s baggage to be opened, and like a child pleased with gewgaws,166 every article which struck the eye, was instantly condemned as his booty. Poor Hare’s trunks were stuffed with knickknacks like a Pedlar’s box: judge then what agonies he appeared in, when the fatal moment of examination approached, lest they should become, as might be expected, objects of desire to the Governor.—Not a single tooth pick case, knife, or knee-buckle was produced, but what he declared had been received as a pledge of friendship from different relations; parents, brothers, sisters, male and female cousins, to the utmost verge of propinquity, all put in their claims with success. Tulloh serving as interpreter, until he was perfectly weary of the office; ashamed of pleading such trifling causes, and only deterred from throwing up his post, by the earnest entreaties of Hare, who continued stamping, exclaiming and fretting, as if his life depended on the issue. At last a small paper bundle fell into the searcher’s hands, he then became outrageous. “For Heaven’s sake, cried he my dear friend, (almost breathless with apprehension) Oh for Heaven’s sake endeavour to preserve this parcel for me; should it be taken I am an undone man, for I shall never be able to replace the contents; let them take my clothes, my Law books, every thing, except my music books—all that I can yield without a sigh.” Tulloh imagining that the contents must be of immense value to him from his extreme agitation, earnestly interceded for the parcel; but obtained it with great difficulty, as curiosity and avarice were awakened by perceiving the convulsive eagerness with which the owner petitioned for it.—The former was soon gratified and the latter consoled; for Hare tearing open the parcel discovered to the astonished spectators neither more, nor less, than an exquisite assortment of VENETIAN FIDDLE STRINGS!!167 But, ah! dire mischance! the remorseless waves, (which are neither respectors of persons or things) had pervaded this invaluable treasure and rendered it wholly useless; and to complete his misery the next thing that presented itself to the sad owner’s eyes, was a most expensive and finely toned Tenor violin, purchased at Venice, and for which the precious strings were intended,—broken all to pieces! I leave you to form any ideas you may think proper on the subject of that extravagant sorrow, such a character was likely to exhibit—and pass on to matters more interesting. The general introductory letter which, as you may recollect, Mr. Franco gave us at Leghorn, had remained in Mr. F—’s pocket book from that time, ’till we reached Calicut. We had been told that Isaac, the Jewish merchant,168 who agreed to freight the Nathalia, and received £700 as earnest on that account, was immensely rich, and had great credit with Government, of which he held several 214

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large contracts for building ships &c. besides being a great favourite with Sudder Khan. Every one also, even Ayres, spoke highly of his general character. But our introduction to Mr. Baldwin had been productive of, or at least connected with so many misfortunes, that my confidence was lost, and I dreaded making further applications, lest similar events should ensue. This was very foolish reasoning you will say, and I am ready to acknowledge it, the only excuse to be made is, that my mind was weakened by calamity. However after Tulloh and the rest of these people joined us, our situation became, if possible, still more distressing and we anxiously sought every practicable mode of relief. Mr. F— therefore petitioned the Governor for leave to go out under a guard, which being granted, he immediately delivered his letter to Isaac, who seemed highly gratified at hearing from Mr. Franco whom he had personally known at Constantinople, when they were both young men, above sixty years ago: for Isaac is also considerably turned of eighty, and like him, enjoys full possession of his faculties, both bodily and mental, being equally remarkable for temperance and sobriety. Mr. F— could not speak to our strangely acquired friend except by an interpreter; so that no confidential conversation could take place. He was apparently touched with pity for our sufferings, especially on hearing how much I was afflicted with illness. My spirits were raised by the account my husband gave of his visit, and soon after his favourable report was confirmed, by my receiving a present brought to the Factory, by a servant, belonging to the benevolent Jew, and which in our situation was truly valuable, consisting of a catty169 of fine tea, a tea-pot, and a tea-kettle. Although these things were expressly sent to me, yet Mrs. Tulloh and her party seized the last mentioned article, and forcibly kept it; so that I was forced to make my tea, by boiling it in my tea-pot. Ah my dear sister, I was at this time ill enough to be laid up on a sick bed, and carefully nursed, yet was I thankful for such food as I should once have loathed, and I still continued to lie on my rattan couch, without a pillow or any covering except my clothes, and surrounded by people whom my very heart sickened to behold. I will here by way of relaxation transcribe a few passages from my Journal, as nothing happened for some time worthy of a particular recital; reserving to myself, however, the option of resuming the narrative style, whenever I shall deem it necessary. 14th November, 1779. Mr. Fay was sent for, this morning, to the Governor, who asked him what he wanted? he replied, Liberty:—there was no observation made on this answer, nor can we conceive what Sudder Khan can mean by the detention of so many persons, who never bore arms. They gave Mr. Tulloh 30 rupees for our support. All we are able to procure is tough, lean, old beef, goat’s flesh, and a not unpleasant rice cake, but too sweet to be palatable with meat; we preserve either with difficulty from our perpetual visitors the crows, having no cup-board or place to put our victuals in.—Of all existing creatures crows are surely the most voracious, and the most persevering—I have seen one with his eye fixed for a full half hour 215

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on a person, and the instant that person’s eye was averted, pounce on the bread, or whatever had been prepared and bear away the prize. Mem.—Ayres is remarkably like these crows, he has exactly their thievish expression of countenance, and the form of his head resembles their’s. 15th November, 1779. The Gentlemen waited all day at the Governor’s house, being promised their baggage, but he thought proper to disappoint them—received 10 rupees subsistence money. 18th November. A most impudent message brought from the Governor, requiring all the gentlemen to enter into the Nabob’s service; which they unanimously refused, with every mark of contempt, and were in consequence ordered to be more closely confined—One of Mr. Fay’s trunks brought on shore containing wearing apparel, and law books, probably much damaged, yet certainly valuable to him, as he has none remaining. Made application for it but without success. Tulloh received 20 rupees. 20th November. Received notice to prepare immediately to set off for Seringapatam, a large City about three hundred miles distant, where Hyder Ally usually resides—How can I support this journey over the mountains!—Mr. F— is about drawing up a petition, representing the bad state of my health, and entreating permission for me to proceed to Cochin. We hope to prevail on Isaac to present it. 21st November. Discover that the journey to Seringapatam was merely a vile plot of the Governor’s to put us off our guard, and thereby gain possession of what property had hitherto been concealed; thank God this feint miscarried. A letter reached us from Mr. O’Donnell, stating the arrival of the St. Helena at Cochin. He laments our misfortune and promises to take such methods as shall compel the Nabob to do us speedy and effectual justice. Heaven speed his endeavours; this life is horrible. 22d November. The gentlemen waited five hours at the Governor’s for their effects, but returned without them. He takes evident satisfaction in seeing them like slaves attendant on his nod—Five ships supposed to be English passed in front of our prison. How peculiarly distressing did I feel this sight! 23d November, 1779. Mrs. Tulloh being taken ill of a fever, application was made to the Governor for medicines; but this happening to be a high festival, he, like the Pharisees in Scripture,170 refused to profane it by doing good—Should the woman die in the interim what cares he? 216

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24th November, 1779. This morning got some medicines from the ship’s chest—many flying reports of hostilities having actually commenced between Hyder Ally, and the English— should this really prove true, our fate will be sealed for life. Little did I think when pleading the cause of the Chevalier de St. Lubin at Mocha, that he had been raising a storm whose effects would so materially involve us. Mem.—The lady is well again. 28th November, 1779. It is now certain that the Nayhirs have laid siege to Tellicherry;172 a settlement of our’s about a degree to the northward; seven miles nearer lies Mahey173 which the French held, ’till we took it from them in March last; but not finding it worth keeping, have since evacuated it, after dismantling the fortifications. 171

29th November, 1779. Sudder Khan is about to march a thousand troops into Mahey, under pretence of resuming it in the Nabob’s name, but every one guesses this to be merely a feint to cover his real intentions of privately assisting the Nayhirs;—should they succeed in their attack, Hyder will then throw off the mask and declare war; but if the English conquer, he will disavow the whole affair. 30th November. I have now a lamentable tale to relate. We were this morning hurried away at a moments warning to the fort, crouded together in a horrid dark place scarcely twenty feet square, swarming with rats, and almost suffocating for want of air. Mr. and Mrs. Tulloh secured a small room to themselves; but my husband and I, were obliged to pass the night among our companions in misery—rats continually gnawing the feet of my couch, whose perpetual squeaking would have prevented sleep, had our harrassing reflections permitted us to court its approach. 1st December, 1779. Luckily discovered a trap-door, which led to some rooms, or rather lofts, where no human foot had trod for many many years. These had been the store rooms of Angria the Pirate,174 and they certainly contain “a remnant of all things”175— Broken chairs—tables—looking-glasses—books, even a spinnet176 was among, the articles, but beyond all repair, and vast quantities of broken bottles, which had been filled with liquors of all kinds: but the rats in their gambols177 had made havoc among them. I remember when I should have shuddered at the thoughts of sleeping in such a wretched place; but now privacy gave it irresistible charms; so having with difficulty obtained leave to occupy it, we exerted every nerve to get a spot cleared out before dark, for my couch; likewise so to arrange some bolts178 of canvas which were among the spoils, as to form a sort of mattress for Mr. F—; here we lay down, comparatively happy in the hope of enjoying a tolerable nights 217

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rest; my husband being provided with a long pole to keep off the rats; but surely never were poor mortals so completely disappointed and for my own part I may add, terrified.—No sooner was the light extinguished, than we heard a fluttering noise, attended at intervals with squeaking—by degrees it approached the beds, and we felt that several creatures were hovering over us, but of what description we were totally ignorant—sometimes their wings swept our faces, seeming to fly heavily—then again they would remove farther off, but still continued squeaking.—Good God! what horrors I felt. Mr. F— protested that whole legions of evil spirits had taken possession of our apartment, and were determined to expel the intruders. The rats also acted their part in the Comedy; every now and then jumping towards the beds, as we could hear; however Mr. F— on these occasions laid about him stoutly with his pole, and thus kept them at bay; but our winged adversaries were not so easily foiled;—they persisted in their assaults ’till daybreak, when what should we find had caused all this disturbance, but a parcel of poor harmless bats! whose “ancient solitary reign we had molested.”179 To any one accustomed to see or hear these creatures our terror must appear ridiculous, but to me who had never chanced to meet with any such, the idea never occurred, nor did even Mr. Fay suggest any probable or natural cause of alarm. We cannot help laughing very heartily at it ourselves now, and you are at full liberty to do the same. 2d December. Ayres called to tell us that two ships of the line, and a frigate had just passed towards Tellicherry.—We shall soon hear news from thence; Oh! that it may change our hard destiny!—The Governor marched at the head of his troops towards Tellicherry.180 10th December. Application was made this morning to the Lieutenant Governor by Mr. Isaac, who I am now convinced is our true friend, representing that this air disagreeing with me I requested permission to remove to Cochin, and that my husband, on account of my extreme ill health, might accompany me. He promised to consult Sudder Khan upon it. The Quelladar or Governor of the Fort, spent some time with us this morning;—he is a fine old man, with a long red beard, and has altogether a most interesting appearance:—and here I may as well give a short description of this place. Calicut then, is situated on the coast of Malabar in 11° north latitude and 75° east longitude. It was formerly a very considerable town governed by a Zamorin,181 who also held the adjoining country; but has been some years in the possession of Hyder Ally, of whom you must have heard on occasion of his war with the English in 1770. They would certainly have put an end to the reign of this Usurper, had he not discovered a method of influencing the principal persons in power, in consequence of which he obtained a peace, much more honourable and advantageous to himself than to those who granted it. Having acquired by his 218

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genius and intrepidity every thing that he enjoys, he makes his name both feared and respected; so that nobody chooses to quarrel with him. I have indeed heard a comparison drawn between him and the King of Prussia, though I think much to the disadvantage of the latter; as supposing their natural abilities to be equal,—the great Frederick182 ought infinitely to surpass a man who can neither write nor read, which is the case with Hyder. The lawful Prince of the country of which he has usurped the Government is held by him in actual confinement, though with every outward shew of respect, by which means he prevents the people from rising, lest their legitimate sovereign should fall a sacrifice to his resentment. The fort must have been formerly a strong place, but is now in a dilapidated state—the walls are very thick, and they mount guard regularly; which was one inducement for sending us here; as Ayres told the Governor it was not worth while to keep a hundred seapoys watching us, when they were wanted elsewhere and that the fort was quite good enough for us to live in;—these arguments prevailed and here we were sent. When I first arrived I was so extremely ill, as to be scarcely sensible of what passed for some hours; but I remember Hare burst into a violent flood of tears, declaring that we were all doomed to death by our removal to this wretched spot, which being completely surrounded by stagnant water, could not fail to produce some of those disorders so fatal to Europeans.183 We have not however hitherto experienced any complaint. The loft we sleep in is indeed disgusting beyond belief, and the Quelladar, I suppose at the suggestion of Ayres, has ordered the easier of the two ways of entrance, that discovered by Mr. F— to be blocked up; so that there is no way left but by means of a ladder placed almost in a perpendicular direction:—there is a rope by which to hold, or it would be impossible for any person to descend, but even with this assistance, I have great difficulty to reach the bottom. 11th December, 1779. Peremptorily ordered to make ready for a journey to Seringapatnam.184 By the Governor’s desire delivered an Inventory of our losses: he promises full restitution, but has given no answer to my request. I am full of solicitude on this subject; but would submit to any thing rather than remain in this wretched place. 12th December, 1779. Mr. F— waited twice on the Lieut. Governor but without effect. What can he mean by thus trifling with us? is it merely a wanton exercise of power, or intended to hide some dark design? these perpetual surmises distract me. Mem. Tulloh received 144 rupees to pay all our debts but took especial care not to let us have a single rupee, what wretches we are cast among! my very soul rises at them. 13th December, 1779. Mr. F— was sent for by the Governor, who told him, that we might both have permission to go to Cochin whenever we thought proper; that he would furnish 219

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a boat and pay every incidental expense, besides making entire satisfaction for damages sustained,—Can all this good news be true? How suspicious I grow? what a change from being credulous—yet where is the wonder after being so frequently deceived? 14th December, 1779. Preparations are going on briskly all day with our fellow passengers, who are eager for their departure, as well they may. Every thing which was taken from them on shore, has been this day restored, but those left in the ship are irrecoverable; of course we benefit nothing by this restitution—Mr. F— could not obtain our promised licence to-day.—These delays, weigh down my spirits, and increase all my complaints. I have still much pain in my breast; Oh that I fear, will prove a fatal blow—I shall have a great loss in Mr. Taylor.185 15th December, 1779. The Governor still withholding our licence under pretence of business, I advised Mr. F— to insist on being immediately dispatched, or in case of refusal, by all means to declare himself ready to accompany the others; for I saw clearly that should they once leave us, it must then be entirely at this fellow’s option, whether we went all or not, and who would not rather run the risk of even dying of fatigue on the journey, than hazard remaining at the mercy of such wretches! I dread, lest this should be part of the old plan of which I have since never heard, and had almost forgotten it. It is much easier to practise against two individuals than a whole company. 16th December. The Doolies186 (a kind of shabby Palanquin in which a person sits upright and is carried between two men) arrived this morning about ten. The gentlemen went to take leave, when Tulloh earnestly represented our case, to which the Governor replied, that he could not possibly attend to other matters till they were gone, but pledged his word that nothing should arise on his part to detain us a single hour afterwards; every one agreed with me how dangerous it was to trust such fallacious promises. On my knees I intreated Mr. F— to pursue the method I had before pointed out, but my advice was despised. At nine in the evening the party commenced their journey, having first stripped the place of provisions and every thing else, which having been bought out of the general purse we had an undoubted right to share. They even took my tea kettle, but luckily the man who had it in charge forgot it amidst the hurry of departure, by which means I recovered it. My heart sunk within me at seeing them quit the fort, not from motives of personal esteem or regret you may suppose, for it was impossible to grieve for the loss of some of the company; we parted with as much indifference as absolute strangers; after a fellowship in misfortune sufficient to have united almost any other society more closely than an intercourse of years under common circumstances. I went to bed, but in spite of every endeavour to calm the agitation of my mind, passed a sleepless night. 220

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17th December. Rose in extreme anxiety which was far from being diminished by a message from the Governor, ordering Mr. F— not to attend him ’till the evening; accordingly at four o’clock he sat out, and as I felt extremely ill, the certain consequence of fretting and want of rest, I lay down and had just sunk into a doze, when my poor husband flew into the room like a madman, uttering a thousand extravagant expressions. Starting up in new and indescribable terror, and wringing my hands, I begged only to know what had happened. “Happened!” cried he “why we are betrayed, ruined, utterly undone; you must leave this place instantly, or you may be made a prisoner here for ever.” Where are we to go? I very naturally asked! I heard not the answer, my head swam, and I dropped on the floor completely overpowered.—Whatever happened at that fearful moment I forget and endeavour to banish from my mind, as the effect of insanity.—How he accomplished it I know not, but Mr. F— actually carried me in his arms down that almost perpendicular ladder which I have described and placed me on a kind of bier: I was in this manner conveyed to my former habitation—I opened my eyes and became for a few moments sensible of the motion, but soon fainted again, and did not recover ’till I found myself once more entering the English Factory as a prisoner. I now inquired, what was the cause of this change in our abode: and learnt that Mr. F— being refused leave to depart, had became so exasperated as wholly to lose all self-command; and rushing up to the musnud (throne) of the Lieutenant Governor had actually seized him, peremptorily insisting on the immediate fulfilment of his promise. Such conduct might have been expected to bring down instant destruction; but fortunately every one present was persuaded that grief and vexation had literally turned his brain; and they are not only much terrified at every species of madness, but from their religious prejudices, regard the sufferers under these complaints with a superstitious awe. Swayed by these mingled emotions the wicked Governor condescended to temporize with my husband, acknowledging that he had no power to release us without the Nabob’s order which in consideration of my ill health he would endeavour to procure; and to pacify him further, he permitted our return to this place, where we are certainly in every respect more comfortably situated. But these concessions went little towards allaying that fever of passion, which his continual and cruel delays had excited: thence arose the alarm I experienced and which for a time so materially affected my health. 19th December, 1779. Received five rupees subsistence money which we were informed were the last we should ever have. I cannot conceive what they mean to do with us or what will be our fate at last. 21st December, 1779. The Governor sent for Mr. F— to offer him a commission in the Nabob’s service and on his absolute refusal, swore that he might subsist how he could; that 221

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his masters money should no longer be lavished on idlers, then in a rage ordered palanquins. “you shall go to Seringapatam” said he “they will soon teach you better manners there” Mr. F— joyfully acquiesced in this mandate,—we provided necessaries for our journey which was fixed for the 24th; but the other knew better than to keep his word, so this like all our former views, and expectations of liberty ends in smoke, shall I say? 26th December, 1779. A very melancholy Christmas-day passed yesterday. My dear friends little imagined they were drinking the health of a poor prisoner, (for I know you did not forget us) neither were we forgotten here, if empty compliments can be styled remembrance. All the Europeans and several of the natives attended our Levée.187 But alas! what relief can mere ceremonious visits afford to misfortune! say rather that aided by recollection, such shadowy comforts add keenness to afflictions sting. I feel my mind insensibly raised whenever I attempt to expatiate on any subject which tends to revive the ideas of our separation. Even now I tread forbidden ground; for your sakes as well as my own, let me hasten to escape by skipping over this dangerous season of Christmas. I therefore pass on. 10th January, 1780. The little money saved was nearly expended, and we must soon have been reduced to our last mite had not providence sent us relief from a quarter little dreamed of. Mr. F— wrote about a week ago to Mr. Church, Governor of Tellicherry188 inclosing a memorial of our case, which he requested might be translated into the language of the country and proper methods used for its safe delivery to Hyder Ally himself. This morning brought in reply, a most generous humane letter from Mr. Church; which, after acknowledging himself honoured by our application, and promising his utmost concurrence in every measure we may think necessary, concludes thus “my heart bleeds for your distresses, and those of Mrs. F—she in particular must have suffered greatly. I have taken the liberty to accompany this letter by an order for two hundred rupees to serve present occasions: Any sum you may in future require a line to me shall always command it, as I know the difficulty of procuring remittances where you are. Englishmen ought to feel for each other; we are not without our share of troubles here; and I verily believe Hyder is at the bottom of all.” Now pray does not this letter deserve more than I have said of it! just thus would my dear father have treated a distressed countryman—Methinks I see his benevolent heart venting itself in tears of sympathy at the recital. Precious tears! why am I not permitted to mingle mine with them! for they will flow in spite of my endeavours to restrain their course. 11th January. Having now money to bribe with, we began to think of attempting an escape; for besides the silence observed on the fate of our companions, though near a month has elapsed since their departure, we live in continual dread of being forced 222

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up the country and perhaps massacred there: Every one who leaves this place must first obtain permission from the Governor, but as these passes only mention generally so many people and are granted indiscriminately to whoever applies for them, provided they be not suspected persons, one may easily be procured under feigned pretences (it is a matter frequently done.) A Friar belonging to the Portuguese convent, usually manages these affairs when properly instructed. This information we have from a Native Portuguese named Pereira, an officer in Hyder’s service, with whom Mr. F— commenced an intimacy while we were in the Fort, and who is now quartered here at his special request. Tho’ I must confess I cannot like this man, yet am I obliged to trust him. The visits we receive from Ayres are terrible trials to one who loathes dissimulation as I do. This wretch has once or twice mentioned a cow that annoyed him by entering the little garden, or paddock, in which it appears his house is placed; this morning he entered the factory with his scymitar in his hand unsheathed, and bloody, and with an expression of diabolical joy informed me that he had just caught the animal entering and being armed had completely chined189 her. You cannot imagine said he, how sweetly the sword did the business; my very heart shuddered with horror and indignation, yet I dared not give vent to those feelings. I doubt not he would murder me with as much pleasure as he killed the cow with; and have no reason to suppose he would be punished for the act. 12th January, 1780. Some quarrel unknown to me has certainly taken place between Pereira and Mr. F— the looks of the former alarm me; his dark scowling eye is frequently directed towards him, with an expression of dreadful import; yet he appears desirous of forwarding our escape.—He has introduced us to father Ricardo, who engages to provide us all things for our departure to Cochin. 13th January, 1780. The priest breakfasted with us, and promised to set about the business without loss of time; he is to receive twenty rupees, on our setting off from hence, and twenty more on our arrival at Cochin or Tellichery, through the medium of Isaac, on whom the order from Mr. Church was drawn, by which means we received it without suspicion. 14th January, 1780. A Licence or Passport is procured for us as two Frenchmen going to Mahey. We have paid twenty rupees boat-hire to a smuggler; these are commonly very courageous men; which is some comfort to me: under Mr. F—’s protection and his, I will endeavour to think myself secure. His house is admirably situated for our purpose, close by the sea side; this is to be our place of rendezvous. The precise time is not yet fixed upon: the intervening hours how anxiously will they pass! 15th January, 1780. 223

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The boatman called to desire we would be at his house at six this evening;—gave him our little baggage (we had been obliged to purchase many necessaries) and four rupees to buy provisions. When it grew dark, Mr. F— put on a sailor’s dress and I equipped myself in a nankeen190 jacket—a pair of long striped trowsers—a man’s night cap, and over that a mighty smart hat,—with a pair of Mr. F—’s shoes tied on my feet, and a stick in my hand. In this dress Mr. F— declared that I was the very image of my dear father, which highly gratified me. I had tied the clothes we took off, in a handkerchief; with that in one hand and brandishing my stick in the other, I boldly sallied forth,—taking care, however, to secure a retreat in case of accidents, a most fortunate precaution as the event proved.—Father Ricardo met us at the smuggler’s according to appointment and we paid him twenty rupees, and gave him security for the other twenty; when this was settled, nothing remained as we supposed, but to step into the boat,—when behold! news was brought that the sailors had made their escape no one knew whither! after waiting two hours in that dangerous situation to see if they would return, and raving in all the folly of angry disappointment against those who had misled me, we made a virtue of necessity and trudged back to our prison, where we luckily effected an entrance without exciting suspicion. 17th January, 1780. Had all arranged for our escape last night but so many people were about us, that we dared not make the attempt. 19th January, 1780. Father Ricardo has once more arranged all things for to-night,—we must give more money, but that is no object. Once free and we shall doubtless find means of proceeding on our journey. 5th February, 1780. Every day has this wicked priest contrived some scheme, to amuse us with false hopes of escaping; every night have we lain down in the full persuasion that it was the last we should pass in confinement; and as constantly have we awoke to meet bitter disappointments.—This continued alternation of hope and fear preys on my spirits and prevents me from gaining strength, but yesterday I received a serious shock from the behaviour of Pereira, and which excited more alarm than almost any circumstance that has occurred to me—I had long marked his hatred to Mr. F— and dreaded his revenge—I was setting at work when he entered the room—naked from the middle—just as Mr. F— was going into the next room. His strange appearance and the quick step with which he followed my husband caught my attention; and I perceived that he held a short dagger close under his arm, nearly all concealed by his handkerchief and the exigency of the moment gave me courage.—I sprung between him and the door through which Mr. F— had just passed, drawing it close and securing it to prevent his return, and then gently expostulated with P— on the oddness of his conduct and appearance; he slunk 224

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away, and I hope, will never trouble us again, especially as he has adopted another mode of revenge which may perhaps be equally effectual, though more slow in its operation. He went to Ayres and informed him that we had endeavoured to escape, mentioning every particular of our scheme, and, as far as I can learn, telling the whole truth; but fortunately naming a different evening from the one on which our unsuccessful attempt really was made on which Ayres exclaimed, “well Pereira you have made up a very fine story, but without a word of truth, for on the very night you mention, F— was setting with me over a bottle of wine; I’ll take my oath of that for it was my birth night” this was true likewise, so we were saved for that time; but as Ayres knows that escape is in our heads he will, I fear, guard us with redoubled vigilance, and so far Pereira’s design has taken effect. 6th February, 1780. Mr. F— has completely detected the pious father Ricardo, and his worthy colleague the smuggler, and sorely against their will compelled them to refund his money all to about twenty three rupees, which they pretend has been disbursed. We now discovered, that although our offers might tempt their avarice and lead them to deceive us, yet they dared not persevere in assisting our escape; as the consequence of detection would to them be inevitable death. 10th February, 1780. At length I begin to cherish hopes of our speedy release, as Sudder Khan returned last night from Seringapatnam; but is encamped without the Town, waiting for a lucky day,191 till when he dares not enter his own house.—So how long we may still be detained, Heaven knows—Mr. F— and our friend Isaac propose paying him a visit to-morrow. 13th February, 1780. They went out on Friday and again to-day, but have not yet been able to obtain an audience; and thus we may perhaps be led on a fortnight longer, by his ridiculous superstitions. Mr. Isaac, however, assures my husband, that from all he can learn it is really intended to release us, which makes me comparatively easy; yet it is impossible not to feel severely this delay, at such a critical period; for should Hyder commence hostilities against the English, whilst we remain in his power, not all Isaac’s influence will be sufficient to extricate us from it; our doom must be sealed for life. 14th February. Our indefatigable advocate walked out with Mr. F— (I should have mentioned that the distance is about three miles) but they were again disappointed, Sudder Khan being still closely shut up at his devotions, which are to continue two days longer at least.—How very distressing to be kept in this horrible suspense! But our friend still comforts us with the assurance, that all will be well.—He really behaves to me like a father, and as I have now acquired some knowledge of Portuguese, we are enabled to converse tolerably well. I do not recollect having 225

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described his person, and will therefore endeavour to give you some, though a very inadequate idea of it. Isaac then is a fine venerable old man, about eighty-five with a long white beard; his complexion by no means dark, and his countenance benign yet majestic; I could look at him, till I almost fancied that he resembled exactly the Patriarch whose name he bears, were it not for his eye, which is still brilliant. His family I find according to ancient custom in the East, consists of two wives, to whom I am to have an introduction. 15th February. Saw a letter to-day from Mr. Tulloh, to Mr. Passavant the Danish Factor, dated 19th January, which mentions, that they were fifteen days on their journey to Seringapatam and twelve more confined in a shed, half starved to death, as no one was permitted to assist them except with the coarsest food in small quantities; at length the Nabob192 granted them an audience, when having listened to their complaint, he sent for Sudder Khan, to answer the charge. “Three successive days” says Tulloh “we were all sent for, and confronted with him, when Hyder commanded him to make instant restitution, however, we have as yet received nothing except that yesterday on taking leave his highness presented us with five hundred rupees for our journey to Madras, besides ordering Palanquins, carriages for our baggage, and every other convenience, likewise a guard of a hundred seapoys to conduct us into the English bounds. I spoke to him for Mr. and Mrs. F— and obtained an order for their release also. Whether the ship will be returned or not, God Knows, we are just going to set off.” Thus far Tulloh. Now the man who brought this letter, saw them all go and remained at Seringapatam ten days afterward, without hearing further; so I hope we may conclude they are out of their troubles. Mrs. Tulloh has now seen enough poor woman to satisfy her taste for adventures. From all I can learn, it would have been utterly impossible for me to have supported the various hardships of their journey, in my precarious state of health; poor Mr. Taylor how sincerely do I pity him. 17th February, 1780. Mr. Isaac called by appointment about two o’clock and took my husband with him, to wait once more on the Governor. He seems to entertain no doubt of bringing back the order for our release. I endeavour to be calm and to rest with confidence on his assurance; but when I contemplate the dreadful alternative, should he meet a peremptory refusal, and recollect the deep machinations that have been practised to keep us here, my heart recoils at the idea. It is now eight in the evening; every thing is packed up and ready for our departure yet they return not. Some obstacle I fear must have been thrown in the way by that vile Sudder Khan to prevent our liberation, and we are destined to remain his wretched prisoners. How shall I support the intelligence? Heaven inspire me with fortitude! I can neither write, nor attend to any thing!

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LETTER XIII. COCHIN,193 19th February, 1780. THANKS be to Providence that I am at length permitted to address my beloved friends from this land of liberty towards which my wishes have so long pointed. After wading through my melancholy journal, you will be enabled in some measure to form an idea of the joy that fills my breast on contemplating the contrast between my present situation, and that from which I have so recently escaped—I will not however indulge in reflections, but hasten to proceed with my narrative, which broke off at a most interesting period in my last letter, when I was every instant expecting the news of our release. I was not relieved from suspense till near twelve on Thursday night, when the gentlemen returned bringing with them the so anxiously desired passports for ourselves, and such trifling articles as remained in our possession; more than this I find they could not obtain for us, though absolute promises of restitution and remuneration had been frequently held out. This however seemed a slight evil compared with what even one days detention might produce; we therefore abandoned all thought of farther application on the subject, and on Friday 18th February, at 5 A. M. joyfully quitted our detested prison, and repaired to the house of our steady friend and benefactor Isaac, when we found one of his own sloops prepared to convey us to Cochin, with every necessary refreshment on board. Thus by the indefatigable exertions of this most excellent man, we are at last released from a situation of which it is impossible for you to appreciate the horrors. To him we are indebted for the inestimable gift of liberty. No words can I find adequate to the expression of my gratitude. In whatever part of the world and under whatever circumstances my lot may be cast; whether we shall have the happiness to reach in safety the place to which all our hopes and wishes tend, or are doomed to experience again the anxieties and sufferings of captivity; whether I shall pass the remainder of my days in the sunshine of prosperity, or exposed to the chilling blasts of adversity; the name of Isaac the Jew will ever be associated with the happiest recollections of my life; and while my heart continues to beat, and warm blood animates my mortal frame, no distance of time or space can efface from my mind, the grateful remembrance of what we owe to this most worthy of men. When we were plundered and held in bondage by the Mahometan robbers194 amongst whom we had fallen; when there was no sympathizing friend to soothe us among our Christian fellow captives; when there was no hand to help us, and the last ray of hope gradually forsook the darkening scene of our distress; kind Providence sent a good Samaritan to our relief in the person of this benevolent Jew,195 who proved himself an Israelite indeed. Oh my dear sister! how can I in 227

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the overflowing of a grateful heart do otherwise than lament, that the name of this once distinguished people should have become a term of reproach! Exiled from the land promised to the seed of Abraham; scattered over the face of the earth, yet adhering with firmness to the religion of their fathers, this race once the boasted favourites of Heaven, are despised and rejected by every nation in the world. The land that affords shelter, denies them a participation in the rights of citizenship. Under such circumstances of mortifying contempt, and invidious segregation, it is no wonder that many of the children of Israel in the present day evince more acuteness than delicacy in their transactions, and are too well disposed to take advantage of those, from whom they have endured so much scorn and persecution. It gives me therefore peculiar pleasure to record their good deeds, and to proclaim in my limited circle, that such men as a FRANCO and an ISAAC, are to be found among the posterity of Jacob. These sentiments are not overstrained but the genuine effusions of a thankful heart: as such receive them. 19th February, 1780. This morning about eleven we arrived at our long wished for Port, and were landed close to the house of our good friend ISAAC which is pleasantly situated by the river side about a mile from Cochin, and rendered in every respect a most delightful residence. Here we were welcomed by the two wives of ISAAC who were most splendidly dressed to receive us, rather overloaded with ornaments yet not inelegant. Indeed I think the Eastern dresses have infinitely the advantage over ours; they are much more easy and graceful; besides affording greater scope for the display of taste, than our strange unnatural modes. They were extremely hospitable and very fond of talking. I mentioned before, having learned a little Portuguese during my imprisonment, which was of great advantage to me here, for except Malabars, it is the only language they speak, and a miserable jargon indeed is what they call Portuguese here.—However we contrived to make ourselves mutually understood so far as to be convinced that each was kindly disposed towards the other. Had I been differently circumstanced, it would have given me great pleasure to have accepted the pressing invitations of these ladies to pass some time with them—the entire novelty of the scene would have amused me. Novel I may well call it, in more respects than one; we were entertained with all the profusion that wealth can command, and generosity display. Though religious prejudices banished us from their table, ours was loaded with every delicacy,—all served on massive plate; among many other articles of luxury which I had never seen before, were numbers of solid silver Peekdanees,196 which served the purpose of spitting boxes (excuse the term.) They stood at each end of the couches in the principal room: some of them were nearly three feet high, with broad bottoms; the middle of the tube twisted and open at the top, with a wide mouth, for the convenience of such as had occasion to expectorate. These are not what we should call delicate indulgences in England; but in a country where smoking tobacco and chewing betel197 are universally practised, they must be allowed to be necessary ones. 228

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You will judge what a change these apartments were to me when contrasted, not with our prison in the Fort of Calicut, for our residence there was undoubtedly the acme of wretchness, but even with the house in which I had so long lived, without any furniture at all, save my unmattressed couch, an old table and three broken chairs; and where many a time the poor Portuguese lad who served us, had entered at the hour of dinner empty handed, exclaiming that the dogs had carried off all that had been provided. My own face I never saw during the whole period, there not being so much as the fragment of a looking-glass to be obtained. The younger wife of ISAAC attached herself to me in such a manner as I never before experienced, and really appeared as if she could not bear to part with me, even when I went with my husband to see the town of Cochin, which is truly a very pretty romantic place; but what was far more to my satisfaction, we luckily found Mr. Moore198 there, who proposed sailing the next day, and kindly offered us a passage on the St. Helena, which you may be sure we gratefully accepted. On our way back we were accosted by a Captain Richardson, whose ship is under repair here, and will be ready in about six weeks. He shook hands with us as country folks, and directly offered us both a passage to Bengal with every accommodation in his house during our stay here,—a most liberal proposal; was it not? and which would have been very fortunate for us, had we missed the St. Helena; in the present case his offer was of course declined, but I shall ever recollect the kindness which dictated it, and trust opportunities will be afforded to evince my gratitude. On the 21st, at 5 A. M. Mr. F— left me with my new friends, promising to return for me in half an hour, to the great grief of the fair Jewess who was become so fond of me—but alas! I waited hour after hour, and no husband returned. I was in the greatest anxiety and consternation imaginable, dreading lest some new disaster had overtaken us, and that our ill starred journey was again stopped short in its course—It is impossible for you to conceive what I suffered during his absence and how my mind was harrassed by various tormenting conjectures,—those only, who have been subject to such cross accidents as I have so frequently experienced, can judge of my feelings—At length about noon he made his appearance, and very calmly began unpacking the chest as if to replace the things at his leisure—I asked of course what had occurred and if Mr. Moore had changed his intention? “Why, answered he, Moore and all the rest are gone on board, but somehow I dont think he will sail to-day for all that.” This reply almost bereft me of my senses, knowing the consequence of being left behind would be a journey by land to Madras, (for he would never have had patience to wait till Captain Richardson’s ship was ready) the expense of which alone must amount to eight or nine hundred rupees, not to mention the intolerable fatigue of travelling in this Country. Aware that if I did not exert myself all was lost, I took a hasty leave of our kind friends, and we immediately proceeded to Cochin with our little baggage, and sent out for a boat, but by this time the afternoon breeze had set in and the sea ran so high, that none would venture over the Bar; at last a man agreed to provide a large boat and take us off for sixteen rupees. When we came to the water side, what should 229

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this mighty boat prove, but a narrow Canoe with paddles, scarcely big enough to contain us and our four rowers. I hesitated—the people ran round me on all sides, intreating me not to venture, and assuring us both by words and gestures that the danger was imminent. Captain Richardson who was among them declared that, it would be next to a miracle if we escaped: indeed every moment evidently increased the risk; but Mr. F— now seeing the error of his delay, swore to run all hazards, rather than stop any longer at Cochin: a common practice with most people who have brought themselves into difficulties by their imprudence and who seek to regain by obstinacy, what they have lost through folly. Pity such cannot always suffer alone. Finding him positive I commended myself to the protection of the Almighty and stepped in; all the spectators seeming to look upon me as a self devoted victim:199 yet how was it possible to avoid going! had I refused Mr. F— would constantly have upbraided me with whatever ill consequence might have resulted from the delay, and who could wish for life on such terms! “No” thought I at the moment, “rather let me brave death in the line of my duty, than have my future days embittered by reproach, however unmerited.” As we proceeded the waves gradually rose higher, and began to break over us: one man was continually employed in baling out the water, though his only utensil was a bamboo, which hardly held a quart. Never shall I forget what I felt on looking round in this situation; every wave rising many feet higher than the boat, and threatening to overwhelm us with instant destruction. I sat at first with my face to the stern, but afterwards moved to the front, and when I saw a wave coming, bowed my head to receive it. We were a mile from the shore, and at least two from the ship; was not this sufficient to appal the stoutest heart! yet I can truly say that my mind was perfectly composed, conscious of the rectitude of my intentions,—I could look up boldly to Heaven for protection. Mr. F— will tell you how frequently I begged him not to entertain the least doubt of our safety. “We have never” said I, “been conducted thus far by the hand of Providence to perish; remember my dear parents; is not their happiness involved in our safety? depend upon it we shall be preserved to become the humble instruments of rendering their declining years happy.” While I was speaking a tremendous wave broke over us, and half filled the boat with water, on which, thinking it would be presumptuous to proceed, we ordered the men to make for the nearest land, but this the wind would not permit, so we were obliged to keep on, and had reached within a mile of the ship, when she began to spread her sails, and in a few minutes got under weigh with a fair wind.—Our people now wanted to quit the pursuit, as she gained ground considerably, but we kept them in good humour by promising more money, and putting a white handkerchief on a stick, waved it in the air. After some time we had the pleasure to see her tack about and lye to so in another half hour we came up with her, having been three hours in the condition I have described,—wet through and nearly frightened to death, being every moment in the most imminent danger. To describe my joy is impossible or my impatience to quit the boat; without waiting for the chair to be lowered I scrambled on board, and had I not been relieved by a violent burst of tears, must have fainted. 230

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Every one in the vessel blamed Mr. F— exceedingly for running such a risk by his delay as the other passengers who went on board in the morning, did not experience the slightest inconvenience. Mr. Moore luckily came in the provision boat, which was six hours in getting on board. This circumstance was the means of saving our passage. When we reached Ceylon200 the wind became contrary, which together with a strong current, kept us upwards of three weeks beating off the Island, before we could weather Point de Galle.201 This will account to you for my letter being scarcely legible.—I am at this moment writing on my knees in bed, and if I had not been contented with this method all the way, I could not have written at all. My father well knows, a vessel has not a very agreeable motion, when beating up in the winds eye.202 4th April, 1780. At length thank Heaven! we are at anchor in Madras Roads, having been six weeks making a passage that with a fair wind we could almost have performed in as many days. Happily for me our society has been very different from the last I was condemned to mix with on shipboard;—of those Mr. Moore, and Mr. O’Donnell are of the most importance to us, our acquaintance with them commenced in Egypt, and as they were indeed (though innocently) the cause of all we suffered there, a very agreeable fellow-feeling has naturally taken place between us. The latter is now obliged to return to India to begin life again, (his losses on the Desert having been followed by many unavoidable expenses, as you will learn from my narrative), and seek a competence under all the disadvantages that an injured constitution added to a deep sense of disappointment and injustice, subject him to.—You may be sure we have had many conversations concerning the sad story of the Desert, and the last moments of those who perished there.—A boat is just come to take us on shore, so adieu for the present. The Roads are very full, there are eight ships of the line and above sixty other vessels, which form a magnificent spectacle. 6th April, 1780. I was exceedingly alarmed yesterday by the surf. We got safe over it, but another boat upset just afterwards; however, fortunately no lives were lost.—Sir Thomas Rumbold is hourly expected to embark, which is all that detains the fleet; so that perhaps I may not be able to write ten lines more – 6 P.M. As far as I can judge I feel pleased with Madras, and gratified by the reception I have hitherto met with. I shall of course write to you again from thence, being likely to remain here a week or two; at present I must close my letter; but as a matter of curiosity shall just mention the astonishing celerity of the Indian tailors.—Yesterday evening Mr. Fay, not being overstocked with clothes to appear in, ordered a complete suit of black silk, with waistcoat sleeves, which they brought home before nine this morning, very neatly made though the whole must have been done by candle-light. 231

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I cannot conclude without saying, that although I feel rather weak, my health is improving, and that the pain I suffer from the accident which befel me at the Factory, is not so violent as formerly—God grant I may soon be relieved from apprehension on that score. The Governor is gone on board.—Captain Richardson of the Ganges203 under whose especial charge this packet (containing the whole of my narrative from Mocha) will be placed, as I had no safe opportunity of forwarding any letter from Calicut or Cochin, has sent for it. The perusal will cost you many tears but recollect that all is over, and my future communications will I trust, be of a very different complexion. May this reach you safely and meet you all well and comfortable. Adieu—God Almighty preserve you prays your own, E. F.

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LETTER XIV. MADRAS, 13th April. MY DEAR FRIENDS, Agreeably to my promise I take up the pen to give you some account of this settlement, which has proved to me a pleasant resting-place after the many hardships and distresses it has lately been my lot to encounter; and where in the kind attentions and agreeable society of some of my own sex, I have found myself soothed and consoled for the long want of that comfort; while my health has in general reaped great advantages from the same source. There is something uncommonly striking and grand in this town, and its whole appearance charms you from novelty, as well as beauty. Many of the houses and public buildings are very extensive and elegant—they are covered with a sort of shell-lime which takes a polish like marble, and produces a wonderful effect.204— I could have fancied myself transported into Italy, so magnificently are they decorated, yet with the utmost taste. People here say that the chunam as it is called, loses its properties when transported to Bengal, where the dampness of the atmosphere, prevents it from receiving that exquisite polish so much admired by all who visit Madras. This may very likely be the case. The free exercise of all religions being allowed; the different sects seem to vie with each other in ornamenting their places of worship, which are in general well built, and from their great variety, and novel forms afford much gratification, particularly when viewed from the country, as the beautiful groups of trees intermingle their tall forms and majestic foliage, with the white chunam and rising spires, communicating such harmony softness and elegance to the scene, as to be altogether delightful; and rather resembling the images that float on the imagination after reading fairy tales, or the Arabian nights entertainment, than any thing in real life;—in fact Madras is what I conceived Grand Cairo to be, before I was so unlucky as to be undeceived. This idea is still further heightened by the intermixture of inhabitants; by seeing Asiatic splendour, combined with European taste exhibited around you on every side, under the forms of flowing drapery, stately palanquins, elegant carriages, innumerable servants, and all the pomp and circumstance of luxurious ease, and unbounded wealth. It is true this glittering surface is here, and there tinged with the sombre hue that more or less colours every condition of life;—you behold Europeans, languishing under various complaints which they call incidental to the climate,205 an assertion it would ill become a stranger like myself to controvert, but respecting which I am a little sceptical; because I see very plainly that the same mode of living, would produce the same effects, even “in the hardy regions of the North.”206 You may likewise perceive that human 233

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nature has its faults and follies every where, and that black rogues are to the full as common as white ones, but in my opinion more impudent. On your arrival you are pestered with Dubashees,207 and servants of all kinds who crouch to you as if they were already your slaves, but who will cheat you in every possible way; though in fact there is no living without one of the former to manage your affairs as a kind of steward, and you may deem yourself very fortunate if you procure one in this land of pillagers, who will let nobody cheat you but himself. I wish these people would not vex one by their tricks; for there is something in the mild countenances and gentle manners of the Hindoos that interests me exceedingly. We are at present with Mr. & Mrs. Popham208 from whom we have received every possible civility. He is a brother lawyer, and a countryman of my husbands, and she is a lively woman, her spirits have in some measure restored mine to the standard from which those amiable gentlemen, the Beys of Egypt, and Sudder Khan with his coadjutors Ayres and my worthy ship mates, had so cruelly chased them. We have made several excursions in the neighbourhood of Madras which is every where delightful, the whole vicinity being ornamented with gentlemen’s houses built in a shewy style of architecture, and covered with that beautiful chunam. As they are almost surrounded by trees, when you see one of these superb dwellings incompassed by a grove, a distant view of Madras with the sea and shipping, so disposed as to form a perfect landscape, it is beyond comparison the most charming picture I ever beheld or could have imagined. Wonder not at my enthusiasm; so long shut up from every pleasing object, it is natural that my feelings should be powerfully excited when such are presented to me. Nothing is more terrible at Madras than the surf which as I hinted before, is not only alarming but dangerous. They have here two kinds of boats to guard against this great evil, but yet, notwithstanding every care, many lives are lost. One of these conveyances called the Massulah209 boat, is large, but remarkably light, and the planks of which it is constructed are actually sewed together by the fibres of the Cocoa-nut. It is well calculated to stem the violence of the surf but for greater safety it requires to be attended by the other, called a Catamaran, which is merely composed of bamboos fastened together and paddled by one man. Two or three of these attend the Massulah boat, and in case of its being overset usually pick up the drowning passengers. The dexterity with which they manage these things is inconceivable;—but no dexterity can entirely ward off the danger. The beach is remarkably fine. The ladies here are very fashionable I assure you: I found several novelties in dress since I quitted England, which a good deal surprised me, as I had no idea that fashions travelled so fast. It is customary to take the air in carriages every evening in the environs of Madras: for excursions in the country these are commonly used; but in town they have Palanquins carried by four bearers, which I prefer. They are often beautifully ornamented, and appear in character with the country, and with the languid air of those who use them, which, though very 234

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different from any thing I have been accustomed to admire in a woman as you well know, yet is not unpleasing in a country the charms of which are heightened by exhibiting a view of society entirely new to me. MR. POPHAM is one of the most eccentric beings I ever met with.—Poor man he is a perpetual projector,210 a race whose exertions have frequently benefitted society, but seldom I believe been productive of much advantage to themselves or their families. He is at present laying plans for building what is called the black town, to a great extent, and confidently expects to realize an immense fortune, but others foresee such difficulties in the way, that they fear he may be ruined by the undertaking. The pleasure he takes in his visionary scheme should not be omitted in the account as of some value, for it really seems to be an uncommon source of enjoyment. The Black town is that part of Madras, which was formerly inhabited wholly by the natives, but of late many Europeans have taken houses there, rents being considerably lower than in Fort ST. GEORGE, which is a very strong Garrison, built by the English, and where since have been constructed many fine houses, &c.—this is considered of course a more fashionable place to reside in. Between the Black town and the Fort, lies Choultry Plain which being covered entirely with a whitish sand, reflects such a dazzling light, and intolerable heat, as to render it a terrible annoyance especially to strangers. MR. FAY has been exceedingly pressed to take up his abode here, and really many substantial inducements have been held out to him; but as his views have been all directed to Calcutta, where knowledge and talents are most likely to meet encouragement he cannot be persuaded to remain. Besides, a capital objection is, that no Supreme Court being as yet established he could be only admitted to practise as an attorney, no advocates being allowed in the Mayors Court: so that his rank as a Barrister would avail nothing here:211 I most cordially acquiesce in this determination. But I must suspend my scribbling; MR. P—is waiting to take me to ST. THOMAS’S MOUNT. 17th April, 1780. I resume my pen, resolved to devote this day to my dear friends, as it is likely to be the last I shall spend in Madras. I found ST. THOMAS’ MOUNT a very beautiful place, it is a high hill of a conical form, crowned at the top with white houses, and a Church built by the Portuguese in memory of some ST. THOMAS, who they say, was murdered on this spot by a Brahmin.212—The road to this place is delightful, being a complete avenue of the finest trees I ever saw, whose intermingling branches are absolutely impervious to the sun. Not far from hence I was shewn a prodigiously fine Banian213 tree, the singular nature of which is, that its branches bend down to the ground, take root and thence spring out anew; thus forming innumerable arches. I call it a vegetable Cathedral, and could not help fancying that Banian groves were formerly appropriated to idolatrous worship, since they are admirably calculated for the celebration of any mysterious and solemn rites from which the uninitiated are excluded; and may be properly called “Temples not 235

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made with hands.”214 On the whole I felt highly gratified by my little excursion, which was, I believe, not more than seven miles from Madras. I must now assure you that I have actually seen several of those things with my own eyes which we girls used to think poor Captain S— took traveller’s liberty in relating, such as dancing snakes, Jugglers swallowing swords &c. The snakes were to me somewhat alarming, the other a very disgusting spectacle; when they are become familiar I may be amused with the one, since the various forms, the prismatic colours, and graceful motions of the snakes may give pleasure which the other exhibitions never can. When you have seen a man thrust a sword down his throat and are fully convinced that there is no deception, you feel that you have beheld a wonder, and there the gratification ends, for the sight is unnatural and disgusting. With some other tricks of the Juggler, I was however much pleased; his power of balancing was astonishing, and he had a method of throwing four brass balls up and catching them with such amazing rapidity, that they perpetually encircled his head, forming a kind of hat around it; he likewise threaded small beads with his tongue, and performed a number of very curious slights of hand. Dancing girls are a constant source of amusement here, but I was much disappointed in them, they wrap such a quantity of muslin round them by way of petticoat, that they almost appear to have hoops;—and their motions are so slow, formal and little varied, that you see the whole dance as it were at once; they are very inferior to those of the same profession at Grand Cairo though I never saw any there but in the streets, however their dancing is certainly less indecent, at least so far as I could witness it. There seems to be a strange inconsistency in the character of the natives; they appear the most pusillanimous creatures in existence, except those employed on the water, whose activity and exertions are inconceivable. They will encounter every danger for the sake of reward, with all the eagerness of avarice, and all the heroism of courage; so that if you have occasion to send off a note to a ship, no matter how high the surf may run, you will always find some one ready to convey it for you, and generally without being damaged, as their turbans are curiously folded with waxed cloth for that purpose; so off they skip to their Catamarans,— for the prospect of gain renders them as brisk as the most lively Europeans. The Hindoos have generally their heads shaved but they preserve a single lock and a pair of small whiskers with the greatest care. Their manner of writing is curious; they write with iron needles, on palm-leaves which are afterwards strung together and form books. Boys are taught to write on the sand; a very good plan as it saves materials and a number can be instructed at the same time. For teaching arithmetic, great numbers of pebbles are used; so that every part of the apparatus is cheap. The natives of India are immoderately fond of an intoxicating liquor called Toddy215 which is the unfermented juice of the Cocoa-nut or Palmyra tree;—sugar and water is also a favourite beverage. Butter is very scarce and not good; what they call Ghee is butter boiled or clarified, in order to preserve it, and is very useful for many purposes, such as frying &c. On the whole one may live very well at 236

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Madras,—to me it appears a land of luxury as you may suppose, when you recollect, how I had been accustomed to fare. We may think ourselves very well off in escaping from the paws of that fell tyger Hyder Ally as we did, for I am assured that the threat of sending us up the country to be fed on dry rice, was not likely to be a vain one; it is thought that several of our countrymen are at this very time suffering in that way: if so, I heartily wish that the War he has provoked, may go forward ’till those unhappy beings are released and the usurping tyrant is effectually humbled. MR. O’DONNELL has just called and desired me to prepare for an early summons to-morrow. I have ever found him friendly and attentive and must always deem myself highly obliged to him, as he certainly had but too much occasion to feel hurt by the behaviour of MR. FAY, whose temper, you know, is not the most placid in the world. He quarrelled with both him and MR. MOORE during the passage about the merest trifles (wherein too he was palpably in the wrong) and challenged them both:216 Judge what I must have suffered during these altercations, vainly endeavouring to conciliate, and in agonies lest things should proceed to extremities.—On our arrival here, I prevailed on MR. POPHAM to act as a mediator between the parties; who at length, though with great difficulty, convinced MR. F— that he had been to blame, and induced him to make a proper apology to both gentlemen: thus ended the affair but I have reason to think, that had I not been with him, he would not have been invited to proceed farther on the ship; nor am I free from apprehension at present, yet MR. O’D— has proved himself so true a friend and has so materially served my husband, that I trust our short trip from hence to Calcutta, will prove a pleasant one. I understand that several additional passengers are to join us, which may operate as a check on fiery spirits. 18th April. MR. & MRS. P— have completed their hospitable kindness by insisting that we should partake of an early dinner (at one o’clock) after which we immediately proceed on board; and heartily rejoiced shall I be, when once over the terrific surf. I leave Madras with some regret having met with much civility and even sympathy here. I must now bid you adieu; in my next I hope to announce that my long pilgrimage is ended. I likewise shall expect to find letters from you, waiting my arrival at Calcutta. My anxiety at times arises to impatience, lest any evil should have befallen you, during the long period in which all communication has been suspended between us: my heart however yet retains its power of conversing with you. Whenever I see any thing new or entertaining I directly imagine how you would have looked, and what you would have said on the occasion; and thus cheat myself into a pleasing dream of social intercourse with those most dear to me. Our stay at Madras has been the means of procuring us some respectable recommendations to persons in Calcutta; for we have made several desirable connections here. Hope again smiles on us and I endeavour to cherish her suggestions; for it is as much my duty as my interest to keep up my spirits, since in my present 237

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state of health, without them, I must wholly sink; and now more than ever I feel the necessity of using exertion. The hot winds prevail here at present, which renders the weather peculiarly oppressive, but a few hours will change the scene. Adieu: remember me in your prayers, my beloved parents, my dear sisters, and rest assured of the unalterable affection of your own Eliza.

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LETTER XV. CALCUTTA, 22nd May. MY DEAR FRIENDS, I may now indeed call for your congratulations since after an eventful period of twelve months and eighteen days, I have at length reached the place for which I have so long sighed, to which I have looked with innumerable hopes and fears, and where I have long rested my most rational expectations of future prosperity and comfort. I must now in order to keep up the connection of my story return to Madras, and from thence conduct you here regularly. MR. F— and MR. P— both assured me that a massulah boat was engaged, but on arriving at the beach none could be had; so there being no remedy, I went off in a common cargo boat which had no accommodations whatever for passengers, and where my only seat was one of the cross beams. How I saved myself from falling Heaven knows, MR. F— was under the necessity of exerting his whole strength to keep me up, so he suffered a little for his negligence. It was what is called a black surf and deemed very dangerous; there were some moments when I really thought we were nearly gone; for how could I in my weak state have buffetted the waves had the boat overset? When once on board our voyage passed comfortably enough; our society was pleasant; indeed MR. O’DONNELL is ever a host to us in kindness; MR. M— our supercargo217 was however more strict in his enforcement of rules than was agreeable to most of us; we were kept more orderly than so many children at school; for if we were in the midst of a rubber at whist, he would make us give over at nine precisely, and we were obliged to keep our score ’till the following evening. But this was of little moment, for as we advanced towards the place of our destination, we were too much interested to think of any thing else. We had a distant view of the pagodas of Jaggernauth,218— three large pyramidical buildings very famous temples among the Hindoos, who there worship the images of Jaggernauth and keep a splendid establishment of the Priesthood attendant on the Idols in the manner of the ancient heathens. I am credibly assured that at stated intervals the principal figure is taken out in an enormous car, with a great number of wheels beneath which his votaries prostrate themselves with the most undaunted resolution; firmly persuaded that by thus sacrificing their lives, they shall pass immediately after death into a state of everlasting felicity. Well may we say that, “life and immortality were brought to light by the Gospel”219 since in regions where its sacred influence is unknown or unattended to, we see such gross acts of folly and superstition as these, sanctioned by authority: may it please the Almighty disposer of events to hasten the period of their emancipation, that all mankind may hail each other as brothers, and we may be brought together as “one fold, under one shepherd.”220 239

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Calcutta, you know is on the Hoogly, a branch of the Ganges, and as you enter Garden-reach221 which extends about nine miles below the town, the most interesting views that can possibly be imagined greet the eye. The banks of the river are as one may say absolutely studded with elegant mansions, called here as at Madras, garden-houses. These houses are surrounded by groves and lawns, which descend to the waters edge, and present a constant succession of whatever can delight the eye, or bespeak wealth and elegance in the owners. The noble appearance of the river also, which is much wider than the Thames at London bridge, together with the amazing variety of vessels continually passing on its surface, add to the beauty of the scene. Some of these are so whimsically constructed as to charm by their novelty. I was much pleased with the snake boat222 in particular. Budgerows223 somewhat resembling our city barges, are very common,—many of these are spacious enough to accommodate a large family. Besides these the different kinds of pleasure boats intermixed with mercantile vessels, and ships of war, render the whole a magnificent and beautiful moving picture; at once exhilarating the heart, and charming the senses: for every object of sight is viewed through a medium that heightens its attraction in this brilliant climate. The town of Calcutta reaches along the eastern bank of the Hoogly; as you come up past Fort William224 and the Esplanade it has a beautiful appearance. Esplanade-row, as it is called, which fronts the Fort, seems to be composed of palaces; the whole range, except what is taken up by the Government and Council houses, is occupied by the principal gentlemen in the settlement—no person being allowed to reside in Fort William, but such as are attached to the Army, gives it greatly the advantage over FORT ST. GEORGE,225 which is so incumbered with buildings of one kind or other, that it has more the look of a town than of a military Garrison. Our Fort is also so well kept and every thing in such excellent order, that it is quite a curiosity to see it—all the slopes, banks, and ramparts, are covered with the richest verdure, which completes the enchantment of the scene. Indeed the general aspect of the country is astonishing; notwithstanding the extreme heat (the thermometer seldom standing below ninety in the afternoon) I never saw a more vivid green than adorns the surrounding fields—not that parched miserable look our lands have during the summer heats;—large fissures opening in the earth, as if all vegetation were suspended; in fact the copious dews which fall at night, restore moisture to the ground, and cause a short thick grass to spring up, which makes the finest food imaginable for the cattle. Bengal mutton, always good, is at this period excellent—I must not forget to tell you that there is a very good race ground at a short distance from Calcutta, which is a place of fashionable resort, for morning and evening airings. Through Mr. O’D’s kindness we were introduced to a very respectable Portuguese family who received us with the greatest civility, inviting us to take up our abode with them until we could provide ourselves with a house—Mr. Da C— was a widower, but his late wife’s sisters, who resided with him, were born at Chandernagore, (a French settlement between twenty and thirty miles higher 240

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up the river;) but from long disuse they had lost the habit of speaking their native language, though they understood it perfectly; so I was forced to make out their Portuguese in the best manner I could, constantly answering in French. In this way we frequently conversed, and I gained much information respecting the customs of the place—the price of provisions, and many other useful matters. Fortunately, throughout all our difficulties we had preserved our letters of introduction, by keeping them always concealed about us, together with Mr. F—’s admission to the Bar and other credentials, which were essentially necessary to his establishment here: so that my husband became immediately known to Sir Robert Chambers,226 who behaved to him with the utmost attention; and whose lady227 after hearing a little of my melancholy story, and finding I was too much indisposed to admit of my paying my respects to her, had the goodness to wave all ceremony, and accompanied by her husband, to visit me at the house of the Portuguese merchant, which was a condescension that I certainly had no right to expect. She is the most beautiful woman I ever beheld,—in the bloom of youth; and there is an agreeable frankness in her manners, that enhances her loveliness, and renders her truly fascinating. Her kindness towards me daily increases; and she seems never weary of listening to my sad story. “She loves me for the dangers I have passed, and I love her that she does pity them.”228 29th May. I have delivered my letter of introduction to MRS. HASTINGS,229 on whom I should have waited long ago, had the state of my health admitted of the exertion. She resides at Belvidere-house about, I believe, five miles from Calcutta, which is a great distance at this season and for an invalid. The lady was fortunately at home and had three of her most intimate friends with her on a visit, one of them, MRS. MOTTE,230 a most charming woman. MRS. H— herself, it is easy to perceive at the first glance, is far superior to the generality of her sex; though her appearance is rather eccentric, owing to the circumstance of her beautiful auburn hair being disposed in ringlets, throwing an air of elegant, nay almost infantine simplicity over the countenance, most admirably adapted to heighten the effect intended to be produced. Her whole dress too, though studiously becoming being at variance with our present modes which are certainly not so, perhaps for that reason, she has chosen to depart from them—as a foreigner you know, she may be excused for not strictly conforming to our fashions; besides her rank in the settlement sets her above the necessity of studying any thing but the whim of the moment. It is easy to perceive how fully sensible she is of her own consequence. She is indeed raised to a “giddy height” and expects to be treated with the most profound respect and deference. She received me civilly and insisted on my staying dinner, which I had no inclination to refuse, but she seemed not to evince much sympathy when I slightly touched on the misfortunes which had befallen me; nay she even hinted that I had brought them on myself,231 by imprudently venturing on such an expedition out of mere curiosity. Alas! Mrs. H— could not know what you are well acquainted with, that I undertook the journey with a view of preserving my 241

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husband from destruction, for had I not accompanied him, and in many instances restrained his extravagance and dissipated habits, he would never, never, I am convinced, have reached Bengal, but have fallen a wretched sacrifice to them on the way, or perhaps through the violence of his temper been involved in some dispute, which he was too ready to provoke—but to return I could not help feeling vexed at Mrs. H—’s observation, to say the best of it, it was unfeeling;—but I excuse her. Those basking in the lap of prosperity can little appreciate the sufferings or make allowance for the errors of the unfortunate; whom they regard as almost beings of another order. You will expect me to say something of the house, which is a perfect bijou;232 most superbly fitted up with all that unbounded affluence can display; but still deficient in that simple elegance which the wealthy so seldom attain, from the circumstance of not being obliged to search for effect without much cost, which those but moderately rich, find to be indispensable. The gardens are said to be very tastefully laid out, but how far this report is accurate I had no opportunity of judging; the windows being all as it were hermetically closed; sashes, blinds, and every opening, except where tatties were placed to exclude the hot wind.233 This surprized me very much: but I understand no method is so effectual for that purpose. I was not permitted to take my departure till the evening, when the fair lady of the mansion, dismissed me with many general professions of kindness, of which I knew how to estimate the value. Next morning we received an invitation to the ball given annually on the King’s birthday. This however I was under the necessity of declining on the plea of ill health and Mr. F— could hardly ever be persuaded to attend such formal assemblies. When my husband waited on Sir Elijah Impey,234 the Chief Justice, to shew his credentials, he met with a most flattering reception. It so happened that he was called to the Bar from Lincoln’s Inn himself, and seemed quite at home while perusing the papers, being acquainted with the hand-writing of the officers who prepared them; and perhaps that circumstance might render him more partial. On Mr. F—’s expressing some apprehensions lest his having come out without leave of the E. I. Company might throw obstacles in the way of his admission to the Bar here, Sir E— indignantly exclaimed “No Sir, had you dropped from the clouds with such documents, we would admit you. The Supreme Court is independent and will never endure to be dictated to, by any body of men whose claims are not enforced by superior authority. It is nothing to us whether you had or had not permission from the Court of Directors, to proceed to this settlement; you come to us as an authenticated English Barrister, and as such, we shall on the first day of the next Term, admit you to our Bar.” Sir E— also offered to introduce him to Mr. Hyde which Mr. F— thankfully accepted. Do you not admire the high tone in which Sir E— delivers his sentiments? There exists, it seems, a strong jealousy between the Government and the Supreme Court, lest either should encroach on the prerogatives of the other. The latter not long since committed Mr. Naylor the Company’s Attorney for some breach of privilege, who being in a weak state 242

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of health at the time, died in confinement—this has increased the difference. I merely mention this en passant,235 for it regards not us, let them quarrel, or agree; so the business of the Court be not impeded we cannot suffer. Mr. F— is already retained in several causes. His whole mind will now, I trust, be occupied with his profession, and as his abilities have never been questioned, I flatter myself that he has every reason to look forward to ultimate success. 20th July. Hyder Ally has at length thrown off the mask, and commenced hostilities in good earnest. How providential was our liberation at that critical juncture! and my gratitude to Heaven was lately called forth in another instance—I recently conversed with a gentleman who crossed the Great Desert by way of Aleppo.—He assures me that besides the danger from the Arabs, there is so much more from other causes than in going over that to Suez, that he is quite confident, I never could have survived, the journey; “or,” he added, “any European woman”—therefore on the whole we seem to have experienced the lesser evil, though the alternative of falling into the hands of the enemy was horrible! I am concerned to say that dreadful reports are in circulation respecting the excesses committed by Hyder’s troops in the Carnatic,236 but the particulars are too shocking to be repeated. You have no idea how busy I am. Lady Chambers has been kind enough to lend me some of her dresses, for mine to be made by—I have commenced housekeeping, and am arranging my establishment, which is no little trouble in a country where the servants will not do a single thing, but that for which you expressly engage them nor even that willingly. I just now asked a man to place a small table near me; he began to bawl as loud as he could for the bearers to come and help him. “Why dont you do it yourself” said I? rising as I spoke to assist. Oh I no English. I Bengal man. I no estrong like English; one, two, three Bengal men cannot do like one Englishman.—Adieu remember you must write me long letters. You see even the heat has not reduced mine to a single sheet. I trust that I shall never be found incapable of addressing you. Mr. F— unites with me in kind remembrances. I am ever most affectionately your’s &c. &c.

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LETTER XVI. CALCUTTA, 29th August. MY DEAR FRIENDS, Ten thousand thanks for the precious packet of letters I yesterday received: you can form no idea of the eagerness with which I flew from my dressing room; and Mr. F— from his study—at the joyful sound of “letters from England.” But my very eagerness wrought for a while its own disappointment; for when I laid my hands on the prize, I fell into a kind of hysteric, and it was some time before I could break the seals, and yet would not suffer Mr. F— to deprive me of the gratification for which I had so long panted—over such treasures who would not be a miser—I would not permit a single scrap to escape me till I had devoured the whole. Those only know what that impatient hunger of the heart is after information, and the intercourse of affection, who have been debarred as long as I had been from objects so dear. I rejoice to find that the Chevalier de St. Lubin performed his promise and that you now are in possession of every event that occurred to us till our arrival at Mocha. To know that we had passed the desert, that object of my dear mother’s dread and apprehension, must have set her mind comparatively at ease; Alas! little did she suppose, how far more horrible were the miseries that we had still to undergo! thank Heaven, they are past.—I will quit the subject which agitates me too much. I am happy to say that our house is a very comfortable one, but we are surrounded by a set of thieves. In England, if servants are dishonest we punish them, or turn them away in disgrace, and their fate proves, it may be hoped, a warning to others; but these wretches have no sense of shame. I will give you an instance or two of their conduct, that you may perceive how enviably I am situated. My Khansaman237 (or house steward) brought in a charge of a gallon of milk and thirteen eggs, for making scarcely a pint and half of custard; this was so barefaced a cheat, that I refused to allow it, on which he gave me warning. I sent for another, and, after I had hired him, “now said I, take notice friend, I have enquired into the market price of every article that enters my house and will submit to no imposition; you must therefore agree to deliver in a just account to me every morning”—what reply do you think he made? why he demanded double wages; you may be sure I dismissed him, and have since forgiven the first but not till he had salaamed to my foot,238 that is placed his right hand under my foot,—this is the most abject token of submission (alas! how much better should I like a little common honesty.) I know him to be a rogue, and so are they all, but as he understands me now, he will perhaps be induced to use rather more moderation in his 244

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attempts to defraud.—At first he used to charge me with twelve ounces of butter a day, for each person; now he grants that the consumption is only four ounces. As if these people were aware that I am writing about them, they have very obligingly furnished me with another anecdote. It seems my comprodore239 (or market man) is gone away; he says poor servants have no profit by staying with me; at other gentlemen’s houses he always made a rupee a day at least! besides his wages; but here if he only charges an anna240 or two more, it is sure to be taken off—So you see what a terrible creature I am! I dare say you never gave me credit for being so close.—I find I was imposed on, in taking a comprodore at all; the Khansaman ought to do that business. Judge whether I have not sufficient employment among these harpies?241 feeling as I do the necessity of a reasonable economy. It is astonishing, and would be amusing if one did not suffer by it, to see the various arts they will practice to keep a few annas in their hands, for though the lawful interest of money is but 12 per Cent (enough you will say), yet twenty four is given by the shopkeepers, who will lend or borrow the smallest sums for a single day, and ascertain the precise interest to the greatest exactitude, having the advantage of cowrees,242 5,120 of which go to make one rupee. The foolish custom which subsists here of keeping Banians,243 gives rise to a thousand deceptions, as no one pays or receives money but through the medium of these people who have their profit on every thing that comes into the house. In order to give you an idea of my houshold expenses and the price of living here, I must inform you that, our house costs only 200 rupees per month, because it is not in a part of the town much esteemed; otherwise we must pay 3 or 400 rupees; we are now seeking for a better situation. We were very frequently told in England you know, that the heat in Bengal destroyed the appetite, I must own that I never yet saw any proof of that; on the contrary I cannot help thinking that I never saw an equal quantity of victuals consumed. We dine too at two o’clock, in the very heat of the day. At this moment Mr. F— is looking out with an hawk’s eye, for his dinner; and though still much of an invalid, I have no doubt of being able to pick a bit myself. I will give you our bill of fare, and the general prices of things. A soup, a roast fowl, curry and rice, a mutton pie, a fore quarter of lamb, a rice pudding, tarts, very good cheese, fresh churned butter, fine bread, excellent Madeira (that is expensive but eatables are very cheap,)—a whole sheep costs but two rupees: a lamb one rupee, six good fowls or ducks ditto—twelve pigeons ditto—twelve pounds of bread ditto—two pounds butter ditto; and a joint of veal ditto—good cheese two months ago sold at the enormous price of three or four rupees per pound, but now you may buy it for one and a half—English claret sells at this time for sixty rupees a dozen. There’s a price for you! I need not say that much of it will not be seen at our table; now and then we are forced to produce it, but very seldom. I assure you much caution is requisite to avoid running deeply in debt—the facility of obtaining credit is beyond what I could have imagined; the Europe shop keepers are always ready to send in goods; and the Banians are so anxious to get into employment, that they out bid each other. One says “master better take me, I will advance five thousand rupees”—another offers seven, 245

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and perhaps a third ten thousand: a Company’s servant particularly will always find numbers ready to support his extravagance. It is not uncommon to see writers244 within a few months after their arrivals dashing away on the course four in hand:245 allowing for the inconsiderateness of youth, is it surprising if many become deeply embarrassed?—Several have been pointed out to me, who in the course of two or three years, have involved themselves almost beyond hope of redemption. The interest of money here being twelve per Cent, and the Banian taking care to secure bonds for whatever he advances, making up the account yearly and adding the sum due for interest, his thoughtless master, (as he calls him, but in fact his slave) soon finds his debt doubled, and dares not complain unless he has the means of release which alas! are denied him. I should have told you before that Mr. F— was admitted an advocate in the Supreme Court, on the 16th June,—has been engaged in several causes, wherein he acquitted himself to general satisfaction and is at present as busy as can be desired. Every one seems willing to encourage him and if he continue but his own friend, all will, I feel persuaded, go well with us, and we shall collect our share of gold mohurs,246 as well as our neighbours.—I like to see the briefs come in well enough. The fees are much higher here than in England, so you will say “they ought” and I perfectly agree with you. Sir R. C— met with an accident some weeks ago (by jumping out of a carriage when the horses were restive) which confined him to his house a long while but he is now recovering; I was a good deal vexed both on his own account poor man, and because Mr. F— was deprived of his friendly aid. I have seen little of my kind patroness since, for she goes scarce any where without her husband—we were to dine with them the very day the circumstance happened. They are gone up the country and will not return for some months. 31 August. I have received another packet and rejoice to hear you are all going on so well. They talk of a frigate being soon to sail, in which case I shall close and dispatch this.—As I propose sending you a regular supply of Calcutta Gazettes,247 there can be no necessity to fill my letters with political information. I trust that in a short time Hyder will be effectually humbled. Mr. H— has visited us several times; and is now quite complaisant to Mr. Fay. This is the way of the world you know, and of course to be expected from such a slave to outward circumstance, such a mere “summer friend”248 as this man ever evinced himself.—By his account the hardships they underwent would very soon have destroyed so poor a creature as I was at that time: so that the difficulties we fell into, though at the moment of suffering so deplored, proved eventually our safe guard in more respects than one. Had we not touched at Calicut, I am fully persuaded we should have been shipwrecked, and had not my illness furnished a pretext for detaining us there after the rest, I should have died among those cruel people in the most shocking way imaginable, since they were for a long while absolutely destitute of every necessary. What short-sighted beings we are! 246

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how futile, how defective our best formed calculations! I have sometimes pleased myself (I hope not improperly) with the idea, that the power of discerning clearly the beneficent designs of providence during our earthly pilgrimage, and of perceiving that in a thousand instances like these, a rough and stony path has led to safety and ultimate happiness, may be intended to form part of our enjoyment in a future state, wherein we are taught that to contemplate the Supreme Being in his perfections will constitute the height of bliss.—Let me have your sentiments on the subject; its discussion can do neither of us harm and may lead to improvement. 8th September. I have nothing particular to add—my health continues very good considering all things. This is a dull time: vacations are always so to professional people. God bless you and grant us a happy meeting—our prospects are good; nothing but the grossest misconduct can prevent our success. Adieu Yours most affectionately E. F.

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LETTER XVII. CALCUTTA, 27th September. MY DEAR FRIENDS, The bad news I hinted at some time ago is already avenged; and a much more serious affair has happened since, but for the present I must relate what has occupied a great deal of attention for some days past: no less than a duel between the Governor General and the first in Council, Mr. Francis;249 there were two shots fired, and the Governor’s second fire took place; he immediately ran up to his antagonist and expressed his sorrow for what had happened, which I dare say was sincere, for he is said to be a very amiable man. Happily the ball was soon extracted; and if he escape fever, there is no doubt of his speedy recovery. What gave occasion to the quarrel is said to have been an offensive Minute entered on the Council books by Mr. Francis, which he refused to rescind; but being unacquainted with the particulars, I have as little right as inclination to make any comments on the subject—It always vexes me to hear of such things. What a shocking custom is that of duelling! yet there are times when men may be so situated that, as the world goes, one knows not how they could act otherwise; much may be effected by the judicious interference of friends, but those qualified for the task are rarely to be met with. Mr. Francis is highly respected here, and being now at the head of what is called the opposition party, his death would be severely felt by many who affect great indifference about the event. Since I wrote last we have had a good deal of trouble with our Mohametan servants, on account of an old custom; not one of them would touch a plate on which pork had been laid—so that whenever we had any at table our plates remained, till the cook or his mate came up to change them. This being represented as a religious prejedice, I felt it right to give way, however ridiculous it might appear, in fact it was an inconvenience we felt in common with the whole settlement, except the gentlemen of the Army who had long before emancipated themselves from any such restraint; finding this to be really the case the whole of the European inhabitants agreed to insist upon their servants doing the same as those of the officers at the Fort, or quitting their places. They chose the latter alternative, and as their prejudices run very high in all religious matters, we were in doubt whether they would not prefer suffering the greatest extremity rather, than touch the very vessels which contained this abhorred food,—but behold in about four days they came back again requesting to be reinstated; and acknowledging that the only penalty incurred by touching the plates was the necessity of bathing afterwards: from this you may judge of their excessive idleness; however all now goes on well and we hear no more of their objection – 248

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The serious affair at which I hinted in the beginning of this letter, was the cutting off Col. Baillie’s detachment250 with dreadful slaughter. I trust we shall soon have ample revenge, for that fine old veteran Sir Eyre Coote251 is about to take the field and his very name will strike those undisciplined hordes with terror—Oh how I feel interested in the event! Nothing surely can be more disagreeable than the weather here at present, it is very hot with scarcely a breath of air stirring; and such swarms of insects buzzing about, but beyond all the bug fly is disgusting—one of them will scent a room; they are in form like a ladybird but their smell is a thousand times more offensive than that of our bugs. A good breeze would disperse them all, but that we must not expect till the monsoon changes, that is, about the middle of next month. I never told you that one of the Captains who had charge of us at Calicut made his escape some months ago, and came to ask our assistance till he could get employment up the country. Mr. F— gave him a lower room, and he remained with us several weeks: his name is West.252 This was the man from whom we collected intelligence of the plots laid against us there, and which had nearly proved successful. West is a stout fellow accustomed in his early days to labour, and seasoned to the climate;—he is gone up to Patna, in charge of some boats and is to remain there. Ayres used to treat him very ill at times, and he says attemped more than once to assassinate him, because he refused to concur with a party that Ayres headed, consisting of six or eight abandoned wretches whose intention it was to cut off several of the more opulent natives secretly, and possess themselves of their effects; while they should contrive to fix the guilt of the transaction on some persons who were obnoxious to them. West threatened to reveal the whole plot, on which they pretended to abandon it, but he soon found their object was to rid themselves of him; and he effected his escape in a canoe (at the utmost risk of perishing in the attempt) to Cochin, from whence he easily got a passage to Bengal. What a horrible fellow is that Ayres! surely he will meet his deserts: should the English take him he will be shot instantly as a deserter. We have found out a nephew of Isaac’s named Daniel, he is a man of no great consequence here, either in point of situation or circumstances though not absolutely poor:—we asked him to dinner, and endeavoured by every means in our power to evince the grateful sense we entertain of his worthy uncle’s kindness and beneficence. 3rd November. Since my last date I have the pleasure to acknowledge the receipt of another packet from England, with the gratifying intelligence that you were all well on the 7th of April. My time has passed very stupidly for some months, but the town is now beginning to fill,—people are returning for the cold season. Term has commenced, and Mr. F— has no reason to complain of business falling off; if he fall not from it, all will be well. My first Patroness Lady C— is returned from her tour but Sir Robert having purchased an elegant mansion in Calcutta, (for which he is to pay £6,000, in England) her Ladyship has full 249

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employment in arranging and fitting up her new abode; so that I see but little of her; she is however always kind and full of condescension towards me when we do meet. 19th December. Mr. Fay has met with a gentleman here, a Dr. Jackson253 who comes from the same part of Ireland, and knows many of his connections; they soon became intimate. Dr. J— is physician to the Company, and in very high practice besides; I have been visited by the whole family. The eldest son a fine noble looking young man, is a Lieutenant in the Army, and has lately married a very pretty little woman, who came out in the same ship under the protection of his mother; as did Miss C—y a most amiable and interesting young Lady, who now resides with them. They have not been long arrived. The Doctor’s Lady is a native of Jamaica and like those “children of the sun,”254 frank and hospitable to a degree—fond of social parties in the old style “where the song and merry jest circulate round the festive board”255 particularly after supper. Dinner parties they seldom give; but I have been present at several elsewhere since the commencement of the cold season. The dinner hour as I mentioned before is two, and it is customary to sit a long while at table; particularly during the cold season; for people here are mighty fond of grills and stews, which they season themselves, and generally make very hot. The Burdwan stew256 takes a deal of time; it is composed of every thing at table, fish, flesh and fowl;—somewhat like the Spanish Olla Podrida,257—Many suppose that unless prepared in a silver saucepan it cannot be good; on this point I must not presume to give an opinion, being satisfied with plain food; and never tasting any of these incentives to luxurious indulgence. During dinner a good deal of wine is drank, but a very little after the cloth is removed; except in Bachelors parties, as they are called; for the custom of reposing, if not of sleeping after dinner is so general that the streets of Calcutta are from four to five in the afternoon almost as empty of Europeans as if it were midnight—Next come the evening airings to the Course, every one goes, though sure of being half suffocated with dust. On returning from thence, tea is served, and universally drank here, even during the extreme heats. After tea, either cards or music fill up the space, ’till ten, when supper is generally announced. Five card loo is the usual game and they play a rupee a fish limited to ten. This will strike you as being enormously high but it is thought nothing of here. Tré dille and Whist258 are much in fashion but ladies seldom join in the latter; for though the stakes are moderate, bets frequently run high among the gentlemen which renders those anxious who sit down for amusement, lest others should lose by their blunders. Formal visits are paid in the evening; they are generally very short, as perhaps each lady has a dozen to make and a party waiting for her at home besides. Gentlemen also call to offer their respects and if asked to put down their hat, it is considered as an invitation to supper. Many a hat have I seen vainly dangling in its owner’s hand for half an hour, who at last has been compelled to withdraw without any one’s offering to relieve him from the burthen. 250

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Great preparations are making for the Christmas, and New year’s public balls;— of course you will not expect me to write much till they are over; nor to own the truth am I in spirits, having great reason to be dissatisfied with Mr. F—’s conduct. Instead of cultivating the intimacy of those who might be serviceable or paying the necessary attention to persons in power; I can scarcely ever prevail on him to accompany me even to Dr. J—’s who is generally visited by the first people; but he cannot endure being subjected to the forms of society—some times he has called on Sir R. C— but the other Judges he has never seen, except on the bench since his admission: he did not even accept Sir E. I—’s obliging offer to introduce him to Mr. Hyde,259 but suffered Mr. Sealy to perform that ceremony, and when the Chief Justice advanced to accompany him, he was forced to acknowledge that he had been already introduced,—upon which the great man turned on his heel and hardly ever noticed him afterwards. This happened on the day Mr. F— was admitted to the bar at Mr. H—’s public breakfast at whose house the professional gentlemen all meet on the first day of every Term and go from thence in procession to the Court House. I will now close this letter in the hope of having better accounts to give you in my next. Your’s affectionately

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LETTER XVIII. CALCUTTA, 27th Jan., 1781. MY DEAR SISTER, Since my last we have been engaged in a perpetual round of gaiety—keeping Christmas, as it is called, though sinking into disuse at home, prevails here with all its ancient festivity. The external appearance of the English gentlemen’s houses on Christmas-day, is really pleasing from its novelty. Large plantain trees are placed on each side of the principal entrances, and the gates and pillars being ornamented with wreaths of flowers fancifully disposed, enliven the scene. All the servants bring presents of fish and fruit from the Banian down to the lowest menial; for these it is true we are obliged in many instances to make a return, perhaps beyond the real value, but still it is considered as a compliment to our burrah din (great day). A public dinner is given at the Government house to the gentlemen of the Presidency, and the evening concludes with an elegant Ball & Supper for the Ladies. These are repeated on New year’s day and again on the King’s birth day.260 I should say have been, for that grand festival happening at the hottest season, and every one being obliged to appear full dressed, so much inconvenience resulted from the immense croud, even in some cases severe fits of illness being the consequence, that it has been determined to change the day of celebration to the 8th of December which arrangement gives general satisfaction.—I shall not attempt to describe these splendid entertainments farther than by saying that they were in the highest style of magnificence: in fact such grand parties so much resemble each other, that a particular detail would be unnecessary and even tiresome. I felt far more gratified some time ago, when Mrs. Jackson procured me a ticket for the Harmonic261 which was supported by a select number of gentlemen who each in alphabetical rotation gave a concert, ball, and supper, during the cold season; I believe once a fortnight—that I attended was given by a Mr. Taylor, which closed the subscription and I understand it will not be renewed, a circumstance generally regretted as it was an elegant amusement and conducted on a very eligible plan. We had a great deal of delightful music, and Lady Chambers, who is a capital performer on the harpsichord played amongst other pieces a Sonata of Nicolai’s262 in a most brilliant style. A gentleman who was present and who seemed to be quite charmed with her execution, asked me the next evening, if I did not think that jig Lady C— played the night before, was the prettiest thing I ever heard? He meant the rondo which is remarkably lively; but I dare say “Over the water to Charley” would have pleased him equally well. 252

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Mrs. H— was of the party; she came in late, and happened to place herself on the opposite side of the room, beyond a speaking distance, so strange to tell, I quite forgot she was there! After some time had elapsed, my observant friend Mrs. Jackson, who had been impatiently watching my looks, asked if I had paid my respects to the Lady Governess? I answered in the negative, having had no opportunity, as she had not chanced to look towards me when I was prepared to do so. “Oh, replied the kind old lady, you must fix your eyes on her, and never take them off ’till she notices you; Miss C— has done this, and so have I; it is absolutely necessary to avoid giving offence.” I followed her prudent advice and was soon honoured with a complacent glance, which I returned as became me by a most respectful bend. Not long after she walked over to our side and conversed very affably with me, for we are now through Mrs. Jackson’s interference on good terms together. She also introduced me to Lady C— and her inseparable friend Miss Molly Bazett.263 It was agreed between them when they were both girls that, whichever married first the other was to live with her, and accordingly when Sir E— took his lady from St. Helena, of which place her father was governor, Miss Molly who is a native of the island accompanied them to England and from thence to India, where she has remained ever since;—thus giving a proof of steady attachment not often equalled and never perhaps excelled. 19th February. Yesterday being the Anniversary of our release from imprisonment, we invited Dr. Jackson’s family, Mr. O’Donnell and some friends to assist in its celebration; I call it my ‘Jubilee Day’ and trust my dear friends at home did not forget the occasion. This reminds me to tell you that Sudder Khan and Ayres our chief enemies have both closed their career of wickedness. The former died of wounds received before Tellicherry; and the latter having repeatedly advanced close to the lines of that place, holding the most contemptuous language and indecent gestures towards the Officers; setting every one at defiance and daring them to fire at him, (I suppose in a state of intoxication, miserable wretch!) was at length picked off, to use a military phrase.—Too honourable a death for such a monster of iniquity. My hope was, that he would have been taken prisoner, and afterwards recognised and shot as a deserter. Poor West is also dead; he never reached his destination—the boat he went up in, by some accident struck on a sand bank and nearly all on board perished. 26th March. A Frigate being ordered to sail for Europe with dispatches from Government, I shall avail myself of the occasion, and close this letter with a few remarks on our theatrical amusements. The house was built by subscription;264 it is very neatly fitted up, and the scenery and decorations quite equal to what could be expected here. The parts are entirely 253

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represented by amateurs in the drama—no hired performers being allowed to act. I assure you I have seen characters supported in a manner that would not disgrace any European stage. Venice Preserved265 was exhibited some time ago, when Captain Call (of the Army) Mr. Droz (a member of the Board of Trade) and Lieutenant Norfar,266 in Jaffier, Pierre, and Belvidera shewed very superior theatrical talents. The latter has rather an effeminate appearance off the stage, yet I am told he is a very brave Officer when on service; and though always dressed as if for a ball, when he makes his appearance, is among the most alert in a moment of danger. I cannot imagine how he contrives it, for the present mode of arranging the hair requires a great deal of time to make it look tolerable; however this is said to be the case.—One of the chief inconveniences in establishments of this kind, is that the performers being independent of any controul, will some times persist in taking parts to which their abilities are by no means adequate;—this throws an air of ridicule over the whole, as the spectators are too apt to indulge their mirth on the least opening of that kind: in fact many go to see a tragedy for the express purpose of enjoying a laugh, which is certainly very illiberal and must prove detrimental to the hopes of an enfant institution like the one in question:—for my own part I think such a mode of passing an evening highly rational; and were I not debarred by the expence should seldom miss a representation—but a gold mohur is really too much to bestow on such a temporary gratification. Adieu—I shall write again soon. Your’s most affectionately E. F.

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LETTER XIX. CALCUTTA, 26th May. MY DEAR SISTER, You must have perceived that the style of my letters for some months past has been constrained, nor could it possibly be otherwise; for not wishing to grieve your affectionate heart by a recital of the melancholy change in my prospects, occasioned by Mr. F—’s imprudent behaviour, I was reduced to enlarge on less important subjects. Some hints however escaped me which must have led you to suspect that all was not going on properly; but his conduct of late has been such that no hope remains of his ever being able to prosecute his profession here. Ever since our arrival he has acted in every respect directly contrary to my advice—By constantly associating with persons who had distinguished themselves by thwarting the measures of Government,—he soon became equally obnoxious. On one occasion when a tax was proposed to be levied on houses, several meetings were held at our house, wherein he openly insisted on the illegality of such a procedure, and encouraged his new friends to assert their independence. I remonstrated in the strongest terms against measures so pregnant with evil, and which must terminate in utter ruin, if not speedily abandoned; the character of our chief ruler267 being well known;—he will never desert a friend or forgive an enemy; what chance then has an individual who rashly incurs his resentment of escaping its baneful effects? all this and more I repeatedly but alas vainly urged— my representations were as heretofore treated with contempt: he still persevered, giving himself entirely up to low and unworthy pursuits, while his professional duties were wholly neglected and his best friends slighted. We were frequently invited to parties which he as constantly evaded, leaving me to make what excuses I could for his absence.—My dear kind Patroness Lady C—, still continues on my account to shew him attention as do the Jacksons and some few others: she has lately added a son to her family;268—I was with her at the time, and the sweet infant seems to have formed closer ties between us. On a late occasion however she was compelled to speak plainly. The christening is to take place in a few days; Sir Elijah and Lady Impey have offered to stand for the child, and Lady C— wishes me to be present, but Sir E— positively refuses to meet Mr. F— who of course cannot be included; so unless I can reconcile him to the omission I must remain at home also. 3d June. The grand ceremony is over. I had no difficulty with Mr. F— he declared himself pre-engaged the instant I mentioned the subject, and insisted that I should 255

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make some apology for him which was readily promised—You may suppose that I could not under such circumstances enjoy much pleasure though Sir E— and his Lady behaved very graciously. But the idea that my husband was so totally proscribed where he might have figured among the foremost pierced my very soul; yet was I forced to put on the appearance of cheerfulness, that I might seem to receive as a compliment what was certainly so intended. The public countenance of Lady C— and being admitted to such a select party cannot but operate favourably for me at this crisis, when I shall stand so much in need of support. 24th June. Though term is now far advanced, Mr. F— has scarcely a brief. The attorneys are positively afraid to employ him; and causes have actually come on with two advocates on one side and one on the other, rather than permit him to appear in them. What a noble opportunity of making an ample fortune is thus wantonly thrown away! Heaven grant me patience. I have only this reflection to console me, that every effort in my power has been made to ward off the blow which is now inevitable. I yesterday confided to Lady C— my real situation: who (on my stating that Mr. F— must certainly be obliged to quit the Settlement very shortly,) with the utmost kindness insisted on my making her house, my home whenever that event should take place; and Sir R— has in the most cordial way inforced the invitation.— Thus through the goodness of Providence am I provided with a secure and highly respectable asylum, till a passage to Europe can be obtained on moderate terms, a difficult matter to accomplish. 17th July. On the last day of the present month we must quit our house; and when my husband and I may reside under the same roof together again, Heaven alone can tell. It is astonishing to see with what apparent unconcern he supports the shock: but the acquisition of a new Patron has raised his spirits. Colonel Watson,269 a man of superior abilities and immense fortune has been long a determined opposer of Government, and the bitter enemy of Sir E. I— against whom he has set an impeachment on foot, to prosecute which it is requisite that a confidential agent should serve the process on the defendant here, and proceed to England with the necessary documents. Mr. F— has contrived to get himself appointed to this office: he has drawn up a set of articles many copies of which are preparing by Bengalee writers, who though they profess to understand English and are tolerably correct in copying what is put before them, know not the meaning of any thing they write; a great convenience this to such as conduct affairs that require secrecy, since the persons employed, cannot, if they were so disposed, betray their trust. Colonel W— never comes here; all is carried on with an air of profound mystery—I like not such proceedings and doubt if any good can come of them, but I dare not interfere nor drop even a hint which might lead to suspicion that any thing extraordinary is going forward. The duty of a wife which is paramount 256

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to all other civil obligations, compels me silently to witness what is beyond my power to counteract; although the character of a highly revered friend is obliquely glanced at, and may be in future more seriously implicated in the business—you will guess to whom I allude. Adieu you shall hear from me again when I change my abode. Your’s affectionately E. F.

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LETTER XX. CALCUTTA, 28th August. MY DEAR SISTER, Since I wrote last, my feelings have been harrassed in various ways almost beyond endurance—Mr. Fay quitted me on the 31st ultimo, and the rest of that day was devoted to the distressing (however just and necessary) task of delivering back such articles of furniture as had not been paid for, to the persons who supplied us with them; and also returning what had been borrowed of different friends for our convenience; what remained was taken possession of next morning, by a man to whom my unfortunate husband had given a bond for money advanced on the most exorbitant terms, to support his extravagance. Thus am I left destitute of every thing but my clothes, to endure the wretched effects of his imprudence, with a constitution weakened by the sufferings and privations, I underwent during my eventful journey, added to the dread which I cannot avoid feeling lest that unlucky blow I received in Calicut should be productive of serious consequences. Lady C— welcomed me as a sister, she wishes me to accompany her every where but time alone can reconcile me to general society:—The very day of my removal here, a circumstance was disclosed that determined me no longer to bind my destiny with that of a man who could thus set at defiance all ties divine and human. After consulting my legal friends I demanded a separation, to which he having consented, a deed was drawn up by Mr. S— under the inspection of Sir R. C—, in the fullest manner possible rendering me wholly independent of Mr. F—’s authority, with power, to make a will &c. in short conceived in the strongest terms our language could supply. I have appointed Mr. G. Jones Solicitor of Lincoln’s Inn and Mr. Mc Veagh one of the masters in Chancery here to act as my Trustees. Two more respectable men I could not have chosen. You my dear sister, who know better than any one, what exertions I have used, and what sacrifices I have vainly made for this most ungrateful of beings, will not be surprised to find that even my patience was not proof against this last outrage. But let me dismiss the hateful subject merely stating that the deeds were signed on the 11th instant. His secret270 is safe with me, though when we met on that occasion he had the insolence to hint his belief that out of revenge I should divulge it. So let him still think, for I deigned no reply except by a look; when I with secret triumph beheld his hitherto undaunted eye sink beneath the indignant glance of mine. “Tis Conscience that makes cowards of us all.”271 5th September. 258

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Sir Robert being appointed President of the Court at Chinsurah,272 is gone up to take possession of his charge, accompanied by Lady C— and the family. So here am I left alone to ramble over this great house and meditate on irreparable evils. Sir R—has however kindly entrusted me with the keys of his immense library, which will furnish a rich treat when my mind acquires sufficient calmness to look beyond itself in search of amusement. The acquaintance of Mrs. Wheler273 I have found a most valuable acquisition. I went with Lady C— to pass a day with her at the gardens, and have been treated with the utmost attention ever since. She has authorised me to look up to her as a steady patroness on all occasions. Mr. H— being gone up the country on political business Mr. Wheler of course takes the chair during his absence so you may judge what influence Mrs. W— possesses; but “she bears her honors so meekly” and contrives to soften the refusals which she is frequently compelled to give by so much affability and sympathy, as to conciliate all parties and render herself generally beloved. I have never mentioned yet how indifferently we are provided with respect to a place of worship; divine service being performed, in a room, (not a very large one) at the Old Fort; which is a great disgrace to the settlement. They talk of building a Church and have fixed on a very eligible spot whereon to erect it but no further progress has been made in the business. I now propose, having full leisure to give you some account of the East Indian customs and ceremonies, such as I have been able to collect, but it must be considered as a mere sketch, to point your further researches. And first for that horrible custom of widows burning themselves274 with the dead bodies of their husbands; the fact is indubitable, but I have never had an opportunity of witnessing the various incidental ceremonies, nor have I ever seen any European who had been present at them. I cannot suppose that the usage originated in the superior tenderness, and ardent attachment of Indian wives towards their spouses, since the same tenderness and ardour would doubtless extend to his offspring and prevent them from exposing the innocent survivors to the miseries attendant on an orphan state, and they would see clearly that to live and cherish these pledges of affection would be the most rational and natural way of shewing their regard for both husband and children. I apprehend that as personal fondness can have no part here at all, since all matches are made between the parents of the parties who are betrothed to each other at too early a period for choice to be consulted, this practice is entirely a political scheme intended to insure the care and good offices of wives to their husbands, who have not failed in most countries to invent a sufficient number of rules to render the weaker sex totally subservient to their authority. I cannot avoid smiling when I hear gentlemen bring forward the conduct of the Hindoo women, as a test of superior character, since I am well aware that so much are we the slaves of habit every where that were it necessary for a woman’s reputation to burn herself in England, many a one who has accepted a husband merely for the sake of an establishment, who has lived with him without affection; perhaps thwarted his views, dissipated his fortune and rendered his life uncomfortable to its close, 259

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would yet mount the funeral pile with all imaginable decency and die with heroic fortitude. The most specious sacrifices are not always the greatest, she who wages war with a naturally petulant temper, who practises a rigid self-denial, endures without complaining the unkindness, infidelity, extravagance, meanness or scorn, of the man to whom she has given a tender and confiding heart, and for whose happiness and well being in life all the powers of her mind are engaged;—is ten times more of a heroine than the slave of bigotry and superstition, who affects to scorn the life demanded of her by the laws of her country or at least that country’s custom; and many such we have in England, and I doubt not in India likewise: so indeed we ought, have we not a religion infinitely more pure than that of India? The Hindoos, or gentoos are divided into four castes or tribes called the Brahmin, the Khutree, the Buesho, and the Shodor: their rank in the land, declines gradually to the last named, and if any of them commit an offence which deprives them of the privileges that belong to their respective castes, they become Parias,275 which may therefore be called a filthy tribe formed as it were of the refuse of the rest. Those are indeed considered the very dregs of the people, and supply all the lowest offices of human life. They all profess what is called the religion of Brahma,276 from the caste which bears his name all the priests are chosen, who are treated in every respect with distinguished honour and reverence. Their religious Code is contained in a book called the Veda, which only the Brahmins are allowed to read; it is written in a dead language called the Sanscrit. They worship three Deities, Brahma, the creator, Vistnoo the preserver, and Sheevah the destroyer. But they profess to believe them only the representations or types of the great spirit Brahma (the Supreme God) whom they also call the spirit of wisdom, and the principle of Truth: none but Hindoos are allowed to enter temples, but I am told the Idols worshipped there are of the very ugliest forms that imagination can conceive; and to whom Pope’s description of the heathen deities may, in other respects, be strictly applied. “Gods changeful, partial, passionate unjust. Whose attributes are rage, revenge, or lust.”277 I lament to add to such wretched objects as these, numbers of the deluded natives are devoted in the strongest and most absolute manner possible. A certain sect named Pundarams278 live in continual beggary; extreme hunger alone induces them to ask for food, which when granted, they only take just what will preserve life, and spend all their days in singing songs in praise of Sheevah; another sect add a tabor, and hollow brass rings about their ancles to increase the noise with which they extol their deity. I consider both these as a species of monks but believe the holy fathers fall far short of the Jogees279 and Seniases280 of India, in their religious austerities. These not only endure all possible privations with apparent indifference, but invent for themselves various kinds of tortures which they carry to an astonishing length; such as keeping their hands clenched ’till the nails grow into them,—standing on one foot for days and even 260

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weeks together—and hiring people to support their hands in a perpendicular position. Their expiatory punishments are some of them dreadful. I myself saw a man running in the streets with a piece of iron thrust through his tongue which was bleeding profusely. On the Churruk Poojah281 (swinging feast) hundreds I have heard, are suspended at an amazing height by means of hooks, firmly fixed in the flesh of the back, to which sometimes a cloth is added round the body to afford the miserable victim a chance of escape, should the hook give way. I, by accident, (for voluntarily nothing should have tempted me to witness such a spectacle) saw one of these wretches, who was whirling round with surprizing rapidity, and at that distance scarcely appeared to retain the semblance of a human form. They firmly expect by this infliction to obtain pardon of all their offences, and should death be the consequence, they go straight to heaven—thus changing the horrid state of privation and misery in which they exist here, for one of bliss: if such be their real persuasion, who can condemn the result. Indeed under other circumstances it is found that, notwithstanding their apparent gentleness and timidity, the Hindoos will meet death with intrepid firmness— they are also invincibly obstinate, and will die rather than concede a point: of this a very painful instance has lately occurred.—A Hindoo beggar of the Brahmin caste went to the house of a very rich man, but of an inferior tribe, requesting alms; he was either rejected, or considered himself inadequately relieved, and refused to quit the place. As his lying before the door and thus obstructing the passage was unpleasant, one of the servants first intreated, then insisted on his retiring, and in speaking pushed him gently away; he chose to call this push a blow, and cried aloud for redress, declaring that he would never stir from the spot ’till he had obtained justice against the man: who now endeavoured to sooth him but in vain; like a true Hindoo he sat down, and never moved again, but thirty-eight hours afterwards expired, demanding justice with his latest breath; being well aware that in the event of this, the master would have an enormous fine to pay, which accordingly happened. I am assured that such evidences of the surprizing indifference to life, the inflexible stubbornness, and vindictive dispositions of these people are by no means rare; it seems extraordinary though, that sentiments and feelings apparently so contrary to each other should operate on the same minds; seeing them so quiet and supine, so (if it may be so expressed) only half alive, as they generally shew themselves, one is prepared for their sinking, without an effort to avert any impending danger; but that they should at the same time nourish so violent and active a passion as revenge, and brave even death so intrepidly as they often do in pursuit of it, is very singular:—but enough of these silly enthusiasts. I had lately the opportunity of witnessing the marriage procession of a rich Hindoo. The bride (as I was told) sat in the same palanquin with the bridegroom, which was splendidly ornamented;—they were accompanied by all the relations on both sides, dressed in the most superb manner;—some on horse back, some in palanquins, and several on elephants;—bands of dancing girls and musicians I understood preceded them;—and in the evening there were fireworks at the bride’s 261

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father’s house and the appearance of much feasting &c. but no Europeans were present. This wedding was of a nature by no means uncommon here; a rich man had an only daughter, and he bargained to dispose of her, or rather to take for her a husband out of a poor man’s family, but of his own Caste: for this is indispensable. In this case the bridegroom is brought home to his father-in-law’s house and becomes a member of the family; so that although the law prohibits a man from giving a dowry with his daughter, yet you see he does it in effect, since he gives a house to a man who wants one; gives in fact, a fortune but saddled with an encumbrance;—perhaps in a few years the old man may die, and the young one having fulfilled the wishes of his parents, and provided for his own wants, may employ some of his female relations to look round among the poorer families of his caste for a pretty girl, whom he will take as a second wife, tho’ the first always retains the pre-eminence, and governs the house; nor can the husband devote more of his time to one than the other,—the law compelling him to live with them alternately, you may be sure the account is strictly kept. My Banian Dattaram Chuckerbutty has been married between twenty and thirty years, without taking a second lady, and he boasts of being much happier with his old wife (as he calls her) than the generality of his friends are amidst the charms of variety. For my own part, I have not a doubt but he is in the right. The Hindoo ladies are never seen abroad; when they go out their carriages are closely covered with curtains, so that one has little chance of satisfying curiosity. I once saw two apparently very beautiful women: they use so much art however, as renders it difficult to judge what claim they really have to that appellation— Their whole time is taken up in decorating their persons:—the hair—eye-lids— eye-brows—teeth—hands and nails, all undergo certain processes to render them more completely fascinating; nor can one seriously blame their having recourse to these, or the like artifices—the motive being to secure the affections of a husband, or to counteract the plans of a rival. 27th September. The Hindoos who can afford to purchase wood for a funeral pile, burn their dead; one cannot go on the river without seeing numbers of these exhibitions, especially at night, and most disgusting spectacles they are. I will not enlarge on the subject. This mode however is far superior to that of throwing them into the river as practised by the poor; where they offend more senses than one. I have been frequently obliged to return precipitately from a walk along the river side, by the noisome exhalations which arose from these wretched objects. Some of the Hindoo customs respecting the sick are really shocking—When a person is given over by the Brahmins, (who are physicians as well as priests) the relations immediately carry him, if within a reasonable distance, to the banks of the Ganges, where he is smeared with the mud, quantities of which I am told are thrust into his mouth, nose, and ears. This treatment soon reduces him to a dying state; nor is it desirable that he should recover, since he must in that case lose caste; for it is an established rule, that whoever removes from the spot where 262

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the sacred rites have been performed, becomes an outcast. Dr. Jackson was once fortunate enough to be called in to attend the wife of a Hindoo Rajah282 whom they were on the point of taking to the river when he arrived—he assured the Rajah that he perceived no dangerous symptoms and would answer for her doing well.— Luckily the tremendous ceremonies had not commenced: The event justified our good Doctor’s predictions—the lady is still living and his success in this instance, has led to several others, highly gratifying to the best feelings of humanity and certainly beneficial to his fortune. This letter has run to such an enormous length that I must now conclude, with wishing that I may soon hear good news of you. I remain, Your’s most affectionately E. F.

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LETTER XXI. CALCUTTA, 17th December. MY DEAR SISTER. Sir R— and Lady C— have been down since I wrote last, and remained here during term, but are now gone up again, though much distressed. Mrs. C— prefers staying here.—A melancholy event has occurred in the family; the sweet little boy just turned of six months old, to whom I was so fondly attached, died a few weeks ago. Dear interesting child! I shall long lament his loss. He was not ill more than three days; so rapid is the progress of disease in this country. Mr. and Mrs. Hosea283 are arrived in Town and have taken accommodations on the Grosvenor, Captain Coxon. I was in hopes of being able to take my passage with them but am disappointed. Mr. H— was Resident at one of the upper stations; he is a man of high character and generally esteemed; and his wife one of the most amiable women I ever knew; it is impossible to do otherwise than love her. As she daily looks to be confined, her leaving Calcutta till after that period, is out of the question, so they must suffer the Grosvenor to proceed to Madras without them, where she is expected to remain a month at least, and the family and baggage of Mr. H— are to follow in a Country ship at the risk of arriving too late. The agreement is that, if she sail from thence before a certain day a small sum is to be forfeited; but after that day, should Captain Coxon be compelled to proceed on his voyage without them, he is still to receive ten thousand rupees, that is half the passage money by way of compensation. I state these particulars to shew what large sums are exacted of passengers. The society of Mrs. Chambers,284 who is a fine looking respectable old lady, well informed and chearful, with that of Mrs. H—, who has charming spirits, enables me to pass the time far more pleasantly than when I was left here during the rains. Besides I often visit at Dr. Jackson’s, and have made acquaintance with several agreeable families, who allow me to call on them without formality; the very idea of which is hateful to me at present: so cruelly fallen are my once highly and justly raised expectations. For what place do I now hold in the Society with which I am permitted to mix? Alas, none except by sufferance: but most ardently do I wish to escape from this fatal spot the scene of so many severe afflictions, and seek comfort with those who have never failed to afford it. There I shall not be constantly reminded of past hopes, now alas! sunk in disappointment. Think not these observations proceed from a repining spirit, or unmindfulness of favors received; I have been most beneficently treated and my views have been furthered in a way which I had no right whatever to expect. Can attentions like those be 264

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forgotten? No! it forms my proudest boast that I have such friends, and while life remains I must ever cherish the remembrance of their generous exertions. The approaching season always inspires melancholy reflections—I will therefore pass it over, and look forward to the next, when by the blessing of Providence I hope to be with my beloved family. 27th January, 1782. My dear Mrs. H— has thank heaven, got happily over her confinement, which took place three weeks ago; and all is now bustle and preparation for their departure.—Sir R—’s eldest son, Thomas, goes under their care; he is a charming boy, nearly seven years of age, which is rather late; but no good opportunity has occurred ’till now;—a Miss Shore (the daughter of an intimate friend) about the age of Thomas, also proceeds with them. Mrs. H— takes one little girl of her own, sixteen months old; the baby is to be left with Lady C—: she promises to be a lovely child. We are to have the christening to-morrow when I shall take my leave of large parties; except one, which I must attend. Mrs. H—’s infant daughter is to be christened early next month and Sir R—’s whole family is invited. At present I devote myself entirely to Mrs. H— who I really think has a friendship for me. Would it were in my power to accompany her, but that for many reasons is impossible. Another Indiaman (The Dartmouth Captain Thompson) has just sailed, but she too is absolutely crowded with passengers; so I must have patience—It is almost incredible what quantities of baggage, people of consequence invariably take with them; I myself counted twenty-nine trunks that were sent on board, for Mr. and Mrs. H— exclusive of chests of drawers and other packages, with cabin stores &c. and more still remain to be shipped. This separate passage to Madras will add greatly to the expense; for Captain Coxon would not have charged a rupee more, had they embarked with him at Bengal; even removing so much baggage from one ship to another will occasion no small inconvenience. CHINSURAH, 10th February. My time has been too much taken up for this fortnight past to afford leisure for writing. I have another melancholy event to record; but let me proceed regularly. Our friends left us on the second Instant. Poor Mrs. H— was dreadfully affected at parting with her infant; it seemed cruel for a mother to abandon her child only twenty-five days old; but it must in all probability have fallen a sacrifice. Her anxiety in other respects was great. Admiral Suffren is said to keep a sharp look out after English ships going down the Bay; but, I trust, Sir E. Hughes will find the French fleet better employment than cruizing about after our vessels.285 Sir R— and Lady C— felt severely the shock of their son’s departure but poor Mrs. C—, whose very soul seemed treasured up, if I may so express myself, in her grandson, sunk under the blow. On the fifth she was seized with a violent illness, of which on the seventh she expired. Sir R— is deeply afflicted, and I should be surprised if he were not, for, to him she was ever an exemplary parent; and gave 265

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an irrefragable proof of strong maternal affection, by accompanying him to this country at her advanced period of life. Her death is generally lamented, as a most charitable humane good woman. “Let her works praise her.”286 She was in her seventieth year. We came up here immediately after the funeral which took place the next day, and was most numerously attended; I may say by almost the whole settlement—gentlemen as well as ladies. Her character demanded this testimony of respect and that it was paid, affords me pleasure. You will expect me to give you some account of this place; but after having told you that it contains many very fine houses,—is regularly built,—and kept remarkably clean; nothing more remains to be said. One cannot expect much chearfulness among the inhabitants, though they are treated with the utmost kindness, and all private property is held sacred. A strange circumstance occurred at the time of its capture, which will probably become a subject of litigation. A King’s ship, either a frigate or a sloop of war, was lying off Calcutta, when news arrived that the Dutch had commenced hostilities.287—The Captain accompanied by a party of his officers and seamen, proceeded with all expedition to Chinsurah, which he reached about 2 A. M. next day, and summoned the place to surrender to His Majesty’s Arms. The Governor being totally unprovided with the means of resistance complied; so that when a detachment of the Company’s troops marched in at seven o’clock to take possession they found the business already settled, and had the laugh most completely against them. The Captain was soon induced to relinquish his capture, but insisted that his people were entitled to prize money,288 and has put in his claim accordingly—Is it not an odd affair? 21st February. Sir R—is going to dispatch some letters for England and I will profit by the occasion, having at present nothing further to communicate. All remains in uncertainty. I am, Your affectionate E. F.

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LETTER XXII. CALCUTTA, 17th March. MY DEAR SISTER, This is in all probability the last letter I shall write from Bengal. Mrs. W— has been indefatigable in her exertions; and has at length secured a passage for me on the Valentine, Captain Lewis; a fine new ship—this is her first voyage. I shall have a female companion too, which is certainly desirable. Colonel and Mrs. Tottingham with their family accompany us, besides these we shall have seven military gentlemen, two of the company’s civil servants, and thirteen children, under Captain Lewis’s immediate protection. The ship is expected to sail in the beginning of next month. I dined in company with Captain Lewis yesterday at Mrs. W—’s, and we were both much pleased with his behaviour.—When we retired after dinner my good friend congratulated me on the prospect of sailing with such a commander, for many of them assume airs of consequence, but Captain Lewis does not seem at all that way disposed; and should the passengers prove agreeable, I really think we may promise ourselves a comfortable voyage. I am using every effort in preparing my baggage, and Lady C— with her usual kindness renders me every assistance; nor have my other friends been neglectful of any thing that can contribute to my comfort both on the passage and after my arrival in England; till my health shall, with the blessing of Providence, be restored, when I may be enabled to seek out some decent means of support. I had a very eligible proposal made me of entering into partnership with a most amiable lady who has lately engaged in the school line, but was compelled to decline it, my complaints requiring a change of climate, and that I should consult those medical friends who have been accustomed to prescribe for me. I much regret this circumstance, having no doubt but we might have suited each other extremely well, for she has proved herself a sincere friend in many instances and must ever possess my grateful esteem. 28th March. I had the pleasure last evening, of being present at the marriage of Captain P. M— and my young friend Miss T—; the wedding was kept at Dr. J—’s and of course they intended to have a little ball; but hardly any one could be prevailed on to dance so late in the season. I had given a solemn promise that nothing should induce me to run the risk, so to comply was out of the question.—At length Mrs. J—, senior, who is turned of sixty-five, opened the ball with a very good minuet, and afterwards footed it away for about two hours, as gaily as the youngest: her example took effect, and they made up a tolerable set. The dance was 267

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succeeded by a magnificent supper, to which nearly thirty persons sat down. After the customary toasts we retired, and I reached home before one. May they be happy is my sincere wish. This is a terrible season for reaching the ships, none but stout vessels can venture down. Colonel T— pays seventy pounds for a sloop to convey his family. I am in this respect fortunate. Sir R— and Lady C— are going to a place called Bearcole for the benefit of sea-bathing, and I shall accompany them to Ingellee; which is within a tide of the Valentine: my friends will then proceed by land to the bathingplace; and one of the sloops by Sir R—’s orders will convey me and my baggage to the Barrabola head where the ship is lying at anchor to complete her cargo. 5th April. I have every thing now ready and only wait for the completion of Sir R—’s preparations. I feel very impatient to get to sea, being persuaded that it will have a salutary effect on my health,—change of scene and company will also be of service. I have taken leave of every one, and for many shall preserve sentiments of the most grateful esteem. ON BOARD THE

VALENTINE

BARRABOLA HEAD, 14th April.

I left Calcutta, on Tuesday the ninth Instant with Sir R— and Lady C— the latter I am concerned to say is in a very weak state, but trust sea bathing will be beneficial. We had a boisterous trip of it down to Ingellee, and every one but myself was dreadfully sea-sick. My kind friends quitted me on Saturday evening.—I felt quite forlorn at our separation. To be thrown among strangers after experiencing for near nine months, the attentive hospitality of such a family as I was torn from, almost overcame my fortitude,—but I soon lost every other sensation in that overwhelming one of seasickness, which lasted the whole way, nor could I go on board till the afternoon.— I shall keep this open till the Pilot goes, that you may have the satisfaction of hearing that we have passed the first dangers. 20th April. Our commander is by no means the placid being we supposed.—I doubt he will prove a very tyrant—instead of paying attention, or shewing respect, he exacts both, and woe be to those who fail in either. We are still waiting for the remainder of our Cargo and Captain Lewis vents his rage in drinking “confusion to the Board of Trade” every day. 28th April. We had a narrow escape last evening though I knew not of the danger till it was over. I was seized after tea with severe spasms in the stomach, and had the doctor 268

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with me; when suddenly the ship began to pitch and toss violently; and I heard Captain Lewis, call out in a voice of thunder “Stand by the sheet anchor, heave the lead.” Presently all was quiet again, nor had I the least suspicion till next morning of our having been adrift on the Barrabola sand; and what might have been our fate Heaven knows, had not the sheet anchor brought us up; for it is a most dangerous place, surrounded by shoals and out of sight of land. It is pleasant to see Captain Lewis so alert on perilous occasions; he appears to be an excellent seaman, but the roughest being surely that nature ever formed, in language and manners. The oaths he swears by, are most horrible and he prides himself in inventing new ones. How were Mrs. Wheler and I mistaken? I see he must be humoured like a child, for the least contradiction makes him almost frantic. 2nd May. Now I must indeed say farewell—the Pilot is just quitting us, and has promised to put this on board the first vessel that sails for England; there is one under dispatch. God bless you. Within six months, I trust we shall all meet in health and safety. I am, Your’s affectionately E. F.

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LETTER XXIII. ST. JAMES’S VALLEY, ST. HELENA. 24th September, 1782. MY DEAR SISTER, A more uncomfortable passage than I have made to this place, can hardly be imagined. The port of my cabin being kept almost constantly shut, and the door opening into the steerage; I had neither light nor air but from a scuttle:289 thereby half the space was occupied by a great gun, which prevented me from going near the port when it was open. Mrs. F— at first took her meals in the Cuddy, but the gentlemen were in general too fond of the bottle to pay us the least attention; after tea, we were never asked to cut in at cards, though they played every evening. Captain Lewis swore so dreadfully, making use of such vulgar oaths and expressions; and became so very rude and boisterous, that Mrs. F— withdrew intirely from table, and never left her cabin for the last thirteen weeks: but the Colonel took care to send her whatever was necessary; I had no one to perform the like kind office for me, and was therefore forced to venture up among them, or risk starvation below. The table was at first most profusely covered; being our Captains favourite maxim “never to make two wants of one”; Every one foresaw what must be the consequence, but he would not listen to reason. Thus we went on till the beginning of August, when he declared that we had rounded the Cape of Good hope; offering to back his opinion by receiving twenty guineas, and return a guinea a day till we reached St. Helena: but no one accepted the bet; yet doubts seemed to hang on the minds of many. However on the 5th at noon, hearing that we were in Latitude 33. 32 S. I began to think with the Captain that, it was needless to spare our stock, since a few days would bring us a fresh supply—but alas! at 4 P. M. land was perceived on the East coast of Africa; so near, that before we tacked flies were seen on the shore—had this happened during the night, nothing could have saved us from shipwreck.—Can I sufficiently bless Providence for this second escape? On examining the state of our water and provision, after the error was discovered, we were put on an allowance of a quart of water a day, for all purposes; and for nearly a month before we arrived here, we were forced to live on salt provisions; even the poor children and the sick, had no better fare. While off the Cape, we encountered very stormy weather but happily sustained no injury, except the loss of a fore-top-mast which was easily replaced—Captain Lewis, one day, thought fit to refuse me a passage through his cabin, for which I had expressly stipulated. I retired, and in a few minutes he came down to 270

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apologize for his behaviour, and a most curious apology he made. He began by saying that he had been beaten at piquet,290 and that losing always made him cross, “besides, said he, to tell you the truth I do not like ladies, not, (with a great oath) that I have any particular objection to you, on the contrary I really think you are a quiet good sort of woman enough; but I cannot abide ladies, and I declare that, sometimes when you come up to me upon deck, and say, ‘how do you do Captain Lewis’ it makes my back open and shirt (sic) like a knife”—so much for this gentleman’s respect and politeness! I was forced to appear satisfied and he seemed very penitent for some days; till another cross fit came on. Judge if I did not rejoice at the sight of this romantic Island;291 though its appearance from the sea is very unpromising,—inaccessible rocks, and stupendous crags frowning every side but one, nor is there any anchorage except at that point— The town is literally an ascending valley between two hills, just wide enough to admit of one street. The houses are in the English style, with sashed windows, and small doors. Here are back-gardens, but no gardens; which makes the place intensely hot for want of a free circulation of air; but when you once ascend Ladder Hill292 the scene changes, and all seems enchantment. The most exquisite prospects you can conceive burst suddenly on the eye—fruitful vallies,— cultivated hills and diversified scenery of every description. The inhabitants are obliging and attentive, indeed, remarkably; so altogether I find it a most welcome resting place. After being kept on salt provisions for a month, one is not likely to be very fastidious; former abstinence giving more poignant relish to the excellent food, which is set before us. Lord North, and the Hastings,293 China ships, arrived soon after us, but we are all still detained for Convey—how vexatious. 18th October. Yesterday Captain Lewis gave a grand entertainment on board the Valentine. I was obliged to preside for Mrs. F— would not venture on the water till there was a necessity for it. We had a most brilliant party. I danced a good deal, but find no inconvenience from it. It is odd enough, that he should have fixed on your birth day. You may be sure I silently drank my own toast. Mrs. Comettee and the other ladies seemed highly gratified, and well they might, for no expence was spared to render it completely elegant. 20th October. The Chapman294 is just arrived, in a most dreadful state, having lost near fifty of her Crew in her passage from Madras, from whence she sailed in Company with the Dartmouth,295 which was wrecked off the Carnicobar island296 the very ship I was, as I then thought, so unfortunate in missing: so that in this instance, as in many others, I may justly impute my safety to that Providence which “From hidden dangers, snares and death, Has gently steered my way.”297 271

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11th November. Among the passengers in the Dartmouth were Mrs. I— and her infant son, a most interesting child, three years of age, who were wonderfully preserved through sufferings, enough to overwhelm the strongest constitution; and proceeded to St. Helena on the Chapman on board which were Mr. Casamajor and his mother,298 who secured accommodations on the Lord North, not choosing to venture farther on the Chapman. Upon which I was applied to, to accompany Mrs. I— who could not well proceed without a female companion, and was not able to procure accommodations on the other ships—I instantly determined on accompanying her for the express purpose of endeavouring to soften the inconveniences under which she laboured, and to soothe her mind harrassed by the many hardships of her distressing voyage. 25th November. This day we left St. Helena in company with the Lord North, Valentine, and Hastings. The Chapman unfortunately sails very ill and cannot keep up with the other ships. Captain Lewis told me at St. Helena in order to prevent my quitting the Valentine, that we should be left in the lurch the first fair opportunity; and so it happened long ere we reached England. Our passage was tremendous, the Sea breaking over the ship and continually carrying some thing or other away; nor had we any naval stores to replace what was thus lost. Captain Walker and Mr. Gooch, the second officer, were daily employed with the people, repairing the sails and rigging, nor did they shrink from any labour. I never beheld such exertion: very frequently they were obliged to take the wheel, for scarcely a sufficient number could be found to keep watch. On entering the channel the weather was so thick that no observation could be taken for five days. One night after remaining several hours in dreadful suspense respecting our situation, Captain Walker came down about half past ten o’clock, to tell us that we were off Scilly.299 What a declaration! off Scilly! on a stormy night in the beginning of February! This intelligence was not likely to tranquillize our feelings. Mrs. I— and myself passed a sleepless night, and in the morning, one of the sailors ascertained the place we were driven into to be St. Ive’s Bay, a most dangerous place; but thanks to providence, we sustained no injury, except being forced round the Land’s End, which was to us a serious misfortune, being utterly unable to beat back into the English channel, our men being worn out with illness and exertion, and our stores of every kind nearly exhausted. No Pilot would venture to stay on board: The Chapman having no poop, looked so unlike an Indiaman,300 that she was taken for an American, and we poor forlorn creatures set down at once as prisoners. “Why don’t you release those women,” said they, “We will have nothing to do with you, we know better.” We found afterwards that although the preliminaries of peace had been some time signed,301 no 272

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account of the important event had reached this remote spot. Captain Walker now proposed proceeding to Milford Haven to refit, but the indraught, as it is called, having brought us off Lundy, he changed his resolution and took a pilot on board for King road, where we anchored at 7 A. M. on the 7th February 1783. THE END OF THE FIRST PART.

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PART SECOND CONTAINING AN ABSTRACT OF THE AUTHOR’S THREE SUBSEQUENT VOYAGES TO INDIA.

LETTER I. TO MRS. L.—— BLACKHEATH, 12th February, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, The interest which you are pleased to take in my welfare, and the kind inquiries you make respecting the voyages I have performed since my first memorable one, induce me to offer you a simple statement of facts relative to them; though to accomplish this even in the briefest manner, some circumstances must be revealed which I would rather consign to oblivion, and some wounds must be re-opened, which time has mollified, if not healed.—The manuscript submitted to your perusal,302 closes with an account of my arrival in England, and thus ended my first eventful visit to India; a period which according to my own estimation, had comprized a whole life of suffering and anxiety, and dissolved for ever the strongest tie the human heart can form for itself; a period in which physical and moral evils had alike combined to inflict whatever can wound the heart to its inmost core, and destroy that confidence in our fellow creatures, without which the world seems indeed “a howling wilderness,”303 peopled with terrific monsters, each prowling either by violence or fraud for his defenceless prey. Happily for me gentler beings had blended in my path their benign influences; my sorrows had been cheered and consoled by many. I was still young, and with buoyant spirits relieved in some degree from their late severe pressure, hailed my native land; yet a sigh of regret would mingle with my joyful anticipations, at quitting the society wherein, though assailed by tempestuous winds and mountainous seas, I had so frequently enjoyed, “The feast of reason and the flow of soul”304 amidst congenial minds. For ever blest be the moment when I quitted the Valentine; from that circumstance arose a friendship which has constituted one of the sweetest enjoyments of my life, and which still remains unbroken, though my friend305 and I seldom meet; but her letters are invaluable. Few possess such epistolary talents: they have been my chief solace and consolation in distress; but to proceed: Mrs. I—n, her little boy and myself went on to town, where a dreadful shock awaited me; my dear mother was no more; the tie to which a daughter most fondly clings was rent asunder; tho’ I had still a father and two most affectionate sisters remaining, it was long ere I could justly appreciate their worth, or draw consolation from their society. For nearly a whole year I laboured under very severe indisposition,306 and incurred great expence for medical attendance, not less than £150. I was several times considered in imminent danger; Mrs. I—n too was long, after her arrival, affected with the most distressing nervous debility. All this is not to be wondered 277

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at, for during the passage from St. Helena, both of us were in an infirm state, and our health had suffered much from the circumstances in which we were placed. It is true we experienced all possible relief from the kindness of those around us, whom we daily beheld subjected to privations and exertions the most trying, yet ever affording us comfort and attention. In each benevolent act Captain Walker was amply assisted by Mr. Gooch, and the Surgeon Mr. Crowfoot, a most worthy and scientific young man, to whose skill I was probably more indebted for the prolongation of a precarious existence, than I was aware of at the time. My health being in some measure restored, I tried various plans in pursuit of independence; but none seemed to promise success; my friends wished me to remain at home; but Calcutta appeared the most likely theatre of exertion; and you cannot wonder that my heart warmed towards a place, where I had met such friendship and generosity, and where so much general encouragement was given to the efforts of respectable individuals. I still bore in mind the offer307 which had been made to me in Bengal, and determined to pursue this plan; and having become acquainted with a Miss Hicks, a young woman of the strictest integrity, and who possessed many valuable qualifications, I engaged her to accompany me as an assistant. Captain Walker308 was about to proceed to Bombay, in command of the Lord Camden, and offered me a passage on very moderate terms, provided I took charge of four ladies, who wished to have a protectress during the voyage. Being desirous of seeing Bombay, I felt little reluctance to comply, especially as my friend Mr. Gooch held the same station in the Camden which he had, so meritoriously filled, in the Chapman. The passage to be sure, would be rather circuitous, but in a fine new ship, navigated by persons of whose nautical abilities I had such indubitable proofs, that appeared of little moment. The prospect of strengthening my connections in India, influenced me still further. Having therefore arranged my plans on a general ground, allowing for the deviations which in such a case as mine, might be allowed to arise from circumstances, I embarked on the Lord Camden, and sailed from the Downs for India, on the 17th March 1784.—Here let me pause for the present; I will soon resume my pen. I am &c. E. F.

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LETTER II. TO MRS. L.—— 15th February, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, For some days we had rather boisterous weather, but this subsided as we approached the Canary Islands, where (to my great mortification) we did not stop.— On the third of April had a view of the peak of Teneriffe which is said to be 2,000 feet high, perpendicularly. It must have been formerly a considerable Volcano; so lately as the year 1704309 there was an irruption from it which did immense damage. On the 10th we passed the Cape-de-Verd Islands, but to my regret without touching at any; for curiosity was ever with me a predominant feeling. The Island of Fogo has a Volcano, which sometimes flames out in a terrible manner, and discharges pumice stones to a great distance. The weather at this time was intensely hot, but we had plenty of apples on board, which afforded great refreshment; and soon after they were finished, we spoke a Danish ship,310 whose captain made the ladies a handsome present of oranges and pine apples. It is not easy for you, my dear madam, to conceive the importance of such accommodations; but those who have been many weeks, perhaps months, shut up in a floating prison, without the power of procuring refreshments which even health demands, will be well aware of their value.—At length the trade winds311 visited us, “and bore healing on their wings;”312 we passed the Tropic of Capricorn very pleasantly, but soon afterwards a change took place: such are the vicissitudes of a sea life. I have not yet mentioned the names of the ladies who accompanied me, there were Mrs. Pemberton, and Misses Turner, Bellas, and Fisher, who with Miss Hicks and myself occupied two thirds of the roundhouse;313 and I note it as rather a singular circumstance, that we were only five times on deck during the passage, which was owing to a previous arrangement between the Captain and me, to guard against imprudent attachments, which are more easily formed than broken; and I am happy to say the plan succeeded to our wish—About this time, Captain Walker fell dangerously ill, but fortunately recovered before the 8th of June, when the birth day of Miss Ludlow, a Bristol lady, who subsequently became Mrs. Walker, was celebrated in high style: all the ship’s company had a dinner of fresh provisions, and we sat down to a most sumptuous repast, vegetables and fruit having been provided in England, and salad raised purposely for the occasion. We were now going at the rate of eight knots an hour, off the Cape, with a heavy swell; but the young folks, nevertheless, so earnestly solicited for a dance, that the Captain could not refuse; so all the furniture being removed out of the cuddy, I led off, by particular request; but had only gone down one couple, when a tremendous 279

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lee lurch314 put us all in confusion. I declined standing up again, but the rest during three or four hours, tumbled about in the prettiest manner possible, and when no longer able to dance, made themselves amends by singing and laughing; no serious accident happened to any one, and the evening concluded very agreeably. On the 11th June we struck soundings at 7 A.M. off Cape L’Aguillas,315 this exactly confirmed Capt. Walker’s observations, and was matter of greater rejoicing to me, than can be imagined by persons who were never brought into danger, by the ignorance or inattention of those intrusted with the command. The next day we shipped so many seas316 from the heavy land-swell, as to extinguish the fire; we were therefore constrained to put up with a cold dinner: however our good Captain, ever provident, produced a fine round of beef, preserved by Hoffmann, which well supplied the deficiency. On the 24th June, we anchored in the Bay of Johanna,317 one of the African Isles to the northward of Madagascar. It is a fertile little spot. We here met with plenty of refreshments and very cheap. The oranges are remarkably fine: I took a good quantity of them: their beef is pretty good: Captain Walker purchased several bullocks for the ship’s use and to supply our table. The inhabitants are very civil, but are said to be the greatest thieves in existence. We were much amused with the high titles assumed by them. The Prince of Wales honoured us with his company at breakfast, after which Mr. Lewin318 one of our passengers, took him down to his cabin, where having a number of knick-knacks, he requested his royal highness to make choice of some article to keep in remembrance of him; when to Mr. L’s astonishment he fixed on a large mahogany book-case, which occupied one side of the cabin; and on being told that could not be spared, went away in high displeasure, refusing to accept any thing else. The Duke of Buccleugh washed our linen. H.R.H. the Duke of York officiated as boatman, and a boy of fourteen, who sold us some fruit, introduced himself as Earl of Mansfield. They seem very proud of these titles—We all went on shore, and while those who were able to walk, rambled about to view the country, which they described as very delightful, I awaited their return in a thatched building erected for the accommodation of strangers. We were careful to return before sun-set, the night air being reckoned very pernicious to Europeans.—These people are almost constantly at war with those of the adjacent Isles. Being in great want of gunpowder, they prevailed on Captain Walker to give them the quantity that would have been expended in the customary salutes. On the 2nd July we left Johanna, with a pleasant breeze, but were soon driven back and experienced great fatigue for many days, from a heavy rolling sea, but on the 20th, at day break, we saw Old-woman’s Island,319 and at 11 A.M. cast anchor at Bombay. An alarming accident happened while saluting the Fort; the gunner’s mate reloaded one of the guns without having properly cleansed it, in consequence of which he was blown off into the water. Never did I behold a more shocking sight. The poor creature’s face was covered with blood, yet he swam like a fish till a boat reached him. Thank God he escaped with some slight hurts, and to my surprize was upon deck next day. 280

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On the 21st we went on shore with Mr. Coggan320 the Naval store-keeper, who was Miss Turner’s brother-in-law. We landed in the dock-yard, where the many fine ships building and repairing with the number of Europeans walking about, almost persuaded me, I was at home, till the dress and dark complexion of the workmen destroyed the pleasing illusion—Mrs. Coggan received me very kindly, and by her hospitable treatment, rendered my stay at Bombay as agreeable as possible. On Saturday the 24th we received a visit from the Governor (Mr. Boddam)321 which I find is to be considered as a great compliment. We went to church, on the 25th, and in the evening sat up to receive company as also the two following evenings, a tiresome ceremony to me who detest parade and was merely a traveller; but Mrs. Coggan assured me it would be an affront to the settlement if I submitted not to the established custom. The like usage formerly prevailed in Bengal, but is now abolished. On the 29th we went to pay our respects to the Governor at Perell322 his country seat, a delightful place and a charming ride to it. Indeed all the environs are beautiful; in this respect it has greatly the advantage of Calcutta; but the town itself is far inferior. They have a handsome church and a good assembly-room, where they dance all the year round. We dined one day at Mr. Nesbit’s,323 chief of the Marine, who gave us a repast in the true old Indian style. “The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast.” We had every joint of a calf on the table at once; nearly half a Bengal sheep; several large dishes of fish; boiled and roasted turkies, a ham, a kid, tongue, fowls, and a long train of et ceteras. The heat was excessive, the hour two, and we were thirty in company, in a lower roomed house, so you may conceive what sensations such a prodigious dinner would produce. It is however a fact that they ate with great appetite and perseverance, to my astonishment, who could scarcely touch a morsel. On the 1st August, the Camden being ordered to Madras without any prospect of proceeding from thence to Bengal, Captain Walker secured a passage for Miss Hicks and myself on the Nottingham, Captain Curtis, who offered us the best accommodations and refused to accept of any remuneration. He afterwards disposed of his ship, but under the express stipulation that we should retain our cabin. I dined on the 8th at Mr. D. Scott’s with our fellow passengers Mr. and Mrs. Lewin; and a very agreeable day we passed, the whole of the cuddy passengers being invited, so that we sat down once more together, assuredly for the last time. On the 23d I dined with Miss Bellas at her uncle’s gardens where I met with a most cordial reception, and was introduced to Captain Christie whom she married before I quitted the settlement; and alas! I must add survived her marriage only thirteen weeks. She died, as I afterwards heard, of a confirmed liver complaint. Her health was very bad during the whole passage; for on the least motion she constantly became sea-sick, and never overcame it: she was a most amiable young woman and generally beloved. I shall ever cherish her memory with affection. On the 25th Captain Curtis introduced the new Commander Captain Ross to me, and made as many apologies for quitting the ship, as if he had been accountable to me for his conduct. “But however” said he “go when you will, I will see you 281

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safe on board and clear of the Reef,” which is a ridge of rocks at the entrance of Bombay harbour. This promise he performed on the 4th September, when having taken leave of our friends, he accompanied us on board the Louisa, for so was the Nottingham named in honour of the new owner’s wife. He staid until seven in the evening, and then went on shore with the Pilot; first calling up all his late servants, whom he charged to pay me the same attention as if he were present. I shall ever esteem him. Our friendship continued unabated while I remained in India; he afterwards commanded the Swallow Packet, and mine was the first and the last house he entered on each voyage: since my return home I have seldom seen him, but that alters not my sentiments.—It was natural that I should quit Bombay with favourable impressions. I had been treated with much kindness and mixed with the first society on the Island: I refer you to other travellers for descriptions, observing only that provisions of all kinds are good, but rather dear, except fish, which is here in high perfection and very plentiful. On the 15th September we anchored in Anjengo roads,324 to take in coir rope and cables for which this is the great mart. They are fabricated of the outer rind of the cocoa-nut, whose quality is such that the salt water nourishes it, and it possesses also an elasticity which enables it to contract or dilate itself, in proportion to the strain on it. This property is peculiarly useful in these seas, where squalls frequently come on with frightful violence and rapidity, and the preservation of an anchor is an object of importance. The surf runs very high here, and is at times extremely dangerous. Captain Ross brought off an invitation from Mr. Hutchinson325 the chief, to dine with him; but no one chose to venture on shore. I have not forgotten the fate of Mrs. Blomer, who was drowned some years ago with seven others in attempting to land on the beach. Here is a pretty strong Fort on the sea side. Every one who went on shore spoke with rapture of the country. The vicinity of the great chain of mountains which separates the coast of Malabar from that of Coromandel, and which are said to be the highest in the world, (the Alps and Andes excepted) gives an awful termination to the prospect. The water is here so indifferent that few Europeans attempt to drink it. Formerly Anjengo was famous throughout India for its manufactures of long-cloth and stockings, but these have fallen to decay. We left this dangerous place on the 22nd; the wind several times blew so strong, we had great apprehensions of being driven on shore; and a very narrow escape we certainly had; for on examining the anchor, only one fluke was found remaining; the other must have been so nearly broke by the strain on it, that it would not bear heaving up. Our passage was remarkably tedious, though we had a pleasant man in command, who kept an exceeding good table, but not expecting to be more than five or six weeks at sea, instead of twelve, our stock of fresh provisions was quite exhausted long ere we reached Calcutta, and only distilled water326 to drink. On the 27th November we arrived, and to my great surprise after all that had been said against the probability of such an event taking place, found the Camden had been some time in the river. Mr. Baldwin the chief officer died soon after, and my friend Mr. Gooch succeeded him. In this situation he remained for several 282

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voyages, with Captain Dance till he obtained the command of the Lushington, and I had frequently the pleasure of seeing him during my residence in Bengal. Being now about to enter on a new scene, I will take leave for the present and remain, Your’s &c. E. F.

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LETTER III. TO MRS. L.—— BLACKHEATH, 19th February, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, At Calcutta I met with great kindness from many whom I had formerly known, and who now appeared desirous of forwarding any plan, I might adopt. At length with the approbation of Captain Walker, and several other friends, I determined on placing Miss Hicks in business as a milliner. It was agreed that my name should not appear, although I retained in my own hands the entire management of the concern, allowing Miss H. one third of the profits. Mr. Berry purser of the Camden had the goodness to open a set of books, and to give me every necessary instruction how to keep them in proper order, which afterwards proved very advantageous in the prosecution of my concerns. You are aware how many difficulties both from within and without must have opposed themselves to this design, and how much even the same feeling operated in contrary directions; at least, if the wish for independence may be termed pride, to which it is certainly allied. Soon after, a proposal was made me to engage in a seminary for young ladies, on so liberal a plan, that I have since frequently, regretted not having complied with the solicitations of my friends; but I had in fact gone rather too far to recede, having made several large purchases, which could not be disposed of suddenly but at considerable loss. Within four months after our arrival, Miss Hicks married Mr. Lacey;327 and the following Christmas lay in of a fine boy, but unfortunately lost him at the end of six weeks; after which her health declined so fast, as to render it absolutely necessary that she should proceed to Europe. I took that opportunity of sending home for education, a natural child of my husband’s, whose birth had caused me bitter affliction; yet I could not abandon him, though he was deserted by his natural protector. They accordingly embarked on the 5th of September 1786, on the Severn Packet328 Captain Kidd, with every prospect of a favourable passage; but on the 9th, owing to the rapidity of the current, the vessel struck on a sand, called the Broken Ground, just below Ingellee, and every European on board unhappily perished, except the second officer in whose arms the poor little boy expired; but Mrs. Lacey supported herself in the fore chains with exemplary fortitude, till a tremendous sea broke over them, and he saw her no more, but by great exertion reached the shore on a broken spar. I felt her loss severely, for she possessed a mind and spirit that would have graced any station. After this melancholy event I was compelled to conduct business in my own name, but on a more extensive scale, and succeeded tolerably well, till the unlucky year 1788,329 when such immense investments were brought out, that nearly all 284

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concerned in that branch of commerce, were involved in one common ruin. Yielding to the storm, for I had large consignments which I was compelled to receive, my brother having become security for them at home, I solicited and obtained the indulgence of my creditors for eighteen months under four trustees, Messrs. Fairlie, Colvin, Child, and Moscrop, whose names were sufficient to sanction any Concern; and such was the confidence reposed in my integrity, that every thing remained in my own hands as formerly. Never, I am proud to say, was that confidence abused; pardon the seeming vanity of this assertion; in justice to my own character, I must say thus much, and can boldly appeal to those who are best acquainted with the whole transaction for the truth of my statement. Having received several consignments from my kind friends at home, which sold to great advantage, and various other means suggesting themselves, wherein I was benevolently assisted by many who saw and compassionated my arduous struggles after independence, I succeeded in settling either in money or goods, every claim on me, and again became possessed of a little property; when in the beginning of 1794, anxiety to see my dear friends, led me to resolve on returning once more to Europe. I must here mention what operated as a strong encouragement to prosecute the plan immediately. In May 1791 Mr. Benjamin Lacey330 brother of my lamented friend’s husband came to Bengal, bringing out a small investment for me. I received him into my family, and altho’ only nineteen years of age, he evinced such abilities, that I soon obtained a situation for him, where he conducted himself so much to the satisfaction of his employers, as to be intrusted with confidential commissions to Madras and elsewhere, which he executed with judgment and integrity. This young man happening to be in Calcutta, I embraced the opportunity of leaving to him the management of my concerns. As a proof that my confidence was not misplaced, allow me here to notice, that altho’ my stock and bills were delivered over to him without inventory, or engagement on his part when I left India, he in the course of eleven days after, transmitted regular accounts of the whole, and where placed, making himself answerable for the proceeds in the strongest manner; so that had we both died, my friends would have found no difficulty in claiming my effects. Having by his assistance laid in a small investment, I embarked on the 25th March on board the American ship Henry, Captain Jacob Crowninshield,331 bound for Ostend; and on the 29th the pilot quitted us. I found the Henry a snug little vessel, Capt. C. a well behaved man, and his officers, though not of polished manners, yet in their way disposed to offer me every attention that could render the passage agreeable. I suffered at times from the heat, but on the whole enjoyed better health than during my former voyage. Having only one passenger on board besides myself, but little occurred to relieve the monotony of a sea life: I frequently played chess, and was almost constantly beaten. Cards and backgammon had their turn, but I grew tired of all; till at length, on the 2nd July we anchored off St. Helena. I went on shore in the afternoon and learnt with some vexation that a large fleet sailed only the day before. I wished to have written, specially as we were not bound direct to England. Many changes had happened in this curious little 285

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Island, during my twelve years absence. Few recollected me; but Captain Wall of the Buccleugh formerly chief officer of the Valentine, behaved with the greatest attention,—I shall ever acknowledge his kindness. Fresh provisions were very scarce, a drought had prevailed until this season for four years, and it would require three good seasons to repair the damage sustained, by their stock perishing for want of water—A circumstance happened during our stay, the like of which was not remembered by the oldest inhabitant, though from the appearance of the place, one would conclude such events were common: a large fragment of rock, detatched by the moisture, fell from the side of Ladder Hill, on a small out-house at the upper end of the valley; in which two men were sleeping in separate beds. The stone broke thro’ the top and lodged between them, the master of the house was suffocated, it is supposed, by the rubbish, as no bruises were found on his body; the other man forced his way through, and gave the alarm, but not time enough to save his companion. This accident has caused many to tremble for their safety, since all the way up the valley, houses are built under similar projections, and will some time or other probably experience the same fate. Among the Alps such things are common. An unpleasant affair also occurred to me. I had, when last here, given a girl who had attended me from Calcutta, and behaved very ill, to Mrs. Mason, with whom I boarded, under a promise that she should not be sold, consequently no slave paper passed. Mr. Mason, however, in defiance of this prohibition, disposed of her for £10. This act militating against the established regulations, advantage was taken of my return to the Island, to call upon me as the original offender, not only for that sum, but a demand was made of £60 more, to pay the woman’s passage back to Bengal with her two children!!!332 After every effort, I could only obtain a mitigation of £10, being forced to draw on my brother Preston333 at sixty days sight in favour of the Court of Directors, for £60, a sum that I could ill afford to lose, but the strong hand of power left me no alternative. On the 6th July we quitted St. Helena, and on the 11th anchored off Ascension. Our Captain and the gentlemen went on shore to look at the Island. The following remarks I extract from his journal. “The soil near the sea, appears dry and barren in the extreme, like cinders from a fire; indeed the whole Island bears evident marks of the former existence of volcanoes, several craters still appearing on the hills; perhaps it owes its origin to some great convulsion of nature, as I am persuaded does St. Helena: altho’ the sea coast presents a dreary view, yet on walking farther the prospect becomes enchanting; a most delightful verdure covers the smaller hills, and the vallies; and no doubt they afford plenty of water, tho’ not being very well, I was too much fatigued to examine. The 2nd officer saw five or six goats, but could not get near enough to fire at them.” Numbers of man-of-war birds334 and eggs were taken, which proved to be good eating; they likewise caught the finest turtle I ever saw, weighing near 400lbs., but by an act of unpardonable negligence in people so situated, it was suffered to walk overboard in the night. We had however the good luck to catch a fine albercuore335 which weighed near 100lbs., its flesh when roasted resembled veal; we were fortunate in having an excellent cook on board, who really made the most of 286

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our scanty provisions. On the 3rd of August, three large ships hove in sight, one of which bore down towards us and fired several guns to bring us to. They sent a boat on board with orders for our Captain to attend the commander; he came back, to our great joy, in about half an hour, having been treated with much civility by the French Captain. It was now we heard the distressing news of Ostend being in the hands of the French;336 indeed they boasted of having gained the advantage every where, except in the West Indies.—These were three frigates mounting from 28 to 32 guns, they had been 20 days, from Brest and had taken 22 prizes. We had been assured by Captain Wall, that the French dared not shew their noses in the channel, but I with sorrow now witnessed the contrary, not on my own account, being safe enough on board an American; but Captain C. informed me, there were more than 200 English prisoners on board those ships.—He now acquainted me with his determination to proceed to America, and very politely offered me a passage, that I might witness the disposal of my property, which I of course declined, not feeling the least desire to prolong my voyage. So having arranged my affairs in the best manner possible under existing circumstances, I took a final leave of the Henry on the 4th September, and landed with my baggage at Cowes in the Isle of Wight.—From this place I soon reached London; pleased as I went, to behold scenes from which I had been so many years banished, and anticipating the delight with which my dear father337 would receive his long absent child. Alas! I was doomed to behold him no more. He expired only four months before my arrival—The remainder of my family I had the happiness of finding in perfect health—The property sent to America came to a tolerable market, but Captain Crowninshield instead of making the returns in cash, sent a ship called the Minerva, with his younger brother Richard Crowninshield338 in command of her, which ship it was proposed that I should take out to India under certain conditions. She was a fine new vessel of about 300 tons burthen; I had her coppered, and proposed her first making a voyage to America, and on her return sailing for Bengal about Christmas: But when completely fitted for sea, with a picked cargo on board for Boston, she took fire by the bursting of a bottle of aquafortis, which had been negligently stowed among other goods, and though immediately scuttled and every precaution taken, sustained material damage. This involved me in a series of misfortunes. Mr. P. Wynne who had shipped to the amount of £428 on the Minerva, by mere accident discovered that, contrary to the general opinion, the Captain was responsible for all goods committed to his charge under regular bills of lading; and accordingly commenced an action against him, in which he was successful, the whole debt and costs near £600 falling on the Captain, and from his inability, on me: this decision caused a change in the tenor of bills of lading, which now contain clauses against fire and several other casualties, whereas before “the dangers of the seas” were alone excepted. Thus did my loss operate to the advantage of others. To prevent the total wreck of my little property, I was compelled to proceed immediately on the original plan, as affording the only chance of attaining independence, and ultimately securing a home in my native country. 287

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Having resolved never again to travel alone, I engaged a Miss Tripler as a companion, for two years, at £30 per annum; but had soon cause to regret the agreement. A proposal being made by my dearest friend Mrs. Irwin to take out a young lady, who had been educated in England, and was going to rejoin her friends in Bengal, I felt no disposition to refuse, having frequently seen Miss Rogers and knowing her to be a most amiable little girl; besides as I had a piano-forte, and a pair of globes with me, and a good collection of books, I was pleased with the idea of contributing to her improvement, and amusing myself at the same time—The ship being obliged to touch at Guernsey, I determined to join her there; so, on the 17th July she sailed for that place. Miss Tripler and my Bengal servant proceeding on her, as the most saving plan. Here let me pause, reserving the account of my third voyage for another letter. I remain truly your’s E. F.

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LETTER IV. TO MRS. L.—— BLACKHEATH, 24th February, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, On Sunday the 2nd August 1795 at 5 A.M. Miss R—s and myself, accompanied by Captain Richard Crowninshield quitted London for Southampton, from whence the packets sail for Guernsey. I did not leave my sister and nieces without deep regret; they were always very dear to me, but now, having lost my parents, the tie was drawn still closer; abstracted from this consideration, I rather rejoiced at quitting England, as the whole time of my stay had been imbittered by a succession of losses and disappointments, arising partly from my individual misfortune respecting the ship, and partly from the general state of commerce at this inauspicious period. Alas! in the number of wretched Emigrants339 whom I saw crowding the port of Southampton, I felt that I had but too many fellow-sufferers, and it was easy to read in many a sorrowful countenance that, “the times were out of joint.”340 On arriving there, we were advised to go on by land to Lymington, and embark from thence; this gave me an opportunity of passing a few hours at Newtown Park,341 a short mile from Lymington, the residence of Mrs. I—’s sister Mrs. P—n. The house and grounds are strikingly beautiful, and an Observatory at the top of the former, commands an extensive view over the Isle of Wight, and great part of the channel; and Mrs. P—n assured me, that not long before, she saw from thence near four hundred vessels sail together. The wind becoming fair, we embarked on the 5th August, and next evening safely reached the Minerva at Guernsey. We found all on board greatly fatigued, the ship having arrived only the night before, after a most harrassing passage of eighteen days. What an escape we had! On the 8th we went on shore; passed through the market, which appears to be well supplied, particularly with fruit, vegetables, poultry, and butter; we took a quantity of the latter, which lasted perfectly good all the way out. I was pleased with the market people, they were so remarkably clean and civil. The women wore bonnets with enormous stiffened crowns, underneath which, they had becoming laced mobs. Provisions are in general good and cheap; the fish excellent; such delicious soles I never tasted any where. We went to church and heard prayers both in French and English; a dialect of the former prevails here, but it is a vile jargon, I could scarcely understand one word in ten. This must be a very healthy place; I saw here a lady who, at the age of ninety-four, had full possession of her faculties, and I heard there were several others on the island nearly of the same age. Mr. Tupper, a gentleman to whom I had a letter, was in his 76th 289

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year; he and his whole family paid Miss R—s and myself the greatest attention. I was surprised to see the magnificent style in which their house was fitted up, the drawing room stove was of silver, the curtains rich silk, with gilt cornices; the chimney piece cost eighty pounds, and every other article corresponding; but even these were trifling, when compared with the many capital paintings and valuable prints which adorned every room in the house. I afterwards found that the prevailing taste with the wealthy here, is for expensive houses; for the roads are so bad and steep, that single horse chaises are the only carriages in use. On the 17th August, Mr. J. Tupper came by appointment to shew us the Island, of which we made almost the tour. The lands are highly cultivated, but such roads I never saw; they are barely wide enough to admit a chaise; fortunately we met only one, which backed for us to pass. I admire the exact manner in which the hedges are kept, they add great beauty to the prospect. I have seldom seen more picturesque views; the land and sea vallies are particularly striking. Their parties, though elegant, are by no means expensive; for liquors are duty free, and the best wines do not cost more than 16s. per dozen, except claret, which is at from 25 to 28s. The hospitality with which we were all treated by this worthy family, excited the most grateful emotions; and I bade them adieu with sincere regret. I am yours truly, E. F.

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LETTER V. BLACKHEATH, 25th February, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, We were a pretty large party on board; Mr. Campbell, fresh from the Highlands of Scotland, on whom the officers were continually playing their jokes; Mr. Smith, a youth going to the Madeiras, and Mr. Regail, who was one of the most interesting young men I ever met with: his manners were elegant, his mind highly polished, and his disposition placid and benevolent; but he appeared bending beneath a deep dejection; he never joined in conversation, if it were gay; he ate no more than barely sufficed nature, and tho’ from politeness and native suavity, he never refused to join our evening parties at cards, yet his depression was visible even in the moments of amusement. He had been brought up in Russia, and had, for his age (which could not be more than 24) seen much of the world, and evidently mixed in the first society, and I apprehend some singular blight had happened in his fortunes. On the 7th September we landed at Funchall, the Capital of Madeira. I was exceedingly delighted with our approach to the Island: the town is built on rising ground, and as you draw near to it, appears imposing and magnificent, having several churches and convents. Behind the town the ground rises abruptly into steep hills, covered with vineyards, and ornamented with pleasure houses, at once exhibiting the appearance of prosperity and cultivation, and the charms of picturesque and romantic scenery.—A Mr. L— to whom I had letters, went with us to a Hotel; for unfortunately his lady being in England, he could not entertain us at his own house. Living in this manner was very expensive and disagreeable also, we paid 5s. each for dinner, exclusive of wine; and neither the waiter, nor any other servant, understood a word of English, or any other language we could speak. It was only with the landlady we could have any communication. We found Funchall much less beautiful than its first appearance promised; the streets were ill paved, narrow, dirty and solitary; but the great church342 is a handsome building, and the hospital a very excellent one, before which is a fine fountain, which is always a refreshing sight in a country like this. The American Consul343 visited us the next morning, and invited us to his country house, for which we sat out at 5 o’clock. Miss R—s and I were in silk net hammocks, slung upon poles, and each carried by two men, who went at a great rate, considering the road lay up a steep hill; this is the only mode of conveyance, except riding on horse back, as no wheel carriages can be used in a country so hilly—They employ a kind of dray or sledge drawn by oxen to transport goods. We found a large party assembled; the lady of the house, a pleasant Irish gentlewoman, had all the frankness and hospitality of her country, and with her husband, 291

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a most amiable and companionable man, made us quickly forget we were strangers. Even the Portuguese ladies, seemed familiar with us, tho’ unluckily we could not converse with them. We had a ball at night, but the weather being too warm for dancing, we exchanged it for whist. I cannot help observing here, how frequently people who travel, will find an advantage in knowing some thing of this game, as they may sit down with persons of different nations and languages and enjoy with them an amusement, that for the time, admits of an interchange of ideas and facilitates good-will, even where conversation is denied. We sat down above thirty to an elegant supper; the grapes I found delicious here, but the season for other fruits was over. The vineyards are tended with unusual care; the grapes of which wine is made, are not suffered to ripen in the sun, which they told me is the reason of the superior flavour in Madeira wine. The Consul’s house was most delightfully situated; it overlooked the whole town of Funchall, the surrounding country, and the wide spreading ocean; it had a beautiful garden, which produced abundance of peaches, apricots, quinces, apples, pears, walnuts, bananas, guavas, and pine-apples, and behind rose a fine grove of pine trees. I quitted this paradise with regret, and found my ride down-hill very fatiguing and disagreeable. We staid here till the 21st, and by means of our first friend, spent several pleasant days, and gay evenings, but the weather was so intolerably hot, and the travelling so disagreeable, that if I had not been detained by business, I would much rather have passed my time on board. One day we went with the American Consul to visit a Convent of Ursulines; we found the Chapel door open, but were not suffered to pass the threshold: the nuns were very chatty, and like most ignorant persons, exceedingly curious, asking a hundred ridiculous questions. How very differently do human beings pass the time allotted them in this probationary existence! Surely, to consume it in supine indolence or “vain repetitions” can never render us more acceptable to Him, who is the fountain of light and knowledge. We ate some preserved peaches with them, which the Consul paid for, and then took our leave; but were forced to submit to a salute from the sisters, which we would gladly have dispensed with, for they all took an enormous quantity of snuff. These are the only nuns I ever saw who do not conceal their hair. On leaving these pious ladies, we went to Golgotha, or the chapel of skulls,344 (as it is called) being entirely lined with skulls and other human bones. What an idea! We drank tea the same day, with Signor Esmerado, whose large house and extensive grounds once belonged to the Jesuits. This is one of the richest families in the Island; the display of plate surprised me; the tea tray was the largest I ever saw, and of massive silver; wine and sweetmeats, were served in the same costly style. After tea there were several minuets danced; they with difficulty suffered us to depart, and were the means of introducing us to another pleasant evening party, where the lady of the house played remarkably well on the piano-forte, and sung in a style of superior excellence. One day we went on horse-back, to visit the church of Nossa Senhora de la Monte, (our Lady of the Mount) about three miles from Funchall, upon a very high ground which must have cost a large sum in building. The ascent to it, is at 292

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least by a hundred steps. The church is not large, but richly ornamented: there is a wonder-working image of the virgin, in a chrystal shrine, very small, not more than two feet high, it looks exactly like a doll; but her little ladyship, however insignificant her appearance, had more votaries than any other saint on the Island. Here we saw some paintings, which considered as the work of a selftaught Genius, (and I was assured this was a fact) had extraordinary merit. In this little excursion, I was surprised to see the diversity of climate exhibited in a short distance; the vintage was over, below; while the grapes around us were like bullets, and I am told they never completely ripen; we observed the same effect in Mr. Murray’s plantation,345 half a mile lower. This gentleman, who was the English Consul, had laid out above £20,000 in improving a spot, which after all, will never bring any thing to maturity; yet it is a most charming place; there are three ranges of gardens, one above another, the lower are very large and well laid out, on a level, artificially formed, in the midst of which stands a good house, but not sufficiently elegant to correspond with such extensive grounds. In these are several reservoirs, containing gold and silver fish, which are supplied with water by small cascades, as as to be kept constantly full: Nor are Mr. Murray’s improvements confined to his own estate; the road up to the mount and the wall which secures it, with many fountains, conduits, and reservoirs, were made by him. He has also opened many cross-paths, winding round the hill in the prettiest manner imaginable, with stone seats, and alcoves, to rest on from time to time; and has planted the hollows with chestnut trees, entirely at his own expence. Poor man! he had been obliged by ill health to abandon his little paradise, and was at this time in Lisbon. We afterwards called upon the British Vice-Consul Mr. C——k,346 at his country seat, which was remarkable for its extensive prospect; we thought him and Mrs. C. very good kind of people, but were surprized to find that altho’ the latter was English, she had resided abroad from infancy, and knew scarcely a hundred words of her native language. Altho’ we were certainly treated with much kindness and hospitality at this place, yet were we assured, that the inhabitants had little enjoyment of society with each other; that being all engaged in one line of merchandize, the pursuits of interest, were found to jar with those of good-fellowship; and that on the whole, Madeira was an unpleasant residence, except to the sick, and the way-faring. I am yours truly E. F.

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LETTER VI. TO MRS. L.—— BLACKHEATH, 28th February, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, We were much tossed by the equinoctial gales on quitting Madeira, as might be expected; but on the 23rd September we obtained a sight of the peak of Teneriffe: all that day we kept standing in for the land, but to little purpose, as the mountains are too high to admit of approach, except in a calm. On the 26th we cast anchor in the road of Oratavia:347 the visit-boat came out, and as soon as our bill of health had been examined, the Captain was permitted to go on shore. I sent by him a letter which, Mr. P —— the American Consul at Madeira, had given me, and received in reply a most cordial invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Barry348 for Miss R—s and myself, to take up our abode with them during our stay with which we thankfully complied in the evening. The appearance of this country, pleased me much better than Madeira, as it is more cultivated and better inhabited: the city of Oratavia constitutes a fine feature in the beautiful scene. We were received most kindly by the worthy couple who invited us, and at whose house we met with the best society in the Island. I greatly prefer the Spanish ladies to the Portuguese, finding them more easy in their manners, and much better educated. Many spoke French and Italian with facility, and several had been so connected with the English, as to have attained enough of the language, to be tolerably intelligible in it: their persons were pleasing, and some would have been really handsome, but for the presence of Mrs. Barry, who altho’ in her thirty-fourth year, I thought the most beautiful woman I ever beheld. She was in England just before Sir Joshua Reynold’s death, and he declared repeatedly, that would his health permit him ever to take another picture, it should be Mrs. Barry’s. Her height was commanding, with just enough of the enbonpoint349 to be agreeable. Dimples have been called “the first of the graces.” I never saw a countenance display more of them; her smile was perfectly fascinating. I was disappointed in my intention of ascending the Peak of Teneriffe, the season being too far advanced; and I was assured by many, that I was quite unequal at any time to have endured the fatigue. After travelling 15 miles over loose stones and rugged ascents, you find yourself still at the foot of the Peak; here it is necessary to remain till two in the morning, when the task of clambering begins, over pumice stone and ashes, and should you reach the top by sunrise, you may esteem yourself very fortunate: four hours are generally allowed for the ascent, and after all, should the Peak be enveloped in clouds, which is frequently the case, you have your labour for your pains; but on a clear day the view is truly sublime; you can distinctly see the seven Canary Islands; some assert that both the Continent 294

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of Africa and the Island of Madeira have been seen from hence; but I cannot suppose the human vision capable of extending so far, tho’ I do not doubt that both places are comprehended within the immense horizon such a prodigious height may command. Having heard a very good account of Santa Cruz,350 which is between 20 and 30 miles across the Island, we determined to visit it, little aware of the roads we must encounter. Ladies here travel on Asses, on which are placed a sort of armed chair, with cushions and a foot-stool; this plan appeared to be easy, but we soon found that the roads at Madeira, were bowling greens compared to these; how the poor animals that bore us, contrived to keep their legs, clambering over the rocks that from time to time had fallen in the path, I know not; the shocks they gave me I shall never forget. Mr. Barry had provided a cold turkey, wine &c. for a repast, and when ready for it, we went into a peasant’s cottage, and dined comfortably, endeavouring to laugh away our fears and fatigues; the remains of our meal afforded a feast to the peasants, who live in a most wretched style, seldom tasting either meat, eggs, or milk: the mother of the mistress of the cottage was near eighty, and to see, with what eagerness the poor old creature watched every morsel we put into our mouths, was really affecting. Notwithstanding their coarse fare, the common people here, are a stout, hardy race; fair complexioned, well featured, and remarkably lively, as we found by our attendants, for as each animal has a man to guide it, we were almost stunned by their incessant chatter. Soon after dinner, we renewed our journey; my animal fell down, but I was not hurt, and for the next five miles, our road was easy, and lay over a delightful plain which brought us to the ancient city of Laguna,351 the Capital of the Island, which is tolerably large, well inhabited, and has two good churches, with several convents; from thence the road to Santa Cruz lay entirely on the descent, over large stones and fragments of rock. The jumbling was horrible, and pour surcroit de malheur,352 so strong a wind blew from the sea, that my whole strength was scarce sufficient to hold my umbrella; yet I did not dare give it up, the rays of the sun were so powerful, and the reflection from the stones intolerable. I was at one time so exhausted, that I declared I must give up the journey, but the creature I rode, carried me on in spite of me, and stopped not until we arrived at the house of Mr. R——y in Santa Cruz,353 who gave us all a hearty welcome. This gentleman lived in a most delightful situation fronting the Mole, where notwithstanding our fatigue, we walked in the evening, when our good host got tipsy for joy, and with great difficulty allowed us to retire. Alas! weary as we were, the musquitoes would scarcely permit us to sleep; my companion suffered terribly from them. Santa Cruz is indeed a fine place, and the country around, well deserves the pen of Mrs. Ratcliffe354 to celebrate its cloud-capt mountains, vallies teeming with abundance, that in the language of Holy Writ, seemed to “Laugh and sing”355 beneath the eye of their majestic mountains; and here to render every coup d’oeil complete, the vast Atlantic occupies the front, and offers its immense world of waters to our contemplation. The most curious, perhaps I ought to say the most interesting circumstance that happened to me in this expedition, was the violent passion our kind entertainer 295

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conceived for me, and which was certainly opened in a manner perfectly new. “My dare soul, what shall I do to plase you? Is it fifty pipes of wine you would like? but why will I talk of wine? you shall have my house, my garden, all I have in the world! at nine o’clock to-morrow I will resign every thing up to you, and by J—s if you’ll consent to marry me, I’ll be drunk every day of my life just for joy.” Irresistible as the last argument was, my heart of adamant withstood it. Poor R——y! never did a kinder heart, a more generous spirit exist, and but for a fault which indeed proceeded really from the warmth of his heart, he would have been a most agreeable companion; he was beloved by every one. Poor man! let me here close his history, by recording that he was since killed by a shot in the streets of Santa Cruz, at the time of Lord Nelson’s attack356 against it. We returned soon after this declaration, and found the road present objects of new beauty, because we were a little more at ease in our conveyance, from habit.—We found a new guest with Mrs. Barry, a Mr. Edwards, who was just arrived from Turkey and attended by a native of that country; he was completely a citizen of the world, held a commission in the service of the Grand Signior, had been every where, and seen every thing; he was elegant, accomplished, and every way agreeable. Our fellow voyager Mr. Campbell, during all the time we were at Teneriffe, continued the butt of the Captain’s jokes, in which others were too ready to join him; on our return, they persuaded him that his legs were swelled, which was ever the precursor of mortal disease in the Island, and the poor fellow submitted to be swathed in flannel, and dosed with every nauseous mess they gave him, with the utmost patience, until Mr. Barry’s good nature released the victim, who was to be sure the most ignorant creature in the ways of the world, I ever met with. I cannot omit to mention, that when we left Santa Cruz, one of Mr. B.’s servants walked over from Oratavia that morning, and returned with us apparently without fatigue, as he laughed and talked all the way home, tho’ the real distance was fifty miles, and the badness of the roads of course rendered the exertion much greater, but I was assured this was not remarkable. On the 6th October after breakfast, we took leave of our kind hosts: and here instead of putting on a semblance of concern, I was obliged to stifle my actual emotions, lest they should appear affected. I never recollect being equally moved at a separation, after so short an acquaintance. But Mrs. Barry is so truly amiable, and we were treated with such generous hospitality by both parties, that it seemed more like a parting between near relations, than casual acquaintances. Since then Oceans have rolled between us, and time and sorrow have combined to efface the traces of recollection in my mind of a variety of circumstances; yet every thing I then saw and enjoyed, is still fresh in my memory. Adieu, my dear madam, for a while: believe me Yours truly E. F.

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LETTER VII. TO MRS. L.—— BLACKHEATH, 1st March 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, On the 7th October 1795, we set sail from Oratavia with a fair wind, and as it continued, I was sorry we were obliged to stop at St. Iago, where we anchored, on the 13th, in Port Praya Bay.357 This Bay makes a noble appearance; the surrounding hills rising like an amphitheatre from the sea. The next morning we went on shore about eight o’clock, but were excessively incommoded by the sun, which in these climates rises very rapidly when once above the horizon. Signor Basto the Commandant of the Island,358 received us very politely, and most of the principal inhabitants came out to pay their respects to, and gaze at, the strangers; among the rest a tall Negro priest, whose shaven crown had a strange appearance. Signor B. led us to a summer house which he had built for the sake of coolness, and where there was indeed wind; but the air from a brick-kiln would have been equally pleasant and refreshing; while the glare was insupportable, as the place was open on all sides; fortunately I had brought a pack of cards, so to whist we sat, and his Excellency the Governor joined us, and did us the honour to play several rubbers; and as he spoke neither English nor French, I know not how we could have amused each other better, as I have observed before. An elegant dinner was provided for us, at which I was obliged to preside. In the evening we walked out to see the country, which is well cultivated and highly picturesque; but the inhabitants make a wretched appearance, generally living in huts, even when they are rich. The sugar-cane raised here is remarkably strong; they have also very good cotton, which they manufacture into a pretty kind of cloth; but it is very dear, and exceedingly narrow, being only about a quarter wide. After tea we returned on board, tho’ Signor Basto offered to accommodate us with a house to ourselves; but as it is considered dangerous to sleep on shore, we declined his offer, and bade him adieu with many thanks for his civilities. In the course of the day we learned, that this place is so unhealthy, that out of twenty who land here, fifteen generally die within six months. What a pity! every production of warm countries thrives here in abundance, but Man, who cultivates them, sickens and dies. Our Captain here laid in a stock for a long voyage, and we set sail with a pleasant gale; the day following we caught a fine dolphin; I never saw any thing so beautiful as the colours it displayed when dying. On the 29th October we crossed the Line, and again poor Mr. C—ll was the butt of the party; he had been taught to expect a great shock on passing it, and really stepped forward to look at it, but the boatswain, who was his countryman, advised him to keep aloof; he 297

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however declared very seriously that, “he felt a very great shock, he must say, at the time.” Nothing further occurred worthy of notice till our arrival at Madras, which took place on the 25th January 1796. I found this town much improved since my former visit, and was particularly pleased with the Exchange, which is a noble building, ornamented with whole length pictures of Lord Cornwallis, Sir Eyre Coote, and General Meadows. The Theatre and Pantheon,359 where the assemblies are held, are three miles from Madras. At this place we parted with poor Mr. Campbell. I shall never forget the agony of tears I one day found him in. “What is the matter” said I. “Miss Rogers is going away and I am here,” answered he; the words were very comprehensive; many young people will be aware that they express love and misery in the extreme. Poor Mr. C— must mourn in vain, for alas! “his love met no return.”360 On the 6th February we again set sail, and were fortunately but little annoyed by the surf. On the 22nd we reached Fulta,361 where the pilot being over-anxious to get forward, made sail at night, when the soundings suddenly shallowing he found it necessary to cast anchor, tho’ not quite early enough, for in swinging round the ship struck. At first she lay easy, having made a bed in the sand, but when the tide came in, she heeled terribly, and it was the opinion of most on board, that she would never be got off. The chief officer advised us to secure whatever valuables we had, about our own persons, for fear of the worst; (which precaution I had already taken) and used all possible means for the preservation of the vessel himself. Happily the rising tide floated her off.—You cannot judge of the acuteness of my feelings on this occasion; to see all my hopes and cares frustrated; and the quick transition from sorrow and disappointment on seeing the ship afloat again, without having sustained the least injury, can only be imagined, by those who have experienced such changes. On Wednesday the 24th February we reached Calcutta in safety, where we remained several months. Here we found a resting place after a long voyage, diversified by many pleasant and perilous occurrences, and here therefore I shall make a pause in the narrative. I remain, My dear Madam, Yours truly, E. F.

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LETTER VIII. TO MRS. L.—— BLACKHEATH, 3d March, 1815. MY DEAR MADAM, On Wednesday the 24th February 1796 (as I mentioned in the conclusion of my last letter) my feet once more pressed the ground of Calcutta. Miss R—s, Miss Tripler, and myself, went directly to a large house which Mr. Benjamin Lacey had taken for us by my desire. We procured a freight for the Minerva and sent her off, within a month after her arrival. The ship had been detained so long on her passage from various causes, that our goods came to a very bad market; we were compelled therefore to sell part by retail, and dispose of the remainder by auction. A small copper bottomed ship called the Rosalia, a very fast sailer, was purchased, and the command given to Capt. Robinson, an American, who came out with us, and on the 26th of August following, I embarked on her, with Mr. Benjamin Lacey and Miss Tripler, for the United States, after bidding a painful adieu to my dear young friend and companion Miss R—s, whose place Miss Tripler had neither inclination nor ability to supply; but having fettered myself by an engagement, I was forced to submit; besides I could not well have proceeded alone.—We set sail with a fair wind, but a very strong current running astern. On the night of the 29th the water broke with such violence against the ship, that I called for dead-lights,362 but was assured by the Captain that there was not the least occasion for them; loth to be thought cowardly or an ignorant sailor, I instantly gave up the point, but had great reason to lament my acquiescence: in less than a quarter of an hour, a most tremendous sea broke in at the starboard side of the cabin, and half filled it with water, which soaked a bale of valuable muslins, with me their unfortunate owner. On this the pilot bawled out, that if the dead-lights were not put up instantly, he would cut cable and get under weigh; so at length they were fixed.—In the morning we had the additional mortification to find, that the ship had sprung a leak, and what was worse than all, that she appeared generally too weak to support the voyage; but as it would have been wrong to give her up without a trial, we proceeded with the tide to Ingillee, in the faint hope of the leak closing.—On the 30th we reached the lower buoy of the Barabulla. Our leak still continuing to increase, on the 1st September we were obliged to put back for Calcutta. In the evening of the 4th, we anchored off Cooly Bazar,363 and the next day went on shore at Calcutta, where the Rosalia was examined, and pronounced totally unfit for the voyage. On the 11th September I went on board the Swallow Packet with Captain Simson, who was a Guinea pig364 (as it is called) on board the Camden when I came out in 1784. He has been a very fortunate young man, so early in life to obtain 299

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a command. We had a very elegant repast or Tiffin, and I must say, Captain S. seemed heartily glad to receive his old shipmate. Mr. L— and Miss T— having accompanied me, the former was suddenly taken ill with an ague and fever: this added to the fatigue, loss, and disappointment, I had so lately endured, was very near too much for me. I brought him back, procured the best advice for him, and in a few days he was relieved; but before he was able to crawl out, I was in the same situation with a similar intermittent, but escaped the cold fit: I was exceedingly reduced but restored by the free use of bark,365 and other prescriptions from Dr. Hare,366 who never failed to relieve me. On the 22nd October Mr. Lacey engaged for our freight and passage, on board the Hero, Captain Jackson, bound to New York, to sail between the first and the tenth of December. As soon as my strength returned, I bustled about my business, endeavoured to repair my losses, visited my friends, and bade them farewell, and every necessary preparation being completed, on the 18th of December we went on board at Garden Reach, and reached Culpee the 22nd, after a tedious passage, kedging367 all the way. Here we went on shore, and laid in provisions. On Christmas day we anchored off Kedgeree. On New Year’s day we got under weigh; but unfortunately the wind failed us; and at six in the evening, the Pilot received instructions not to take us out till further orders. This was a sad beginning of the New Year; the embargo lasted 18 days, after which we proceeded, though very slowly, and on the 30th arrived at Vizagapatam,368 where we ran some risk from the Hero being mistaken for a French Frigate. On the Captain’s going on shore, I sent a letter from my good friend Mrs. Child, to Captain Hodson,369 who returned me a pressing invitation, and the next day I found him on the beach with four palanquins for me and my friends. We proceeded to Waltair, where Mrs. Hodson, Mrs. Child’s sister, gave us a most cordial reception, and insisted on our staying till the ship was ready to sail. The next morning I breakfasted with Captain Pitman,370 one of the most elegant young men I ever saw. He obligingly drove me in his Curricle371 round Waltair, and shewed me Sardinia Bay, and several other spots remarkable for their beauty. His own house was charmingly situated on a hill, half way between Vizagapatam and Waltair. Land here is considered of so little value, that every person who built, took in as much as he could employ. To one whose eye has been fatigued with viewing the flat country of Bengal, this place appears delightful, but yet diversified prospects do not repay the want of fertile plains. Here I bought some beautiful sandal-wood and ivory boxes, for which this place is famous. Captain and Mrs. Hodson behaved to us with unbounded kindness. In the evening we quitted Vizagapatam. The town makes an agreeable appearance from the sea, not unlike St. James Valley in St. Helena. All who can afford it, live at Waltair, which however does not contain above ten houses. On Friday the 24th February I once more landed on Madras Beach, and the day following saw many of my friends; among others Captain Gooch, who looked remarkably well: there is nothing more pleasant than to meet unexpectedly an old 300

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friend, after a long absence and in a foreign country. He dined with us, and every one was charmed with his behaviour, so different from many who on getting into commands, fancy that insolence establishes superiority. On the 27th we dined at St. Thomé, with Mr. Stevens, Mr. B. L—’s agent; in the evening we sat down to vingt-un, at a rupee a fish,372 which Mr. S. assured us was very low. I lost only two dozen. We rose from the card table at half past eleven, and for the honour of Madras hospitality, were suffered to get into our palanquins at that time of night, without the offer of a glass of wine to support us during a four miles’ jumble, or a shawl to keep us from the damp air. On the 2nd of March Captain Gooch paid us a farewell visit: I was a good deal affected at parting; how many thousand miles had each to traverse before we met again! At 5 P. M. we left Madras; there was scarce any surf, but the sea ran high. I found every thing very dear here, consequently made few purchases. On the 4th of March we got under weigh at day break, and set sail for a new country, towards which I now looked with eager expectation. On the 15th I had the misfortune to fall into the after-hold, which opens into the great cabin; the steward having carelessly left the scuttle open, while he went for a candle. I was taken up senseless, having received a severe blow on the head and many bruises, but thank heaven, no material injury. There was a large open case of empty bottles under the opening, and had I fallen the other way, I must have gone directly on it; judge what the consequences must have been. About the 20th we began to be troubled with calms and southerly winds, when our Captain politely accused Miss Tripler and me of being two Jonahs,373 saying he never knew a good voyage made, where a Woman or a Parson was on board. I had a very agreeable revenge, for that very afternoon a breeze sprung up, which proved to be the trade wind, and for some time we enjoyed a fine run; but the ship was the most uneasy I ever sailed in, rolling and pitching on every occasion. On the 23rd of April a violent gale came on, and for several days we had very unpleasant weather. I was in great fear of the passage round the Cape,374 and we were all in trouble, as provisions ran very short: all our wine and spirits were expended, and we had neither butter, cheese, nor coffee remaining. On the 18th of May we arrived off False Bay,375 and on the 20th at noon, Mr. D. Trail the Harbour-Master came on board, and we cast anchor soon after. Mr. Lacey wrote to Lord Macartney for leave to proceed to Cape Town, as without his permission no passengers are suffered to land. We received a visit from Mr. Gooch First Lieutenant of the Jupiter, an elder brother of Captain Gooch, of whose arrival at Madras we brought the first news. I called by invitation on Captain Linzee to look at the Dort late Admiral De Lucas’ ship. Captain L. has been three years a Post Captain, tho’ not yet four and twenty. When in command of the Nemesis, he cut out two French vessels from some Mahomedan Port in the Mediterranean, and was afterwards taken himself. He but just saved his distance now, for hearing at Cape Town on his arrival ten days ago, that the Dort was under sailing orders, he sat off on horse-back, and arrived but twelve hours before she was to have sailed. Mr. Gooch brought Mrs. Losack the wife of the Captain of the Jupiter, 301

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to visit me, and they took us with them on board that ship, where we drank tea and supped. On Monday the 22d we went on shore at noon, and were received by Major Grimstone the Commanding Officer, who politely apologized for detaining us so long. At one, six of us mounted a waggon with eight horses, which to my great surprize were driven by one man in hand, at the rate of six miles an hour, over loose stones, or whatever else came in the way; so that we were almost jumbled to death. We passed three beaches, and to avoid quick-sands, they drove through the surf; the roaring of which, the horses splashing as they gallopped along, added to the crack of the driver’s long whip, formed altogether a charming concert. As the driver cannot wield these enormous instruments with one hand, another man sits by to hold the reins, while by lengthening or shortening his arm he dexterously contrives to make every horse in turn feel the weight of the lash. At length we reached Cape Town in safety, but were terribly tired and bruised. Between the beaches, the road (such as it is) passes along stupendous mountains, from whose craggy tops, masses of stone are continually falling, some of them large enough to crush a church; many have rolled into the sea, where they form a barrier against the surf, and may defy its force for ages. We heard that the former Governor, General Craig,376 sailed from hence on Tuesday preceding; he was once forced to put back, but the second attempt succeeded. There were no less than six vessels here. The flag was struck on the 15th, and would not be hoisted again until the 15th August, during which interval the Dutch suffered no ships to remain in Table Bay. Our people are not so cautious; perhaps, experience may render them so. I like the appearance of the place; for altho’ the houses are generally low, they occupy much ground; being built of stone, or covered with plaster, and containing five or six rooms on a floor, they look well; and though with only one upper story, yet the ceilings being lofty, they do not seem deficient in height. The church is handsome; the service is performed in Dutch and English; there are no pews but benches and chairs, which I greatly prefer, as it gives the idea of social worship more, and is consistent with that equality, which in the more immediate presence of God, becomes his creatures, as being equally dependant on Him. It is true this was partly lost here, because the Governor and his family use benches, covered with crimson velvet. We sat off after service for Simon’s Town and reached the ship at 4 P. M. On Monday Mr. Gooch took us in the morning to see the Tremendous, Admiral Pringle’s ship. Here we saw furnaces for heating balls. On Wednesday the 31st we dined on board the Dort, where we met Captain and Mrs. Losack, Lord Augustus Fitzroy, Captain Holles of the Chichester, and Captain Osborne of the Trusty; we went and returned in Captain L—’s barge. Next day we dined on board L’Imperieuse with Lord Augustus Fitzroy. In addition to our yesterday’s party were Captain Stevens of the Rattle-Snake, Captain Granger of the Good Hope, Captain Alexander of the Sphinx, Mr. Pownall Naval Officer and his wife, and Mr. Trail. His Lordship gave us a most magnificent dinner, and to my 302

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great joy, was too much the man of fashion, to urge the gentlemen to hard drinking, as had been the case on board the Dort. He has an excellent band. When we retired Mrs. Losack and Mrs. Pownall entered into conversation, about the Cape, which they both agreed was the vilest place imaginable; Mrs. L—is a fine dashing lady. Since her marriage, the Jupiter has been on a cruize. I asked her if they were ever fired upon. “Oh yes, from a battery and returned the fire.” “Did you go below?” “Not I indeed.” “Then I suppose you must have been greatly alarmed for fear of being shot?” “Why to tell you the truth I was so much engaged in observing how they loaded the guns and manœuvred the ship, that I never once thought of danger.” There is a courageous lady for you! We played at whist in the evening and retired at eleven. Captain Alexander took us on board in his Barge. On the 4th of June the Admiral, at one, fired two guns, then all the Men of War in the Harbour followed with twenty one each: the effect produced by the reverberation from so many stupendous rocks was most noble! Mr. Gooch and the Doctor came on board to take leave, and on going away, the boats crew gave us three cheers, which our people returned. On the whole, our time passed here pleasantly; the politeness of my Countrymen, contrasted with the manners of our American officers served to soothe the irritation of our minds, and teach us to endure that for a season, with patience, which we had often found to be a trial of our spirits and temper, in the hopes of meeting by and by with Gentlemen. On the 5th of June the wind was as foul as it could blow, and split our only main sail. It is a great misfortune to sail in a vessel ill provided with stores and necessaries: we had an opportunity of observing this day, what a good ship can perform; L’Imperieuse Frigate being ordered on a cruize, got under weigh at noon, passed us at 3 P. M. and was safely out before night. Lord Augustus was polite enough to hoist his colours while going by, and struck them immediately afterwards. Our Captain was too much of a Yankee377 however to return the compliment. I forgot to mention, that yesterday four large ships came in; they proved to be the Rose, the Hillsborough, and the Thurlow East India-men, under convoy of H. M. 74 Gun ship the Raisonable. On the 8th of June we were still in sight of Simon’s Town, though we were out two days. On the 11th of July we crossed the equinoctial Line, and I felt satisfied in thinking, that I was once more in my own hemisphere. There are cases in which it is wisdom to please ourselves with trifles; at this time my spirits were very low, and sunk with what I might now term a presentiment, as I approached another people and another world, which was eventually the grave of that property, for which I had toiled so long. On the 28th of August a pilot came on board from Philadelphia, and from him we had the mournful account, that a sickness raged in the city, almost as fatal as that which ravaged it a few years before, and that a general distress prevailed in America: frequent Bankruptcies, Trade at a stand, and an open war with France daily expected, as they took every thing from America which fell in their way—As we did not like to proceed to Philadelphia after hearing this account, we tacked and stood to the northward, but we had a succession 303

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of vexatious hindrances, having narrowly escaped shipwreck in Egg Harbour,378 and did not reach New York till the 3rd of September, when we landed at 6 in the evening, and went immediately to a house recommended by my friend Captain Crowninshield, most happy to part with the strange beings with whom we had been so long and painfully immured. Now having arrived in the land of Columbia, I will bid you adieu for a while. I am, My dear Madam, Yours truly, E. F. Advertisement The work had been printed thus far when the death of the author took place. The subsequent parts of her journal, not appearing to contain any events of a nature sufficiently interesting to claim publication, no additional extracts have been deemed necessary by the administrator, who from a view of benefiting the estate has been induced to undertake the present publication.

Editorial notes Abbreviations EIC Hobson-Jobson OED

East India Company H. Yule and A. C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson: The Anglo-Indian Dictionary (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011)

Oxford English Dictionary

Notes 1 exhibits a faithful account of certain remarkable occurrences: Fay voices a common dilemma for travel writers often addressed in prefatory materials: in a market crowded with published travel narratives competing for readers’ attention, Fay needs simultaneously to claim the extraordinary for her experiences and to insist on their authenticity. Both of these claims – to novelty and to eyewitness experience – work to provide authority for her text. Isabella Baudino, after Philippe Lejeune, describes this as the ‘autobiographical pact’ required of women publishing in the travel genre during their lifetimes. See I. Baudino, ‘British Women Travellers as Art Critics and Connoisseurs (1775–1825)’, 19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century 28 (2019), p. 2. 2 her husband the late Anthony Fay Esq: Born in Ireland, Anthony Fay was admitted to Gray’s Inn on 10 November 1772 (the same year the couple married in London) and to Lincoln’s Inn on 4 July 1778. In April 1779, husband and wife embarked for India with the intention of practising at Calcutta. Anthony Fay was admitted as an advocate to the Supreme Court of Calcutta on 16 June 1780 after his arrival. But the behaviour which may well have motivated the journey to India (Eliza Fay explains that she undertook the voyage ‘with a view to preserving my husband from destruction’ as a result of his extravagance, ‘dissipated habits’ and ‘violence of temper’) re-emerged on arrival. He fathered an illegitimate child, and Eliza Fay demanded a private deed of separation (signed 11 August 1781). Anthony Fay subsequently returned to Britain

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to present a petition to parliament against Sir Elijah Impey (Chief Justice of the Calcutta Supreme court). Very little is known of him after this period except a couple of references in the Times in the year 1794. Fay was a widow by 1800. Lincolns Inn: Lincoln’s Inn is one of London’s Inns of Court, historically responsible for providing and overseeing legal education in Britain. At the time Anthony Fay was studying the law, there were no formal requirements for being called to the Bar other than having eaten five dinners a term at Lincoln’s Inn. seized by the officers of Hyder Ally: Also known as Hyder Ali or Haider Ali (1720– 1782), the Sultan and ruler of the kingdom of Mysore in southern India. A leader of strong military and administrative skills, he offered resistance against the military advances of the British EIC during the First and Second Anglo-Mysore Wars (1766–1769; 1780–1784), allying with France and significantly developing Mysore’s economy. He left his eldest son, Tipu Sultan (1750–1799), an extensive kingdom bordered by the Krishna River in the north, the Eastern Ghats in the east, and the Arabian Sea in the west. Fay locates her first voyage historically in the period following the British seizure of the French port of Mahe in 1779 and in the lead-up to the Second Anglo-Mysore conflict. The mention of their incarceration so conspicuously in the Preface provides evidence of the ‘extraordinary’ events Fay promises her readers, and perhaps also makes strategic reference to the notorious incident of ‘The Black Hole of Calcutta’ (20 June 1756) nearly 25 years earlier. important circumstances . . . respectable individuals: Fay’s Original Letters would have garnered greatest notoriety for its accounts of Warren Hastings (1732–1818), the first de facto Governor General of India from 1773 to 1784, and of the circle of men appointed to the council and court at Calcutta after the Regulating Act for India of 1773, including Sir Elijah Impey, Philip Francis, and Sir Robert Chambers. In 1787, after his return to England, Hastings was arrested and tried in the House of Lords for crimes and misdemeanours in India; he was eventually acquitted in 1795. His impeachment and trial dominated news coverage in the late 1780s and galvanized Parliament to reconsider the legal and sovereign status of India and how it could best be governed. “the harmless tenor of her way”: Deliberately misquoting line 76 of Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (1751): ‘They kept the noiseless tenor of their way’. “pains and penalties”: Usually referring to Parliament’s power to impose punishments on individuals via legislative act – called bills of attainder – so long as the punishment was less than death. Fay uses the term here to refer to the power of reviewers and the public to penalize female authors without trial. in terrorem: In or by way of alarm; here, to alarm women writers. addressed to a lady: Nira Gupta-Casale suggests that this is a fictional addressee for the final letters, designed to prolong the appearance of a correspondence in the final section of the Original Letters. See N. Gupta-Casale, ‘Intrepid Traveller, “SheMerchant”, or Colonialist Historiographer: Reading Eliza Fay’s Original Letters’, in S. Towheed (ed.), New Readings in the Literature of British India, c. 1780–1947 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), pp. 65–91. it was agreed that, my Letters should not in general be addressed to anyone . . . style of journals: Fay adopts a form common to much correspondence – particularly travel letters – and preserved in many printed travel accounts of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. This style of journal ‘newsletter’, written over many days, even weeks, and posted when carriage became available, was not specifically addressed to a single correspondent, but intended to be shared among family and friends. This more ‘open’ or public style of letter-writing inevitably shaped a letter’s contents, since its topics and materials needed to be appropriate for multiple, even unanticipated, readers in a culture where letters were eagerly anticipated, passed among the family circle, and read aloud. The reasonably public and performative nature of ‘private’ letters often leads to the mistaken assumption that they were written specifically for publication; instead, it is more accurate

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to recognize letter writing as an important skill for men and women, and to understand that the audience for a letter often extended far beyond its nominal addressee. allons donc: ‘Let’s go’ (French). Mr. B— . . . Captain Mills recommended: Mr. B— remains unidentified, but Mr. B— returns in the narrative to confirm Fay’s early prejudices at Genoa in Letter IV. the Diligence: A public stagecoach; the term is shortened from carrosse de diligence, meaning ‘coach of speed’. Monsr. Pigault de l’Epinoye: Charles-Antoine-Guillaume Pigault de l’Espinoy, better known as Pigault-Lebrun, (1753–1835), a French novelist and playwright who had attracted some notoriety for two elopements in his youth (including with a Miss Crawford, daughter of an English merchant at Calais), and twice being imprisoned by letter de cachet. Having already been formally presented to Pigault-Lebrun, Fay was able to call on him without the letters of introduction that would normally have been required to make an acquaintance. Pigault-Lebrun claimed a connection (on his mother’s side) with Eustache de Saint Pierre, perhaps the best known of the six ‘Burghers of Calais’ who surrendered to Edward III in August 1347. the six brave Citizens of Calais . . . our third Edward: Referring to the Burghers of Calais, recounted by the chronicler Jean Le Bel (c. 1290–c. 1370), and reworked by Jean Froissart (c. 1333–c. 1400). Besieged by English forces and without any hope of being rescued by King Philip VI of France, the inhabitants of Calais decided to negotiate with the English King Edward III, who agreed to take them prisoner with the exception of six of them, who would be required to appear in public with halters round their necks. Six burghers prepared themselves to be sacrificed and were ordered to be beheaded, but Queen Philippa of Hainault, Edward’s wife, managed to change his mind and save them. humstrums: The OED gives the meaning as a ‘musical instrument of rude construction or out of tune; a hurdy-gurdy’ but Francis Grose’s Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (London: S. Hooper, 1785) gives a much more detailed description of ‘a musical instrument made of a mopstick, a bladder, and some packthread, thence also called bladder and string, and hurdy gurdy; it is played on like a violin, which is sometimes ludicrously called a humstrum; sometimes instead of a bladder, a tin canister is used’ (n.p.). The wider appearance of the term across the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries suggests that ‘humstrums’ could be used to describe poorly constructed instruments, music badly played, or even the itinerant musicians who played it. the discipline of a horse-pond: The ducking of an individual – frequently a thief or ‘scold’ – into a local pond or stream was a punishment often administered spontaneously by members of the public or even a mob (and in popular mimicry of lawful punishments such as the gibbet or pillory). Fay’s language echoes the commonplace phrasing of British newspapers; see D. Lemmings, Law and Government in England during the Long Eighteenth Century (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), p. 6. were set down at the same inn . . . before: Although nothing has been discovered of Fay’s earlier travels, the scant evidence from her letters suggests she had previously visited Calais, Paris, and Versailles, likely with her family and taking the same route as she describes now. tell it not in Gath: Quoting II Samuel 1:20. a famous palace belonging to the Prince of Condé: The Château de Chantilly, located approximately 60 miles north of Paris and one of the principal estates of the House of Condé. Long known for its library and collection of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century paintings, the Chateau is also famous for staging the premiere of Moliere’s Les Précieuses Ridicules in 1659 and hosting King Louis XIV in 1671. St Denis . . . Kings of France: The Basilique Royale de Saint-Denis, a large medieval church in the city of Saint Denis, now a northern suburb of Paris. A holy site as early as 250 AD, it became a place of pilgrimage after 636 AD when the relics of Saint Denis

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were transferred there, after which it became the customary burial place of French kings. Construction was almost continuous on the building through to the thirteenth century, producing a cathedral of enormous architectural influence in the Gothic style. In 1793, fewer than 20 years after Fay’s visit, the cathedral was a target of anti-monarchical sentiment during the French Revolution. It survived, and restorations began under Napoleon. Library . . . sword of our illustrious Talbot: The Saint-Denis Abbey Library was famous for its collection of medieval manuscripts compiled in the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. Many of these were translated and copied with the aim of compiling a history of the French monarchy; these eventually were called Grandes Chroniques de France. By ‘our illustrious Talbot’ Fay means Sir John Talbot (c. 1387–1453), first earl of Shrewsbury and first earl of Waterford, a noted military commander during the Hundred Years War with France and celebrated in William Shakespeare’s Henry VI, Part 1. Known as ‘the English Achilles’ and ‘the Terror of the French’, he retook Saint Denis while defending Paris as lieutenant-general in 1435. The siege was the last military effort in which the forces of England and Burgundy worked together, and by its end Burgundy had made peace with France. Talbot ultimately was unable to prevent the French conquest of Normandy. Pressed on three sides by forces superior to his own, he withdrew to Rouen in 1449 and surrendered himself (and his sword) as hostage, and was released in 1450 only after the conquest of the region was completed. His death, which occurred three years later while leading charge against artillery, came to symbolize the passing of the chivalric era. an eye of St Thomas the apostle: One of the 12 apostles of Jesus, Thomas speaks in John 11:6, John 14:5, and (most significantly) John 20:24, where he states that he will not believe that Jesus has risen from the dead unless ‘I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe’. When Jesus next appears, he invites Thomas to ‘reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing’ (John 20:27). The episode is the foundation of the term ‘doubting Thomas’, denoting a sceptic who refuses to believe except from first-hand, usually ocular, experience. The Abbey of Saint-Denis would thus have been especially proud to hold an eye of St. Thomas, and it is not surprising that it becomes a vehicle for Fay’s anti-Catholic satire. at the sight of these absurdities . . . cunningly devised Fables: Here, Fay shows an almost textbook Protestantism, foregrounding her religion’s rejection of icons, idols, and relics and derogating Catholicism’s celebration of such devices as ‘cunningly devised Fables’. as if there were no War, or even dispute between us: By 1779 France had joined the side of the American colonies in their War of Independence (1775–1781) against Great Britain. This you know is not the region of Politics: Fay here refers wittily to two kinds of censorship: that of Parisian politeness (where politics is rarely, if ever, mentioned in conversation) and policy (where foreign letters are routinely read and objectionable parts suppressed). passports: Passports in the late eighteenth century were not like the small booklets we have today. Usually they were a single sheet of paper authorizing a person to pass out of, or into, a country or canton. Given that France and Britain were at war in 1779, the Fays would have required passports for almost every stage of their journey, particularly as they were travelling overland. Here, Fay and her husband appear to be waiting for the return of their passports, already granted, from the local official (usually a Prefect or, in the smaller towns, the mayor or local executive). Colissée . . . Ranelagh: Built in 1769 and patterned on the Vauxhall (opened c. 1659) and Ranelagh (opened 1742) pleasure gardens, the Colisée was located on the Champs-Élysées and consisted of extensive gardens, a grand rotunda, and side

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buildings. Like its English predecessors, it was designed as a kind of amusement park, in which visitors could walk during summer evenings among trees and classical ruins, hear music, shop, eat dinner, attend theatrical performances and spectacles, and watch fireworks. the Queen . . . Duchess D’Alençon: Marie Antoinette (1755–1793), wife of King Louis XVI, the last Queen of France before the French Revolution, and Marie Joséphine of Savoy (1753–1810), princess of France and wife of future King Louis XVIII. Fay’s depiction of the Queen of France as unaffected, ‘perfectly beautiful’, and genuinely polite is pointed given the political hostilities between the two nations, and would have been still more interesting to her readers after the Marie Antoinette’s execution in October 1793. “Ah! mon Dieu . . . c’est joli”: ‘Ah! Oh, how charming! How pretty!’ (French). Rotunda!: The grandest building of the Colisée and a venue for grand spectacles, with an colonnade and two concentric circulation galleries reminiscent of St. Peter’s in Rome. A central rotunda twenty-five metres in diameter served as a ballroom, and each evening the building was illuminated by 2,000 candles. his principle reason for quitting the Capital . . . assassination: Leon Poliakov suggests anti-Semitism in France was most conspicuous in this period on the part of religionists and bourgeois capitalists. Forbidden access to the Guilds, Jews in France – like elsewhere in Europe – were highly competitive merchants operating outside the Guild sphere, specialising in hire-purchase and credit arrangements, and frequently undercutting Guild-mandated pricing and quality controls. For these and other reasons, Jews often were more widely accepted at courtly and noble levels. Fay’s relation of this wave of violence – and its apparent confirmation over the course of the next week as Anthony Fay seeks to settle a bet among the Parisians – suggests that overt and violent anti-Semitism was becoming prominent in Paris in the late 1770s and may have been connected with the nobility’s pronounced philo-Semitism as popular opinion turned against the elites. See L. Poliakov, The History of Anti-Semitism, Volume 3: From Voltaire to Wagner (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), pp. 26–33. the Petit Chatelet: A small castle, located at the southern end of the Petit-Pont and probably dating from the eighth century AD, Le Petit Châtelet was one of two fortifications protecting the bridges that connect the Île de la Cité to the banks of the Seine. It was used at various periods as a customs house, mortuary, prison, and place of summary execution before being demolished in 1782. the Lieutenant de Police: The Lieutenant General of Police at Paris between 1776 and 1785 was Jean Charles Pierre Lenoir (or Le Noir, 1732–1807). Among his many duties, he seems to have given particular attention to the surveillance of foreigners and other ‘undesirables’ in Paris. He was unpopular and considered despotic by Parisians. Commodités: Literally ‘amenities’, or toilets. feveretts: Slight or brief fevers. We found the route totally different from what we expected: Various difficulties of route and finance combine to create obstacles here for Fay and her husband. Expecting perhaps to travel by water from Paris, they discover that they instead must travel at a much higher cost by land: first to Chalons sur Soane, then to Lyons, and then onward to Marseilles. Travelling by road, their first option would be by the regular Paris–Lyon diligence, which charged 100 livres per person plus six sous per pound of luggage. For the Fays, this amounts to a cost of 200 livres plus luggage, or at least (by Paris exchange rates) eight guineas. See Journal of Travels Made through the Principal Cities of Europe (London: J. Wallis, 1782), p. 26. Faced with the prospect of these increased costs, the Fays elect to travel by private carriage to Marseille (with their fellow passenger Mr. B), purchasing two horses and a single-horse chaise for a total of twenty-one guineas. Their plan is to re-sell them on arrival, which they do, at a profit

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of three guineas (see Letter IV). See T. Smollett, Travels through France and Italy, 2 vols (London: R. Baldwin, 1766), vol. 1, pp. 125–6; L. Denis, Route de la Diligence de Paris à Lyon (Paris: 1780), pp. 497–8; and P. C. Reynard, Ambitions Tamed: Urban Expansion in Pre-Revolutionary Lyon (Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 2009), pp. 143–4. no remittances till our arrival at Leghorn: Eighteenth-century travel was financially complicated. With the risk of robbery making it unfeasible to carry large sums of money, travellers needed to secure credit abroad through letters of introduction. This meant that one’s route needed to correspond with those places where one’s letters secured financial and social entrée. As Fay’s 2 July 1779 missive (see Letter V) explains, they must travel to Livorno because they have a ‘letter of introduction from Mr. Baretto of London to his brother, the king of Sardinia’s Consul at Leghorn’, which procures them both hospitality and credit in Livorno. Through the Barettos they subsequently meet the Francos, ‘eminent merchants’ able to provide them with a further letter of introduction ‘recommending us in the strongest terms to a Mr. Abraham, of Grand Cairo’, thus guaranteeing the next leg of their journey. Duc de Chartres castle . . . scraped acquaintance: Louis Philippe Joseph d’Orléans or Phillip Egalité (1747–1793). Fay presents himself uninvited at the stables of the Château de Saint-Cloud (now the site of the Parc de Saint-Cloud) in order to gain advice on the purchase of the horses. Fay’s way of describing her husband’s ‘scraping an acquaintance’ shows the embarrassment of currying favour with the Duc’s employees for personal gain, even if they are countrymen. only a little touched in the wind: A horse that is ‘touched in the wind’ or has ‘broken wind’ is suffering from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), a respiratory disease or chronic condition of pulmonary bronchitis, not unlike asthma or allergic bronchitis in humans. It is characterized by noisy breathing, wheezing, and reduced stamina. six guineas: Before Britain converted to a decimal monetary system in 1971, one shilling equalled 12 pence, and 20 shillings equalled one pound; one pound was thus comprised of 240 pence. Guineas were English gold coins first struck in 1663 with the nominal value of 20 shillings, but after 1717 they circulated at a value of 21 shillings (or 252 pence). The Royal Mint stopped making guineas in 1813. Azor . . . Zemire: Fay’s horses are named for the two leading characters of Zémire et Azor, a comic opera by the Belgian composer André Grétry first performed by the Comédie-Italienne at Fontainebleau on 9 November 1771. It enjoyed worldwide success and was part of the French repertory well into the 1820s. Bois de Boulogne: Now the second largest park in Paris, the Bois de Boulogne was a royal hunting ground before being enclosed by a wall and eight gates in the second half of the sixteenth century. During the late eighteenth century, Louis XV and Louis XVI allowed the public access to the park, though both monarchs also used it as a hunting ground and pleasure garden. The land was officially ceded to the city of Paris in 1852 by Napoleon III. we had him bled immediately: The practice of bloodletting, or the bleeding of a patient either by leeches or by an incision made by a physician or barber-surgeon, is an ancient treatment based on humoral theories of medicine and remained popular well into the nineteenth century. While it was – during the period of its use – perceived to be beneficial to the patient as a technique of ‘rebalancing’ blood with other bodily fluids, it was often very harmful, particularly if a patient was already in a weakened state. We have all necessaries with us: Fay brazens it out in her description of their way of travelling – with most of their own provisions, avoiding inns except for necessary

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overnight accommodation – but it is clear that the party are travelling with very little money and as modestly as possible. Fontainbleu: A royal residence as early as the twelfth century, the Palace of Fontainebleau was expanded and renovated during the eighteenth century by Louis XV, who created lavish new apartments for himself and his Queen. After his marriage to Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI had the Queen’s apartments redone in a Turkish style in 1777. Fay likely refers in this passage to the Treaty of Paris (1763), which ended the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763). where Christina, Queen of Sweden, caused Monaldeschi her chief chamberlain to be beheaded: Christina (1626–1689) became Queen of Sweden in 1632 and reigned from 1644 until 1654 when she abdicated, converted to Catholicism, and went into exile in Italy and France. Already notorious for her intellectualism, masculine appearance, and mannerisms, Christina scandalized the European courts and Vatican in 1657 by arranging for the execution of one of her party, in her presence, whom she suspected of betraying her. The marchese Gian Rinaldo Monaldeschi, her master of the horse, was stabbed multiple times, including in the throat, in the Queen’s apartments (the Galerie des Cerfs or Gallery of Stags) at Fontainbleu. Fay’s antipathy to Queen Christina is suggestive. Learned and opinionated, a Catholic convert, collector, politician and highly unconventional figure, Christina is judged by Fay to be ‘an accomplished woman’, but one who could ‘never be called great, even by her admirers’. ornamented with box in a thousand fantastical shapes: The gardens of the Palace of Fontainebleau were formal, laid out in orderly, geometrical style with box hedges shaped to resemble birds and mystical creatures. This style formed a marked contrast to English gardening, which drew from Chinese classical gardens and the paintings of Nicholas Poussin and Claude Lorrain to create a natural-looking, though idealized, pastoral landscape. set off Jehu like: Driving like Jehu – driving like a madman, or wholly at one’s own will. Jehu was the tenth king of the northern kingdom of Israel since Jeroboam I; the principal events of his 28-year reign are depicted in 2 Kings 9–10. In describing their manner of setting off as ‘Jehu like’, Fay likely refers not just to the aggressive nature with which Jehu claimed power, but also likely to the incident in which he had Queen Jezebel thrown from an upper storey of her house into the street and then trampled over her body with his horses. a thick sauce composed of eggs, butter, oil and vinegar: Likely Béarnaise sauce. de grace un peu de viniagre!: ‘For God’s sake a little vinegar!’ (French). the book of roads: A collection of maps used for navigating; the Fays are possibly using relevant sections of the Trudaine Atlas, often referred to in the period as ‘Road Maps’. See S. J. L. Blond, ‘The Trudaine Atlas: Government Road Mapping in Eighteenth-Century France’, Imago Mundi 65 (2013), pp. 64–79. Mr. Fay had . . . received by weight twenty four livres ten sous: ‘Livre’ is the French word for pound, and was a unit of currency in France between 781 and 1794. In 1779, the gold louis d’or coin had a fixed value of 24 livres. The exchange rate secured by Anthony Fay suggests near parity between the French louis d’or and the English pound, with guineas fetching still higher rates of exchange. Later at Chalons, however, Anthony Fay will be unable to negotiate a better rate for his guineas than 18 livres, and will elect to do without money until reaching Lyons. awfully terrible: Both words here carry their late eighteenth-century meanings: ‘inspiring awe’ and ‘inspiring terror’. they went so far . . . to expand my soul, and raise it nearer to its Creator: Here, Fay relates an almost textbook encounter with the sublime, drawing most conspicuously from Longinus (213–273 AD, author of Perì Hýpsous [On the Sublime]) and Edmund Burke (1729–1797, author of A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origins of Our Ideas

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of the Sublime and Beautiful [1758]) to describe her terrifying yet soul-expanding encounter with the ‘cascades, torrents, and apparently air-hung bridges’ of the Alps. As is typical of Fay, she signals her familiarity with the conventions of sublime description before moving to an even more arresting and less stylized account of her own feelings while travelling through the mountain passes of Cenis. go up across a mule: To ascend Mont Cenis riding a mule, rather than as a passenger in the chaise, as Fay had been travelling until this point. Fay is also obliged to ride astride as they are not carrying a lady’s side-saddle for her use. “still hills on hills, and Alps on Alps arise”: Slightly misquoting line 235 of Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism (1711): ‘Hills peep o’er Hills, and Alps on Alps arise!’ vulgarly called notré Dame de Neige: The early seventeenth-century chapel Notre Dame des Neiges (‘Our Lady of the Snows’) is described in A Hand-Book for Travellers in Switzerland and the Alps of Savoy and Piedmont (London: John Murray, 1841) as ‘formerly visited by pilgrims, but of late abandoned on account of the risk and difficulty of the ascent’ (p. 359). the Palace at Turin: The historic palace of the House of Savoy built originally in the sixteenth century but transformed during the seventeenth into a baroque palace. It is now a museum and UNESCO World Heritage Site. a picture of our Charles the first . . . that unfortunate monarch’s three children: The portraits Fay viewed at the Royal Palace at Turin are likely Charles I, King of England (1627) by Daniel Mytens (c. 1590–1647/1648), featuring an elaborate architectural setting by Hendrick van Steenwyck (c. 1580–1649), and The Three Eldest Children of Charles I (1632) by Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641). Both now hang in Turin at the Musei Reali-Galleria Sabauda. callous libertine in Charles; nor the tyrant and bigot in James: Fay here refers to Charles I’s children Charles II (1630–1685) and James II (1633–1701), who reigned as kings of England from 1660 to 1685 and from 1685 to 1688, respectively. Known as the ‘Merry Monarch’, Charles II fathered at least 12 illegitimate children but provided no heir to the throne. The reign of his brother, James II, was characterized by early rebellions in 1685 by the Duke of Monmouth and the Earl of Argyll, both unsuccessful, and by controversies over his Roman Catholicism, which led him to attempt to repeal the Test Act in 1687. When Parliament and seven bishops of the Church of England protested, he attempted to rule by decree. In response, seven high-ranking nobles invited the Protestant William, Prince of Orange, to invade England from Holland and claim the throne, which he did successfully in November and December of 1688. Martin Luther, and his wife: Fay likely refers to the portraits of Martin Luther (1483– 1546) and of his wife Katharina von Bora (1499–1552) painted in 1529 by Lucas Cranach the Elder (1472–1553) and procured in 1894 by the Museo Poldi Pezzoli in Milan. See G. B. Vittadini, ‘Novità Artistiche del Museo Poldi Pezzoli in Milano’, in Archivio Storico dell’Arte, series II (1895), vol. 1, p. 216. Here is a terrible representation of . . . Sir Thomas More: We have been unable to identify the painting seen by Fay of Thomas More (1478–1535), who was tried for treason and executed for refusing to take the Oath of Supremacy, by which one swore allegiance to the monarch as Supreme Governor of the Church of England. The daughter depicted in the painting is likely Margaret Roper (1505–1544), English writer and translator, and considered one of the most learned women of sixteenthcentury England. the cave of Trophonious: A cave of horrors. Trophonius is an Ancient Greek hero from the Boeotian city of Labadia; Fay’s reference to him derives from Pausanias’s Description of Greece Book 9, Chapter 39, which describes the process by which someone may consult the oracle of Trophonius: lodging in a house for several days;

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engaging in purification rituals and sacrifices; drinking first the water of Forgetfulness and then of Memory; ascending the mountain and descending into the cave where he will learn the future. After the experience he is removed, usually paralysed with terror and unaware of his surroundings, and first questioned by priests and then taken home by relatives, where he eventually recovers from his horror. a faithful portrait of Petrarch’s Laura. Laura is the subject of the poems comprising Petrarch’s Rime Sparse and, later, Il Canzoniere. While it is not certain to which portrait Fay refers, it is likely the one attributed to Simone Martini, a friend of Petrarch (1304–1374) who reportedly painted Laura shortly after Petrarch began writing poems to her. As Alexander Lee attests in ‘The Look(s) of Love: Petrarch, Simone Martini and the Ambiguities of Fourteenth-Century Portraiture’, Journal of Art Historiography 17 (2017), ‘no trace of this work – if it existed – has survived’, yet Petrarch’s ‘fulsome praise’ of it has rendered it the subject of legend, and likely generated a number of wishful attributions (p. 1). Venus of Apelles: Apelles of Kos (fourth century BC) was a renowned painter in ancient Greece; the famous mosaic of Alexander at the Battle of Issus is said to be based on a painting by him. His painting Aphrodite Anadyomeme (‘Venus Rising from the Sea’) is described by Pliny the Elder in Natural History, Book XXXV. “my mind’s eye” than “I to Hercules”: Quoting from Act 1, scene 2 of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1601). the King of Sardinia: Vittorio Amadeo II (1726–1796), who ruled Sardinia from 1773 to his death. The Theatre: Opened in 1740, the sumptuous Teatro Regio (Royal Theatre) could seat 1,500 people and boasted five tiers of boxes and a gallery. As Fay’s description of stages accommodating 50 to 60 horses at once attests, it would have been one of the largest theatres in Europe at this time. smaller theatre: Likely the Teatro Carignano, which opened in Turin in 1757. the royal gardens: The Giardini Reali, begun in the second half of the sixteenth century when Emanuele Filiberto chose Turin as the capital of Savoy. At the time Fay visited, the gardens would have been highly formal, consisting of square beds and fountains, the most famous of which remains the Fountain of the Tritons (1758). Banditti, and assassins, that every horrible story: Here, Fay either anticipates or postdates – depending on whether the passage was composed in 1779 or added later – the conventions of popular gothic fiction, whose stories of robbers, bandits, tyrannical lords and priests, and supernatural haunting became wildly famous in Britain in the 1790s. the Palaces of Doria, Doraggio, and Pallavicini: The first and third palaces to which Fay refers are the Palazzo Doria-Spinola and the Villa Durazzo-Pallvicini; the second is untraced, and ‘Doraggio’ nowhere among the many palazzi mentioned in the Storia Generale e Ragionata della Repubblica di Genova, 3 vols (Genoa: Giovanni Franchelli, 1795). the Cathedral: The Duomo di Genova, dedicated to San Lorenzo, consecrated by Pope Gelasisus in 1118, and completed in the seventeenth century. Jesuits’ church: The Chiesa del Gesú, located in the Piazza del Gesú in Genoa. Possessing one of the first truly baroque façades, it became a model for churches thereafter. It is famous for its chapel frescoes and for housing masterpieces by Peter Paul Rubens (The Circumcision [1605] and The Miracle of Saint Ignazio [c. 1619]) and Giudo Reni (The Assumption of the Virgin [1617]). the Virgin by Guido: The Assumption of the Virgin altarpiece (1617) by Guido Reni (1575–1642). Corpus Christi day: The Feast of Corpus Christi, usually held in late spring on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday. Originally proposed by Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) to

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Pope Urban IV (1195–1264), it celebrates the real presence of Christ (body, blood, soul, and divinity) in the elements of the Eucharist. On that day at the end of mass, there is usually a procession and then a benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. the Doge: The Doge of Genoa (‘Commander of the Genoese and Defender of the People’) was ruler of the communal Republic of Genoa from 1339 until the state’s extinction in 1797. At the time of the Fays’ visit the office was held by Giuseppe Lomellini (1723–1803) for the customary two-year period of office, in this case 1777–1779. a man after committing half a score murders . . . remains in safety: Fay refers to Genoa’s standing as a free port – that is, as a space possessing its own economic policies where merchants could trade with little or no interference from state authorities. Developed during the Renaissance in Italy, free ports attracted trade by creating a neutral space for the exchange of goods. For this reason, they thrived in places like Hamburg and Genoa, surrounded as they were by smaller duchies, city-states, principalities, and kingdoms. Here, Fay notes one of the negative aspects of such free-trade zones, their relative lawlessness, since suspected criminals needed merely to find refuge aboard a foreign ship not subject to Genoa’s jurisdiction to escape prosecution. Cicisbeos: Also called a cavalier servente, a cicisbeo is a married woman’s recognized companion or lover, their relationship tolerated socially by her husband and their mutual acquaintance. In the same year that saw the publication of Fay’s Original Letters, the term was made famous by Lord Byron in his comic poem Beppo (1817), which culminates with Beppo’s return after many years and his befriending the Count, who has been cavalier servente to Beppo’s wife Laura while he has been away. that expression of the Psalmist “the Fool hath said in his heart there is no God”: Quoting Psalms 14:1. Mr. Baretto of London to his brother: In his notes to the 1925 edition of Fay’s Original Letters, E. M. Forster identifies these brothers as ‘probably’ Joseph and Luis Barretto, two sons in a large Indo-Portuguese family with networks across South East Asia. Born in Bombay in 1745, Luis Barretto de Sousa (‘The Prince of Business’), began as a money lender, later founding the merchant firm L. Barretto & Company. In 1796, together with his younger brother Joseph, Luis donated funds to rebuild the Portuguese Church in Calcutta. In 1797 the brothers founded the first insurance company in Macau, the ‘Casa de Sequros de Macao’, insuring other merchants and cargo in the developing China trade. In 1800, the family purchased two merchant ships of their own to capture trade between London and the Cape of Good Hope, and between Macau and Asia, and then extended again into merchant banking. Entrepreneurial and highly successful, the family’s businesses combined to produce what Roy Eric Xavier has described as ‘one of the earliest examples of “vertical integration”’ in the Far East trade, linking traded commodities, insured by the family’s firm in Macau, ‘with a tightly controlled distribution network that pre-dated modern corporations by almost two hundred years’. See R. E. Xavier, ‘Luso-Asians and the Origins of Macau’s Cultural Development’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Hong Kong Branch 57 (January 2017), pp. 187–205. in the mole: A mole is a massive structure built usually of stone, in water, used as a breakwater, causeway, or pier. The word comes from the Latin mōlēs (meaning ‘large mass’) via the Middle French mole. The ships Fay mentions – tucked in behind the mole – are thus protected both from weather and attack by other vessels. so many French Privateers: In this case, armed vessels held by private individuals but holding a government commission (known as a letter of marque) authorizing the capture of merchant ships belonging to an enemy nation. France would remain at war with Britain until 1783. she has already eaten her head off: A colloquial phrase in use from the eighteenth through to twentieth centuries to describe someone or something which costs, in keep

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or maintenance, more than it is worth. In this case, maintaining the ship and crew at anchor is costing the Captain and owners more than the value of the ship and its cargo. Bowsprit: The bowsprit of a sailing vessel is a spar or length of timber extending forward from the vessel’s prow (or front). It provides an anchor point for the forestays, which hold the mast aloft, allowing the foremast to be located further forward on the hull. The daughter of a shipwright, Fay clearly enjoys using technical sailing terms in her letters to her family, including ‘pitching’ or ‘driving piles’ (the up and down motion of the bow and stern hammering into the water), ‘striking the lower yards’ (dropping the horizontal spars that hold square-rigged sails aloft on the mast to the deck, in order to lower the centre of gravity of the boat in the storm), and so on. Mr. Brandy . . . Consul for one of the German Courts: Mr. Brandi; his full name and dates of birth and death are not known. He is described by Rosemarie Said as ‘an Italian tailor who lived in the former English factory in Alexandria, and who occasionally acted as an agent for the British’. He was employed strategically by Sir Robert Ainslie, the British Ambassador to the Ottoman Porte, as his personal agent in Egypt. See Said, ‘George Baldwin and British Interests in Egypt 1775 to 1798’, p. 46, note 2. Pompey’s Pillar: Constructed in 292 AD, this immense triumphal column located in the Kom el-Dekka area of Alexandria dates not to Pompey (killed 48 BC) but to the Roman emperor Diocletian (244–311 AD). the most famous of all the conquerors: Alexander the Great (356–323 BC) founded Alexandria in 332 BC while conquering the Achaemenid Empire. dwarf walls: Low walls, frequently used in gardening. the Palace of Cleopatra: Fay is likely mistaken in this case, given archaeologists’ recent underwater discovery of a Ptolemaic palace on Antirhodos, an island in the eastern harbour of Alexandria that sunk in the fourth century AD. Cleopatra’s needles: The name of the three ancient Egyptian obelisks re-erected in the nineteenth century in London, Paris, and New York. The one currently standing on the Victoria Embankment in London was presented to Britain by Muhammad Ali, the ruler of Egypt and Sudan, in 1819, and finally transported from Alexandria to London and erected in 1878. Both obelisks observed by Fay were made during the reign of Eighteenth Dynasty Pharaoh Thutmose III (1479–1425 BC); its partner went to New York. Paris’s originates from a different site in Luxor, where its twin remains. bedizened: Overdressed, particularly in a gaudy or vulgar fashion. stranger in a strange land: Quoting Exodus 2:22. The Bar of the Nile: Located just off the coast of Rosetta, the bar of the Nile was a bank of sand blocking the mouth of the Nile except at high tide. See Travels of Ali Bey in Morocco, Tripoli, Cyprus, Egypt, Arabia, Syria, and Turkey, between the Years 1803 and 1807, 2 vols (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1816): The bar of the Nile is nearly four miles in the sea. The billows are generally very strong; for it is a bank of sand, against which the waters of the sea and the Nile beat with prodigious force. Ships find very little water; and the straits which are passable shift continually, so that there is a boat stationed upon the bar to indicate the passage. (vol. 2, p. 2)

96 the country where, the children of Israel sojourned . . . story of Joseph and his brethren: Fay here refers to the Land of Goshen, given to the Hebrews by the pharaoh of Joseph in Genesis 45:10: ‘And thou shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children’s children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast’. The story of Joseph is told in Genesis 37–50. 97 “like a tale that is told”: Quoting Psalms 90:9 (‘we spend our years as a tale that is told’).

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98 It has been supposed by many that the Israelites built these Pyramids: The Giza Pyramid complex was constructed during the twenty-sixth century BC; historians generally place the time of the Israelite slaves depicted in Exodus roughly a thousand years later. 99 sarcophagus: A stone coffin, usually decorated with figures and inscriptions. 100 a little flat . . . astrological observations: While there appears to be no corroborating evidence for her conjecture, Fay is correct that astronomy figured prominently in Egyptian culture. The pyramids were aligned with the polar star, and by the third century BC Egyptians were using a calendar of 365 days and observing the stars in order to predict when the Nile would flood. 101 the sphinx: The Great Sphinx of Giza, a limestone statue of a reclining sphinx, a mythical creature with the body of a lion and the head of a human, measuring 240 feet long and 66 feet high, believed to have been built by ancient Egyptians of the Old Kingdom during the reign of the Pharaoh Khafre (c. 2558–2532 BC). 102 Mr. Baldwin: George Baldwin (1744–1826), a trader and diplomat interested in the potential for connecting trade between India and Europe through Egypt. He is a key – though shadowy – figure in the events Fay describes. After many years’ residence and trading in the Eastern Mediterranean himself, Baldwin offered his services in 1774 as agent to the EIC handling the transportation of cargo via Suez and the Red Sea. The only English merchant in Egypt and a fluent Arabic speaker, Baldwin’s trade began competing with both the EIC and the Ottoman Porte. In 1774 the Porte had issued a firman prohibiting English boats landing at Suez, but trade was also being supported and encouraged by the Egyptian beys in defiance of their Ottoman governors. In 1775, a written agreement negotiated by Warren Hastings and John Shaw with Abu’l Dhahab Bey guaranteed free and reciprocal movement of ships, communication, and commerce between Great Britain and Egypt. Both the EIC and the Levant Company immediately protested this agreement as a threat to their own trade privileges. In May 1779, during this period of heightened tension, a European caravan from Suez to Cairo was attacked, resulting in the imprisonment of some merchants and the death of others. This is the event to which Fay refers, but about which she cannot speak openly in letters from Alexandria or Cairo. Baldwin became a hostage to secure the release of the imprisoned merchants. Escaping to Izmir in late 1779, he married Jane Maltass, the daughter of his agent, and travelled first to India and then Europe in the hope of restoring his fortunes. Always a powerful advocate of the strategic place of North East Africa in commerce, he was appointed to Egypt as consul-general in 1785 to balance the growth of French trade in the region, a post he held until 1796. At the period Fay encounters Baldwin, he was acting (like Mr. Brandi at Alexandria) as unofficial consul for British travellers through Egypt and was respected for his singular political and commercial knowledge of the region. A key resource for Baldwin and events in Egypt at the period of the Fays’ visit is the research of Rosemarie Said Zahan in ‘George Baldwin and British Interests in Egypt 1775 to 1798’ and ‘George Baldwin: Soldier of Fortune?’, in P. Starkey and J. Starkey (eds), Travellers in Egypt (London: I. B. Tauris, 2001), pp. 24–40. 103 my dress . . . for the House; but as I was going out: The Egyptian clothing Fay describes here is the ensemble she is depicted wearing in the portrait that appeared as frontispiece to the Original Letters. Fay’s written portrait of herself in ‘oriental’ dress almost certainly responds to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s very famous account of her own ‘Turkish habit’ in the 1763 publication of her travel letters, although images of Montagu in this costume had also circulated widely in the 50 years before the published account, becoming a motif of women’s travel in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The detailed description of silk robes, coloured muslins, and silver ornaments is also characteristic of women’s interest in fabric and fashion at this period. Fay, who is writing to her sisters and would become a milliner during one part of her career, describes textiles and trims throughout her letters, always with an eye to their

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detail and commercial value. Unlike Montagu, who found Turkish dress comfortable and liberating (it allowed her to move inconspicuously in public spaces at Constantinople), Fay finds the clothing conventions hot and oppressive. From India, however, she reports more favourably that ‘the Eastern dresses have infinitely the advantage over ours; they are much more easy and graceful’ (see letter of 19 February 1780). a severe epidemical disease, with violent symptoms . . . which carries all off: Fay’s description of the symptoms and progress of the illness resembles yellow fever, suggesting this may have been one of a number of related mosquito-borne viral diseases of typically short duration, in which about fifteen percent of patients suffer a severe or mortal form. “la queue de la Peste”: Literally ‘the tail of the plague’, a phrase also used in the Memoires de Lord Clarendon . . . sous le regne de Charles II (Paris: Béchet Aine, 1824) to describe an earlier epidemic at Oxford. the Beys: Within the Ottoman Empire, ‘Bey’ or ‘Beg’ was the title given to a regional ruler, chieftain, or governor of a province. Fay here is referring to the elite Egyptian individuals or Mamluk households who effectively ruled Egypt as a semi-autonomous Ottoman province until the French invasion of 1798 under Napoleon. The Christians (who are called Franks): Originally the Germanic peoples of the Lower and Middle Rhine, the term ‘Frank’ was used to describe Romanized German dynasties within the fragmenting Roman Empire, becoming, by the Middle Ages, a synonym for Western Europeans of the Carolingian Empire and those associated with the Roman Catholic Church during the Crusades. ‘Franks’ was used by many Muslim and Eastern Orthodox communities in the eastern Mediterranean and North Africa – including the Mongol and Ottoman Empires – as a descriptor for Western and Central Europeans. Latin Christians living in the Middle East are still known as ‘Franco-Levantines’. hautboys: A wooden double-reed wind instrument of high pitch, having a compass of about two and a half octaves, forming a treble to the bassoon; it is now called by the similar-sounding name of ‘oboe’. this famous Canal: Fay refers here to the cutting of the Khalig Canal, a ceremony dating back to ancient Egypt in which the bar or dam between the river and the canal in Cairo is broken at a large festival, usually in August, once the Nile attains the height of sixteen cubits. Murray’s famous nineteenth-century handbook for travellers describes a festival which – although recently diminished in Wilkinson’s account – is much more grand and pleasant than Fay’s: The opening of the canal at Old Cairo is . . . a ceremony of great importance, and looked upon with feelings of great rejoicing, as the harbinger of the blessings annually bestowed on the country by the Nile. . . . The ceremony is performed in the morning by the Governor or by the Pasha’s deputy. The whole night before this, the booths on the shore, and the boats on the river, are crowded with people; who enjoy themselves by witnessing or joining the numerous festive groups, while fireworks and various amusements enliven the scene. . . . About eight o’clock A.M the Governor, accompanied by troops and his attendants arrives; and on giving a signal, several peasants cut the dam with hoes, and the water rushes into the bed of the canal. In the middle of the dam is a pillar of earth, called Arooset e’ Neel, ‘the bride of the Nile’ which a tradition pretends to have been substituted by the humanity of Amer for the virgin previously sacrificed every year by the Christians to the river god! (G. Wilkinson, Hand-Book for Travellers in Egypt (London: John Murray, 1847), p. 148)

110 St. Giles’s: Referring to the parish in central London bound by Tottenham Court Road to the east, Francis Street (now Torrington Place) to the north, Newman Street to the west, and Stephen Street to the south. Immortalized in William Hogarth’s Gin Lane

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(1751) and the First Stage of Cruelty (1751), St. Giles was one of London’s worst slums throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. the only interesting subject: Fay declines to write of the recent attack on the caravan travelling between Suez and Cairo because she suspects that her letter will be read by censors, and so waits until Letter IX (dated 13 September 1779) to provide a full account of the attack on the English and French traders. a most dreadful Desert: Fay refers to the 80-mile stretch of the Egyptian desert extending east from Cairo to Suez; the reason for it being so ‘dreadful’ to her becomes clear in her subsequent letters. under the orders of Major Baillie: Possibly Major Ewen Baillie of the EIC. Nathalia: Flying under Danish colours, the Nathalia was under the command of the Dutch or German Captain Vanderfeld (or Van der Velden) and second mate Chenu (unidentified). She carried English merchants O’Donnell and Barrington, and French brothers Pierre Mathieu Renault de St Germain and Renault de Chilly, who were transporting lucrative cargo and personal fortunes from India. After arriving and unloading at Suez, the caravan of 12 Europeans with local guides and camel drivers set off for Cairo. They were attacked almost immediately, robbed, and left in the desert without water, food, clothes, or camels. O’Donnell and Chenu elected to return to Suez and survived; seven of the eight pushing forward to Cairo perished, with only Renault de St Germain arriving alive. Fay met him at a moment of further crisis in Baldwin’s parlour in Cairo when a second Danish ship under the command of Captain Moore, another Englishman, was seized at Suez (see Letter IX, dated 13 September 1779). John O’Donnell’s letter of complaint to the Supreme Council of Calcutta about the incident survives in the EIC records (Consultations of the Government, 12 June 1780), and is quoted at length by Forster in his terminal notes; see E. Fay, Original Letters, ed. E. M. Forster (London: Hogarth Press, 1925), pp. 274–5, note 13. Rosemarie Said Zahan’s account of the attack on the Nathalia caravan from the perspective of George Baldwin supplements Fay’s description and outlines the disintegrating relationships between various players in the Red Sea trade, including local beys, the East India and Levant Companies, the British government, the French, and the Ottoman Porte. See Zahan, ‘George Baldwin: Soldier of Fortune?’. Serampore, a Danish settlement on the Hooghly: Serampore (also called Serampur, Srirampur, Srirampore) is a city on the Hooghly river in West Bengal, north and slightly west of Calcutta (Kolkata). A precolonial settlement of several villages, it became a Danish trading post in 1755 before governance was transferred from the Danish Asiatic Company to the Crown in 1777. It was known as Frederiknagore between 1755 and 1845. Serampore was a very international settlement and became the centre of Baptist missionary activity in West Bengal, as, unlike the British EIC in Calcutta, it accepted missionaries. It is a telling point of connection between the experiences and narratives of Fay and Newell. After arriving in Calcutta, the Newells quickly relocated to Serampore in June 1812, accepting the invitation of the English Baptist missionary William Carey to stay at his home. The Nathalia’s putative ‘Danish’ identity – she issues from Serampore, sails under a Danish flag and is captained by Vanderfeld, who ‘passed for owner of the ship and cargo’ – allows the English merchants O’Donnell and Barrington to evade the British East India embargo on Red Sea trade. panniers: Large baskets for carrying foodstuffs or other commodities carried by a beast of burden (usually one of a pair placed one on either side of its back). Egypt, then, is governed by twenty four Beys: The Eyalet of Egypt describes the period of Ottoman rule of Mamluk Egypt from 1517 until 1867. After a period of revolt under Ali Bey, Egypt had been brought back under nominal Ottoman governance in 1773, but power was effectively in the hands of ruling beys Abu’l Dhahab Bey, Ibrahim Bey, and Murad Bey, with the authority of the Pasha mostly insignificant. As

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Rosemarie Said suggests, the ‘history of the government of Egypt during the last half of the eighteenth century is a complicated and anarchic mixture of factional opposition, last-minute desertions and sporadic coups d’etat’. See Said, ‘George Baldwin and British Interests in Egypt 1775 to 1798’, p. 12. Bashaw: An earlier form of the Turkish title Pasha, denoting the provincial governor. Firman . . . on behalf of the E. I. Company: Any edict, official grant, licence, passport, or permit issued by a Sultan. Here, Fay reveals that general opinion at Cairo was that the British Consul to the Sublime Porte, Sir Robert Ainslie, had procured the firman in favour of the EIC in order to quash trade by non-Company merchants and travellers (like the Fays, Baldwin, O’Donnell, and Barrington) through Egypt. The Fays are only permitted to leave their detention (with a local Italian family) when the local beys are bribed with three thousand pounds (see the close of Letter IX, dated 13 September 1779). the Bowstring: Execution by strangulation with the string of a hunting bow, or any length of tightly twisted string – commonly made of hemp, linen, or rawhide. We found Suez a miserable place . . . carried off: Arriving at Suez on the last day of August, the Fays proceed to the Nathalia, which had been impounded by the local authorities since its arrival and only very recently released to the new Captain Chenu. Mount Horeb: The mountain at which Moses was given the Ten Commandments by God, recorded in Deuteronomy 5:6–21. Other sources give Mount Sinai, and Biblical scholars are divided over whether these are two names for the same place or different locations. vessels . . . built for the conveyance of coffee: A related group of shallow-draught coasting vessels moved coffee and other cargo (including slaves) around the Red Sea, and included the local dhows, two-masted baghla from India, and the smaller sambuk from the Gulf and Oman. See R. Barnes and D. Parkin (eds), Ships and the Development of Maritime Technology on the Indian Ocean (New York: Routledge, 2015), and D. A. Agius, Seafaring in the Arabian Gulf and Oman: People of the Dhow (New York: Routledge, 2005). Banian: Or Banyan, ‘A Hindu trader . . . of the province of Guzerat, many of which class have for ages been settled in Arabian ports and known by this name . . . The word was adopted from Vaniya, a man of the trading caste (Hobson-Jobson, p. 48). Rajaput: ‘The name of a great race in India, the hereditary profession of which is that of arms’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 571). Deriving from the Sanskrit raja-putra, or ‘son of a king’, the term rajaput describes a social identification of the Indian sub-continent, based on caste, kin and hereditary profession (a warrior class). Chevalier de St. Lubin: The ‘celebrated FRENCH ADVENTURER’ and ‘Chevalier d’Industrie’ (as the European Magazine described him), Joseph Alexis Pallebot de Saint Lubin (b. 1738) had been sent to India by the French naval minister Antoine Raymond Jean Gualbert Gabriele de Sartine on a diplomatic mission to Maratha states. His mission was to establish an alliance with the Marathas against the British in order to support the French recovery of territory and power lost during the Seven Years’ War. Sartine hoped to use Britain’s preoccupation with the American War to contest its power in India and restore some of the lucrative trade and status lost in the preceding decades. Saint Lubin was an unorthodox choice for a diplomatic mission. Not unlike the Fays, he was one of the scores of European adventurers drawn to India in the mid to late eighteenth century. Arriving initially as a surgeon’s mate, he had reputedly entered the service of Hyder Ali as a general before defecting to the British (Hyder Ali’s opponent) during the First Mysore War (1766–1769). The Fays seem to have encountered Saint Lubin in Mocha on his return journey from the appointment as Louis XVI’s envoy to the Maratha leadership in Poona (his object there had been to provide 2,400 French artillery troops to the Maratha state under the pretext of a

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commercial treaty). Arriving in splendour at Poona in March 1777, Saint Lubin’s indiscreet negotiations aroused the active suspicions of both the British in Bengal and Hyder Ali, precipitating even greater instability in the region. Ordered home by the Maratha court to present the negotiated commercial treaty, he arrived at Paris in October of 1780. At this stage of their voyage, Fay is more concerned about the passage of her own letters home than the political gossip, and entrusts her epistles to the Chevalier’s ‘honour’. Hand delivery of letters and documents was a highly-sought opportunity in the precarious circumstances of international post at this period. See ‘Memoirs of a Celebrated French Adventurer’, The European Magazine 18 (August 1790), pp. 122–5; and K. Margerison, ‘Rogue Diplomacy: Sartine, Saint-Lubin and the French Attempt to Recover “Lost India” 1776–80’, French History 30 (2016), pp. 477–504. the Monsoon being against us: Shipping by sail across both the Red Sea and India Ocean is heavily dependent on prevailing winds, and the timing of the key route between Calicut and the Red Sea was well established by the Middle Ages: ships left Calicut for Mocha in January and arrived in the reverse direction at Calicut between August and November. The west coast of India was virtually unnavigable between June and September. The Fays are travelling very late in the season and, by all accounts, are lucky to have such an uneventful passage. See M. Pearson, The Indian Ocean (London: Routledge, 2003). The woman . . . is . . . one of the lowest creatures taken off the streets in London: That is, Fay suggests, a prostitute. Forster notes in his edition that her husband was probably William Tulloh, a well-known auctioneer (Tulloh & Co., Tank Square, Calcutta) whose portrait John Zoffany used to depict Judas Iscariot in his large painting of ‘The Last Supper’ for the new St John’s Church at Calcutta. If so, Fay’s ‘Mrs. Tulloh’ is his first wife Jean Duncan, by whom he had six children, and whose death is recorded by The Bengal Obituary as occurring at Calcutta on 27 May 1799, the deceased ‘aged 53 years and 6 months’. She and her husband were both born in Forres, Morayshire. Ironically, Tulloh & Co. were responsible for the sale of Eliza Fay’s effects after her death. For further details of Tulloh’s appearance in the Zoffany painting, see K. Blechynden, Calcutta Past and Present (London: Thacker & Co, 1905), pp. 139–41. Miss Howe’s description of Solmes, in Clarissa Harlowe: Referring to Letter XXVII of Samuel Richardson’s History of Miss Clarissa Harlowe (1748), in which Miss Howe describes the countenance of Mr. Solmes as the product of ‘three years . . . of continual crying; and his muscles have never been able to recover a risible tone’. Chenu . . . “Jack in office”: Although ‘Jack in office’ usually denotes a self-important minor official, Fay here uses the term to denote someone of minor rank promoted to a position beyond their desserts or ken. The Frenchman Chenu, second mate under Captain Van der Velden, had found himself made Captain of the Nathalia for her return voyage to India after the debacle at Suez. In his letter to Eliza’s parents informing them of their safe arrival at Suez, Anthony Fay had described Chenu as ‘a very polite good-natured man, which is a great matter in a long voyage’, but his wife denounces him as ‘insolent and overbearing’. John Hare, Esqr., Barrister at Law: John Hare was admitted as a barrister to the Court of Calcutta on 28 March 1780, rather before Anthony Fay (who had come to India without the permission of the Company and was admitted 3 July 1780). Anthony Fay would in fact go on to work with Hare, defending James Augustus Hicky, the editor of the Bengal Gazette, ‘in a prosecution for libel instituted by Hastings’ (Bengal Past and Present 30 [1925], 168). Transporting diamonds on his return journey to England, Hare was murdered in 1784. He made bequests in his will to Warren Hastings and Sir Elijah Impey: the latter survives in the form of a silver soup tureen and cover, made by James Young of London in 1784 or 1785, now owned by the Sterling and Francine

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Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts. Hare’s account of the group’s imprisonment, written as a petition to Sardar Khan, is preserved in the EIC archives and is reproduced in Bengal Past and Present 12 (1916), p. 257. Quadrille: ‘A trick-taking card game for four players using a pack of forty cards, without the eights, nines, and tens of the ordinary pack’ (OED). scorbutic blotches: The skin lesions and unhealed wounds commonly seen on sufferers of scurvy. Noticed from the classical period, the disease of scurvy – caused by a deficiency of vitamin C – profoundly affected seamen and was a limiting factor in the length of sea journeys. During the sixteenth to nineteenth centuries, it is estimated that up to fifty percent of sailors died from scurvy. “he could not ope . . . flew a trope”: Quoting Samuel Butler, Hudibras (1663–1678), Canto 1, Part 1, ll. 81–2. Mr. Manesty: The son of a Liverpool merchant and slaver, Samuel Manesty (1758– 1812) first voyaged to India at the age of nineteen as an EIC writer at Bombay. He would go on to be appointed EIC Resident at Basra in 1784, marrying the daughter of a local Armenian family, Maria Anne Saurius, and building a lucrative personal trade in the Persian Gulf. He was then involved in a notorious diplomatic incident in 1804 in which he presented himself – without authorization – to the Qajar Court in Shiraz and Sultaniyyah as British Envoy. Despite censure for his presumption, Manesty was able to return to his position as Resident at Basra before being dismissed in 1810. He returned to England via Constantinople, reaching London in May 1812. Bankrupt and in disgrace, he died there a month later at the house of his friend, former Bombay merchant and banker Charles Forbes, probably by suicide. See R. P. Walsh, ‘Manesty, Samuel (1758–1812)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2010); and D. Wright, ‘Samuel Manesty and his Unauthorised Embassy to the Court of Fath Ali Shah’, Iran: Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies 24 (1986), pp. 323–36. fallen into the hands of sharpers: A sharper is a swindler, cheat, or professional gambler, especially at cards. between the Captain and H— the Barrister: John Hare; apparently, Chenu and Hare were narrowly prevented from duelling to decide their quarrel. purser: ‘An officer on board a ship responsible for provisions and for keeping accounts, or (in later use more generally) for various other administrative matters; (now) esp. the head steward on a passenger vessel’ (OED). “catch as catch can”: A popular expression meaning to take what one can, or to seize a given opportunity for personal gain. Calicut, 12th February, 1780: Kozhikode, or the anglicized Calicut, is a city in modern Kerala on the west coast of India known from classical antiquity through the Middle Ages as the ‘City of Spices’ for its central role in the Middle East and Europe trade. Famous also for its woven cotton cloth, Calicut gives its name to the fabric ‘calico’. A Portuguese Factory was established there for a short period in the sixteenth century (1511–1525), with the English and French following in the seventeenth century. The Danish East India Company joined them in 1752. The capital of the Malabar District under English rule, Calicut was captured by Mysore under Hyder Ali in 1765. At the time of the Fays’ arrival, Calicut was governed by Sardar Khan, brother-in-law and noted military aide of Hyder Ali, Sultan of Mysore. Fay provides her own description of the town in her journal entry for 10 December 1779. state of dreadful Captivity: Writing some ten weeks after her last letter, Fay describes her imprisonment (along with Anthony Fay, Mr. and Mrs. Tulloh, John Hare and his servant Lewis, Mr. Fuller, Mr. Manesty, Mr. Taylor, and one other) at the English Factory and Fort at Calicut from 5 November 1779 to mid-February of 1780. suspended over my head as by a single hair: Referring to the story of Damocles, who flattered his king Dionysius by calling him fortunate to hold power and to be

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surrounded by magnificence. On accepting Dionysius’s offer to exchange places with him for one day, Damocles found himself seated under a great sword suspended over his head by a single hair. Dionysius sought to impress on Damocles that with great fortune comes great danger. anchored in the Roads . . . no English flag up: From the Roads outside the English Factory – usually an area of safe anchorage used by ships waiting to be admitted, or for the transhipment of some cargoes – the passengers of the Nathalia notice that there is no English flag flying and are quickly surrounded by vessels. As the Fays will learn, the English Consul Mr. Freeman had already fled in the face of deepening hostilities with Hyder Ali and his deputy at Calicut, Sardar Khan (what Fay calls in Letter XII, dated 12 February 1780, ‘a misunderstanding’ between Hyder Ali and the English). Mr. Passavant, the Danish Consul: The Danish East India Company was founded in 1616 and had held a trading post or ‘Factory’ at Calicut from 1752. The Factor and Resident at this juncture is Leonhard Passavant, and he offers the English passengers of the nominally Danish ship (the Nathalia) protection onshore if they are prepared to pass as Danes. The other passengers (including the Tullohs) take up this offer, while the Fays choose to remain on board. chit: A short official note, frequently recording a small sum owed, but here containing written orders. Seapoys: ‘A native soldier, disciplined and dressed in the European style’ (HobsonJobson, p. 612). the English are coming to attack Calicut: When word reached India late in 1778 that France had entered the war against the British on the part of the American colonists, the British responded quickly by taking French colonial outposts at Pondicherry and the port of Mahé (also known as Mahey and Mayyazhi) on the Malabar coast. Allying with Hyder Ali, whose brother-in-law Sardar Khan currently held power in Calicut, the French retook Mahé in 1780. It was thus in a situation of conflict on multiple fronts – and characterized by delayed communications between the various theatres of war – that the French Captain Chenu apparently offered the ship Nathalia to Sardar Khan to protect Calicut in the event of an attack by the British elsewhere in Malabar. a second Suez business: Referring to the attack on the Nathalia caravan and the confiscation of the Nathalia and St Helena at Suez (see Letter VII, dated 27 August 1779). Captain Ayres: Although only Fay’s account of Ayres – a highwayman who ended up in the service of Hyder Ali – appears to survive, he is just one of many men (and some women) who were taken hostage or defected to indigenous communities in North Africa and India. Fay describes a second man, Captain West, ‘of a pretty similar description’, in Sardar Khan’s service in Letter XII, dated 12 February 1780. See L. Colley, ‘Going Native, Telling Tales: Captivity, Collaborations and Empire’, Past & Present 168 (2000), pp. 170–93. a Gentleman Collector on the Highway: A highwayman patterned on the notorious James Maclaine, known as the ‘Gentleman Highwayman’ because of the courtesy with which he treated the people he robbed. Maclaine was hanged at Tyburn in London in 1750. his General, who is Governor of this Province: Sardar Khan. Nabob’s name: ‘Nabob’ is derived from the Erdu word nawab, which denoted historically a Mughal imperial viceroy. By the late eighteenth century, it and ‘nabob’ took on a broader use, frequently describing a British person who had acquired a large fortune in India. Samuel Foote’s popular comedy The Nabob (1772) did much to popularize the term. Here, however, Fay refers specifically to Hyder Ali as the supreme ruler, with whom the British Crown and EIC had most recently negotiated commercial arrangements in Malabar.

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153 scymitears: A scimitar is a sabre or backsword with a curved blade. 154 Blue lights: ‘Bengal’ or ‘blue lights’ were weapons made with sulphur, used to expose enemies at night. As Fay suggests and as other contemporary accounts of Mysore tactics show, they could also be used to distract and confuse the enemy under attack. Hyder Ali and his son Tipu Sultan were renowned for their use of ‘mysore’ rocket technology in battle. 155 Hooka: ‘Hindi from Arabic hukkah, properly “a round casket”. The Indian pipe for smoking through water, the elaborated hubble-bubble. That which is smoked in the hooka is a curious compound of tobacco, spices, molasses, fruit, &c’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 322). 156 hobby-horse: A favourite pursuit or pastime, made famous in this sense as an absurd or foolish project by Laurence Sterne in The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759–1767). 157 made Mr. Passavant a visit, to look at the strangers: Hare, the Tullohs, and others are evidently staying at the Danish Resident’s while the Fays have been imprisoned at the abandoned English Factory. When Captains Ayers and West go to investigate the newcomers at the Danish Factory, the group take the precaution of speaking in French so as not to be recognized as British, until Hare foolishly reveals the Nathalia to be English property (and thus an enemy vessel). 158 “Suiting the action to the words”: Paraphrasing Hamlet’s advice to the players (‘suit the action to the word, the / word to the action’) in Hamlet, Act 3, scene 2, ll. 18–19. 159 Sudder Khan: Sardar Ali Khan (sometimes transcribed as Sudder ul Hoe Khan or Sudder ul Hoc Khan), Governor of Calicut. A key figure in the army of Hyder Ali and Mysore’s occupation of Malabar from 1774, Sardar Khan had been appointed by the Nabob Mobarick ul Dowla to fill the station of Naib of his Adawlet (Court of Civil Justice) and Phouzdarry (Court of Criminal Justice). He was effectively the Governor or Commander-in-Chief of the region, although Malabar remained in a constant state of rebellion. The way in which this appointment played into the highly complex politics of the entire subcontinent is revealed in the records of the impeachment trial of Warren Hastings. Edmund Burke argued that Sardar Khan’s appointment had been made specifically at the request of Hastings from Bengal in order to replace the Company’s preferred candidate for Naib Subah, Mahomed Rez Cawn, and constituted evidence of his misgovernance and of his collusion with opponents of the Company and Crown. See Sir F. Philip, A State of the British Authority in Bengal under the Government of Mr. Hastings. Exemplified in His Conduct in the Case of Mahomed Reza Khan: With a Debate Upon a Letter from Mobareck Ul Dowlah, Nabob of Bengal: From Authentic Documents (London: Printed by H. S. Woodfall, 1780). 160 Beelzebub: In popular use, a name for the Devil or one of the princes of hell. In 2 Kings 1:2–16, ‘Beelzebub’ is the name of a deity worshipped by the Philistines; in John Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667), he is part of an unholy trinity with Lucifer and Astaroth and is second only to Satan. 161 feed them on dry rice: A form of torture in which prisoners are starved, and then fed dry rice with large amounts of water. The swelling rice in the stomach and intestines causes excruciating pain. 162 You will wonder how I came by all this information: Fay reveals later that she had learned these details of their incarceration and Hare’s behaviour from Captain West (see Letter XVII, dated 27 September 1780). 163 chequins: Or Ottoman sequin, a small gold coin modelled on the Venetian sequin, originally struck at Cairo. Used in the Mocha trade (from whence the Fays clearly had acquired theirs), it was generally known as the ‘Mocha ducat’. 164 the Nabob’s prisoners: Here, Sardar Ali imprisons the remaining passengers in the name of Hyder Ali as supreme leader or Nawab.

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165 Moors: In this Anglo-Indian context, ‘Moors’ refers to the Urdu language (OED). 166 gewgaws: ‘A gaudy trifle, plaything, or ornament, a pretty thing of little value, a toy or bauble’ (OED). 167 VENETIAN FIDDLE STRINGS!!!: A highly regarded double twisted string made of gut in the Venetian tradition. 168 Isaac, the Jewish merchant: Isaac Surgun (d. 1792), a wealthy merchant originally from Constantinople and influential in trade at Calicut, Cochin, and Tranvancore. Surgun appears in the historical record from the 1760s in connection with local leaders and the VOC; he clearly spoke multiple languages, including Urdu and perhaps Persian, but not English. His conversation with Fay takes place through an interpreter. 169 catty: Caddy. 170 like the Pharisees in Scripture: The parable of the Pharisees and the tax collector at the temple (Luke 18:9–14) teaches that ‘every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted’ (18:14). 171 Nayhirs: Also Nairs, a Hindu community of Malabar ruled by matriarchs that (to some extent) practiced polyandry. In 1779 when British forces took Mahé from the French, the Nayhirs rebelled (with support from the British) against Hyder Ali’s rule, but were suppressed. In 1780 the French retook Mahé with the help of Hyder Ali. E. M. Forster’s note to his edition of Fay’s Original Letters adds, ‘Mrs. Fay is wrong in supposing they were attacking the English. On the contrary the English had instigated them to rebel against Haider Ali, and their operations near Tellicherry were probably to this end. The rebellion was soon crushed’ (p. 278, note 30). 172 Tellicherry: Modern Thalassery, a commercial city on the Malabar coast and an important hub of the millenia-old Arabian and European spice trade. The British had established a trading post and Factory there in 1694; it was a strategic port for them in the south west of India, and the location of a British garrison. 173 Mahey: Mahé. 174 Angria the Pirate: Also known as Canajee Angria or Sarkhei Angré, Kanhoji Angri (1669–1729) led the Maratha Navy against the British, Dutch, and Portuguese navies in the first decades of the eighteenth century. Though dubbed a ‘pirate’ by European forces, he remained undefeated until his death, often employing Dutch and Jamaican captains to command his best vessels. 175 “remnant of all things”: Untraced, but perhaps referring ironically to Zechariah 8:12 (‘I will cause the remnant of this people to possess all these things’). 176 spinnet: ‘A keyed musical instrument, common in England in the eighteenth century, closely resembling the harpsichord, but smaller and having only one string to each note’ (OED). 177 gambols: ‘Originally: A leap or caper; more generally: a playful or high-spirited movement or gesture; a bout of energetic playful activity, as running or jumping about; a frolic, a romp (frequently in plural)’ (OED). 178 bolts: Rolls of woven fabric of a specific length. 179 “ancient solitary reign we had molested”: Misquoting line 12 of Thomas Gray’s Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard (1751): ‘Molest her ancient solitary reign’. 180 The Governor marched at the head of his troops toward Tellicherry: The captives are witnessing preparations of the allies of Hyder Ali to attack the British garrison at Tellicherry, which they did from 30 December 1779 to 18 January 1782. The attempt by Mysore to secure influence and territory in Malabar failed, and Sardar Khan would ultimately die in the attempt. The Treaty of Saleby (1782) ceded territory back to the British. 181 Zamorin: ‘The title for many centuries of the Hindu Sovereign of Calicut and the country round’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 745). 182 King of Prussia . . . the great Frederick: Frederick II (1712–1786) ruled the Kingdom of Prussia from 1740 until his death. His reign was distinguished for his early patronage

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of learning and the arts, his repeated tactical genius in battle, his encouragement of freedom of the press, and his commitment to modernizing the Prussian government’s bureaucracy and judicial system. stagnant water . . . fatal to Europeans: Hare refers to the tendency of stagnant water to breed mosquitoes, and thus to spread diseases like malaria, typhoid, and yellow fever. Seringapatnam: Srirangapatna, a town in the state of Karnataka near Mysore, was the de facto capital of Mysore under Hyder Ali and his son Tipu Sultan; Hyder Ali was resident there at this point in Fay’s narrative. Mr. Taylor: Taylor, of the Nathalia group incarcerated at Calicut, had been caring for Fay’s wound, which she describes receiving while imprisoned at the Factory in Letter XII, dated 12 February 1780. The Doolies: From the Hindi doli, a ‘rudimentary litter or palanquin used by the lower classes in India, and as an army ambulance’ (OED). Levée: Here, with irony, a party or celebration. Mr. Church, Governor of Tellicherry: Richard Church, Resident and English Factor at Tellicherry. chined: Cut in half along the backbone. The slaughter of the cow marks not only Ayres’ caprice and cruelty but underscores his loyalty to the Muslim conqueror of the region, Hyder Ali. Cows are held sacred in many religions, including Hinduism, and Ayres’ act is thus deliberately provocative in southern India. nankeen: A sturdy woven yellow-coloured cotton cloth traditionally produced at Nanjing, for which it is named. Sailors often had trousers and jackets made of the fabric. waiting for a lucky day: Sardar Khan would seem to be waiting for an auspicious time to enter or re-enter his residence, perhaps a form of Griha Pravesh which is practiced by multiple faith communities in Kerala. Fay dismisses it as ‘ridiculous superstitions’. the Nabob: Hyder Ali. Cochin: Or Kochi. The ‘Queen of the Arabian Sea’, Cochin is a major port city on the southwest coast of India. An important centre of the spice trade since the fourteenth century, it is home to the oldest community of Jews in India (who, in some accounts, settled there after the destruction of the Second Temple in 68 AD). Cochin was occupied by the Portuguese in 1503, becoming the first of the European colony in India. The Dutch held power in the city until 1773, when it fell to Hyder Ali in the conquest of Mysore. Mahometan robbers: It is in this tribute to ‘Isaac the Jew’ that Fay first makes reference to different faith communities on the south-west coast of India, and curiously, it is primarily to distinguish between the ‘Mahometan’ robbers (the forces of the Muslim Hyder Ali), the unsympathetic Christians among their fellow captives of the Nathalia, and the ‘benevolent Jew’ Isaac Surgun. good Samaritan . . . benevolent Jew: Referring to the parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25–37, in which a man, having been beaten and robbed, is left for dead by a passing priest and a Levite before being aided by a man from Samaria, who shows compassion for him and dresses his wounds. The parable not only teaches that we should love our neighbour, but also extends the idea of ‘neighbour’ to include all people regardless of faith or origin. Peekdanees: A phonetic rendering of the Bangla word pikadāni; a spitoon. chewing betel: The leaf of the betel vine (Piper betel of the Piperaceae family) is commonly consumed in Asia and Asian diasporas as betel ‘quid’, or in paan with the Areca nut and sometimes tobacco. A sheaf of the leaves can also be offered as an auspicious gift and as a sign of respect. Mr. Moore: Captain Moore of the St Helena, which had also been impounded at Suez before following the Nathalia to the Malabar Coast. all the spectators seeming to look upon me as a self devoted victim: Fay makes oblique reference here to the historical Hindu practice of sati or suttee, where a wife sacrifices

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herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. She elaborates a more explicit – though no less polemical – comparison between the forms of sacrifice required in Indian and British marriages in a later letter (see Letter XX, dated 28 August 1781). Ceylon: Sri Lanka; at that time a Dutch colony (with the exception of the Kingdom of Kandy). Ceylon was transferred to British rule in 1815. Point de Galle: Now Galle, a port city at the south-western tip of Sri Lanka. beating up in the wind’s eye: The zig-zag motion required to sail a vessel directly into the wind. Captain Richardson of the Ganges: Launched in 1778 as an East Indiaman, Ganges was making her first voyage for the EIC under Captain George Richardson. shell-lime . . . chunam as it is called: ‘Prepared lime; also specially used for fine polished plaster. Forms of this word occur both in Dravidian languages and in Hindi’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 168). various complaints . . . incidental to the climate: Fay suggests here that many of the health issues experienced by Europeans in India might be caused by over-indulgence rather than climate. Of the numerous tropical and communicable diseases that faced travellers and colonial residents of this period, among the most prominent were plague, leprosy, cholera, and malaria; ‘fever’ in various forms was a leading cause of death. “the hardy regions of the North”: Possibly quoting from line 270 of W. Tasker’s Ode to the Warlike Genius of Great Britain (London: for the Author, 1778). Dubashees: A phonetic rendering of the Hindi dūbhāshiya or dōbāshī (man of two languages): ‘an Indian interpreter or commissionaire, employed in transacting business between Europeans and the local people, and as a guide, courier, etc.’ (OED). Mr. and Mrs. Popham: Stephen Popham (1745–1795). Born in Cork (and thus Mr. Fay’s ‘countryman’), Popham was educated in England and elected to the Irish House of Commons in 1776 as the Member for Castlebar. Facing financial difficulties, he moved to Calcutta and took up a position at the advocate-general’s office as secretary to Sir John Day. Quarrelling with Day, he elected to resettle at Madras in 1778 and, after purchasing land there, began the reclamation of the area known as Black Town through an ambitious drainage project. He is also credited with establishing the Madras police in 1782. The vestiges of ‘Popham’s Plan’ – which was presented to Madras authorities in January of 1782 – remain in the name of one of the major thoroughfares through the commercial centre of Madras: Popham’s Broadway, formally Prakasam Salai, but still popularly known as ‘Broadway’. Massulah: Or masula, ‘a large surf-boat used on the Coromandel Coast of south-east India, especially for conveying passengers and goods between ships and the shore’ (OED). projector: ‘One who plans or designs an enterprise or undertaking; a proposer or founder of some venture’ (OED). See note 208 for Popham’s improvement activities at Madras. as an attorney . . . nothing here: As the centre of British administration in India, the Supreme Court (with the Council) was established at Calcutta with the Regulating Act of 1773. It is therefore only in Bengal that Fay can practise as a barrister in India but, perhaps more importantly, it is where he perceives the greatest professional opportunities. St. Thomas . . . Brahmin: Tradition has it that Saint Thomas travelled outside the Roman Empire to India and (in some accounts) even to Indonesia. According to legend, he was killed by hostile priests at St. Thomas Mount, in Chennai, on 3 July 72 AD, and his body was interred in Mylapore. See D. Farmer, The Oxford Dictionary of Saints (Oxford University Press, 2011), p. 418. Banian: Or Banyan, the Indian fig-tree (ficus religiosa).

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214 ‘Temples not made with hands’: Slightly altered from Acts 17:24 (‘God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands’). 215 Toddy: The term is a corruption of tāri, the Hindi word for ‘the fermented sap of the . . . palmyra . . . and also of other palms, such as the date, the coco-palm, and the Caryota wrens; palm-wine’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 706). 216 challenged: Meaning ‘challenged to a duel’. 217 supercargo: ‘A representative of the ship’s owner on board a merchant ship, responsible for overseeing the cargo and its sale’ (OED). 218 Juggernauth: See Newell, note 196. 219 “life and immortality were brought to light by the Gospel”: Quoting 2 Timothy 1:10. 220 “one fold, under one shepherd”: Slightly misquoting John 10:16 (‘and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd’). 221 Garden-reach: A neighbourhood situated in the southwestern part of Kolkata. Located on a bend in the Hooghly River, it yielded the first full views of the city to an arriving traveller and was the location of many opulent country homes or ‘garden houses’ for wealthy residents of Calcutta to escape the city. These were often in the Palladian style made popular by Thames-side villas built between Richmond and Hampton earlier in the eighteenth century. 222 snake boat: Also known as a pamban-manche, ‘a canoe used on the numerous rivers and back-waters, from 30 to 60 feet long, and cut out of a solid tree. The largest are paddled by about twenty men, double-banked, and, when pressed, they will go as much as 12 miles an hour’. See Admiral W. H. Smyth, The Sailor’s Word-Book: An Alphabetical Digest of Nautical Terms (London: Blackie and Son, 1867), p. 515. 223 Budgerow: ‘A lumbering keelless barge, formerly much used by Europeans travelling on the Ganges’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 91). 224 Fort William: The original Fort William was built between 1696 and 1706 by the British EIC and named for King William III. In 1756 the Fort was surrendered under siege to the Nawab of Bengal Siraj ud-Daulah. Survivors were imprisoned in the Fort’s tiny holding cell, where up to two thirds died overnight from heat, suffocation and shock. The incident became infamous as ‘the Black Hole of Calcutta’. After the recovery of Calcutta in 1757 under Robert Clive, Fort William was rebuilt in the open area Fay calls the ‘Esplanade’ (also known as the Maidan) at enormous cost. It was completed in 1781, precisely at the period the Fays saw it. 225 Fort St George: The first English fortress in India, built by the EIC at Madras during the 1640s. 226 Sir Robert Chambers: The East India Regulating Act of 1773 established a supreme council (under Governor-General Warren Hastings) and a judicature at Calcutta. Sir Robert Chambers (1737–1803) was appointed to the Supreme Court as second judge to Sir Elijah Impey’s Chief Justice. After Chambers’ arrival at Calcutta in 1774, tensions within the Governor General’s Council, and between the Council and the Court, grew, as the latter sought to clarify and expand its jurisdiction. Their disputes (which Anthony Fay becomes caught up in) finally required Parliament to pass the Amending Act of 1781, which further demarcated the relations between the Supreme Court and the Governor General in Council. 227 whose lady: Frances Wilton (daughter of the sculptor and Royal Academician Joseph Wilton) had married Robert Chambers in 1774, just prior to his departure for Bengal. Samuel Johnson had reported the news to James Boswell in a letter as follows: ‘Chambers is either married or almost married to Miss Wilton, a girl of sixteen, exquisitely beautiful, whom he has with his lawyer’s tongue persuaded to take her chance with him in the East’. See H. E. Busteed, Echoes from Old Calcutta . . . (4th edition, London & Calcutta: Thacker & Spink, 1908), p. 146.

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228 “She loves me . . . pity them”: Quoting William Shakespeare, Othello, Act I, scene iii, ll. 168–9. 229 Mrs. Hastings: Marian Hastings, Anna Maria Apollonia Chapuset (previously Baroness von Imhoff). Warren Hastings had met the German Marian, then wife of Baron Imhoff, on a voyage to Madras in 1769. The couple began a relationship, apparently with Imhoff’s knowledge and consent, and resided together in Madras and Calcutta. After the Imhoffs were granted a divorce, Hastings and Marian were married in India in July 1777, and Hastings adopted Marian’s two sons from her former marriage. Marian returned from India with a massive personal fortune and was renowned for her glamorous appearance and extraordinary jewellery. At the time of Hastings trial, Frances Burney found her pleasing, lively, and hopelessly indiscreet: ‘the most conspicuous figure wherever she appears’. See F. Burney, Diary and Letters . . . (London: Henry Colburn, 1842), vol. 5, p. 305. 230 Mrs. Motte: Miss Mary Touchet, sister of Peter Touchet (a school fellow at Westminster with Hastings) married Thomas Motte, diamond merchant and Superintendent of Police, in 1779. 231 I had brought them on myself: Fay perceives a judgement against her on the part of Mrs. Hastings – probably for her husband’s private ‘adventuring’ (he had not sought permission from either the Company or the new administration at Bengal to come out to Calcutta to practice), and possibly for her own decision to follow a husband whose behaviour was consistently rash and thoughtless. 232 bijou: A jewel. 233 tatties placed to exclude the hot wind: An ingenious form of evaporative cooling; ‘A screen or mat, usually made of the roots of the fragrant cuscus grass, which is placed in a frame so as to fill up the opening of a door or window, and kept wet, in order to cool and freshen the air of a room’ (OED). 234 Sir Elijah Impey: Appointed Chief Justice of the Calcutta Supreme Court from 1774 until 1787, Impey (1732–1809) arrived in Calcutta in the wake of the East India Regulating Act of 1773. His tenure as Chief Justice was marked by cases that exposed tensions over jurisdiction between the Court and Governor-General Warren Hastings’s Council. The most notorious of these was the Nandakumar affair of 1775, in which a Brahman of that name accused Hastings of corruption. Impey instead prosecuted Nandakumar, who was executed for forgery on 5 August 1775, becoming the first man to be hung under new British law. Impey’s conduct in the case has been long debated; Thomas Babington Macaulay famously concluded Impey to be criminally partial to Hastings, while later historians have largely concluded his conduct to have been just and impartial. Impey and Hastings continued to try to find administrative solutions to ongoing conflicts between the Court and the Council; they collaborated on a plan of judicial reform in 1776, but North’s government did not act on it. In 1780 Hastings tried to institute a number of their ideas via a different means, by giving Impey superintendence over the sadr diwani adalat, or central civil court, which until then had been run by a team of British councillors and Indian officials. This appointment led the House of Commons 1782 to recall Impey to London to answer questions. Impeachment proceedings began in 1788 with a motion concerning the Nandakumar affair; that motion failed, a short while later the rest of the charges were dropped. 235 en passant: ‘In passing’, or ‘by the way’ (French). 236 Carnatic: ‘The eastern low country’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 126), encompassing the eastern coast of South India, extending in the late eighteenth century from Cape Comoria and Tirunelveli in the south, extending beyond Madras (Chennai) to the Krishna River in the north. 237 Khansaman: Or Consumah. ‘In Anglo-Indian households in the Bengal Presidency, this is the title of the chief table-servant and provider . . . . The literal meaning of the word is “Master of the household-gear”’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 190).

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238 salaamed to my foot: Meaning ‘Peace be upon you’, a salaam can also apply to the ceremonious act of obeisance accompanying this salutation. 239 comprodore: Also compradore, from the Portuguese word comprador, or ‘purchaser’, here denoting a steward who purchases goods necessary for the household and keeps accounts. 240 anna: ‘The 16th part of a rupee’ (OED). 241 harpies: A harpy is ‘a rapacious, plundering, or grasping person; one that preys upon others’ (OED). 242 cowrees: Also cowry, ‘the porcelain-like shell of a small gastropod, Cypræa moneta, found abundantly in the Indian Ocean, and used as money in some parts of Africa and Southern Asia’ (OED). 243 Banians: ‘In Calcutta . . . specifically applied to the native brokers attached to houses of business, or to persons in the employment of a private gentleman doing analogous duties’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 48). 244 writers: The most junior of employees, clerks in the service of the Company were known as ‘writers’. They could be based in either London or India; those in Indian service often rose quickly through the Company ranks. Samuel Manesty, whom Fay met on her voyage out, had been appointed as a writer at the beginning of his career. 245 four in hand: Driving a carriage and four horses oneself. In the late eighteenth century, it became a vogue among young men to drive their own coaches, often recklessly and at high speeds. In the period, the most famous of these young coachmen was Thomas Onslow, and the type is satirized vividly in Thomas Holcroft’s character Goldfinch in The Road to Ruin (1792), and in James Thorpe in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey (1818). ‘Four-in-hand’ literally denotes having reins of four horses in one’s hands, and in London it quickly became the name of a popular driving club, most famously named in the opening chapter of Walter Scott’s Waverley (1814). See J. Timbs, Clubs and Club Life in London (London: Chatto and Windus, 1872), pp. 248–9. 246 gold-mohurs: ‘A gold coin used in India from the 16th cent. onward. Also called dinar’ (OED). 247 Calcutta Gazettes: The Calcutta Gazette, a Government newspaper, was not published until 1784; so, as Forster suggests, Fay is probably referring here to the much less reputable Bengal Gazette or the Original Calcutta General Advertiser which was launched by James Augustus Hicky in January 1780. 248 “summer friend”: One who is a friend only when circumstances make it advantageous to be so. Untraced, though perhaps from Act 3, scene 2 of Thomas Shadwell’s The History of Timon of Athens, the Man-Hater (London: Herringman, 1703). The culprit here is Mr. Hare, with whom Fay had had such a strained relationship in Calicut. 249 a duel between the Governor General and . . . Mr. Francis: Sir Philip Francis (22 October 1740 – 23 December 1818), Irish-born politician and writer, was appointed to the Supreme Council at Calcutta in 1773 and quickly clashed with Governor-General Warren Hastings. Francis was injured in the duel, which had been precipitated by a minuted slight on the part of Hastings against Francis (Hastings accused him of being ‘void of truth and honour’). Francis survived and returned to England; as a Member of Parliament in the House of Commons, he was active in the impeachment charges brought against Hastings from 1785. 250 the cutting off Col. Baillie’s detachment: Fay is referring to the Battle of Pollilur (or Perambakam) between forces commanded by Tipu Sultan (the son of Hyder Ali) and Colonel William Baillie of the British EIC. The battle, which only 250 of Baillie’s 3,853 men survived, was the worst loss that the Company had suffered in India to that date. Baillie was seriously injured, captured, and died in prison at Seringapatam in November of 1782.

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251 Sir Eyre Coote: Lieutenant-General Sir Eyre Coote (1726–83) was renowned as a soldier in British service in India. In 1779 he returned to the subcontinent to assume the position of Commander-in-Chief of the EIC forces and was instrumental in the Second Anglo-Mysore War against Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan. 252 West: Captain West, a soldier in the service of Sardar Ali at Calicut, whom Fay initially dismisses in the same terms as Captain Ayres but then comes to trust. See note 162. 253 Dr Jackson: Rowland Jackson M.D., born in Ireland, graduated doctor of medicine at Rheims 16 August 1746. He was admitted to the College of Physicians in 1766 and practised for a period in the West Indies; Forster suggests that it was the loss of family estates in Ireland that prompted his move to India with his wife, eldest son Edward, Edward’s fiance Phoebe Tuting, Miss Maria Chantry, and family; see Fay, Original Letters, p. 281, note 32. He died not long after Fay became close with the family, and was buried in Calcutta on 29 March 1784. Phoebe Jackson, his daughter in law, died a year later aged twenty-four. 254 “children of the sun”: Likely a reference to ll. 13–14 of James Thomson’s ‘Liberty’: ‘Let wondering Rocks, in radiant Birth, disclose, / The various-tinctur’d Children of the Sun’. 255 “where the song . . . festive board”: Untraced. 256 Burdwan stew: An Anglo-Indian dish in which leftover meat (lamb, beef, rabbit, or poultry) is cooked in a pan with onion, cayenne, vinegar, and anchovy, and then stewed in a sauce of beef gravy and wine. It is likely named for its connection with Bardhaman (or Burdwan), a city and district in West Bengal. See A. Hunter, Culina Famulatrix Medicinæ: Or, Receipts in Modern Cookery, with a Medical Commentary (London: 1806), pp. 185–6. For a more sophisticated recipe roughly contemporary with Fay, see Mrs. Dalgairns, The Practice of Cookery, Adapted to the Business of Everyday Life (3rd edition, Edinburgh: Cadell, 1830), p. 166. 257 the Spanish Olla Podrida: Literally meaning ‘rotten pot’, olla podrida is a stew of pork, beans, and various vegetables cooked slowly in a clay pot. The dish appears as early as the 1620s in Act 2, scene 2 of Beaumont and Fletcher’s Rollo Duke of Normandy. 258 Five card loo . . . Tré dille and Whist: The most popular trick-taking game in Britain in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, whist requires four people forming two sides, in which trumps are determined by the last card dealt. Like whist, five card loo is a trick-taking game employing trump cards, but it incorporates a number of features (a growing pot, the option of playing or folding) now more commonly associated with poker. Tré dílle (or tredille, or tradille) is a modification of Quadrille for three people usually employing thirty cards. 259 Mr. Hyde: (1738/9–96), Supreme Court Judge in Bengal from 1774 until his death, and author of Hyde’s Notebooks, which summarized cases and transcribed court testimony. A hospitable man, Hyde was satirized by James Augustus Hicky in the Bengal Gazette as ‘Turkey Cram’. 260 King’s birth day: The birthday of George III (1738–1820) was 4 June, a public celebration where it was customary, as Fay intimates, to wear one’s finest clothes – from which the phrase ‘birthday suit’ derives, and from which the slang version of that expression (meaning wearing nothing at all) then arose. 261 Harmonic: This seems to be a reference to the ‘Harmonicon Society’ a series of concerts and assemblies supported by subscription and held at Mr. Creighton’s Harmonic House or Harmonicon Tavern in Lai Bazar, Calcutta. Forster’s note from the 1925 edition reads, ‘THE HARMONICON – dancing house, concert hall, and tavern – stood in the Lal Bazaar, opposite the Jail’ (p. 281, note 34). 262 a Sonata of Nicolai’s: Probably the German composer Johann Michael Nicolai (1629– 85), whose Instrumentalische Sachen (1675) includes eight sonatas, the most famous of which is Sonata A2 in C Major.

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263 Lady Coote and her inseparable friend Miss Molly Bazett: Susannah Hutchinson (d. 1812), daughter of the former governor of St Helena, and wife of Sir Eyre Coote (1729–83), who served as Commander-in-chief in India from 1759 to 1762, from 1769 to 1771, and from 1778 until his death in 1783. Fay’s Original Letters provide the only substantive information we have on Miss Mary (Molly) Bazett. 264 The house was built by subscription: Calcutta’s first theatre opened in 1756; it was replaced by the New Playhouse, also called the Calcutta Theatre, founded in 1775 and funded by subscription shares of one hundred rupees each. It had a variety of ticket types: pit, box, upper boxes, and gallery. Forster’s edition notes that ‘Mrs. Fay, for her gold mohur, would have sat in a box’; see Fay, Original Letters, p. 281, note 36. Between 1776 and 1808 the theatre performed at least eight Shakespeare plays (including Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, The Merchant of Venice, and Richard III), as well as many popular farces like Neck or Nothing, the musical Entertainment of The Waterman, and Barnaby Brittle. Its productions were reported regularly in the Bengal Gazette. The acting company for the theatre remained all-male until the founding of the rival Chowringhee Theatre in 1813. The Chowringhee’s decision to employ women forced the New Playhouse to do the same. 265 Venice Preserved: By Thomas Otway (1652–85), first performed in 1682 and one of the most popular tragedies of the eighteenth century. Its obsession with military honour and conspiracy gives it a poignancy in this setting. Forster’s 1925 edition notes that This particular performance of Otway’s Venice Preserved made a stir. The Bengal Gazette of February 11, 1781, says of it: ‘Captain Call played Jaffier admirably well, and may be styled the Garrick of the East. Mr. Norford played Belvidera with such an amorous glow of features and utterance – and was so characteristic in the description of madness – as to procure him (as usual) universal applause.’ (p. 281, note 36) 266 Lieutenant Norfar: John Norfar, made Lieutenant 6 July 1778. 267 chief ruler: Warren Hastings. 268 she has lately added a son to her family: Edward Colin Chambers (Lady Chambers’s fifth child) was born 26 April 1781 but died at six months old of fever. Lady Impey and Councillor Edward Wheler stood as godparents at the ceremony Fay so dreaded. 269 Colonel Watson: Colonel Henry Watson (1737–86), Chief Engineer of Bengal (1776–1786) who created the first dockyards at Calcutta. He stood as Philip Francis’s second in his duel with Warren Hastings (see note 249). Despite both Eliza Fay and Elijah Impey reporting that Anthony Fay was retained to serve papers or prosecute the case on Watson’s behalf, it is not known whether he finally undertook this mission (Impey MSS, British Museum 16260, 31 August 31 1781). Fay, together with his involvement in the impeachment process, disappears from the historical record at this point. 270 His secret: The final cause of the rupture between the Fays in 1782 would seem to have been Anthony’s fathering of a child with another woman at Calcutta. This is not made explicit until Letter III of Part Second, dated 19 February 1815. 271 “Tis Conscience that makes cowards of us all”: Quoting from Act 3, scene 1 of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1601). 272 Chinsurah: A city 35 kilometres to the north of Calcutta, Chinsurah had been the site of a Dutch Factory from 1656. It was seized by the British once news of hostilities with Holland reached Bengal in July 1781. 273 Mrs. Wheler: Charlotte Durnford was the second wife (m. 23 December 1780) of Edward Wheler (1732–84), who served as a member of the Supreme Council of Bengal between 1777 and 1784. 274 custom of widows burning themselves: See Newell, note 143. 275 Parias: ‘A member of a very extensive low caste in Southern India, especially numerous at Madras, where its members supplied most of the domestics in European service’

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(OED), ‘pariah’ came to be applied to any member of a lower caste and by Europeans – as Fay does here – to outcasts or those of no caste. Brahma, the creator, Vistnoo the preserver, and Sheevah the destroyer: Referring to the Trimurti, the triple deity of supreme divinity in Hinduism, in which the forces of creation, maintenance, and destruction are personified in three deities: usually Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. “Gods changeful . . . or lust”: Quoting Epistle 3, ll. 257–8 of Alexander Pope’s Essay on Man (1733–1734). Pundaram: Or Pandáram, a ‘Hindu ascetic mendicant of the (so-called) Sudra, or even of a lower caste’ (Hobson-Jobson, p. 507). Jogee: A Hindu ascetic; and sometimes a ‘conjuror’. From Sansk[rit] yogin, one who practices the yoga, a system of meditation combined with austerities, which is supposed to induce miraculous power over elementary matter. In fact the stuff which has of late been propagated in India by certain persons, under the names of theosophy and esoteric Buddhism, is essentially the doctrine of the Jogis. (Hobson-Jobson, p. 351)

280 Seniases: According to a late eighteenth-century encyclopedia, Seniases are ascetics allowed no other clothing but what suffices for covering their nakedness, nor have they any worldly goods besides a pitcher and staff; but though they are strictly enjoined to meditate on the truths contained in the sacred writings, they are expressly forbidden to argue about them. They must eat but once a day, and that very sparingly, of rice or other vegetables; they must also show the most perfect indifference about hunger, thirst, heat, cold, or any thing whatever relative to this world; looking forward with continual desire to the separation of the soul from the body. (‘Hindoos’, Encyclopedia Britannica (Edinburgh: A. Bell and C. MacFarquhar, 1797), vol. 8, p. 515) 281 Charruk Poojah: An ancient Hindu festival held in honour of the god Shiva, Charak or Charak Pooja involves fasting, and forms of penitential pain – including piercing the skin and tongue with hooks or needles, and swinging from the Charak gachh or pole. 282 Rajah: Originally the title given in India to a king or prince; in later times extended to petty chiefs or dignitaries (as Zemindars) or conferred as a title of nobility on Hindus, and adopted as the usual designation of Malay and Javanese rulers or chiefs. (OED) 283 Mr. and Mrs. Hosea: William Hosea, Resident of Murshidabad, and his wife Mary. They, together with their young daughter and Thomas Fitzmaurice Chambers (eldest son of Sir Robert and Lady Chambers), sailed with the East Indiaman Grosvenor, captained by Coxon. Strangely, Fay does not mention their fate: the Grosvenor was shipwrecked near Durban on the east coast of Africa in July 1782 and, although the majority of passengers and crew made it ashore, all the passengers subsequently disappeared. 284 Mrs. Chambers: Mrs. Anne Chambers, the mother of Sir Robert. 285 Admiral Suffren . . . Sir E. Hughes . . . our vessels: Admiral comte Pierre André de Suffren (1729–1788), French admiral who during 1782–1783 fought five battles against British Vice-Admiral Sir Edward Hughes (1720–1794) for supremacy of the Indian Ocean. As Fay’s comment implies, Hughes had a reputation for caution; knowing that a decisive loss could mean the loss of British India, he avoided unnecessary risks,

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while Suffren attempted several daring attacks. Although intense, each of the battles ended without a clear victor; news of the 1783 Peace of Paris ended the conflict. “Let her works praise her”: Quoting Proverbs 31:31. Dutch had commenced hostilities: Fay refers to the fourth Anglo-Dutch War, fought in various American, European, African, and South Asian theatres between 1780 and 1784. Hostilities broke out over Dutch trade with British enemies, particularly France, and led to the British seizure of Trincomalee, one of the finest ports on the eastern coast of Ceylon. prize money: ‘Money realized by the sale of a captured ship or its cargo, and distributed among the captors’ (OED). In the late eighteenth century, the distribution of prize money for ships and cargo captured by the Royal Navy was formalized under the Cruisers and Convoys Act of 1708, which established an Admiralty Prize Court to adjudicate the division of money. scuttle: ‘A square or rectangular hole or opening in a ship’s deck smaller than a hatchway, furnished with a movable cover or lid, used . . . for purposes of lighting, ventilation, etc.’ (OED). piquet: ‘A card-game played by two persons with a pack of 32 cards (the low cards from the two to the six being excluded), in which points are scored on various groups or combinations of cards, and on tricks’ (OED). this romantic island: St Helena. Ladder Hill: Steep pathway winding up the side of ‘Ladder’ or ‘Tower’ Hill in St Helena. The original means of access to the fort at the top of Tower Hill was a rope ladder; the first path was cut around 1718. Lord North, and the Hastings: The Lord North (an East Indiaman, launched in 1770) and the Hastings (details not known), both engaged in the China trade. The Chapman: A 700-ton merchant ship of two decks, built at Whitby in 1777. the Dartmouth: A British East Indiaman of 755–800 tons (built 1779), the Dartmouth ran aground and was wrecked on Car Nicobar; Fay had tried to secure passage on her for the return voyage in January. Carnicobar island: Car Nicobar is the northernmost of the Nicobar Islands in the Bay of Bengal. “From hidden . . . my way”: Untraced. Mr Casamajor and his mother: James Henry Casamajor (1745–1815), joined the Company as a writer in 1762, and by 1789 was Second in Council at Madras. The Casamajors were prominent for three generations in Madras; his parents were Rebecca (née Powney) and Noah Casamajor, a merchant. Scilly: An archipelago of islands off the south western tip of Cornwall. In October 1707 Scilly was the location of one of the worst maritime disasters in British history, when six (of 21) Royal Navy ships travelling from Gibraltar to Portsmouth under the command of Sir Cloudesley Shovell were driven on to the Western Rocks, with the loss of over 1,500 lives. having no poop, looked so unlike an Indiaman: An Indiaman vessel – ‘a large trading ship belonging to the East India Company’ (OED) or designed for long distance trade – had a distinctive shape created by a high deck at the very rear of the ship which formed the roof of the stern cabin. The Chapman was not constructed in this way so when she arrived in the Bristol Channel she was identified as an American ship (with whom the British had until very recently been at war). although the preliminaries of peace had been some time signed: Referring to the preliminary treaty signed by Britain and the United States on 30 November 1782, which set the scene for the more intense negotiations that would shape the Treaty of Paris of 1783. The manuscript submitted to your perusal: Manuscript copies of the ‘First Part’ of the published text, that is the letters until 7 February 1783. Fay proposes to relate her

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303 304 305 306 307 308

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subsequent voyages and experiences as memoirs to her correspondent, in several letters or journal entries composed at Blackheath. Perhaps, in this instance, an entirely fictional set of ‘letters’ addressed to Mrs. L—, although long journal letters were common in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and there is insufficient evidence to decide whether Fay’s form of letters in the second part of her narrative is or is not genuine. “a howling wilderness”: Quoting Deuteronomy 32:10. “the feast of reason and the flow of soul”: Quoting line 127 of Alexander Pope’s ‘The First Satire of the Second Book of Horace’. my friend: Mrs. Irwin. severe indisposition: Fay had ongoing health problems which are not described in detail in her letters, but which were probably complications from the deep lacerated puncture wound she received to her breast while imprisoned at Calicut. the offer: The offer made to Fay at Calcutta of establishing a school in partnership with another woman, as detailed in Letter XXII. Fay had declined, citing health reasons, but claims the woman ‘proved herself a sincere friend’. Captain Walker: Captain Thomas Walker had taken command of the Lord Camden (launched the previous year), an East Indiaman in the Company’s service. The details of this voyage are preserved: she sailed from The Downs on 17 March 1784 (as noted by Fay); reached Johanna on 27 June; Bombay on 25 September; Madras on 28 September; and Kedgeree on 10 November. These dates correspond closely with those given by Fay in her memoir of the voyage to Bombay. Teneriffe . . . the year 1704: Referring to Mount Teide on the island of Tenerife. While there was an eruption in 1704, Fay likely means the 1706 Montañas Negras eruption, which destroyed the town and principal port of Garachico and several smaller villages. we spoke a Danish ship: To speak a ship is to hail and speak to its commander. trade winds: ‘A wind that blows steadily in the same direction for a long period (as a season), especially at sea’ (OED). “and bore healing on their wings”: Invoking Malachi 4:2 (‘But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall’). roundhouse: ‘A cabin or set of cabins on a sailing ship, located below the poop on the after part of the quarterdeck’ (OED). lee lurch: A sudden and often violent roll which a ship makes to leeward in a high sea, particularly when a large wave strikes her on the weather-side. Cape L’Aquillas: The southern tip of the African continent, Cape Agulhas is a rocky headland 170 kilometres southeast of Cape Town in the Western Cape, South Africa. shipped so many seas: Here, to take what seems a sea’s-worth of water on deck of a ship because of high waves or heavy swell; to take on a dangerous amount of water. Bay of Johanna: Anjouhan (known historically as Johanna) is a volcanic island in the Indian Ocean close to the Mozambique Channel. Mr Lewin: Thomas Lewin (1753–1843), of the Madras Civil Service. Old-woman’s Island: Also known as Little Colaba; one of the islands constituting Mumbai and forming part of historic Old Bombay. Mr Coggan: Probably Mr James Coggan. the Governor (Mr. Boddam): Rawson Hart Boddam (1734–1812), who governed Bombay from 1784 to 1788, and his second wife Eliza Maria Tudor. Perell: ‘Sans Pareil’ or the Government House at Parel; this building was originally either a Portuguese Franciscan or Jesuit Friary (there are contesting accounts), before being taken over as the official summer residence of the Governors of Bombay in the early eighteenth century. It is now the Haffkine Institute for biomedical sciences.

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323 Nesbit’s: H. C. Marine Commodore Andrew Nesbit (d. 1791), responsible for the defence of shipping at Bombay. 324 Anjengo roads: Inman’s authoritative Navigation Tables for the Use of British Seamen (Portsea: W. Woodward; London: Richardson, 1821) places the Anjengo Roads approximately at latitude 8°39’N and longitude 76°50’, on the coast of southwestern India at modern Anchuthengu (p. 441). 325 Mr Hutchinson: John Hutchinson (d. 1797), commercial resident at Anjengo, later Resident at Travancore and Cochin. From 1832 the Select Committee heard a petition from Hutchinson’s nephew Mr Bury Hutchinson regarding the recovery of a large private loan (900,000 rupees) that had been made by his uncle to the Rajah of Travancore in 1784 but was never repaid. 326 distilled water: Here, water made by boiling and distilling seawater. 327 Miss Hicks married Mr Lacey: The register of St John’s Calcutta records the marriage of ‘John Lacey, a bachelor, shopkeeper, to Avis Hicks, single woman’ on 19 March 1785. 328 Severn Packet: The loss of the Severn Packet was first reported in London in the Morning Chronicle and London Advertiser #5558 (8 March 1787), p. 4. Further details were provided through the correspondence of a William Loehead, mate of the Juliana Maria, who details the loss of forty-one people in the wreck, and the strange manner of one survivor being saved by means of a hog: this will appear strange to those who don’t know how strong and swift those animals swim; but, true it is, the person got hold of the hog’s tail in the water, and was conducted safe on shore. (Gentleman’s Magazine 57 [March 1787], p. 265) By this wreck in the mouth of the Hooghly River, Fay lost her friend and business partner Mrs Lacey (Miss Hicks), and the unnamed illegitimate son whom Anthony Fay had apparently already abandoned at Calcutta. 329 unlucky year 1788: After Hastings’ return to England, several factors contributed to a significant downturn in trade and wealth at Calcutta in the late 1780s. Local markets were saturated with European goods, while the economy was in recession. Miniaturist Ozias Humphrey wrote that there never was known in Calcutta so much poverty or so much scarcity of money, as there is at this time. All the first families are withdrawn from it . . . there are scarcely twenty persons left in Indostan, whose fortunes would each amount to twenty thousand pounds. (Ozias Humphry to Mary Boydell, Calcutta, 29 December 1785, Humphry MSS, Royal Academy of Arts, London, HU/3/ 49–50) See P. D. Rasico, ‘Calcutta “In These Degenerate Days”: The Daniells’ Visions of Life, Death and Nabobery in Late Eighteenth-Century British India’, Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies 42:1 (2018), pp. 27–47. 330 Mr Benjamin Lacey: Brother of John Lacey, and brother-in-law of Avis Hicks (Fay’s business partner in the Calcutta millinery business). 331 Captain Jacob Crowninshield: Jacob Crowninshield, born 31 March 1770, Salem MA, died 15 April 1808. The Crowninshield family were prominent in American maritime affairs; Jacob had gone into partnership with three of his brothers, commanding ships in trade between America and India. He was later elected to the Massachusetts State Senate and appointed to the position of U.S. Secretary of the Navy, but was never able to assume the latter role due to illness. 332 given a girl . . . with her two children: Forster’s 1925 edition of Fay’s Original Letters (London: Hogarth Press, 1925) condemns this episode as ‘the worst action recorded

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of Mrs. Fay’, and describes Fay as having stranded a girl named Kitty Johnson in 1782 on St Helena, where she had been sold into slavery: discovering [in 1794] that her late mistress was passing by on the Henry, she went to the Governor and denounced her . . . . The Governor then summoned Mrs. Fay . . . and told [her] she must either settle the matter or remain to stand trial. (p. 284, note 47)

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337 338 339 340 341 342 343

344

Among other details, Johnson alleged that her abandonment had stemmed from Fay’s intimacy with the ship’s doctor, leading Kate Teltscher and David Atkinson to note, ‘Rather than stand trial, Fay paid a £60 fine. To set this incident in context, it should be noted that any report of sexual activity on the part of a separated wife might jeopardize her maintenance allowance’ (‘Fay (née Clement), Eliza (1755/6–1816), writer and traveller’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography). my brother Preston: The husband of Fay’s sister Eleanor. man-of-war birds: Any of the various seabirds, also called frigate birds, that attack other birds to steal their food. albercuore: Albacore, ‘any of several small and medium-sized tunas of the genera Thunnus and Euthynnus’ (OED). distressing news of Ostend being in the hands of the French: Fay refers here to the campaign in Flanders, which dominated the early years of the war between revolutionary France and British, Austrian, Prussian, Dutch, and Hanoverian forces. By 1795 Prussia had withdrawn from the conflict and France had conquered the Dutch Republic. As a French port, Fay would be unable to land her cargo in the Belgian coastal city as planned. Fay opts to dispose of her cargo in America under the superintendence of Jacob Crowninshield. my dear father: Edward Clement (d. 1794), a shipwright of Rotherhithe, Surrey. Richard Crowninshield: Fay becomes owner or part owner of the Minerva and enters into a partnership in the American-Indian trade with at least two of the Crowninshield brothers. Emigrants: Fay refers here to the many emigrés fleeing the French Revolution, particularly after 1791, when the Terror and the mass deportation of priests caused thousands to leave France for England. “the times were out of joint”: Misquoting from Act 1, scene 5 of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1601). Newtown Park: An early eighteenth-century house and park approximately two miles from Lymington, owned by the Plowdens: Henry Chicheley Plowden (1754–1821) and his wife Eugenia Brooke (1756–1845). great church: The Cathedral of Funchal. This gothic and romanesque building, renowned for its carved wooden ceiling, is one of the few surviving structures from Madeira’s early colonial period. American Consul: John Marsden Pintard had been appointed Commercial Agent to Madeira in 1783; he was then made Consul to Madeira by George Washington in 1790. He was either the son or the nephew of John Lewis Pintard (1732–1797), a New York merchant who became a major importer of wine from the island. Convent of Ursulines . . . Golgotha, or the chapel of skulls: Likely the Convent of St. Francis, which Nicholas Cayetano de Bettencourt Pitta describes as the only one of the island in which men are received . . . . In this convent, there is a singular curiosity – a small chapel, called the chapel of Ghosts, the whole of which, both sides and ceiling is composed of human skulls and thigh bones; the thigh bones being laid across each other, and a skull placed in each of the four angles. (Pitta, Account of the Island of Madeira (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, 1812), pp. 102–3)

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345 Mr. Murray’s plantation: ‘Quinto do Prazer’, the estate of Charles Murray, a Scottish merchant and British Consul at Madeira (1771 to 1801). 346 Consul Mr. C – k: Untraced. 347 the road of Oratavia: La Orotava, a town in the northern part of Tenerife. 348 Mrs. Barry: Untraced. 349 enbonpoint: Weight or heaviness (here probably in the sense of ‘plumpness’). 350 Santa Cruz: The site in 1494 of the landing of Castilian troops that conquered the island, Santa Cruz de Tenerife became one of the most important ports of the Atlantic and Canary Islands. 351 Laguna: San Cristóbal de La Laguna or La Laguna, located in the northern part of the island of Tenerife, was one of nine aboriginal Guanche kingdoms until its conquest by the Kingdom of Castile. The city was founded between 1496 and 1497 by Alonso Fernández de Lugo and served as the capital of the island until the early eighteenth century, when declining population saw the capital moved to Santa Cruz. The old city retains much of its historic colonial architecture, including important buildings such as the Iglesia de la Concepción, the former Convent of San Agustín, and the University of Laguna, founded in 1701. 352 pour surcroît de malheur: ‘With the additional misfortune’ (French). 353 R – y in Santa Cruz: Untraced. 354 deserves the pen of Mrs. Ratcliffe: Referring to Ann Radcliffe (1764–1823), the most popular and critically acclaimed gothic novelist of the eighteenth century, as renowned for her descriptions of sublime landscapes, particularly mountainous ones, as for her ability to craft thrilling romances with supernatural overtones. Her Romance of the Forest (1791), Mysteries of Udolpho (1794), and The Italian; or, The Confessional of the Black Penitents (1797) remain standards of the genre. 355 Holy Writ . . . ‘Laugh and sing’: Quoting Psalms 65:14. 356 the time of Lord Nelson’s attack: The assault by the Royal Navy on Santa Cruz in July 1797, led by Rear Admiral Horatio Nelson. 357 Port Praya Bay: Porto Praya, now Praia, is located on the southern coast of Santiago Island in the Republic of Cabo Verde. 358 Signor Basto the Commandant: Probably Luis Antonio Basto. 359 Exchange . . . Theatre and Pantheon: A mansion building in a large park owned by Hall Plumer which, by 1789, had become a Public Hall and Assembly Rooms known as the Pantheon. In a flush of enthusiasm for theatricals, a stage manager was commissioned from England and the building became the site of a theatre under the superintendence of Mr Rowbotham. The Pantheon remained popular well into the nineteenth century. Visiting in 1810 Maria Graham, later Lady Callcott, described her visit: I was two evenings ago at a public ball in the Pantheon, which contains, besides a ball-room, a very pretty theatre, card-rooms and virandas. During the cold season there are monthly assemblies, with occasional balls all the year, which are very well conducted. The Pantheon is a handsome building; it is used as a freemasons’ lodge of modern masons, among whom almost every man in the army and navy who visits Madras enrols himself. (M. Graham, Journal of a Residence in India (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1812), p. 130) 360 “his love met no return”: Untraced. 361 Fulta: Or Fultah, on the Hooghly, approximately 32 kilometres south of Calcutta; the same place where British settlers fled in 1756 when Nawab Siraj ud-Daulah conquered Calcutta. 362 dead-lights: ‘A strong wooden or iron shutter fixed outside a cabin-window or porthole in a storm, to prevent water from entering’ (OED).

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363 Cooly Bazar: A neighbourhood ghetto very close to the Fort and Hasting’s Bridge that was home to the huge numbers of labourers and domestic servants required to service Company officials. 364 a Guinea pig: In nautical terms, an inexperienced midshipman – probably derived from ‘Guineamen’ or sailing ships involved in the slave trade between Britain, Africa, and the Americas. 365 the free use of bark: The Cinchona calisaya tree and its bark, in use from the seventeenth century to treat fevers. 366 Dr Hare: Dr James Hare FRSE FSA, originally of Calderhall, an eminent physician in India, and father to James Macadam Hare (1775–1831), who was surgeon to the President of Calcutta. 367 kedging: ‘To warp a ship, or move it from one position to another by winding in a hawser attached to a small anchor dropped at some distance’ (OED). 368 Vizagapatam: Visakhapatnam (also known as Vizag and Waltair), part of the Northern Circars, is home to the only natural harbour, and oldest shipyard, on the east coast of India. 369 Captain Hodson: Perhaps Captain George Hodson and his wife Mary Rodgers (sister of Mrs Child). 370 Captain Pitman: Perhaps Captain Frederick Pitman (d. 22 May 1803) who commanded the East Indiaman Skelton Castle for her second voyage (1802–1803). 371 Curricle: ‘A light two-wheeled carriage, usually drawn by two horses abreast’ (OED). 372 vingt-un, at a rupee a fish: Twenty-One, an ancient ‘round’ game of cards (of unlimited players) and an antecedent of modern Blackjack or Pontoon; a fish is a gambling chip. 373 being two Jonahs: Anyone or anything that brings bad luck. 374 round the Cape: Cape Agulhas, the rocky headland that forms the southernmost tip of the African Continent. 375 False Bay: A large bay on the Atlantic coast of south west Africa, and the site of Simon’s Town – a key naval base and harbour on the Atlantic. 376 the former Governor General Craig: Fay arrives at Cape Town shortly after the Cape Colony (established by the Dutch East India Company in 1652) was occupied by British forces under Vice-Admiral Sir George Keith Elphinstone, Major-General Alured Clarke, and Major-General Sir James Henry Craig (78th Regiment of Foot). Craig became Governor between 1795 and 1797. Cape Town remained under British control until the Peace of Amiens (1802) when it was returned to the Dutch, but was reconquered by the British during the Napoleonic Wars. 377 too much of a Yankee: ‘A nickname for a native or inhabitant of New England, or, more widely, of the northern States generally’ (OED). 378 Egg Harbour: A town in Atlantic County, New Jersey, historically also known as New Weymouth. Egg Harbour got its name from the Dutch explorer Cornelius Jacobsen May in 1614, for the remarkable number of birds’ eggs he discovered in the grasslands at the mouth of the river.

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WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854

WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854 Edited by Éadaoin Agnew Volume III

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund; individual owners retain copyright in their own material. The right of Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-20272-6 (Set) eISBN: 978-1-315-47317-8 (Set) ISBN: 978-1-138-20278-8 (Volume III) eISBN: 978-1-315-47293-5 (Volume III) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC Publisher’s note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work

CONTENTS

Introduction

1

Ann Deane, A Tour through the Upper Provinces of Hindostan (1823)

13

Julia Maitland, Letters from Madras (1846)

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Textual variants

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v

INTRODUCTION

Ann Deane (1770–1847) arrived in the subcontinent in 1799, and Julia Maitland (1808–1864) departed in 1839. During this forty-year period, Britain’s relationship with India changed considerably; by 1818, almost the entirety of India, with the exception of the Punjab and Sindh, was under the direct or indirect control of the East India Company, with the Company’s role now shifting from trade and the accumulation of wealth to what was in effect the imperial governance of its extensive territories. And yet, as Ashley L. Cohen states in her Introduction to Lady Nugent’s East India Journal (2014), this is ‘an era that is relatively underrepresented in British literature about colonial India’.1 She explains that most travel accounts, in their various forms, focus either on the earlier decades of great territorial conquest (1770s and 1780s), or on the time around and after the First War of Indian Independence in 1857. Critical interest in the intervening period is similarly sparse, especially in relation to women’s travel writing, despite the publication of a number of interesting texts.2 To counter such absences, this volume brings together Deane’s A Tour through the Upper Provinces of Hindostan; Comprising a Period between the Years 1804 and 1814: with Remarks and Authentic Anecdotes (1823) and Maitland’s Letters from Madras, During the Years 1836–1839 (first published in 1843 but reproduced here from the second edition of 1846). In doing so, it illustrates some important ideological shifts in Britain’s imperial policies that took place at the start of the nineteenth century and that contributed to a later phase of colonial expansion; and it shows that women took part in contemporary debates and discourses relating to these issues. At the same time, by reading these two texts together, we can trace changes to the travel genre; in particular, we see here the transition from information-based travel books to the more personal and narrative forms of travel writing now familiar to modern readers. In women’s writing, such developments were undoubtedly influenced by increasingly dominant gender discourses that separated the public and private spheres; however, they were also the result of broader generic expectations and Britain’s changing attitude to India.

1

INTRODUCTION

Ann Deane Ann Deane was the eldest daughter of John Deane, Esq., of Hartley Court, Berkshire, a magistrate and receiver for the county, and Sarah Ann Deane (d. 1818). She married her cousin Captain Charles Meredith Deane (1762–1815) of the 24th Light Dragoons in 1786, and they had two sons Charles (1791–1853) and John Bathurst (1797–1887). In 1799 the family sailed to India, leaving young Charles at home in accordance with the custom at the time; children from the age of six or seven were often schooled in Britain while their parents were stationed in India. Accordingly, when John Deane turned eight, his mother travelled with him to England and placed him in Bath Grammar School. She returned to India in 1804, joining her husband in Calcutta, whereupon they departed for Kanpur almost immediately. They only returned to the ‘City of Palaces’ later that year, once the Second Anglo-Maratha War (1803–1805) had drawn to a close. It is at this point that Deane’s travel narrative begins without any acknowledgement of previous events. This omission of biographical information is in keeping with the rest of the text and, as a result, we know little about Ann or Charles Deane. Instead of disclosing personal information, Deane’s account of India chiefly focuses on external elements. She adopts a style of writing that Carl Thompson refers to as the ‘autoptic principle’.3 At its most simple, this formal strategy employs first-person verb forms, such as ‘I saw’, ‘I went’, ‘I did’, and largely excludes sentimental or emotional engagement. In this way, Deane’s narrative mode insists upon her value as a trustworthy eyewitness; it places her firmly at the scene and asserts her objectivity. The prefatory advertisement further emphasizes this position by stating that the travelogue was written by ‘a lady, who has witnessed all that she describes, and whose chief aim on the indulgence of the reader is authenticity’ (p. 21). It also explains: ‘The scenes she has endeavoured to pourtray, occurred in the order wherein they are here related: the reader must not therefore expect a finished and elaborate performance; but a plain, simple narrative of facts’ (p. 21). Yet even the most apparently impartial travel account requires selection and organization, and Deane’s travels had a very particular focus, being largely determined by her husband’s work as a District Collector in areas recently procured or protected by the East India Company. In March 1805, the Deanes set out from Calcutta travelling north-west through Patna, Buxar, Benares, Kanpur, and Agra in the modern state of Uttar Pradesh. Historically a major administrative centre for the Mughal Empire and the site of architectural wonders such as the Taj Mahal, Agra had recently come under Company control as a result of the British victory over the Marathas. The Deanes settled just outside the city in Sikandra in July 1805, and this became their base for several years although Deane’s narrative gives no account of this period of residence, with the exception of some information regarding the tourist

2

INTRODUCTION

sites. Deane then resumes her narrative when she embarks on her next journey on 1 December 1808. She travels north to the Mughal capital Delhi, which had, like Agra, fallen to the British during the Second Anglo-Maratha War, and follows a circular route through other notable sites of recent acquisition, such as Meerut, Moradabad, Bareilly, and Fateghar, and back to the residence at Sikandra. Approximately six months later, in September 1809, Deane travels along the Ganges from Fateghar to Pusa near Patna and returns by land to Meerut in January 1810. After this, there is another narrative gap until April 1811 when she sets out on her final tour of the Bareilly district, previously Rohilkhand, which Nawab Saadat Ali Khan (c. 1752–1814) had ceded to the British in 1801 as payment for debts accrued during the Rohilla War (1773–1774). The Deanes spent two months in Jehanabad, near Pilibhit, and a month in Bareilly before arriving in Meerut in July 1811. At this point, Deane closes the travelogue rather abruptly, giving no explanation and providing no narrative closure, although it would be another three years before she left India in 1814; her husband remained in India and died there a year later. Deane’s departure was possibly due to escalating tensions between the British and the Maratha Empire, which culminated in the Third Anglo-Maratha War a few years later (1817–1818). Arguably this ongoing conflict and the complex political situation, together with Deane’s personal loss, prevented the completion of her narrative, which was not published until 1823. By waiting until after the War, when there was a period of relative stability in the upper provinces, she perhaps felt more able to produce a reliable and useful account of British territories. And Deane undoubtedly intended for her text to be helpful, not least because she travelled through areas relatively unfamiliar to Western travellers. To this end she provides information about modes of transport and the viability of roads, as well as accounts of military stations, historical ruins, and royal residences. Deane also outlines the recent political history of the area, discussing conflicts such as the battles of Plassey (1757) and Buxar (1764), and often focusing on the despotic and capricious nature of the indigenous leaders who challenged Company rule, such as Mir Qasim (d.1777).4 In addition to the main narrative, the text includes two glossaries, one for the tour and one for the voyage out, and a ‘Guide’ intended for any ‘young man’ (p. 145) travelling to India, especially those employed by the King’s troops or the East India Company. Here Deane sets out ‘the correct distances of every station, and what their [sic] produce’ (p. 143) without the broader historical, cultural, and political material. The separation of such factual information from the more descriptive elements of a travel account was not uncommon. It was also used, for example, by Anne Elwood in her Narrative of a Journey Overland from England by the Continent of Europe, Egypt, and the Red Sea to India (1830). This formal arrangement allowed for the inclusion of personal and literary modes of writing travel while maintaining a strong commitment to utility. Thus, while Deane maintains a largely impersonal and generally informative tone throughout, she

3

INTRODUCTION

occasionally digresses, in her main narrative, into subjective and what were at this date more typically feminine points of interest, such as information about domestic life on the road and in the camps, the types of servants required, the different forms of accommodation available, and the necessary arrangements for carrying food and for cooking. Deane also expresses considerable interest in the lives of Indian women, especially those in the upper echelons of society such as the renowned Begum Sumroo (c. 1753–1836) whom she met in Delhi in 1808. Begum Sumroo had risen from inauspicious beginnings to become the ruler of Sardhana and Deane recognizes this authority in gendered terms, writing: ‘This woman has an uncommon share of natural abilities, with a strength of mind rarely met with, particularly in a female’ (p. 94). She praises the Begum’s military prowess and political position and eagerly accepts an invitation to accompany her to the Mughal Court at Delhi. Deane is undoubtedly interested in the Mughal Emperor Akbar II, but she takes advantage of her privileged access to the women’s quarters and largely focuses her attention on the women of the court: the Queen, the Dowager Begum, and the princes’ wives. In doing so, Deane caters to the persistent Western fascination with these secluded spaces, providing insight and information that was unavailable to her male peers.5 Deane’s time among India’s elites is short as her itinerary is subject to her husband’s work in some of India’s richest and most fertile areas. However, Deane also uses this to her advantage and writes extensively about the natural landscape. Information about India’s flora and fauna was particularly valuable at this time. The recent wars had been costly and in the early decades of the nineteenth century India faced economic depression.6 In light of this, both the Company and the British Government perceived the land as a probable source of development. To this end a Trigonometrical Survey of the subcontinent had been launched in 1802 and Colin Mackenzie (1754–1821) appointed as Surveyor General of India in 1815;7 these endeavours were further extended by a network of investigators responsible for cataloguing every aspect of India’s natural resources. Deane and her husband travel for a time with two such surveyors: These provinces having been newly conquered by the British army, had as yet paid no revenue to Government, who accordingly appointed two commissioners to survey them, and form an estimate of what they were capable of furnishing. I consider myself particularly fortunate in being of their party, since it afforded me a more perfect view of the manners and customs of the natives, and a better opportunity of seeing the country than was likely to occur again; indeed we visited some parts of it where Europeans had never been before. (p. 90) This opportunity enabled Deane to pass on to a general readership valuable information about raw materials, plants, and trees, as well as the condition of the roads, the climates, and the landscape in the upper provinces, which she generally 4

INTRODUCTION

perceives in relation to productivity and utility. In doing so, she usually avoids the aestheticizing eye associated with later women travel writers in India such as Fanny Parks (1794–1875) and Emma Roberts (1794–1840).8 Deane occasionally refers to picturesque or sublime scenes, but it is surely notable that the word ‘cultivation’, or some derivative of it, appears 35 times in A Tour; for example: [W]e struck across the country, driving through groves of mango and tamarind trees alternately, enlivened by cultivation of grain, through which meandered a deep pellucid stream called the Rewah, bounded by banks of the liveliest verdure. (p. 51) In this way, her representations of India’s landscape contribute to an ‘imperial archive’, to use Thomas Richards’ term, even though she could not work directly for the East India Company or British Government.9 While Deane focuses largely on material aspects of the Indian landscape, she acknowledges an interest in British governance beyond its ability to generate increased revenue. Deane tells her readers that Charles, during his time as Collector, cleared the jungle around Bodgepoore and put the lands into a state of cultivation. She writes that now ‘Indigo flourishes particularly well in this part of India’ (p. 60). She also notes that this action freed the area from banditti who were too afraid to carry out their depredations in the open space. Her mention of the blue dye alongside assurances of new-found stability and safety was surely deliberate. Indigo was a highly profitable natural resource in great demand, and her comment indicates the economic potential of this recently secured area. But she also attends to an encroaching paternalism that found the desire for pure profit unpalatable and so sought to emphasize the benefits for the local community. Deane predominantly perceives the Indian people in stereotypically religious terms. Muslims are apparently brave, while being treacherous and tyrannical; Hindus are caste-ridden, superstitious, and indolent, as manifested by sensationalized accounts of sati and the notorious hook ceremony. Nonetheless, she appears to support the East India Company’s position on religious non-interference: It is a system of policy on the part of the English to protect, as far as is in their power, the religious ceremonies of both; since it is chiefly owing to these means that we keep our possessions in the country. (p. 62) Deane is clearly aware of current debates around religious conversion, which were brought into focus by the East India Act of 1813, and its removal of the ban on missionary activity. But unlike Maitland some 20 years later, Deane sees conversion work as rather fruitless and maintains an illusion of British co-operation with, rather than coercion of, Indian customs and traditions. 5

INTRODUCTION

In this regard, Deane’s account reveals an enduring Orientalist admiration of India’s upper echelons (understanding ‘Orientalist’ here in the sense outlined in the General Introduction: see Volume I, p. xiv). She delights in the pomp and circumstance of the Royal Palace at Delhi and is particularly impressed by the opulent adornments of the Empress. The Indians who receive her highest praise, however, have also willingly engaged with European culture. Deane takes care to mention that the Begum Sumroo only follows Muslim traditions with regard to food, and that she frequently entertained notable British figures, such as Lord Lake. Similarly, Deane celebrates the Nawab of Lucknow’s adoption of Western ideas and compares him to an English nobleman. Britain’s persistent fascination with India’s ruling classes is reflected in the largely positive reviews of Deane’s text, which keenly point out her elite interactions. For example, La Belle Assemblée or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine especially enjoyed Deane’s tales of the Nawab’s lavish lifestyle.10 In contrast, the Gentleman’s Magazine preferred to mock the Nawab’s erroneous assumption of British customs and his misuse of imported crockery.11 Such disdain possibly reflects the decline of indigenous power and authority during this period; it is also indicative of the growing dominance, among many British commentators by the 1820s, of Anglicist over Orientalist attitudes. Both of the latter tendencies – the declining power of native elites and an increasingly dismissive attitude to Indians among the British – are even more emphatically on show in Julia Maitland’s Letters from Madras, published over 20 years later. Somewhat paradoxically, however, Maitland seems both to evince yet also to lament and critique these developments.

Julia Maitland Julia Maitland (née Barrett) was born in London to Henry Barrett (1756–1843) and his wife Charlotte, née Francis (1786–1870), the niece of the novelist Frances Burney. In 1836, Julia met and married James Thomas, a widower with three daughters and a judge in the Madras Presidency in India. They left for India almost immediately and arrived in Madras in December 1836 where they stayed for seven months before James Thomas was appointed Judge at Rajahmundry. They spent the next 18 months in this ‘up country’ station, with the exception of seasonal sojourns in Samuldavee by the coast. In 1839, Thomas received two new postings; the first took him to Cuddapah and Bellary, the second to Bangalore. At this time, Julia Thomas was advised to return home with their daughter Henrietta, who was sick, and their newborn son. Not long after she left, her husband died in India. Two years later, in 1842, Julia married the author and curate Charles Maitland (1815–1866). Like Deane then, Maitland’s journey was not undertaken independently; both women accompanied their husbands to India. However, unlike Deane, Maitland did not embark on further interior travels. Her experiences were limited to a few south Indian locations, and her published narrative largely describes her own 6

INTRODUCTION

daily life in these areas. As such, it is one of the earliest examples of a domesticating ‘travel’ account in India, a genre that developed as increasing numbers of British women journeyed to the subcontinent in order to facilitate the wider policies of racial difference and distance instigated by Lord Cornwallis’s reforms of 1793. Subsequently, an upsurge in Protestant evangelicalism, a rise in utilitarian and reformist politics, and a pronounced sense of imperial superiority in the victorious aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars (1803–1815) produced an overarching ideal of ‘Anglicizing’ India through moral and social change. To help achieve this, English women were asked to fulfil their colonial duty by marrying English men, living in English bungalows, producing English children, and generally enacting the virtues of Victorian femininity in India.12 Like many British wives in the subcontinent, Maitland spends her days managing her home, attending social engagements, supporting her husband, learning languages, and pursuing various hobbies, such as entomology. These are largely recorded as leisurely pastimes, apparently entertaining rather than instructive; but such seemingly trivial pursuits also contributed to the broader sphere of imperial knowledge that underpinned British commercial and political interests in Indian.13 Of particular note are the insect specimens Maitland collected and sent to the British Museum, which included five new species.14 In addition to these activities, Maitland became involved in various philanthropic projects, which brought her into contact with local people. Her narrative focuses on these individuals, their social and religious differences, and her commitment to the ‘improvement’ of India through the civilizing properties of an English education, Christian morality, and British governance as propagated by imperial individuals. This heightened sense of personal responsibility for empire is arguably reflected in the more subjective tone of Maitland’s narrative, which allots far more space than Deane’s journal to incidental or personal impressions and to amusing or whimsical reflections. Such subjectivism would become strongly associated with female travellers in the latter half of the nineteenth century; this stylistic shift has in turn often encouraged later readers to gloss over women’s contribution to imperial projects, since their accounts seem so resolutely focused on personal and domestic details. Maitland’s more personalized and entertaining style on the one hand reflects a broader generic tendency in travel writing in the 1830s and 1840s. These decades saw a dramatic upsurge in the publication of guidebooks in a recognizably modern form, produced by publishers like John Murray and Baedeker; and as guidebooks did away with the need to provide straightforward practical and historical information for travellers, more literary modes of travel writing began to prioritize the presentation in print of a distinctive authorial sensibility and style.15 In the colonial setting of India, however, we may perhaps also read this stylistic tendency as reflective of the ostensibly reformed, and reformist, imperial attitudes emerging in this period. Arguably it signals a more benevolent narrator, who privileges personal engagement and responsibility over political and economic concerns. 7

INTRODUCTION

With regard to this aspect of Maitland’s narrative, we should also keep in mind Sara Mills’s observation that such seemingly ‘subjective’ narrative forms and reflections were often discursive negotiations that did not necessarily preclude the pursuit and provision of authoritative knowledge.16 In the early decades of the nineteenth century, for example, both men and women often used letters or journals (usually edited at some later date) to emphasize the authenticity and immediacy of their writing and to position the narrative self as an accurate and truthful observer.17 Indeed Maitland is keen to assert the authoritative nature of her text, declaring that her narrative letters were ‘printed verbatim from the originals’ (p. 181) with the necessary omission of family details, such as full or correct names. For Claire Broome Saunders such claims to truthfulness often had a dual function: ‘Truth in travel writing appears, paradoxically, as both an assertion of “masculine” objective rhetoric, and the apparently “authentic” utterance of such “feminine”, domestic, private literature’.18 Arguably then, Maitland’s more personal style seeks to inscribe, rather than disguise, a certain authority. This is certainly the case when she writes about educational reform. When Maitland arrives in Madras, she is immediately keen to engage with the local people. She expresses a desire to ‘get into one of their native houses’ (p. 206), and she frequently laments her British companions’ – and indeed, her husband’s! – lack of curiosity about the local people and criticizes their condescending attitude. She disparages the pervasive ennui and arrogance of AngloIndian society in Madras, stating a preference for Rajahmundry because she feels it is the ‘real India’ (p. 227). This is, of course, a problematic assertion but Maitland did have the opportunity to engage with many Indian people from various walks of life during her time there. For Maitland, these interactions were much more interesting than the obligations of a growing colonial society. Over the course of Maitland’s published narrative, one senses the author becoming more sharply critical of particular governing policies. The later letters include some angry denunciations of the East India Company’s taxation system and its role in causing famines, and also of the flow of indentured labourers from India to Mauritius – something Maitland regards as slavery in all but name. Such attacks on contemporary colonialism, however, do not seem to have diminished Maitland’s belief in Britain’s ‘civilizing’ role in India. Nor did they encourage greater receptivity and understanding of Indian culture. She remained critical of many indigenous beliefs, traditions, and cultures. The Indian people’s apparent ignorance and their seemingly stubborn attachment to traditional ideas about religion and science frustrate her, and she refers frequently to this as evidence of their uncivilized and unenlightened nature. As Indira Ghose explains, by the 1830s, ‘evangelical notions that equated Indian culture with depravity had gained widespread currency’.19 On occasion, Maitland also deploys a racialized – and racist – terminology, referring to ‘brownies’, ‘blackies’, and a ‘nigger-looking child’ (p. 223). This vocabulary arguably reflects the growing influence of contemporary race science, which postulated essential moral and intellectual differences between the races. Nonetheless, like many of her contemporaries, Maitland evidently believed that such racial 8

INTRODUCTION

characteristics could be overcome through education and reform. In thus seeking to transform Indian society, however, she was at odds with official Company policy. There was considerable discussion about the extent to which Britain could and should intervene in indigenous practices, especially given the long history of noninterference. But ultimately the Company, wary of alienating local communities, maintained that Indian religions must be respected, and insisted upon the continued presence of British officials at local religious events, a dictate that infuriated Maitland. She records in scathing and sarcastic tones several instances when colonial officers were required to facilitate religious feasts and celebrations, such as the festival at Trichinopoly where the troops had to stay in the sun for nine hours, ‘firing salutes, and “showing respect” to Mohammed’ (p. 254). In 1837, such obligations prompted 203 East India Company employees to submit a request for exemption from compulsory attendance at indigenous religious events. The official Government response, as quoted by Maitland, stated: ‘no salutes to idols be discontinued, but all respect be paid to the native religions as heretofore’ (p. 254). For Maitland, this policy went beyond mere respect and toleration and actively encouraged what she regarded as idolatrous and barbaric practices: I believe that if idolatry were merely tolerated and protected, the idol services would fall almost to nothing, from the indifference of the mass of the people; but our Christian Government not only support and encourage it, but force it down the people’s throats. (p. 255) Maitland was by no means alone in her outrage. She sympathetically notes that Sir Peregrine Maitland resigned from his position as Commander-in-Chief at Madras because he too disagreed with the current directives. Despite Maitland’s clear opposition to the government’s policy of non-interference, she did not engage in explicit efforts to convert the Indian people to Christianity. Instead, she devoted her energy to educational projects, believing these would pave the way for religious change. She established a local school with her husband for male students of different castes and provided them with a predominantly English education. She then set up a reading room in the bazaar, stocked with reading material in a variety of languages: Gentoo, Hindi, Tamil, and English.20 The success of this endeavour further encouraged her, and Maitland began to circulate endorsed reading materials in nearby villages. Eventually she also publicly called on her peers and the government to put in place a national schooling system as outlined in her open letter on ‘Native Education’. Maitland first published this short treatise in The Spectator, a daily newspaper in Madras, and subsequently included it in Letters. Here she set out – in a public forum – a clear model for the public funding of European schools throughout the subcontinent, providing costings and organizational structures, as well as ideological justifications for including religious education in the curriculum. She engaged 9

INTRODUCTION

directly with specific debates around religious conversion and India’s anglicization, as outlined by the likes of Thomas Babington Macaulay in his oft-quoted Minute on Indian Education (1835), and it is possible to read Maitland’s paper as a direct engagement with this earlier proposal. Macaulay had argued for the creation of an English-educated middle class of Indian men who would then act as civilizing forces by disseminating colonial cultural values in their local societies. Like Macaulay, Maitland believed that an English education would eventually displace indigenous beliefs; she writes: ‘I fully believe that, if schools were set up all over the country, it would go far towards shaking their Heathenism, by putting truth into their heads, at any rate, instead of falsehood’ (p. 232). It was a popular idea and there was much support for this model of education in the early decades of the nineteenth century. It was expressed in travelogues, such as that by Marianne Postans.21 And it was documented in official papers by the likes of Alexander Ross and Sir Thomas Munro, the Governor of Madras, who had devised a comprehensive plan for governmental education in south India but died before he could implement it.22 Consequently, as Maitland explains, there existed various independent projects, such as Andrew Bell’s school, but there was no organized or standardized structure. She hoped to rectify this with her proposal, written at a timely moment. Letters from Madras was published anonymously in 1843. Maitland’s firsthand experiences of colonial policy meant that her narrative was received as a useful contribution to knowledge about India, especially by those who also opposed the East India Company’s policies on religious toleration. The Churchman’s Companion, for example, stated that Maitland gave ‘a fearful picture of the Infidelity of the Indian Government’ and included extracts from her narrative as proof of this problem.23 Other reviewers flagged up the volume’s entertaining style, praising Maitland for what one review termed ‘her natural vivacity and smartness’.24 Yet for most of these reviewers, it seems these literary or belle-lettristic qualities did not prevent Maitland’s narrative also being regarded as a source of useful information. Thus the Gentleman’s Magazine highlighted Maitland’s ‘very lively style’ and ‘dash of satirical observation’ but also judged the book ‘a good, and evidently a genuine account of the manners and society of India’.25 Similarly, Elizabeth Eastlake writing anonymously in the Quarterly Review praised ‘the sound domesticity that pervades this book’, and described it as ‘the very lightest work that has ever appeared from India’ – but then immediately appended to the last comment, ‘yet it tells us more of what everybody cares to know than any other’.26 Apparently, a travelogue could be both diverting and educational, and Eastlake did not perceive these properties in terms of gender. In the early decades of the nineteenth century, women like Deane and Maitland usually travelled and worked alongside their husbands. Their journeys and subsequent travel narratives thus usually arose from specific imperial purposes and roles, rather than individual whim or aspiration. In that sense, their subjectivities,

10

INTRODUCTION

and to some extent their gender, remained secondary to an overarching ideal: the provision of information about India. By the 1830s, however, changing literary tastes and an increasing sense of individual duty and colonial responsibility encouraged some imperial travellers to include a greater quotient of personal information. There was a greater demand for individual engagement and private lives, and the female traveller had a sufficiently strong sense of her own imperial duty to inscribe her experiences in the travel narrative. Maitland does not extend to the emotional reflections of other contemporary writers, such as Emily Eden or Lady Nugent, but she does move significantly beyond the far more objectivist reporting of Deane’s narrative.27 We see here a generic progression that is not entirely related to gender.

Notes 1 A. L. Cohen, ‘Introduction’, in Lady Nugent’s East India Journal: A Critical Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), p. xxxi. 2 See for example: Maria Graham, Journal of a Residence in India (1812); Harriet Ashmore, Narrative of a Three Months’ March in India, and a Residence in the Dooab (1841); Eliza Fay, Original Letters from India, Containing a Narrative of a Journey through Egypt and the Author’s Imprisonment at Calicut by Hyder Ally (1817); Marianne Postans, Western India, in 1838 (1839); A. L. Cohen (ed.), Lady Nugent’s East India Journal: A Critical Edition (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014). 3 C. Thompson, Travel Writing (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011), p. 65. 4 Deane relates various stories about Mir Qasim, see for example p. 55. 5 See J. Nair, ‘Uncovering the Zenana: Visions of Indian Womanhood in Englishwomen’s Writing, 1813–1940’, Journal of Women’s History 2:1 (1990), pp. 8–34; I. Ghose, Women Travellers in Colonial India: The Power of the Female Gaze (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), Chapter 3: ‘The Female Gaze: Encounters in the Zenana’. 6 B. D. Metcalf and T. R. Metcalf, A Concise History of Modern India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, [2001] 2013), p. 77. 7 For more on the surveying of India, see M. Edney, Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765–1843 (Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press, 1997). 8 See for example, Fanny Parks’ Wanderings of a Pilgrim in search of the Picturesque, During four and twenty years in the East; With Revelations of Life in the Zenana (1850) and Emma Roberts’ Scenes and Characteristics of Hindostan, with Sketches of AngloIndian Society (1835). 9 See T. Richards, The Imperial Archive: Knowledge and the Fantasy of Empire (London: Verso Books, 1993). 10 ‘Review’, La Belle Assemblée or Bell’s Court and Fashionable Magazine 29 (February 1824), pp. 77–8. 11 ‘Review of Tour through Hindostan’, Gentleman’s Magazine: and Historical Chronicle 94:1 (February 1824), pp. 144–5. 12 See É. Agnew, Imperial Women Writers in Victorian India: Representing Colonial Life 1850–1910 (Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017). 13 Agnew, Imperial Women Writers, pp. 105–35.

11

INTRODUCTION

14 Maitland mentions that she sent new specimens to the British Museum, and she notes that there were five new species; see Letters, p. 289. The Natural History Museum in London has a record of the donation but no record of the specific specimens. 15 See C. Thompson, ‘Nineteenth-Century Travel Writing’, in N. Das and T. Youngs (eds), The Cambridge History of Travel Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), pp. 108–24, especially pp. 119–22. 16 S. Mills, Discourses of Difference: An Analysis of Women’s Travel Writing (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1991), p. 63. 17 See for example, M. Park, The Life and Travels of Mungo Park (London: J. W. Parker, 1838) which was based on his journal, and R. Heber, Narrative of a Journey through the Upper Provinces of India (London: J. Murray, 1828), which used the epistolary form. 18 C. Broome Saunders, ‘Introduction’, in Women, Travel Writing, and Truth (Abingdon: Routledge, 2014), p. 3. 19 I. Ghose, Memsahibs Abroad: Writings by Women Travellers in Nineteenth-Century India (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 77. 20 J. Wang, ‘Entry on Julia Maitland’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, available at www.oxforddnb.com.ezproxy.kingston.ac.uk/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128. 001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-48645?rskey=b1xReC&result=1. Last accessed September 2018. 21 See M. Postans, Western India, in 1838 (London: Saunders and Otley, 1839), p. 307. 22 See R. E. Frykenberg, ‘Modern Education in South India 1784–1854: Its Roots and Its Role as a Vehicle of Integration under Company Raj’, The American Historical Review 91:1 (1986), p. 42. 23 ‘Infidelity of the Indian Government’ in Churchman’s Companion, 30:2 (August 1847), p. 63. 24 Monthly Review 1 (New Series, 1843), p. 101. 25 Gentleman’s Magazine (1843), p. 58. 26 E. Eastlake, ‘Lady Travellers’, Quarterly Review 76 (June 1845), pp. 53–74; these quotations, p. 60. 27 See E. Eden, Up the Country (London: Virago Press, [1866] 1983), p. 396, and Nugent, East India Journal, p. 333.

12

ANN DEANE, A TOUR THROUGH THE UPPER PROVINCES OF HINDOSTAN (1823)

Ann Deane (1770–1847) travelled to India in 1799, accompanying her husband, Captain Charles Meredith Deane of the 24th Light Dragoons. The couple left behind their eldest son, Charles, so that he could be educated in England but took with them a younger child, John Bathurst Deane. Little is known of the first period of the Deanes’ residence in India; however, in 1804 Ann returned to England to place John in school, then sailed back to India with Charles, now aged 14. She rejoined her husband at Calcutta, and then resided in India for another ten years. During this time she accompanied her husband – now employed by the East India Company as a District Collector – on several long tours of the Company’s recently acquired northern provinces in Bengal, Bihar, and Uttar Pradesh. These tours subsequently became the focus of her published narrative, which elides the family’s periods of more settled residence and instead records four main journeys taking in Patna, Buxar, Benares, Kanpur, and Agra (in 1805); Delhi, Meerut, Moradabad, Bareilly, and Fateghar (in 1808–1809); to Pusa along the Ganges and then back to Meerut by road (in late 1809); and finally through the Bareilly district (in 1811). Deane then remained in India a further three years, finally quitting the subcontinent in 1814; her departure was possibly due to escalating tensions between the East India Company and the Maratha Confederacy, which culminated in the Third Anglo-Maratha War of 1817–18. Charles Meredith Deane remained behind and died in India in 1815. A Tour through the Upper Provinces of Hindostan; Comprising a Period between the Years 1804 and 1814: with Remarks and Authentic Anecdotes was published anonymously in 1823, nine years after Deane’s return to Britain: it is not known why there was such a time lag between her return and the volume’s appearance. The book was widely reviewed and generally received favourable – albeit clearly gendered – notices. Thus the Literary Chronicle rather neglected her political discussions but praised her instead for ‘observations and occurrences as might be expected to be noticed by an intelligent female’.1 Similarly, The Gentleman’s Magazine praised Deane’s prose, citing her adherence to the ‘lively brilliance of prattlement, a subtle tact and delicacy which often distinguishes the sentiment of women’.2 Indeed, despite Deane’s inclusion of glossaries, maps, and

13

ANN DEANE, A TOUR (1 8 2 3 )

a Guide designated for male travellers, the text was principally seen as amusing rather than instructive. The Gentleman’s Magazine concluded: To invite women to read heavy books, would be like asking them to drag a garden-roller, or trundle a loaded wheelbarrow; but we fearlessly placed this interesting Tour before some of our female acquaintance; and they declared that they had found it as entertaining as a novel, and had skipped only the maps and letter-press guide. In truth, it is an uncommonly pleasing book.3 Perhaps due to this feminization which depoliticized Deane’s text, there were no subsequent editions, and this is the first reissue of the volume. Little is known of Deane’s life back in Britain, and she did not publish any further books. She died in Bath in 1847.

Notes 1 ‘Review of Tour through the Upper Provinces by A. D.’, Literary Chronicle 52 (1823), p. 819. 2 ‘Review of Tour through the Upper Provinces by A. D.’, Gentleman’s Magazine: and Historical Chronicle 135 (1824), p. 144. 3 Ibid., p. 145.

14

A

T O U R THROUGH

THE UPPER PROVINCES OF

Dindostan: COMPRISING A PERIOD BETWEEN THE YEARS

1804 AND 1814: WITH

REMARKS AND AUTHENTIC ANECDOTES. TO W HI CH I S ANNEXE D ,

A GUI D E U P T H E R I V E R GANGE S , W I TH

A MAP FROM THE SOURCE TO THE MOUTH.

BY A. D.

LONDON: PR INT E D F O R C . & J . R I VI NGTON, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD, AND WATERLOO-PLACE, PALL-MALL.

1823.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE following pages were not originally intended for the public eye, nor may they perhaps be deemed worthy public attention. They are neither the production of a philosopher, nor of a man of genius; but of a lady, who has witnessed all that she describes, and whose chief claim on the indulgence of her reader is authenticity. The scenes she has endeavoured to pourtray, occurred in the order wherein they are here related: the reader must not therefore expect a finished and elaborate performance; but a plain, simple narrative of facts, committed to writing while their impression was yet fresh on the mind of the author. It may be objected, that this work has too much the manner of a mere journal; but the writer begs to state, that it was composed during her tour, and designed only for the future amusement of her friends.

21

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. JOURNEY from Calcutta, in Bengal, to the western provinces of Hindostan— Description of the Missionary School at Serampore—The governorgeneral’s country residence at Barrackpore—The cantonments, &c. . .

PAGE

29

CHAPTER II. Superstitious observances—Tatties, how made; the different kinds, and their use—Comocolly feathers—Deserted village—Opposite qualities of the tamarind tree, &c. &c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

33

CHAPTER III. Description of a serai, or inn, of the country; also of Radge Mahl—The ridge of mountains—People who inhabit them—Obstinate adherence to ancient custom—A curious anecdote . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

38

CHAPTER IV. Radge Mahl hills, palace, &c.—A peculiar kind of sheep and goats; also of fence against wild beasts—Description of a tannah, or pensioner’s village— Ditto of the hill people, or inhabitants of these mountains—Singular mode of guarding against beasts of prey—Unfavourable prospect for missionaries, &c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

44

CHAPTER V. Apathy of the Hindoos—Predestination—Monghir, its chalybeate springs— Curious birds, &c.—An extraordinary machine for crossing torrents—Mode of extracting wheat from the ears—Peculiar properties of the neem tree— Advice to travellers in a foreign country—Traffic on the Ganges—Weavers’ looms—City of Patna—Massacre by Sumroo, a German, in the service of Meer Kossim, Subah (or chief) of Bengal. . . . . . . . . . . 23

49

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VI. Curious mistake—Hindoo marriage ceremony—Unjustifiable revenge— power of parents over their children—Danapore, a military station; its productions—Soane pebbles—banditti . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

PAGE

56

CHAPTER VII. Fort of Buxar—Hair-breadth escape from a tiger—Ghazipore, a large military and civil station; soil, produce, &c.—City of Benares, disturbance at; the cause of it—Anecdote—Insolence of Mussulmen—Produce and manufactures—Important festivals, both Mussulman and Hindoo— Ingenious mode of attack by thieves—City of Allahabad, on the confluence of the rivers Ganges and Jumna . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

61

CHAPTER VIII. Diamond mine—Medicinal gum—Cowardly nature and avaricious propensities of the natives—Difference between females of Mussulman and Hindoo persuasion, with respect to their occupations and pursuits— Arrival at Cawnpore, the largest military station in India—Journey to Lucknow, the capital of the province of Oude, and residence of its Nawaab—Reception at his court—His mode of evading the laws of his prophet, where they were not agreeable to him—Humorous anecdote— Bigotry of some Mussulmen, an instance of . . . . . . . . . . .

68

CHAPTER IX. Arrival at Futty Ghur, the residence of the commissioners for the upper, or ceded and conquered provinces—City of Furrukabad; its Nawaab, produce, &c. &c.—Accident by lightning—Country inundated in a few hours, by a storm—Cruelty of the Pindarees; description of them, mode of warfare, support, &c.; happy effects of their extermination— Extraordinary instances of sudden death—Extent of territory—Conduct of the natives in a state of desperation, equalled only by the Romans in former ages—of Rajpoots—Treachery of some native princes, during the war of 1816 and 1817—Siege of Huttrass—Description of the blowing up a magazine of Gun-powder—Escape of the Rajah—The Jauts, their origin, &c.—Plunder of Agra—Putting out the eyes of the Emperor Shaw Allum—Description of the palace at Agra—Secundra—Superb mausoleum of the Emperor Acbar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CHAPTER X. Ferozabad—Native collector of revenue—Effects of intense heat—Ettamaadpore, description of—Tomb and garden-house of a rich Mussulman merchant 24

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and his wife—Fort of Agra—Wonderful phenomenon—Chokidars, their use—Rash invasion of religious ceremonies—Futtypoor Siccra, splendid monument, palace, &c.—Description of the Tadge at Agra, built by the Emperor Shaw Jehan in memory of his favourite wife, supposed to be the most beautiful and chaste structure in the world—Verses written on it . .

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CHAPTER XI. Town of Sarseney—Mud forts—City of Coel—Substitute for yeast in rising bread—Toddy, its properties—Mats, from what made—Castor oil— Wretched state of the people—Grass jungle—Severe cold—Village inhabited by banditti—Field of battle in 1803, near Delhi—Arrival at Delhi—Reception by the resident at his palace—Memoirs of the Begum Sumroo—Palace of the reigning Emperor—Description of, reception by the royal family; their dresses, manners, customs, &c.—Grand entertainment by the Begum Sumroo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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CHAPTER XII. A party to view the Kootub Minar and wonderful brazen pillar—Tomb of Suftur Jung, Humayoon, &c.; also of the Emperors of Delhi— Extraordinary prohibition—Effects of priestcraft—Dancing girls—Recitation—Pantomime—Royal Baths, menagerie, and gardens—Singular ceremony—Meerat, a large cantonment, arrival there—Description of the country, city, &c. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100 CHAPTER XIII. The Begum Sumroo’s palace at Sirdannah, her troops, &c.—Fatal effects of cold—A Brahmin’s conscience easily satisfied—Arrival at Saharunpore—Fancy beards, dress, and dexterity of the Sieks—Sale of children—Source of the river Jumna—Fortified palace belonging to the Rajah of Hurdwaar—Description of this extraordinary man—Munglore, the simplicity of its inhabitants, productions, &c.—Impenetrable hedge— The peacock held sacred—Caravan of merchants from Cabul—In what their merchandise consisted—First range of hills near the snowy mountains—Reception by the Rajah—Etiquette observed on the occasion— Description of the hall of audience—approach the mountains—beasts of prey—fall in with a party of Sieke Rajahs and their wives—Hurdoar, a celebrated bathing place; description of, name, from whence derived— Mode of establishing a village in Hindostan—Town of Tunkal, full of magnificent and costly palaces; the reason why—Pilgrims—Waterfalls— Curious method of fording a river—English shrubs and trees found on these mountains—Sagacity of elephants—Stupendous mountains— Grass, like reeds, fourteen feet high—A wild elephant kept at bay—Cross 25

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a morass—Enter the Rohillah country—Nugeebabad, the first place where duties are levied by the British Government on Persian goods—Sugarmills—Slaves from the hills—Excuse for bringing them down—Their general appearance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 CHAPTER XIV. Extraordinary instance of sagacity in a tigress—Town of Nugeenah, its manufactures, &c.—Town of Daumpore, its manufactures, &c.—A tree scented like mignionette—City of Moradabad, its inhabitants, situation, appearance, advantages, and manufactures—Villages in the Rohillah country, in what respect differing from those in the country of the Douab— Productions of the Rohillah country—Bareilly, a city of some celebrity in history, description of; its inhabitants, climate, manufactures, &c.—Kutterah, the scene of conflict between Sujah Dowlah, Nawaab of Lucknow, and Haffiz Ramut, chief of the Rohillahs—Origin of the Rohillah war—Trip to Behrmundeo through a thick forest—Food of the native inhabitants, their pursuits and resources—Temple of the deity they worship—Villages on the summit of these mountains—Gold dust—Traverse the snowy mountains—Plants of extraordinary beauty—Dreadful alarm—Dangerous enterprise—Fair held at Bellary—Humorous anecdote—All’s well that ends well—A wild elephant near the camp—Means taken to frighten him away—A bullock carried off by a tiger—Climate of this terrific region— A band of robbers—Proper months in which to visit it, with any degree of safety—Jellalabad, city of—Crossed the river Ram Gonga—Attack by a wild buffalo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 CHAPTER XV. Trip down the country by water—Hints how to manage on these occasions—Loss of baggage—Boat in a storm—Ingenious mode of robbing boats—Quicksands—An annual fair for horses of a particular description—Arrival at Poosa—Raft of bamboos—Beautiful scenery—Committee—Climate of Tirhoot—A wonderful gay spectacle—Return by land to Meerat, near Delhi—Palebothra of the ancients—medals and coins—Fortified tower, the haunt of banditti—A sad accident—worse and worse—Interview with the Rajah of Huttrass—Wild hog—Visit from a native chief—Marching establishment for a European of any rank—A tiger hunt—Curious ceremony for young girls in this district . . . . . . . . . 126 CHAPTER XVI. Journey into the district of Bareilly towards Pilibete—Cross the Ganges—No trace of a road—A useful hint respecting water for drinking—Town of Amroah, for what celebrated—Instance of 26

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faith, and the reliance some Hindoos place on the judgment of Europeans—An immense bed of sand—Perpendicular bridge— Sagacity of an elephant in the suite—Mephitic vapour, its consequences—Angels or devils—Attacked by banditti—Visit to the town of Pilibete; its productions—Description of a mosque there—Singular arrangement for medical attendance on the poor—Wild elephants, how to tame—Dock-yard—Return to Bareilly—Rainy season—Perilous situation—Tent overflowed—Conveyed on men’s heads—Advantages of an eastern climate—Severe consequences of a chill—More calamities— Arrival at Meerat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A GUIDE UP THE RIVER GANGES, from Calcutta to Cawnpore, Futteh Ghur, Meerat, &c.; with the correct distances of every station, and what their produce . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vocabulary adapted to the Tour . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vocabulary adapted to the Voyage . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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135 145 154 155

A TOUR THROUGH HINDOSTAN. 

CHAPTER I. AFTER a voyage of nearly five months from England, we reached that city of palaces, Calcutta1 in Bengal;2 but destined as we were to join the army in the upper provinces of Hindostan,3 our stay in it was very short. After hiring boats, and making the necessary preparations for a three months’ voyage up the river Ganges,4 we started for the principal military Station, Khaanpore.5 At the expiration of the war, in 1804,6 we revisited the Presidency,7 leaving Khaanpore in a budgerow8 on the 6th of November, and reached Calcutta on the 19th of the following month. The stream at this season runs six miles an hour. In Calcutta we remained until the month of March, enjoying the splendid gaieties of the season, and then set forward by land on our return. Our tent equipage, conveyed on camels, was despatched a few days previous, that the cattle might be more fresh for the journey. It consisted of three tents, one used for sleeping, one for eating, and a smaller one, to answer the double purposes of butler’s pantry, and as a shelter, in case of bad weather, for our servants; two palankeens,9 each carried on the shoulders of four natives, called bearers;10 with a machine of the same description, but inferior materials, named a dhooley,11 (this latter contained crockery, cooking utensils, &c. &c.); three small waggons drawn by bullocks, for baggage, poultry, and stores. The natives in general, but particularly the Hindoos, always prefer travelling on foot. Sheep to be killed for consumption on the road; and goats, for the purpose of furnishing milk, are driven on these occasions, and keep pace with the baggage. Their march is performed before sun-rise, at the rate of from twelve to fifteen miles a day. We generally contrived to send forward half the establishment, so as to find breakfast ready, and every thing prepared for our reception. The camp bedsteads here are similar to those made use of in Europe, and are transported upon men’s shoulders. The palankeen bearers have a tune, not unpleasing to the ear of those accustomed to it, which regulates their steps. Their usual rate of travelling is from three to three and a half miles an hour, which they perform with perfect ease to 29

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themselves, often indulging in jokes with their companions on the road; for they are witty fellows in their way. I was once travelling with a young man, recently arrived in the country, who, being ignorant of their language, and rather of an impatient temper, had provided himself with a long whip, which he applied at intervals to the legs of the unfortunate natives who supported his palankeen. This treatment they bore with great magnanimity until it began to grow dark, when, arriving at a bazaar,12 generally crowded about that time, they set him down and left him. My palankeen had proceeded nearly three miles before I missed him. Concluding that something untoward had occurred, I returned in search of him; and after a delay of more than two hours, with difficulty succeeded in procuring other bearers. Barrackpore,13 the first station we came to, is fourteen miles from Calcutta; the road broad and good, shaded on either side by lofty trees. It contains a number of good dwelling houses for English officers in the East India Company’s service, attached to Seapoy corps.14 These houses, which generally occupy the centre of a small garden, are raised from the ground by two or more steps, covered by a cement in imitation of white marble, and surrounded by a veranda. They form two lines, running parallel with the bank of the river Ganges, on which this Station stands. This river is here called the Bhagaretti: it does not assume the name of Ganges until beyond the influence of the tide, which reaches to a village called Sook Saaghur, a few miles higher. At Barrackpore is also to be seen the superb country residence of the Governor General of India,15 surrounded by a park and pleasure-grounds of considerable extent. Through these are a number of beautiful drives and walks, open to officers and their friends. A menagerie, a curious collection of wild beasts, a botanic garden, ponds well stored with fish, cascades, &c. are among the attractions of this princely domain. The Governor General’s house is so situated as to command a view of three foreign settlements on the opposite shore, viz. Chandanagore,16 formerly belonging to the French, Chinsurah17 to the Dutch, and Serampore18 to the Danes. The houses at Chandanagore are detached from each other, with a crucifix attached to the top of each; they are, for the most part, enclosed within four melancholy walls, with large folding gates. The streets are characteristically dirty. A spacious esplanade, parallel to the river, extends along the front, and several handsome chapels are situated in the rear. Chinsurah presents a handsome front to the river. There are some good houses in it, with gardens laid out in the ancient style of dull uniformity. Serampore was a place of considerable traffic, when in possession of the Danes. Vessels of five and six hundred tons burthen find good anchorage before it. It is at this time chiefly inhabited by those whose finances will not enable them to reside in Calcutta, and by English Missionaries,19 who have established schools for children of both sexes upon a very extensive scale. These Missionaries are permitted by Government to use their own printing press, and manufacture every thing necessary for the purposes of this laudable establishment. 30

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Their library contains many valuable manuscripts in the oriental languages. Amongst the students, at this time, was a young Malay prince,20 who had been sent from Java21 by his father to be educated: he appeared a smart intelligent boy, about ten years of age; but I was sorry to find that they had not been able to eradicate that spirit of revenge so peculiar to his nation. Although scarcely a twelvemonth there, he could write and speak English admirably. The habitations of the girls and boys are separate, large, and commodious, while the greatest attention appeared to be paid to their health and morals. Large gardens and a play-ground are attached to each seminary, while a general appearance of cleanliness pervades the whole. All the little creatures were occupied, and all looked happy, to the number of one hundred girls, and a greater proportion of boys, chiefly under twelve years of age. The total expense per month for each child is forty rupees (five pounds) for a girl, including clothes, and thirty-two rupees (four pounds) for a boy. Their studies are not confined to any particular language or science: works of the best masters, different translations of the classics, plans for fortification, sketching, maps, etching, engraving on copper plates, engrossing, &c. are taught with equal skill. From these Missionaries, their wives, and families, every description of instruction emanates. In the printing-office were types in three-and-twenty different languages, besides English; in all of which, they were printing dictionaries, grammars, vocabularies, Bibles, &c. no one department interfering in the smallest degree with the other. It was really curious to see them making their own paper and types. Some of their books are sold by permission of Government for the benefit of the institution, but the principal part of them are disposed of by the missionaries themselves, gratuitously. Serampore, with its white flat-roofed buildings, presents a magnificent front to the river; but on a nearer approach is found to abound in narrow streets ill paved, dirty, and offensive. From Barrackpore we continued our journey in an open carriage, passed through several small villages, over ploughed fields and commons, without the smallest track to guide us, enquiring our way from one village to another. On the second day of our expedition, we learned that Barrackpore, not being in the direct road to the upper provinces, we had been obliged to cross the country in order to come into it at the village of Amdunga; whereas we ought, on leaving Calcutta, to have proceeded by way of Dum-Dum,22 the principal Station for artillery. Had we done so, we should have found a good military road the whole way, besides having an opportunity of seeing the cantonment to which all cadets in the East India Company’s service are sent on their first arrival in the country. The following morning we pursued our way through a large village called Jaggree to Hundunpore, where fortunately our tents had been placed under the thick shade of an adjoining grove, or we should have found the heat exceedingly oppressive. The hot winds set in, in this part of the country, generally about the 15th of March, and it was now the 4th. A short distance from this place brought 31

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us to a causeway of considerable length, (scarcely wide enough to admit two carriages abreast of each other,) thrown across a morass,23 and from the nature of the swamp apparently very insecure. There are no hedge-rows in this country, as there are in England, to separate property; but the natives make use of a land-mark, agreeably to ancient usage.

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CHAPTER II. THE villages in Bengal differ materially from those in the upper provinces of Hindostan; the huts of the former being composed of bamboos covered with matting, while those of the latter are uniformly built of mud, and thatched. Those of Bengal are generally found within groves of the bamboo plant, having small round granaries near them formed of the same materials, but raised a few feet from the ground upon blocks of wood, not unlike those that support our wheat ricks. The habitations of the natives in the upper provinces serve also as a receptacle for their grain; a deep hole is dug in the centre of each, lined with straw, wherein it is deposited, and by that means secured as well against the weather as against marauders, with whom these provinces abound. Bengal differs as much in climate, manners, customs, and appearance of its inhabitants, as in the general face of the country. Here are no scorching winds in summer, or white frosts, with ponds frozen over, in the winter; but the burning sun, stagnant air, and heavy dews, are far more oppressive. Although these contribute to fertilize the ground, and to produce their boasted verdure, they are unwholesome, and frequently offensive. Our tent at sun-rise this morning was so completely wet with the dew that had fallen during the night, as to affect the clothes deposited on chairs within; and we were actually obliged to have them dried by a fire before they could be worn with safety. Of their language and customs I shall say little; far abler pens than mine have already described them; I shall content myself with observing, that the Bengalee language24 which they speak, is as little understood by the natives of the upper provinces, as the Hindostanee language25 is by them; hence arises a difficulty in persuading servants of the one country to attend you to the other. There is, however, a still stronger reason for the people above Patna26 objecting to a sojourn in Bengal; it is because, considering, as they do, the Bengalees to be of an inferior caste,27 they are fearful of losing their own: for instance, if a man of inferior caste touches the food, or even utensil in which it is preparing, of a superior, it is contaminated, and no longer fit for use—all the cleansing in the world would be insufficient, in their opinions, to purify it. This leads to the common practice of each person cooking for himself, even among those of the highest rank; and even when this is not the case, they are extremely particular in having a cook of the same caste as they are themselves. Both Hindoos and Mussulmen are tenacious in this respect.28 I remember a circumstance which occurred to me shortly after my arrival in the country, which astonished me not a little, and distressed me very much. It is the custom for boats going up or down the river to bring to for the night, and make fast to the bank, generally near some village where the boatmen may purchase food: this, they take the opportunity of dressing on small stoves 33

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formed at the time, of an adhesive kind of clay, of which these banks are formed. Round these they describe a circle, raised a few inches from the ground, the inside of which they smoothe with the hand until it has the appearance of being nicely plastered. The dandies,29 as they are called, then place themselves round, to the number of three, four, and sometimes five in a party, with their legs tucked under them, and commence their attack upon the curry with all the eagerness of professed epicures. A number of these plans had been formed on the only level ground near our boat, and being ignorant at that time of their customs, I unfortunately stepped into one of the magic circles in my attempt to reach the high land. Our boatmen made no observation at the time; but on turning to view the prospect from above, I saw several of them employed in emptying the contents of their cooking pots into the river, and afterwards breaking the earthen vessels in which their food had been dressed. Upon enquiry of a person by me, who spoke a little English, what this meant, I learned to my surprise that I had caused the proceeding, by placing my unhallowed foot too near the stove and its circular enclosure. Laughable as it appeared to us, it was far from being so to them at the period I allude to; for as no village within a mile and a half could be found, these poor infatuated people were obliged to content themselves with parched grain. This grain, which resembles a large dried pea in a dark brown skin, is very abundant in India, and is used to feed horses as well as men. The natives are universally fond of it, and always carry a small quantity ready parched about them to chew at pleasure: with the boatmen, more particularly, who only get a hot meal before sunrise, and after sun-set, it is an essential article of food. Although united by situation and laws, the Bengalees in no respect associate with the natives of the upper provinces. They are unlike also in appearance, the former being delicately shaped, of short stature, and of a very dark complexion; while the latter are, for the most part, tall, robust, and of a light copper colour. Indeed I have sometimes seen them, particularly the women, very little darker than the natives of France or Italy; and the higher you go up the country, the fairer the inhabitants become. This may probably be accounted for by the severity of their winter months; whereas, in Bengal, they may be said to have no winter at all, as far as respects cold, for it is never sufficiently felt to require a fire; and I remarked that there was not a single grate to be seen in Calcutta. They differ in dress, perhaps, more than in any other particular. In Bengal they wear no turbans, merely their long black hair strained up round the head, and fastened in a knot at the top; a few yards of thin silk, of various colours, fastened round the waist, and loosely wrapped about the thighs, leaving the legs quite bare; a drapery of thin muslin, thrown carelessly across the shoulders, one end hanging in front, the other behind, completes their dress, as far as apparel is concerned. But a Bengalee gentleman has not completed his toilet until he has painted his face and arms. They have their beaux as well as other nations, who seldom appear without a wafer on their forehead, consisting of a white patch with a spot of bright scarlet in the centre, and a stripe of white paint down the middle of the nose.30 These men universally wear ear-rings of the purest gold, and excellent workmanship. 34

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This costume respects Hindoos only; such are the principal number of inhabitants in Bengal. Mussulmen, in every province, wear loose trowsers31 made of satin,32 dimity,33 or calico,34 according to the station of the wearer; their heads are shaved on the top, leaving only a row of hair round the poll and over the ears. They wear turbans of shawl or muslin,35 with a dress of similar materials fitted to the shape; sleeves hanging over the hands, and skirts reaching to the ancles, with four or five yards of muslin or shawl about their loins. On occasions of unusual exertion, this part of the dress is bound tight, agreeable to the early custom of the East, alluded to in Scripture, “Gird up thy loins,”36 &c. I have seen most superb and costly dresses of this description: one worn by His Highness the Nawaab of Lucknow,37 was valued at two hundred and fifty pounds sterling. The dress was of kinkob,38 or silk, brocaded with gold; the trowsers, a rich striped satin of various colours; the turban, as well as waistband, was of fine shawl, curiously wrought with flowers. The dress throughout was lined with scarlet shawl, and under it he wore another of delicate transparent muslin. His shoes, which curved from the toes back over the foot, and terminated in a point, were of scarlet velvet, embroidered with gold, silver, and pearls. These dresses do not reach higher than the collar-bones, leaving the throat exposed. The Nawaab’s throat was, on this occasion, nearly obscured by three rows of immense pearls, the size of a hazel-nut, fastened round it like a stock. The jewels worn by the Nawaab of Lucknow are most of them public property, and descend with the office to the next successor. The religion of the Hindoos, in Bengal, differs in many respects from that in the upper provinces, as do the form and attributes of the deities they worship, and the food on which they subsist. In Bengal, it consists chiefly of rice, paddy,39 and fish; vegetables are common to every description of natives. In Hindostan they eat cakes by way of bread, made of a coarse kind of wheat flour called otta,40 baked on an iron plate; parched grain, boiled dhol,41 (a kind of vetch or field pea,) kuddoo, (an inferior kind of cucumber,) melons, &c.; to which, of late years, since the introduction of them by the English, may be added potatoes.42 As strong liquors are prohibited by their religion, the inhabitants of Hindostan mix great quantities of spice, of various descriptions, with their food as a substitute: there is indeed a spirituous liquor which they extract from the berries of the mowah43 tree, but their general beverage is pure water. The Bengalees appear to be characterized by a mixture of low cunning, cowardice, and dissimulation; while their more northern neighbours are manly, brave, and generous; but I do not mean to say that they will hesitate to use deception when it is necessary to carry a point. They are however, generally speaking, more trust-worthy when they are good, and rogues of a higher stamp when disposed to become so. Perhaps the difference of climate may have influence on their minds as well as bodies; for as in Bengal it is damp and enervating, so in the higher provinces it is dry and often bracing. After this digression, we will pursue our journey from Hundunpore over a flat country thickly wooded, and abounding in stagnant pools. At the romantic Station of Krishna-nugger, or, as it is commonly called, Krishna-ghur, we remained two days, and found some agreeable English society. This place took its name from 35

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Krishna,44 the Apollo of the Hindoos, to whom is dedicated a very ancient temple built on this spot. It is one of those denominated in this country “civil Stations,” on account of its containing an European judge, a collector of revenue, a surgeon, &c. with a company of seapoys, who are occasionally relieved by others from Barrackpore. The scenery about Krishnaghur is highly picturesque and beautiful: a fine clear river called the Jellingy runs in front of the station, over which is a ferry to the island of Kossimbazar.45 Having dispatched our camp equipage, we were prevailed upon to remain until the evening. We then travelled a distance of seventeen miles to our tents, not without risk of losing some of the attendants by tigers, with which this part of the country abounds. We were in an open carriage, with just sufficient light to distinguish the road, when one of these animals, growling in a bush near us, caused the horses to plunge violently forward. They quickly conveyed us out of danger, but left the syces, or grooms, who run with the horses and take care of them, the more exposed. Fear had fortunately quickened their pace also, and they escaped unhurt. Our alarms were however not destined to subside; for on reaching the tents we learned that one of the servants, going towards a pond for water, had seen a tiger, and only escaped him by plunging in and swimming to a village on the opposite side. Another agreeable piece of information was, that in crossing a field of high grass near the camp, they had discovered two asleep; it therefore became expedient to kindle fires around us without loss of time; but before this could be effected, we were in reality attacked, although by a less formidable enemy—a half-starved wolf darted amongst our sheep, and carried off a poor innocent lamb. I believe I have mentioned that it is necessary on a march to guard against the want of provisions, by driving the live stock for consumption with the baggage; for in those towns or villages that are inhabited only by Hindoos, nothing of the kind can be procured—they never eat any thing that has had life. Emboldened, as it should seem, by success, scarcely was all quiet in the camp before depredations of the same nature were repeated. Our people, enraged at their slumbers being thus disturbed, caught up the first offensive weapon within their reach; and in one instant my ears were assailed by the firing of guns, pistols, shouting, beating together brass pots, kettles, and, in short, a mixture of discordant sounds; yet so hungry were our foes, that all this was scarcely sufficient to alarm and drive them away. Sleep was entirely out of the question; for in this manner, with a few short intervals, passed the night. Never was the dawn of day more welcome than I found it now; and we took advantage of it to quit this horrid neighbourhood. It is said that misfortunes seldom come alone; so, indeed, it proved on this occasion; for at the next place we halted, no supplies whatever could be procured, either for servants or cattle—every village within reach seemed to have been abandoned to the brute creation. From this place we travelled along a vile road over a flat country, chiefly pasture land, for several miles, and at length reached Shoolbereah,46 an indigo factory in the possession of Monsieur Savi,47 a Frenchman, by whom we were most hospitably entertained. The family consisted, besides his wife and himself, of a young 36

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widow, (their daughter,) her three children, a son, and another young widow, (their cousin,) both under twenty years of age; three ladies on a visit at the house, a Catholic priest, and four French gentlemen,48 their neighbours, who had come over to pass the day: being Sunday, we found them just returned from mass. The venerable appearance of the priest, on his first approach, bespoke my respect; but the hilarity, not to say levity, of his conversation during breakfast, soon turned it to disgust. I found reason, while in this family, to regret my negligence in not having cultivated the French language; for, from want of practice, I was considerably at a loss, and particularly so, as none of them spoke English. They soon prepared, as is the custom with Catholics, to celebrate the Sabbath by singing and dancing. The house was large and commodious; so that, while the party in the saloon amused themselves with an organ, pianoforte, tamborine, &c. I retired to a distant apartment to steal an hour of repose, which, after the recent alarms I had experienced, and consequent want of sleep, had become highly desirable. About three o’clock I was informed that the dinner was ready, and was conducted into a handsomer room than any I had yet seen. We sat down, about sixteen in number, to a really elegant repast; after which the dancing re-commenced, and was continued until late at night. Nothing could exceed the wit and spirits of these lively French women: care appeared to leave no stamp on them. The daughter of Madame Savi one minute declared herself the most wretched of human beings, lamented, and even wept at the hardness of her fate; and almost in the same breath would laugh at a bon mot49 that accidentally caught her ear. She was an interesting looking young creature, in weeds, not yet eighteen. It seemed as if she disdained to be conquered by grief; for once she caught my eyes as they were fixed upon her, and taking my hand, she exclaimed with a lively air, “Do not look at me when I am sad, only when I am gay.” The other young widow, her cousin, had left off mourning “more than a month,” she told us, and with it, as it appeared, all serious thoughts. Happy people, to be able so easily to overcome the most severe of all afflictions! I had been hitherto taught to believe that the Roman Catholic religion enveloped its votaries in superstition and despondency; but were I to judge by my experience of to-day, it would lead me to very opposite conclusions.

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CHAPTER III. OUR sleeping tent was pitched at Placey,50 about two miles beyond this place, on our route to Moorshedabad;51 and it was near one o’clock in the morning before we reached it. Placey was once a place of some importance, as the scene of Lord Clive’s first victory over the Bengalese;52 it is now an insignificant village, with very few inhabitants. Our journey was resumed the next morning over a road which was almost the worst I ever travelled; deep ruts and high banks constantly impeded our progress, nor did the scenery present any thing to compensate for these inconveniences. The next place we came to, of any consequence, was the well-known city of Moorshedabad, the residence of the Nawaab of Bengal.53 He enjoys, however, little more than an empty title, having neither territory nor authority, but enjoying in their stead a pension from the East India Company. Moorshedabad is one of their principal civil stations; besides the usual complement of civil servants, such as judge, collector, assistant, registrar, and surgeon, it contains a court of appeal, consisting of three superior judges with their appendages. About two miles from this is the military station of Berhampore,54 also on the banks of the Ganges; it is an elegant cantonment, surrounded by cultivation, and kept in the highest order; the bank is steep, sloping gradually down to the water’s edge, and planted with grass, which is constantly mowed and watered, with a broad gravel walk or parade on the top. Supplies of every kind are to be met with here; also a manufactory of cotton stockings, softer, finer, and much cheaper than they are in England; likewise of leather gloves, in imitation of Limerick, and but little inferior; black silk handkerchiefs, silks of various colours in the piece, ribbons, &c. &c. The first twenty miles, after leaving Moorshedabad, were exceedingly unpleasant on account of the road; not that the ruts were so deep as on the other side the city, but the road was worn so uneven, and was withal so stony, as to be almost dangerous. This is generally the case in the neighbourhood of large cities in India, where much traffic is carried on. It is necessary to inform the reader that there are no turnpikes in this country, and that the roads are repaired by Government; but so shamefully neglected did this appear, that near a considerable village named Bamuneah, one entire arch of a bridge, originally built of brick, had fallen in, (nor did this event appear of recent date,) and we were obliged to cross the stream over a temporary one of mud and bamboo, which sunk under the horses’ feet at every step. The country about this place is much covered with clumps of bamboo, intermixed with corn-fields. These crops, which in some were ripe, in others half cut, and filled with reapers, gave it a cheerful appearance; but the fallen leaves of the bamboo plant, which have a strong offensive smell, would form in my opinion a great objection to residing there. 38

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Our tents were next day pitched in a grove of fine mango trees, whose fruit, the most useful and delicious of any in India, possesses, in the different stages of its growth, very opposite qualities; when ripe, it is about the size of a magnum bonum plum, with a thick yellow rind, often found tinged on one side with a deep red colour, and particularly juicy; in the centre of each is a large oval stone, the shape of the mango; and you seldom meet with two in fifty of the same flavour— the predominant taste is either that of the pine-apple or the strawberry. They are ripe about June or July. So fond are the natives of this fruit, that while in season it is their principal food, and is considered both wholesome and nutritive where water is the only beverage; but I have known instances where even one glass of wine, taken at the same time, has produced a painful eruption on the skin not unlike the nettle-rash, attended by a considerable degree of fever, particularly when ripened (as is frequently the case) on straw, to bring them forward before those become ripe that are in the open air. When green, this fruit has a most grateful acid flavour: it makes an excellent pickle or preserve, a delicious tart, and much improves a curry, soused fish, &c. Mango trees are generally planted in groves by the road side, affording an agreeable shelter for the traveller from the heat of a noonday sun, where they have generally also the benefit of a well, more necessary to the inhabitants of this country even than their food. The leaves of the mango tree are as large as those of the walnut in England; indeed the fruit, when green, is not unlike a walnut in appearance; the branches spread considerably, and they grow to a great height. The road, as we pursued our journey, grew rather worse than better; it ran along a high causeway for upwards of ten miles, of barely sufficient width for two carriages to pass each other, and was besides much cut up by vehicles of burthen. The ground on either side was cultivated with rice and paddy, and must in the rainy season be completely inundated, forming the only soil in which these grains are said to flourish. The villages we had hitherto passed were few, and of mean appearance. On making this observation, I was told that no Hindoo, if he could possibly avoid it, would live any where but on the banks of the sacred river, (the Ganges,) wherein he might bathe at least twice in the twenty-four hours, as enjoined by his religion; indeed, I have observed that they no sooner arrive at the end of a journey, be it long or short, than they strip themselves and plunge into the river; and where no river is at hand, squat down by the side of a well, and throw water over themselves until they are completely drenched. This custom of so frequent ablution may appear, in the idea of an European, extremely inconvenient and troublesome. To obviate this, their dress, which I have before described, is peculiarly adapted. This custom of frequent ablution,55 and the supposed religious nature of the ceremony, may also account for the immense population on the banks of the Ganges, in defiance of the torrents which frequently sweep whole villages away, leaving no trace behind. The unpleasant causeway I have described brought us to a place called Kummerah, where the river opened majestically on our view; and we continued our 39

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journey along its banks until we approached the tents, which, to our dismay, were pitched upon a plain, without a single tree to shelter them. We of course expected to suffer considerably from the heat; but whether from the vicinity of the spot to the river, or from any other local cause, it is difficult to determine, the day proved much less oppressive than those which preceded it, when we encamped under a thick shade. The wind blew hot and fresh. We had provided ourselves with tatties56* at Moorshedabad, which being fixed at the windward entrance of the tent, and kept well watered on the outside, rendered us extremely comfortable. This river is an arm only of the great Ganges, and was at this time nearly dry. We travelled chiefly on its bank; but whenever the road deviated, it led through cultivated lands surrounded by embankments—a necessary precaution against its overflow in the rainy season. The crops here are wonderfully luxuriant, and so indefatigable are the people in encouraging them, that they even till the few dry patches in the bed of the stream. The whole, at this time, appeared one cheerful moving scene—pedestrian travellers, and innumerable droves of cattle passing and re-passing; boats sailing down, while others were tracking up the magnificent Ganges, separated from us only by a low bank of sand about a quarter of a mile across, presenting a coup d’œil57 of the most agreeable nature. But we soon found ourselves obliged to cross a bed of sand which separated two cuts of the river; this happening to be deep, considerably impeded our progress, while the ascents and descents were almost perpendicular. In one part we encountered a narrow, rapid stream, through which the united force of the party, assisted by the horse that drew it, was scarcely sufficient to push the carriage. On reaching the declivity we discovered another sand, of considerable breadth, to traverse before we could gain the ferry, this ferry being at the junction of three branches of the Ganges. Our march to-day had been so retarded by the sands, that the sun was getting high, and my impatience great for the shelter of a tent; so, jumping into a small fishing-boat, as the delay in conveying our carriage into the other was likely to prove considerable, I made the best of my way on foot towards our encampment, traversing ploughed fields and banks of sand for nearly a mile. This brought me to the village of Sooty, on the main bank of the Ganges, where our tents were pitched, and in about an hour I was joined by the rest of the party; thus crossing

* Tatties are frames made of bamboo, resembling trelliswork, rather closer one way than the other, to fit a door or window. These frames being covered by the fibrous roots of a sweet-scented grass, called kus kus, are kept wet by a person on the outide throwing water upon them. There is an art, even in this; since by leaving any part of the tatty dry, the purpose of cooling the apartment is defeated. The hot wind, which generally blows strong from the westward, passing through these tatties, becomes cool, and conveys a refreshing scent like roses. I have frequently felt the house so cold from them, as to be under the necessity of wearing an additional garment, while out of it the atmosphere has been intolerably hot. Another kind of tatty, for light airs, such as blow from the East, is made from a low briary shrub of a lively green, found on sandy places, named jowassy, which is placed tightly on the frame, and may be renewed daily. Strong westerly winds make a healthy season, as do those from the East the reverse.

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that arm of the river that separates the island of Cossimbazar from the main land. From this island of Cossimbazar are brought those beautiful feathers, so highly esteemed by European ladies, called the Comocolly.* The birds on which they grow are a species of water-fowl, about the size of a gull, peculiar to this island. The plumage of the young birds is grey, of the old white. The feathers most in request are found under the wings, and are light as ether down: they are either worn in a plume, or formed into various shapes, such as muffs, tippets, &c.; and although very expensive in England, may in Calcutta be procured for a mere trifle. Owing to a curious circumstance, we found the village of Sooty almost deserted: a robbery to a large amount had been lately committed there on some travelling merchants, and all the principal persons, including their chief, had been taken to the Judicial Court at Moorshedabad upon suspicion of being concerned in it. It is, as I afterwards learned, not an unusual thing for these jemeendars,58 or head men of villages, to keep a number of subordinates to plunder when they have opportunity, and divide the spoil. It is in this particular that our government is so beneficial to the country in general, inasmuch as its activity and justice protects the property of individuals. Of this the natives are well aware; and, for the most part, gratefully acknowledge it. We spent the night at Sooty, but were much disturbed by the howling of a small animal called the pao; by which it is affirmed that the tiger is always preceded when in search of prey. The first village of any consequence that we passed through on the following morning was Narungabad, where there is a number of fine large trees, chiefly tamarinds,59 and a good bazar. The properties of the tamarind tree are somewhat remarkable, being at once a bane and an antidote. It is a well-authenticated fact among the natives, that a person sleeping under one of these at night, invariably complains, on awakening, of pain in his limbs, weariness, shivering, and other indications of fever; which symptoms, by drinking plentifully of an infusion of its fruit, are generally removed. Our journey was now chiefly across low lands, intersected by stagnant pools, on which were innumerable wild fowls, but principally ducks, precisely like those we have in England, and equally good in flavour. From hence, by a gradual ascent, we reached a plain of the finest turf, and drove on it for a considerable distance without the slightest impediment, tracing the boundary of a fine transparent stream, called the Collah Pawnee Nullah.† On this stream appeared more than fifty fishing boats preparing to cast their nets. The prospect altogether, aided by the fineness of the morning, (for there was a refreshing breeze,) rendered this ride truly delightful. We found our tents pitched in an extensive grove of varied foliage, on a very romantic spot near the village of Downapore; but as every advantage has its

* The name of that part of the island where these birds are chiefly found. † Collah, in Hindostanee, here means dark; Pawnee, water; Nullah, a stream.

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contra, no drinkable water could be procured within half a mile; although this circumstance was immaterial, as far as regarded ourselves, still after a long march it was very fatiguing to our servants, who drank nothing but water. The next morning, at day-break, we proceeded as usual, and accomplished the first twelve miles before breakfast. The country was woody, and for the most part cultivated, with the exception of a plain of considerable extent, indeed without any apparent boundary, which led to two streams, separated by a narrow bed of sand, whose banks were so exceedingly steep that we were literally under the necessity of scrambling up them; the only wonder was, that our carriage ever reached the top. The road on the following day was not only rough, but high in some places and low in others, bounded by the river on the right, and the Radge Mah’l hills,60 at about two miles distant, on the left, leaving a space of highly cultivated land between. A few miles before reaching Radge Mah’l,61 we drove through the village of Futteh Poor: it contains an indigo factory, and a pretty large serai.62* This latter is a place of reception for travellers; it is in form a square, enclosed on each side by high brick walls, with large folding gates at the east and west entrances. The wall on the inside is lined with small sheds, or thatched hovels, each furnished with a bedstead of the rudest materials, called a char-piah,63 such as are commonly used by the people of this country. It is a square frame, about five feet and a half long, covered by coarse twine strongly woven together, and supported by four pieces, or rather small blocks of wood, of about a foot and a half in height, without posts or tester. Fortunately, these people do not require the luxury of a bed; and in cold weather they carry their coverlid upon their backs. Curry and rice, cakes made of otta, (or coarse flour,) milk, and good water, may be procured in these serais for a trifling consideration, as also food and lodging for cattle. Gentlemen, when sending their horses to a distance, find them very convenient; but, in a general way, they are frequented only by those natives who travel without tents, or a sufficient guard to protect them. About two miles beyond this, we crossed a bridge built of red brick over the Oodah Nullah,64 celebrated in the annals of this country as the scene of an obstinate battle between two of their strongest native powers. It was very sultry, and near nine o’clock before we reached Radge Mah’l, as it is commonly called; but properly speaking, Rajah Ko Mahul, signifying “the property of the Rajah.”65 On approaching this place, which is of considerable extent, the country assumes a woody appearance, while innumerable small hamlets, peeping through clumps of bamboo, render it extremely pleasing to the eye. Radge Mah’l was formerly a place of great celebrity; it contained the best bazar in India, and was resorted to from the most distant provinces. Of all the arts and manufactures which rendered it celebrated when in its original grandeur, there remains only a manufacture of earthen-ware, and the art of carving on marble; of which material they make sundry small articles for sale. Here the eastern and western dawks,66 or post, meet, and exchange bags, the inhabitants of the upper * A party of the police are stationed in every serai.

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provinces not choosing to go lower, and those of the lower provinces not wishing to proceed higher up the country. The remains of a magnificent palace67 of the rajahs are still shown, but it is fast falling to decay. The whole town, shortly before our arrival there, had nearly been consumed by fire; fortunately for us, a baker and his house had escaped the conflagration, for he soon made us some excellent bread and hot rolls for breakfast next morning. The substitute for yeast, called toddy,68 is met with here in great perfection; it exudes from the palm-tree, and makes much lighter bread, without any bitter taste. At so great a distance from any European station, a baker is certainly a great convenience; and the man who, in this sequestered spot, devotes himself to the comfort and accommodation of travellers, certainly deserves greater encouragement than the casual reward of his labours. Two or three rupees a month, from Government, would keep up this establishment from generation to generation. The Hindoos will never, if they can avoid it, forsake the trade of their fathers; and are so exceedingly tenacious in this particular, that they are even scrupulous of improving upon it. I asked a baker once to make muffins, and offered to translate a receipt I had for them into Hindostanee, promising him at the same time a recommendation to all my acquaintance, which being pretty large, and at one of the principal military stations, must have been highly lucrative to him. He listened very patiently until I had finished my speech, when closing his hands in a suppliant posture, “Pardon me, Lady,” said he, “but my father never made them, my grandfather never made them, and how can I presume to do it? My grandfather brought up sixteen children, my father fourteen children, without making mufkeens, and why should not I?” Such close reasoning as this I was by no means prepared to parry, so bowing assent, I dismissed him, and there the matter ended. The Hindoos are, beyond a doubt, the least enterprising people in the world. Radge Mah’l is just eleven miles from our last encampment. We were pitched on the bank of the river, at its widest part; but having neither wind nor shade, we found the heat almost intolerable.

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CHAPTER IV. OUR route on the following day ran so near the edge of a precipice, that the smallest deviation might have proved fatal to us. A thick grass jungle, or underwood, and a range of mountains bounded our view on one side; on the other flowed the Ganges; while the bank on which we drove was narrow, and in many places much broken. The sheep and goats of Bengal are remarkably small, the latter generally white, and are, when young, the prettiest little creatures imaginable. They thrive here in great abundance; but in consequence of the number of wolves and tigers with which this neighbourhood is infested, it is necessary to keep them closely guarded. Goat’s milk, in India, is infinitely preferable, in tea, to that of cows, being much richer, and without any unpleasant taste. Over a fine down, on which our tents were pitched, we drove three miles the following morning as on a soft green velvet, and passed a large village different from any I had yet seen. The huts were of straw, or long grass, neatly plaited together, supported on four bamboo poles, with fences round them of similar materials at a little distance, so constructed as to secure their different kinds of cattle at night from beasts of prey. This kind of elastic fence, by yielding to their spring, alarms them, and they invariably sneak off. Beyond this village lay a deep sand, covered by long grass and briars, through which, as might be expected, the road proved miserably bad. Considering this as a public way, leading to all the principal European stations on the banks of the Ganges, it appears somewhat extraordinary that it should be so entirely neglected, as the badness of the road must necessarily impede commerce, not only with the provinces, but also from the Mharattah69 and other states. Within the distance of seventeen miles, no less than seven bridges appeared, almost dangerous to cross, for want of a little repair. To my observation on this subject may perhaps be replied, that Government is now making a new military road up the country another way. Very true; but can Government induce the natives to form villages on it, so great a distance from their sacred and favourite river? and if not, how are travellers, particularly natives, to procure supplies? They answer, The distance will be so much lessened. But who, in undertaking a journey of nearly a thousand miles, would not be glad to go a few miles more, in order to pass a pleasant day in some friendly habitation? In a multitude of counsellors, however, we are told, there is wisdom; I must of course conclude that every thing is arranged for the best. Great part of our way now lay through a jungle, full of tigers; but they rarely attack a human being in the day-time, particularly where cattle are so numerous as in Bengal. Our people observed one at a distance, sneaking off to a thicker covert. 44

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Gunga Pursaad, the village we next came to, was close to the river, and of very mean appearance. Like Radge Mah’l, it had lately suffered by fire; nor is it surprising that such circumstances should frequently happen, when we consider of what materials their hovels are composed, and their carelessness in throwing away the lighted particles which they have been smoking.* Another circumstance which greatly tends to lessen our commiseration, is, their extreme apathy concerning each other; for if a man succeeds in rescuing his own property, he immediately marches off with it, regardless of the entreaties of his neighbour for assistance. The natural indolence of these people is indeed very great; no plea but necessity induces them to move at all. They would like to sit and smoke the whole day long. “Better,” say they, “to sit than stand; better to lay down than sit; better to sleep than either.” If assailed by any sudden misfortune, they instantly lose all presence of mind, and run bawling about like so many mad creatures. From Gunga Pursaad, by an almost perpendicular road, we ascended the mountains. On either side grew thick underwood, and the path was covered with loose stones. By slow degrees we approached the pass of Telliah Gulley, where we found the remains of two fortified gateways, which in former times had been forced and carried by a people called The Jauts.†,70 On one side appeared an impenetrable wood, intersected by frightful chasms; on the other a tremendous precipice, on the edge of which lay a dismounted gun of large dimensions. This pass divides the province of Bengal from that of Bahar,71 into which we now entered. Bahar is now considered one of the centre provinces of the East India Company’s possessions in this direction. While I gazed on the mouldering remains of a fortified gateway, on the summit of this almost inaccessible mountain, whose turrets frowned in awful majesty on the thick wood beneath, I could almost fancy I heard the groans of some poor wretch confined within its walls. Silent, dreary, and forsaken, save by beasts of prey who prowled to quench their thirst at the mountain torrents, far from the haunts of men, was this terrific region! Nor was the descent on the other side less formidable: huge stones, over which, as before, we were obliged to scramble, perpetually impeded our progress; the poor horses could with difficulty keep upon their legs; and it required three or four men to hang on the back part of the carriage, in order to prevent its falling over, so steep was the declivity. Just at this crisis our guide declared himself unable to proceed—he was so fatigued he could go no farther. His services were however indispensable: a little wine might have recruited him, but that he would not touch; at length, by promises of additional reward, he contrived to creep along. And now, what should present itself but a camel newly slain by a tiger! the blood was still flowing from its throat, and the creature scarcely cold. The scent of the tiger was very strong; and it was conjectured that, hearing us approach, the ferocious animal had left his prey. It was some time before the horses would proceed; and not one of them, * The practice of smoking is universal throughout the eastern world. † See Dow’s Hist. of Hindostan.72

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until a bandage had been placed over his eyes. I cannot say but I shuddered a little myself. A different scene however soon dissipated the horrors of the last: a beautiful and fertile valley opened on our view, bounded at the distance of about half a mile by a range of hills still higher than those we were about to quit; while an expansive lake, covered with a variety of wild fowl, and a table land of luxuriant turf, proved a pleasing reverse to the bold scenery of its neighbouring hills. A fine smooth road conducted us through this romantic spot, amid small bushes of odoriferous shrubs, and peacocks, feeding in the full security of solitude. From hence, ascending by a gradual and almost imperceptible ascent, we caught sight of another range of hills, which still separated us from the Ganges. The first rays of the rising sun were beginning to shed their lustre on the prospect. What heart so insensible as not to feel the Divine influence! to adore the great Creator, and to think with Milton, “These are thy works, Parent of good!”73 Our road lay through a thick jungle, interspersed with wild roses and creepers of singular beauty, differing both in shape and colour from any I had seen, although some of them bore a strong resemblance to various hot-house plants in England. About eight o’clock we reached the plain on which our tents were pitched; it happened to be near a little mean village, called Palliah-poore. This place was inhabited by invalid pensioners of the East India Company’s regiments, who, when disabled in the service, have the option of retiring to one of the many villages set apart for that purpose, where a spot of ground is allotted to each individual, and a few rupees paid monthly to them by the superintendent, or visiting officer. This gratuity affords the seapoys an opportunity of sitting down comfortably with their families for the remainder of their days, and is a most admirable institution. Unfortunately for us, the pensioners of Palliahpoore happened to be Hindoos, who only keep sufficient supplies for their separate consumption, and having no bazar, our Mussulman servants came badly off. On these occasions, Hindoos have greatly the advantage; a little parched grain, and a draught of water occasionally, will support them for many days. It is computed that one rupee and a half (three shillings and nine-pence) will furnish a Hindoo with food and raiment for a month; whereas three rupees (seven shillings and sixpence) are barely sufficient for the maintenance of a Mussulman of the same rank and station, for the same space of time. About half a mile from Palliah-poore is an indigo factory. The gentleman who resided there,74 no sooner heard of our arrival, than, with that spirit of hospitality so general throughout India, he invited us to his house; which on our declining to accept, he sent his servants to our tents laden with fruit and vegetables. In the course of the day we were visited by some of the hill people, bearing earthen jars filled with the most delicious honey I ever tasted: it was perfectly white and transparent. These are quite a distinct race of people;75 they never quit their native hills but to exchange honey and wood for grain in the neighbouring villages, appear totally uncivilized, and speak a language peculiar to themselves. Their stature is short and thick, with skins nearly black; small black eyes, low foreheads, thick 46

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coarse black curly hair, on which neither men nor women wear any covering, and very little clothing at all. They are timid and inoffensive, as far as respects human beings, but very ferocious with beasts, against which they are armed with poisoned arrows, and clubs of such a size and weight, that a man not accustomed to them could scarcely wield them. The post-man, in traversing these wilds, is attended by a guide carrying a tom tom, or small drum, which he beats as he runs along, to alarm and disperse the savage animals that infest them; amongst others, the wild buffalo is not the least to be feared. I was present when one of these furious creatures attacked a gentleman on horseback, who only saved his life by the speed of the animal on which he rode. Here, for the first time since leaving Calcutta, our people drew water from a well; hitherto they had been obliged to use that of the river, or some stagnant pool. From Palliah-poore the road is rough and rather hilly, on a gravelly soil; it runs generally through a kind of brush-wood and briars; but near villages the country is well cultivated. Thus we continued travelling, at the base of a ridge of hills, until we reached the large and populous village of Kol Gong. The opposite side of the river, which we occasionally caught sight of, appeared covered with underwood, and, we were told, was full of game. I observed several herds of cattle, and that one of them had always a bell hung round his neck, to prevent the rest from straying. The village of Kol Gong stands immediately under the hills, whose sides are covered with shrubs; and in front of it runs the Ganges. Many indigo planters, and officers retired from the Company’s service, are settled here; some of them have built large houses in the European style, which gives it somewhat the appearance of England. Two most extraordinary rocks, of a pyramidal form, rear their monstrous heads about the middle of the river, nearly opposite to this place; they appear to have been formed by huge stones, piled one upon another to an immoderate height. On the pinnacle of each is the hut of a fakeer,76 or mendicant priest— the one a Hindoo, the other a Mussulman. They have each a small boat, in which they ply for charity from those who pass up and down the river, which is here two miles across. It may not be unworthy remark, that although there is not the smallest appearance of soil, shrubs and even trees grow almost to the summit of these rocks; the circumference of which, at the base, is about a hundred and fifty yards: their size is nearly equal. There is no tradition in existence respecting their origin. Approach to them in the rainy season is extremely dangerous, and many boats are wrecked here. On leaving Kol Gong, we quitted the vicinity of these awfully romantic mountains, and by a broad beaten track entered a flat and highly cultivated country. The only unpleasant circumstance was its being intersected by ravines, in which were frequently a good deal of water; in that case, our only resource was to cross them on temporary bridges of bamboo, covered with earth. In descending one of these ravines, our carriage was overturned; but the soil being sandy, it sustained no injury. We had fortunately quitted it before the accident happened. The farther we journied west of Calcutta, the hotter and stronger the wind became; but the nights 47

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were still cool; nor did the hot winds commence blowing in general until about nine o’clock, continuing from that time until sun-set. The following morning we reached Baugulpoor,77 a station for civilians, and a company or battalion of Hill Rangers.78 Here we were entertained by the Judge and his Lady,79 and were induced to remain some days. A singular circumstance occurred, in consequence of the arrival of some Missionaries, while we were at this place. These gentlemen had been holding forth in the bazar, and having gathered together a numerous assembly of the people, particularly remarked one, as being more attentive than the rest; (a corn factor, of respectable appearance;) when, going up to him, the Missionary asked if he had been convinced by the arguments he had heard in favour of the Christian religion? After a moment’s hesitation, “What will you give me,” said the native, “to become a Christian?”—“The blessings of our holy religion will reward you,” replied the Missionary. “That will not do,” returned the native; “but I’ll tell you what—If you will give me a lac of rupees, and two English ladies for my wives, I’ll consider of it.” The Missionary was indignant; and, but for the timely interference of the Mayor,80 matters might have taken a serious turn. Baugul-poor is not immediately on the Ganges, but on the banks of a fine meandering stream proceeding from the hills, which runs into it a few miles below. This stream is narrow, deep, and beautifully picturesque. At each winding is seen a handsome residence, grounds tastefully laid out, and planted with a variety of trees; amongst which, the bamboo and cocoanut appeared particularly to flourish. It is celebrated for the manufacture of cloth, known in England by the name of ginghams,81 generally made in stripes of pink or blue, and sometimes plain coloured; the white is little inferior, on a transient view, to the shawl of Cashmere.82

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CHAPTER V. FROM Baugul-poor we proceeded through a woody, populous, and highly cultivated country, somewhat intersected by ravines, and over bamboo bridges as before. The village near which we found our tents, had been latterly much annoyed by tigers, one of whom had, for several successive nights, carried off a human being. At length, become desperate, the inhabitants had formed a resolution to watch, and turn out in a body against their assailant: accordingly, armed with arrows, stones, loaded sticks, spears, and an old matchlock or two, they had sallied forth the night before, and we found them rejoicing over their vanquished enemy; and an enormous brute he was, measuring four feet two inches high, ten feet one inch and a half long, and stout in proportion. It may seem extraordinary to those who are unacquainted with the natural indolence of these people, that they should have suffered their relations and friends to be thus devoured, and remain so long inactive; but when informed that every Hindoo is a predestinarian,83 and firmly believes in the transmigration of souls, their surprise will cease. A striking instance of this occurred to me, as I was sitting one day reading in our own bungalow at Meerut:84 a kind of bustle in the verandah caused me to look up, when I perceived a large snake, of the species called by the natives cóprah capell,85 or hooded snake, advancing towards me. Starting from my seat, I called to some palankeen bearers, who were looking on, to kill him. With the greatest composure, one of them asked if that was my hookam? (order.) “To be sure it is,” I exclaimed. (The reptile meanwhile spreading his hood, and looking very fierce.) When approaching the snake, he made a profound salaam,86 and muttering, Maaf kurro, (forgive,) with a stick he knocked him on the head, and despatched him in a moment. A very slight blow is sufficient on this part to destroy them. It is singular, that when one snake has been destroyed, another is sure to come: our people consequently watched, and in a few days killed its partner. To so great an extent do the Hindoos carry their superstitious ceremonies, that they even salaam to their tools of a morning before they begin to use them, and the same when they have finished their day’s work, alleging as a reason, that it is to them they are indebted for subsistence. I verily believe this is the only species of gratitude they are acquainted with. The road continued broad and good, bounded by a bank and hedge on either side, a circumstance rather unusual in this country, where the only land-mark, generally speaking, is a ridge of earth. Removing a neighbour’s land-mark, is the source of more quarrelling and bloodshed than any other cause. You frequently hear of whole villages turning out against each other to revenge a dispute of this kind, and many lives are sacrificed. Until I knew that this was a common practice, I often wondered at hearing so much firing of matchlocks,87 particularly in the 49

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territory belonging to the Nawaab of Lucknow, and other native princes. Although an additional reason may be applicable in these places, which is, that they are most insatiable landlords, and obliged to collect their revenue by force of arms. About fourteen miles farther on, we caught sight of a range of hills running parallel with Monghir,88 a place of great celebrity for the chalybeate springs,89 both hot and cold, in its vicinity. These are found in five wells, close to each other. The water in one of them is so hot, that having dipped a glass full, you are glad to relinquish the hold. The surrounding country is mountainous, with this small chalybeate stream meandering through it, which in its course turns vegetation black. The water itself has no unpleasant taste, and is perfectly transparent. A friend of mine brought some of it in bottles to England, and, by way of experiment, took several back to India; which, on opening, were found excellent to the taste, and sparkling like Champaigne. These springs are about a hundred yards inland from the Ganges, and are guarded by Brahmans,90 who levy considerable contributions from those who for their health frequent them. They are only four miles distant from the town of Monghier. This is a large populous place on the banks of the Ganges; it is a station for invalid Seapoys, who amuse themselves and increase their incomes by the manufacture of different articles—such as household furniture; iron, tin, and brass utensils, of various descriptions; bellows neatly studded with brass nails, (an article much in request to the north-west of Monghier in the cold season,) straw hats and bonnets, leather hunting caps, umbrellas, and toys for children. A great variety of birds of beautiful plumage are also offered here for sale, and cages neatly executed. These birds are of the smaller species, and few of them sing in a domesticated state; neither do they live long out of their native hills. I purchased one, rather less than a thrush, delicately formed; its plumage of a light green colour, with a black pointed beak, an orange-colour top-knot, the throat covered by a fine black down, with a bright purple patch in the centre. This bird is called the huryah.* It was either of too delicate a nature to bear a change of climate, or we had not discovered the proper food to nourish it, for it soon shared the general fate, and survived its departure from Monghier only a fortnight. The ebony they bring from the hills to this place, in order to convert into furniture, is a fine-grained wood, and bears a beautiful polish. The town itself stands in a fertile valley, with the river Ganges winding in its front. It contains a pretty strong fort,91 situated on an eminence, and a number of good brick houses. That of the General, or commanding officer, was an excellent one, built in the European style within the walls of the fort, but commanding an extensive prospect. While at this place I witnessed a most disgusting, but, I am sorry to say, common occurrence among these bigoted people. The ceremony92 commenced by loud shouting,

* Huryah is green in Hindostanee.

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accompanied with what they miscall music, alias, a combination of barbarous sounds produced from different instruments; and an immense concourse of Hindoos, who soon ranged themselves round a wooden pole of about twenty feet high, fixed upright in the ground. On the top of this pole, in an horizontal position, were placed three very long bamboos, from which were quickly suspended three men, (brahmins,) by means of large iron hooks passed through the fleshy part of their backs, immediately under the shoulder. These hooks were affixed to rings of the same metal fastened to the bamboo. In this manner they hung for fifteen minutes, swinging round with wonderful velocity. In order to prevent the flesh from tearing through by the weight of the body, a breadth of cloth was tied round the waist, and made fast also to the hook. We were informed that this was an annual and voluntary penance, by which the objects became almost deified, and generally collected a sufficient sum of money to support them the remainder of their lives. What will not avarice, combined with superstition, effect? I was naturally desirous to know if these misguided beings were not much exhausted by loss of blood, which I concluded must flow from their wounds. The man to whom I applied for information, smiled, and told me that those who make up their minds to perform this penance, determine on it at least six months before hand, and consequently have their backs prepared for it by boring, just as for an ear-ring, first introducing a small ring, and so gradually increasing its size, until it became what we had witnessed. “The part,” added he, “by constant friction, soon becomes callous; and what appears to us so shocking an operation, is by them scarcely felt.” Mark here the cunning of the priest, who, to account for no blood appearing, (they having been kept in ignorance of the preparation,) instructs the people, that these men being saints, their blood is too precious to be spilled! After remaining two days at Monghier, we continued our route along the waterside. The road was tolerable in itself, but unpleasant from being extremely narrow, and bounded by a high bank on either side; soon, however, after passing one or two insignificant villages, we struck across the country, driving through groves of mango and tamarind trees alternately, enlivened by cultivation of grain, through which meandered a deep pellucid stream called the Rewah, bounded by banks of the liveliest verdure. Not far from this delightful spot, we observed a number of women and children collecting the berries that fell from a large tree (under which they had assembled with baskets) called the mowah tree. From these berries the Hindoos extract an ardent spirit, of which they are extremely fond. They are the size and colour of a white gooseberry, without seeds—sweet, juicy, and scarcely any flavour. We crossed the Rewah Nullah at the ferry, but not in a boat, the stream being too rapid: a substitute for one however appeared in the shape of a square wooden frame, just large enough to hold one person sitting cross-legged, with four wooden legs of about a foot long; the frame being fastened together over the top by plaited twine, similar to the charpiah before described, only more firm, so as not to sink in the middle with any weight. To each leg of this machine was affixed a round, 51

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hollow, earthen pot, with the mouth downwards; while a man to each conducted it through the water with one hand, and swam with the other, to the opposite shore. Not that we landed opposite to the place where we embarked; for no sooner had I attained the middle of the stream, than with the rapidity of lightning I was whirled a mile lower down; indeed, it appeared quite uncertain where any of us should land; and scarcely could be imagined a more ridiculous scene than our carriages, baggage, &c. presented. A considerable time elapsed before they could be collected again. A custom prevails in these provinces of having oxen to tread their corn, which reminds me of that passage in the law of Moses, wherein he says, “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.”93 Unlike the Jewish lawgiver, the natives here think it quite necessary; for you see none that are not muzzled.* The prospect varied to-day with each succeeding hour: in some parts were seen hands innumerable reaping the corn, while in others large herds of cattle appeared regaling in the most luxuriant pasture.† The immense mountains we had lately traversed, now by degrees receded from our view, and an open country lay before us. After travelling about eighteen miles, we reached a village completely inland, called Barayah, stored with every requisite for travellers. Our tents were not so agreeably placed as we could have wished, having only a single tree to cover them, and that not of sufficient magnitude to afford much shelter, although of a species called the neem,94 which often grows to a great height, and spreads considerably. This description of tree somewhat resembles the beech of England, as to size and general appearance; but its leaves are differently formed, these being long, narrow, and regularly jagged to the point. It flourishes all over the interior of Hindostan, but is seldom found near the coast. The leaves of this tree have the peculiar property of healing flesh-wounds when applied cold; and as a hot poultice, are equally beneficial in maturing an inflammation, and producing suppuration. When divested of the bark, the wood possesses a smell which is so offensive to snakes, that they will not approach it; for which reason, when in tents, we made a practice of laying branches round the feet of our beds, particularly on a sandy soil, where these reptiles are chiefly found. I have frequently seen them lured from their holes by the sound of a small pipe, not unlike a shepherd’s reed, and kept at bay by a stick newly cut from the neem tree; during which, a person from behind has contrived to despatch him by a blow on the head—(the only vital part.) * There are no corn mills in this country. The operation of grinding it is performed by placing two flat circular stones upon each other, with a stake through the centre, and a handle on the top, which is turned by one woman, while another supplies the machine with grain. Both women sit cross-legged on the ground, which is plaistered with a kind of clay made with cow-dung, forming a hard dry floor, so that the meal is preserved perfectly free from dirt. This method of grinding corn elucidates that portion of Scripture mentioned in Matt. xxiv. 41, “Two women,” &c. † The oxen of Hindostan have all humps upon their shoulders: it is a fleshy substance, about the size of a moderate round of beef. When salted, these humps are most excellent eating; being regularly streaked, fat and lean.

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To compensate for the want of shade, we were placed at Barayah close to a well of most excellent water; which is a circumstance of some importance in this climate, but particularly so during the hot winds, when so much is required to wet the tatties. There are several manufactories at Barayah; the largest of them is of coarse cloth, on account of the East India Company. On quitting this place, the following day we drove principally through groves of mango, whose boughs were bending under the weight of ripe fruit, passed many populous villages, and halted at Derriah-poore. Clumps of bamboo became less frequent as we journied towards the West: they are plants that require constant moisture, and consequently are seen most flourishing in the province of Bengal. I observed also that the goats here were of a much larger size, and that an infinite number of small grey squirrels, striped with black, having long bushy tails, were domiciliated in all the villages; but saw none of the colour we are accustomed to find in England. About midnight, so tremendous a storm of thunder, lightning, and rain, came on, as threatened to carry away the tent; it literally poured down in torrents. I had scarcely time to hurry on my clothes before the water rushed through our tent like a rapid river, which continued for near an hour, and so damaged the tent equipage, that the march of our baggage was delayed until morning,* which deprived us of many comforts on our next encamping ground. I would advise travellers to arm themselves with patience before they leave home, and not be dismayed, although the path be sometimes rugged, reflecting that the occasional deprivation of an indulgence never fails to enhance its value. What reconciled me in a great measure to waiting three hours for my breakfast, was, the delightful spot our avant couriér95 had selected for us to spend the day on. It was a verdant turf close to the Ganges, shaded by trees, with an extensive prospect on either side. The air had been cooled by the storm of the preceding night, and every herb breathed fragrance. About a hundred yards from us stood a small romantic cottage belonging to the superintending officer of an invalid station† at about half a mile distant, called Moor Ko Choky. Sitting at my writingdesk, I counted above sixty sail of vessels laden with merchandize, sailing down, or tracking up, this beautiful river: the traffic on it is scarcely credible to those who have not witnessed it. The next morning we proceeded twenty miles farther, and found another cottage belonging to the same officer. The old man in whose charge it had been left, invited us to occupy it: it was delightfully cool, and we passed a most agreeable day. The country in this direction is well wooded, although covered by cultivation. It abounds in large populous villages, through which runs an exceedingly good road, enlivened by occasional views of the Ganges. Some long shady lanes through * All the tents not in use, and heavy baggage, cattle, &c. start at night, to be ready on the next encamping ground. † These villages for Seapoy pensioners are called tannahs.96

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which we passed, reminded me forcibly of my native country. This place is called Umal Golah, rather too long a march from Moor Ko Choky, as we did not reach it until nine o’clock, when the heat had become quite oppressive. It would have been better had we known it to have halted at a place called Bar, through which we passed, about eight miles short of our present encampment. This district of Bahar is by far the most populous and flourishing of any I have seen. It is, in fact, the granary of the upper provinces, although, properly speaking, not one of them, having been classed with Benares97 as the centre ones. Both the upper and centre provinces are under the jurisdiction of the same commissioners. The lower ones have an establishment of their own, under the immediate superintendance of the Governor General, who resides there. Our road from Umal Golah was by no means agreeable, from its running so near the water’s edge; while the bank was, in many places, so broken as to render remaining in the carriage quite unsafe. By alternate riding and walking, therefore, we pursued our way to the village of Bicket-poore, about twelve miles farther, and found our encampment under the shade of some fine large trees, about a hundred yards inland. The bazar is a good one, but the well-water all bad. For the last two days the wind had blown strong from the eastward, and rendered the atmosphere so cool that we had no occasion for tatties, and could enjoy the delightful prospect around us. A most friendly invitation met us here from one of the Judges of the Court of Appeal at Patna,98 from whence we were only ten miles distant; and another from the superintending surgeon.99 These attentions are always accompanied by a present of fruit and vegetables, which are not to be purchased on the road. In Bicket-poore and its vicinity, table and other linen is manufactured, for which Patna has been famed from time immemorial. The weavers’ looms are placed under large groves of trees, the ground being kept as clean as the floor of any dwelling-house—not a single leaf is suffered to remain on it. These looms are upon the simplest plan imaginable, and worked with shuttles. They are erected in the morning, and taken away in the evening. This part of Bahar is particularly famous for cocoa-nut and palm-trees; from the latter they make excellent matting to cover the floors of houses. The road (as is customary when running by the side of the river) is bad, leading through deep ravines to Futtuah, a very large place, inhabited only by weavers; in consequence of which there is no encamping ground, and we were obliged to send our tents sixteen miles farther on, through Patna, to a place called Bankipore,100 where the Company’s civil servants reside. From the eastern to the western gate of Patna is seven measured miles, in one continued street of shops. The inhabitants are all either Hindoos or Mussulmen. Patna is supposed to be, next to Benares, the richest place in India. I never saw a place so full of children—early of a morning you might almost walk upon their heads. Making this observation to a gentleman present, “A Mussulman,” said he, “is so desirous that his possessions should descend to his posterity, as frequently to avail himself of a law which empowers a man (in case his wife does not produce a child within some given period) to 54

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repudiate her, and marry another; for ‘A barren woman,’ say they, ‘is abandoned of God; and a man who has no progeny, can never go to heaven.’ ”101 The city of Patna and its dependencies came into possession of the English in the year 1764.102 It was governed at that time by* Meer Kossim Khan,103 Subah (or chief) of Bengal, with a German as his General-in-Chief, named Sumroo, (or Sombre,)104 husband to the Begum of that name,105 of whom I shall have occasion to speak as I proceed. After sundry engagements at Moorshedabad, Patna, &c. &c., and contesting all the passes over the mountains, even to the gates of Monghier, Meer Kossim Khan was driven into that fortress,106 where he sustained a siege of nine days, and then capitulated. Previous to this occurrence, Sumroo, with a barbarity almost unparalleled, invited some English gentlemen then at Patna to dine with him; and in a moment of conviviality, while seated round his table, he caused them to be massacred.107,† This outrage, however, was not long unrevenged: Major Adams, of the Company’s service, with the Seapoys under his command, in four months from this period completed the conquest of Bengal, driving Meer Kossim and his followers to seek refuge with Sujah Dowlah, then Emperor of Delhi.108

* Meer signifies a prince. † Since this period no Englishman has resided within the gates of Patna.

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CHAPTER VI. HAVING many friends at Bankipore, we were prevailed upon to remain there some days, which afforded me an opportunity of witnessing some ceremonies of the natives which I had not before seen, and of learning an incident so truly characteristic of the apathy of a Hindoo, that I cannot avoid mentioning it here. A malefactor having committed some crime for which he was sentenced to be hanged, received the awful fiat with so much coolness, that the Judge was disposed to believe the man had not understood him, and accordingly caused it to be repeated by one of the native counsellors. The man replied, that he understood the Judge very well. “You are to be hanged tomorrow,” repeated the barrister. “Saheb ko koosi,” “as the gentleman pleases,” returned the culprit, and followed his conductor out of court, apparently unconcerned. A few days elapsed before the sentence could be put in execution; and when brought forth, as they supposed, to suffer the punishment of his crime, there appeared quite a different person. This being reported to the Judge, he was ordered to be brought before him, and it was discovered that the other had given this man three rupees to be hanged in his place. The former one had of course made his escape; and, strange as it may appear, the substitute was afraid of being discharged, lest he might insist upon his refunding the three rupees, which he had spent, he said, on metais, cakes of which they are particularly fond, made of sugar and flour. Another instance, though of a less serious nature, occurred in the person of a palankeen bearer in our service, who asked leave to go to his village and be married. This was the only time of the year they do marry. His master told him that he could not spare him immediately, but that, before the marrying season was over, he should go. “A, eha Saheb,” “very well, Sir,” replied the bearer, “next year will do as well.” Hence it may be concluded that parties in this country do not always marry from attachment; in fact, girls are betrothed by their parents before they attain their seventh birthday,109 without regard to difference of age in the man— being of the same caste is quite sufficient. When all arrangements are made, the bride elect, decked out in all her finery, is introduced to her intended husband, and then retires to feast with the females of both families; while the males regale separately for two or three days, or as long as the parents of the girl can afford it.* They then return to their several occupations; and she is allotted an apartment in her father’s house, out of which she must not stir again unveiled. About three years after this ceremony, she is supposed capable of managing a family, and the husband returns to claim her. The head man of the village is then applied to, who draws up the marriage contract, which he signs himself, and several other * The males and females of families never eat together.

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witnesses. They send cardamum seeds, as notices of invitation, (or cloves, if they are rich,) to all the persons they wish to see, notifying by a special messenger the day the marriage is to take place. These tokens are sent three days previous to the grand entertainment; but a smaller one is provided on the two former days, when none but very intimate friends are expected. On the second day, the women (all except the bride, and any sister or relative that she may have under seven years of age) go in procession to the house of the bridegroom, and tinge his head and the palms of his hands with mindy,110 a sweet-smelling shrub, which, when bruised and mixed with water, produces a beautiful red colour. After this operation he adorns his person by putting on a yellow turban and waistband, with a pair of yellow cloth shoes, and mounting a horse or poney as gaily caparisoned as himself, returns with some of his own friends at the head of the procession, when, as I before mentioned, the parties regale themselves—the men on the outside of the house, under an awning erected for the occasion, the women within. Every member of the family to which she belongs, feels it incumbent upon them on this occasion to present some pledge of friendship. I have seen the daughter of a rich merchant, or of a banker, go off with two or three loaded waggons in her suite. The bridal party spend most part of their time in feasting, smoking, and parading the streets, accompanied by all sorts of noisy instruments, to the great annoyance of the more peaceable inhabitants, particularly at night. The bride is conveyed from her father’s house in a kind of covered cart, with curtains drawn closely round, (in which she contrives sometimes to make a small fracture just to peep through,) to that of her husband, attended by himself and his friends, some on horseback, some on foot, (but every one sports a little bit of yellow upon his person,) firing matchlocks, flourishing swords, and scampering round the bride’s carriage with every demonstration of joy. Many other vehicles filled with company follow in her train, and the ceremony concludes with a wedding supper. The practice of using mindy is not confined to marriage ceremonies: no woman in Hindostan considers herself dressed without it. They rub it inside their hands and fingers, as well as at the roots of their nails, both of fingers and toes; while to heighten the brilliancy of their eyes, they describe a black line close to the edge of the lid with a powder mixed in water, called Soolmah: this they perform by dipping a small wooden bodkin into the mixture, and drawing it gently along the eye-lash when the eye is closed. This must have been an ancient custom in the East, for it is spoken of in the second book of Kings, “She put her eyes in painting.”111 They also consider long hair as one of their principal ornaments, cutting it only when the moon is in the increase; and it cannot be denied that these women have the finest hair of any in the world; perhaps the quantity of oil which they daily apply to the roots, may be an additional reason for its being so extremely soft and luxuriant. The Hindoos are uniformly tenacious in whatever respects ancient custom, but particularly so in regard to the difference of caste. A young Hindoo girl, of superior beauty, had by chance been seen and admired by a youth of the same religion, but of inferior caste. Knowing the latter to be an insurmountable barrier to the parents’ consent, he at length prevailed on her to elope with and marry him in his own 57

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village. Her family soon discovered their retreat, and contrived by a stratagem to get her again in their power. Accordingly, her mother was despatched to negociate the pretended reconciliation, and prevail on her to return, in order that the marriage might be properly celebrated at her father’s house. The poor girl, delighted at the prospect of so fortunate an issue, readily accompanied her mother, and was received by her father and brother with open arms. When three days had elapsed, and no marriage feast been proclaimed, she began to suspect the treachery, and determined on seizing the first opportunity of returning to the husband she had chosen. A favourable one seemed to present itself; but she had not been gone long, before she was overtaken by her brother, who affected to sympathise with, and offered to see her safe home. The road lay through an unfrequented path, which taking advantage of, he drew his sword,* and severed her head from the body. She was found the next morning weltering in her blood. The father and brother were immediately apprehended, and, wonderful to relate, not only confessed the crime, but exulted in the accomplishment of it: nor was it in the power of the Judge to punish them; for, unhappily, the Mahometan law,112 by which natives of every description are tried, is so arbitrary as to invest parents with unlimited authority over their children, even to the depriving them of life; and it being proved in evidence that the son only obeyed his father’s orders, they were both acquitted. The Hindoos are the original inhabitants, and by far the largest population in this country, although the sovereigns and chiefs are Mahometans, being descendants of those Tartar, Persian, or Arabic princes, that formerly conquered and gave laws to Hindostan.113 The Brahmins however remain despotic in all points that regard religion and superstitious ceremonies. These men worship bulls, peacocks, &c. Monkeys are also held sacred by them; and a vegetable called toolsey,114 with many other things that I do not at this moment recollect. They do not eat any thing that is not prepared by one of their own caste, and commonly dress their own food. To kill a Brahmin is one of the five sins for which, according to their creed, there is no expiation. There are a variety of castes, or tribes; but the order of preeminence is indisputably fixed. An Hindoo of inferior caste would not presume to adopt the customs of a superior; severe punishment, and even death, would be the consequence. A Hindoo, or any other persuasion, may, on payment of a fine, and submitting to some trifling ceremonies, become a Mussulman†; but no one can become a Hindoo:115 he must actually be born of Hindoo parents, or he cannot embrace their religion. The Hindoos are the only cultivators of the soil; and although now peaceful cultivators of it, they have not laid aside their ancient custom of taking into the field their sword and shield. They are merchants also, and bankers; consequently, Patna being a mercantile place, its principal inhabitants are Hindoos.

* The meanest peasant in these provinces wears a sword. † Mussulmen are forbidden by their religion to take interest for money, they therefore seldom engage in trade.

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On quitting Bankipore we travelled on a fine level road, for about eight miles in a straight line, to Danapore,116 the military station of this district for infantry regiments. Here are excellent barracks for nearly four thousand men, and good accommodation at a little distance for their officers. Danapore shows an extensive front to the Ganges, on whose bank it stands. It contains a capital bazar, and a number of good mechanics, by whom furniture and carriages, in the European style, are neatly executed. Leather is also cured and dressed here in a superior style. Their boots, shoes, harness, &c. are equal to those brought from England. Some English shop-keepers have settled at this place; but the natives imitate so well, that, I am told, my countrymen do not find the business answer. Wax candles are better made here than anywhere, and are indeed most excellent; in short, either here or at Patna, every thing for ornamenting house or person may be procured for money. From hence we proceeded to Moneah,117 distant only eight miles. This was formerly a station for cavalry; but since the acquisition of territory in the western, or upper provinces, it has been evacuated, and bears at this time no trace of a cantonment. The village of Moneah consists of one street a mile and a half in length; beyond which are many religious buildings of considerable antiquity, all in good repair. In the centre of each enclosure is a deep square pond, enclosed by brick walls, not higher than the footpath, with steps down the four sides, ornamented by figures carved in stone. The evening of our arrival happened to be a festival, so that we had the pleasure to see these temples decorated with flowers, brilliantly illuminated, and thronged with people. Their musical instruments do not in general produce agreeable sounds to an English ear; but really, on this occasion, they were rather pleasing than otherwise. We found here such fine pasture for the cattle, that we halted the next day to indulge them. I also remarked some fine peeple trees,118 the branches and leaves of which form the principal food for elephants. We now crossed a wide navigable river, called the Soane,119 famous for beautiful pebbles and the salubrity of its water, and took up our abode for a few days at the house of the Judge at Arrah,120 whose Lady had been many years collecting these stones, and had a very valuable assortment: they bear a high polish, and vary considerably as to colour. The most curious and admired are pure milky white, with a small green weed in the centre of each, as distinctly traced as if it had been done with a pencil. She kindly presented me with a set, and we parted reluctantly on both sides. Arrah is a notorious place for snakes. Our next encampment was at Moraad Gunge. The road to it is remarkably good, and beautifully diversified with trees. We passed through long vistas of different kinds, completely sheltered from the sun. This is a plentiful country for geese, and no less famous for banditti, who often surprise the sleeping traveller with a drawn sword, sharpened at either edge, flourishing over him. They seldom attack armed persons, their chief object being to obtain plunder, with which they are off like lightning; and the detection of them is very difficult. Bodgepoore, the next place we came to, is one of the least civilized we had met with, and we might be truly said to have quitted the haunts of tigers, and entered 59

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the more ferocious ones of men. Scarcely had we retired for the night, before an alarm of thieves was given; but our people being upon the alert, it soon subsided. A short time afterwards an immense cavalcade, on foot as well as on horseback, and in vehicles of different descriptions, passed by, which we understood to be a wedding party conducting the bride, daughter to a rich merchant of Patna, to her future habitation, and that the wealth with them was considerable. All was again quiet, but not destined to remain so; for presently we heard the report of fire-arms, and concluding that the new-married couple were attacked, most of our servants instantly followed their master in the direction whence the sounds proceeded, and fortunately arrived in time to save the property, but too late, alas! to prevent bloodshed—two of their attendants were already cut down, never to rise again in this world. The banditti,121 or dakoities,122 as they are called, upon perceiving so strong a reinforcement made off, vowing vengeance against all parties. These robbers are pretty accurately conjectured to be in the pay of a rajah who resides there. Some years ago, before the country was cleared of underwood and thicket, no person could pass that road without being attacked; but on the appointment of Mr. Deane to the collectorship123 of Arrah,124 he caused the jungle to be cleared away, and the lands put in a state of cultivation; so that having no shelter, they were afraid to continue their depredations, which are not any thing like so frequent as they were before. Indigo flourishes particularly well in this part of India.

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CHAPTER VII. THE next morning we reached Buxar125 to breakfast, and were most hospitably received by the Colonel Commandant and his family,126 who reside in the fort. Seven ladies and four gentlemen assembled at this meal—a disproportion very unusual in this country. The battle of Buxar, with the reduction of its fort, makes no inconsiderable figure in history. Some monuments of the English officers that fell before it still remain. It is now a station for invalid pensioners of the Company’s European regiments. From the eminence on which it stands, being not more than a hundred yards from the Ganges, the windings of that river are seen in great perfection: the vast extent of country it commands, altogether forming a most delightful prospect. Soon after breakfast, a servant of the Colonel’s came running in to say that a tiger had been seen in a patch of sugar-cane near the village, and that many people were gone out after him; elephants and horses were immediately ordered to be got ready, and our gentlemen sallied forth. About an hour after, a clergyman,127 one of the party, returned, more pale if possible than Hamlet’s ghost.128 He had seen the tiger, been thrown from his horse, and scrambled back he knew not how. We could scarcely pity him, for he had mounted in spite of all remonstrance. Every one told him how dangerous it was to pursue a tiger in any other mode than on an elephant: but he had “a remarkably steady horse, who would start at nothing, and gallop away from any thing:” the latter proved true; for he galloped away from his master, and was not heard of until the evening. The other gentlemen succeeded in killing the tiger, who received nineteen rifle balls before he fell. On the first of May we bid adieu to our friends at Buxar, and crossed the Ganges to Mahomedabad, a town about twelve miles from the opposite shore. The road to it was pretty fair; many large groves of mango and tamarind trees appeared near it; in one of the former they had pitched our tents. A canal runs through the town, navigable only in the winter season, but at all times containing a sufficient quantity of water for the purposes of irrigation. The distance from hence to Ghazipore129 is nearly the same, and a delightful drive it is, being chiefly between rows of large trees on a broad level road. Although solicited by the Judge of Ghazipore130 to take up our abode at his house, we preferred pitching the tents on a plain between the military and civil stations, that we might be near our friends at both. On the day of our arrival we dined with the General in command,131 and the day following with the Judge of the district.132 The heat of Ghazipore at this season is beyond description: the soil is a deep sand, which when thoroughly heated continues so for a length of time; while the country is flat, and every where covered with buildings. It certainly felt many degrees hotter here than at Buxar. Ghazipore is famous for the manufacture 61

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of cloth, particularly of the kinds used for shirts and bedlinen, which, besides being beautifully fine, are very durable. Otta of roses,133 and rose-water also, are produced here in great perfection; indeed the country round Ghazipore is one complete rose garden. On the morning of the 4th we quitted Ghazipore, and reached the village of Niah Serai, where a patch of fine large mango trees afforded us ample shelter: near them was a well with plenty of water, pure to the eye, but extremely nauseous to the taste; from which we judged it to possess some chalybeate properties. From hence we continued our route to Sidepoore, or rather a few miles beyond it. As the morning proved remarkably cool for the season, and the road good, we did not halt there, but proceeded to cross a ferry over the river Goomty,* so called from its numerous windings. This stream is fortunately narrow, for the boats are mere nut-shells, and badly constructed. Our tent was close to the opposite shore. From this place to Chobipore we drove the next morning, chiefly through ravines, and within a short distance of the Ganges the whole way. Four years ago this road was almost impassable; it has lately undergone a complete repair, and is now comparatively good. From Chobipore to Benares is a beautiful drive on an excellent road, between avenues of trees the whole way. We reached the house of a friend to breakfast, and remained there until the 10th, dining the first and last days with him, and the intermediate ones with the General commanding,134 and the Chief Judge of the Court of Appeal.135 Benares is one of the largest cities in India, and perhaps the richest. It extends five miles along the bank of the river, and three miles inland. It has never been completely conquered by the Mahometans; between whom and their Hindoo neighbours no good understanding prevails. It requires no little vigilance on the part of the British Government to keep them tolerably civil to each other. Half the city is inhabited by Hindoos, the other half by Mussulmen, as perfectly distinct as if the division were marked by a line; yet, during their festivals, it is the most difficult thing in the world to prevent their interfering with each other. This is the only place in which so rooted an enmity appears, and it is kept alive by the Hindoos boasting that this, their most sacred city, was never conquered. It is a system of policy on the part of the English to protect, as far as is in their power, the religious ceremonies of both; since it is chiefly owing to these means that we keep our possessions in the country.136 Benares is particularly reverenced by the Hindoos, as they have a tradition that their principal deity sprung from thence. At particular seasons of the year it is the resort of pilgrims from all parts of the eastern world. The Hindoos, its ancient inhabitants, were attacked, and for a short time overpowered, by the Emperor Aurungzebe;137 but by degrees regained their footing, and are at this time the greater proportion of its inhabitants. This prince, in order * The Goomty swarms with otters.

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to evince his triumph, caused the places of Hindoo worship to be only partially destroyed, and Musjeeds,138 or Mussulman ones, to be erected on the same scite. This pitiful act has been the source of much discontent, and even bloodshed. In the month of November, 1809,139 so serious a dispute arose in consequence, that it became necessary to send for troops from Ghazipore to assist those stationed at Benares, to prevent a general massacre; and it is highly probable that while a vestige of these ancient buildings remain, their animosity will not subside. There is always praying going on, of one kind or other—the streets are overrun by their different priests. When the Brahmins wish to assemble a congregation, or at the usual hour of prayer, they mount to the top of one of the minarets and blow a horn; and this happens two or three times a day; while Mussulmen go about tingling a little bell. You may always know when a Mahometan is becoming desperate or enraged, by his turban being pulled over the left temple, leaving the other side exposed. On this signal, those of his friends who are inclined to support him, arm themselves, rally round, and soon the affray commences. “Go, set thy turban straight,” is a kind of defiance, expressive also of contempt, which they are a good deal in the habit of using to each other. This puts me in mind of an old saying, “Do you cock your hat at me?”—“Sir, I cock my hat.”140 There are a set of people (Mussulmen) at this place called bankas,141 or prize-fighters, who are often extremely troublesome. An English gentleman was met, a short time since, by one of these on a narrow tracking path by the side of the river, where there was barely room to pass: neither seemed disposed to turn out of a straight line; but putting on a very fierce look, the Mussulman pulled the turban over his left eyebrow, and drew his sword, muttering kaufur, which means infidel. The gentleman had nothing else for it, than to make a dart past, and push his opponent down the bank; but his life would have paid the forfeit of this temerity, if he had not quickly escaped to his boat, and shoved off. This place is justly celebrated for the beauty of its manufactures, particularly of gauzes, (white and coloured,) either spotted, sprigged, or striped, with silver or gold, worn by natives of rank as turbans; also a kind of stuff for dresses, called kinkob: this is composed of different coloured silks, brocaded with gold or silver sprigs, forming a valuable and superb texture. In the houses of great men, you frequently see cushions (the only seats they use) covered with it. Ivory is turned here with great taste, particularly chess men, a game of which natives of rank are generally fond. It is likewise a good place to purchase pearls, diamonds, and other precious stones, as well as shawls, there being a number of merchants residing here who trade largely in these articles; sandal wood, boxes, children’s toys most beautifully executed, &c. &c. They also excel in the art of dyeing, their colours are remarkably fine. Mahometans have four important periods in the year.142 First, the birth of Mahomet,143 which continues seven days, when every Mussulman that can afford it kills a goat to regale his friends. 63

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The second is the fast of the Ramzaan, or Ramdaan,144 (Lent,) commencing on the first of September, and including the period of thirty days, in which time Mahomet is said to have travelled from Mecca145 to Medina.146 During this season his followers are required to abstain from animal food. A strict observer will not smoke tobacco, or drink water, from sun-rise to sun-set, or omit attending prayers at the mosque at noon, where every one mutters his own; and when the moollah (priest) thinks they have had sufficient time, he begins. Every Mussulman, when he prays, sets his face towards Mecca, first standing, then sitting on his heels, bending his body forward at intervals, so that his forehead may touch the ground at each obeisance. The Ramzaan ends by a grand feasting. The third is the commencement of their new year,147 computed by the lunar month, when the property of every man is estimated, and a tenth of it collected to support the poor. On this occasion they cleanse, thoroughly repair, and beautify their dwellings. A fourth is called the Moharum, to commemorate the deaths of Hussan and Houssein,148 two brothers, who were killed on the plains of Kerbela,149 near Mecca, in endeavouring to defend each other. It commences on the 10th of October, and lasts ten days; during which the Mahometans wear green turbans, their mourning colour, as is yellow that of rejoicing. During this period they march in procession through the streets, following a decorated bier150 containing two coffins, round which they occasionally discharge fire-arms to denote the cause, flourishing drawn swords, &c. It is extremely dangerous for a person of a different persuasion to touch any part of this paraphernalia; for those who accompany it are worked up to such a pitch of fanaticism, that they would not hesitate to sacrifice him on the spot. It is really lamentable to see with what vehemence they beat their breasts, crying out, “Houssein, Hussan, Hussan, Houssein,” until they are so bruised, and hoarse that you can scarcely hear them. Several of these biers are seen in different parts of the town, which in the evening are surrounded by lamps. The people watch them to prevent their being extinguished. Houssein was the son of Ali, and married Fatima, the daughter of Mahomet. Ali was Mahomet’s nephew. This mournful scene is immediately succeeded by a festival of the Hindoos, sacred to the God of Wealth.151 It is the beginning of their year, and answers by our computation to a period between the 15th of October and the 15th of November, as the moon happens to be, commencing on the tenth day after the full moon. On this occasion they illuminate their houses and temples; dress in their best apparel, covered with wreaths of flowers; parading the streets with music, fireworks, &c.; and indulging in every species of dissipation. Previous to this festival the Hindoos whitewash their houses, merchants take an account of their stock, and settle their yearly accounts; when their treasure chests, covered with silk and flowers, are carried triumphantly before them. On the 10th of May, the wind blowing intolerably hot, we bid adieu to Benares, making a march of sixteen miles to a large town called Tumunshabad; and the next day proceeded to Gopee Gunge, where I purchased some carpets equal to 64

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those made at Wilton, in Wiltshire.152 This place is twenty miles from our last encampment. From hence to Sidabad the road was very indifferent, particularly for the last eight miles, which being in the dominions of the Nawaab of Oude, whose seat of government is at Lucknow, some distance from it, had been totally neglected; and so dangerous is this part of the country considered on account of thieves who murder as well as plunder, that we made one long march, instead of two short ones, to get out of it, although met at Sidabad by two armed horsemen, sent by the Judge of Allahabad153 for our protection; but “a burnt child dreads the fire,”154 and we had on a former occasion owed our lives to stratagem at this very place. The attacking party creep into the camp upon their hands and knees, armed with two-edged knives, quite naked, and oiled all over to prevent being caught; and often come in such numbers, that it is impossible to escape them. We now entered a ferry-boat, in order to cross over to Allahabad,155 which is situate on the opposite bank of the Ganges. Not without difficulty was this desirable end accomplished; for about midway, a bank of sand had lately made its appearance, extending at least a quarter of a mile over. This it was necessary to pass, and reembark, as we were told, on the other side of it. This bank being a quicksand, I was advised to keep moving while the horse was putting into the carriage; and even in that short space of time he sunk considerably above the fetlock joint, which so alarmed him, that the moment we were seated he plunged forward, darting carriage and all into the opposite stream. Fortunately for us, it proved fordable; but the force of the stream carried us much lower down than we intended to have gone. For above fifteen minutes we were in this perilous situation. To say that I had no fears, would be deviating from the truth—I certainly did feel considerably alarmed, but endeavoured to suppress it, that I might not confuse my charioteer. The water was one instant running through the carriage, the next, one wheel was upon a bank of sand, and then we sunk altogether in a hole. The horse was powerful, and he had a skilful driver; so that, with the aid of Providence, we at length landed in safety. An almost perpendicular bank of three or four feet, to ascend, was nothing after the danger we had passed; and the horse did not seem less sensible than ourselves of our escape, for with one plunge he drew the carriage upon even ground. Here we met the Judge’s chariot, which conveyed us to his house about three miles farther. Allahabad was formerly a fortified city, with a strong fortress and palace, built by the Emperor Acbar156 at the confluence of the rivers Jumna and Ganges; but having for some years been neglected, it was rapidly falling to decay, until repaired and garrisoned by the British Government. A considerable revenue is derived at this place from the Mahrattas, who come at particular seasons of the year to perform their ablutions.157 The new city is a mile and a half inland. Fish is particularly fine here, and in great abundance. During our stay at Allahabad, it was understood that a Hindoo woman had signified her intention to end her existence on the funeral pile of her husband.158 The Judge, with whom we were on a visit, sent for her father, and endeavoured to prevail on him to dissuade her. He said he had done all he could; but she was firmly 65

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determined upon it. The Judge then sent for her, but talked with as little success; she was bent upon immortalizing her name, and, as she said, of showing her family the way to heaven. In short, the day was fixed, and a gentleman who was present gave me a description of this horrid ceremony. An immense concourse of people having assembled, her approach was announced by the blowing of horns and beating of drums: next came a number of Brahmins, bearing lighted torches, and singing some appropriate stanzas to inspire this victim of credulity, who followed, attended by her relations and friends, all bearing torches but herself. She was richly dressed, having her hands, neck, and feet, covered with ornaments. The dead body of her husband was carried on a bier immediately before her. It was then placed upon the funeral pile, the priests forming a circle round. The father and mother having led the young woman within the circle, left her there, and retired among the crowd. Music, or rather discordant sounds, struck up, and the Brahmins again sung, while she marched slowly round the pile; when, divesting herself of her ornaments, with wonderful presence of mind, she distributed them to her weeping friends; then, exchanging her veil of white muslin for one of crimson, she was presented with a lighted torch, (the Brahmins meantime exhorting her by songs and gestures to be firm,) and again marched round the pile. She stopped a few moments, salaamed to all she knew, then putting the torch into the hand of her father, she calmly ascended the funeral pile, and seated herself by the side of her husband, amid the shouts and plaudits of the multitude. Her father, he believed, set fire to the pile; but a number of torches were instantly applied, drums beating, trumpets sounding, horns blowing, and guns firing, so that all was at once a scene of confusion and noise, sufficient to have drowned her cries if she had uttered any. Among other things, he observed that they threw a quantity of oil, salt, and dry straw, to increase the fury of the flame; and in less than ten minutes, nothing remained but ashes. What rendered this sacrifice the more unnatural, was, his being an old man, and she a young woman; but then he was a Brahmin! and it is considered incumbent on the widow of a Brahmin to pay this respect to his remains, or become an outcast from her family for ever. These unfortunate women are taught to believe that, by this single act, they expiate not only their own, but the sins of all their family, and that their souls fly instantly to Paradise. In some instances, I was told that the priests are obliged to assist their exhortations by copious draughts of opium, which first intoxicates, then stupifies their victim. The British Government in India are doing all they can to prevent the barbarous custom, by not suffering it to take place within reach of their troops; but the deluded natives find means to evade their vigilance. The origin of this sacrifice is by some imputed to the extreme jealousy of the men, others to the conduct of the women themselves, who are uniformly skilled in the properties of herbs and drugs, and have not unfrequently been known to have recourse to them, on finding themselves mismatched in wedlock. Girls having no option, are often married to old decrepid men, who use them like slaves, and are so jealous, that when out of their sight they are invariably under lock and key. Tradition indeed relates, that the circumstance of poisoning husbands was at one time so frequent, that the Brahmins established this mode of securing their own safety. 66

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The day following I was attacked by inflammation on the lungs, which detained us here for several days. We then proceeded to Konkerabad, distant from Allahabad twenty-four miles; but, with the assistance of our friend’s horses, we were enabled to accomplish it with great ease. Our pedestrian domestics made two marches of it—they were accordingly dispatched the day before. We drove next day to the house of a friend at Kurrah, twelve miles farther, where we remained two days. Kurrah is a very ancient city, formerly carrying on considerable traffic in cloth, muslins, table-linen, &c. The remains of some magnificent mausoleums are still in existence. This, like most other Mussulman towns, is well supplied with poultry, eggs, milk, vegetables, and fruit, and every other requisite for travellers. Diamonds are found in this province; but they are not an article of commerce, on account of the great expense necessary to work the mines. The heat of the weather had now become so great, that it was judged preferable to march in the evening instead of the morning; we consequently started about six o’clock on the 2nd of June, and pursued our journey as far as Haut Gong, a place of great antiquity, but rapidly falling to decay.

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CHAPTER VIII. HERE the remains only of spacious mansions are to be seen. The country is overgrown by a thick low jungle, (underwood,) through which the road lies—it is consequently very bad. A recent and partial storm of rain had fallen so heavily that we actually waded through mud for nearly fourteen miles. Two miles farther brought us to Futtehpore,159 where we occupied the house of a Nawaab for two days, which gave us an opportunity of seeing the place. It is a large town full of inhabitants, chiefly Mussulmen, some of whom were very attentive in showing the beauties and curiosities of it, and, amongst others, a jail that had lately been built by Government, where the prisoners supported themselves by working at the loom. This is a great punishment to the generality of them, who would otherwise sit with their hookahs160 in their mouths, listening to a twice told tale, and smoking until they fell asleep. It happened to be Friday (their Sabbath) when we were there, so the looms were not at work; but the plan pursued is most excellent. Whatever a man can earn beyond what is necessary for his support, forms a fund, which is given to him when the term of his probation is expired, in order that distress may not be pleaded as an excuse for crime. Between Haut Gong and Futtehpore is a village, famous for turning wooden utensils; we purchased some that were extremely neat. The country is flat and low; the surface of it is a fine white sand, in many places overrun with a small prickly bush, in others with a broad-leafed shrub, called dok, from which exudes a gum that produces an elegant varnish for the painter, and a valuable article in medicine. As the moon was not expected to rise until a late hour, we commenced our journey this evening by torch light. About eight o’clock we came to a spot where, the guide told us, seven native travellers had been murdered ten nights before, and the perpetrators had not yet been apprehended. This account led me to scrutinize the countenance of the narrator, for, as it is customary to take guides from one village to another, they are sometimes conjectured to be a party concerned in these transactions; I could discover, however, nothing but vacancy in his. It is lamentable to find instances of cruelty and avarice so common. So great is the thirst of gain in this country, that for a single rupee they have been known to deprive a fellow-creature of existence; and were they not by nature cowardly, they would be a most formidable people to live amongst. But, strange as it may appear, there is an awe about a European that they cannot overcome, unless he be asleep, and then he takes care to be well guarded. Murder, by the Mahometan law, is in many cases no crime. I have been astonished to read, in some of our periodical publications, a character of these people so different to what they deserve. In a late philanthropic magazine, it was truly laughable to peruse lines setting forth their “mildness,” “beneficence,” “patience 68

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under oppression,” &c. &c.; and with respect to Mahometans, there are not a more dissolute set of people in the universe, both men and women—the former being, almost without exception, treacherous and tyrannical; the latter cunning and deceitful, preserving towards their superiors the outward appearance of respect, while they are secretly planning to defraud him. Thus the servant, who daily plunders your property, never approaches but in an attitude of submission, putting his hands together, and touching his forehead with eyes cast on the ground. Their women are adepts in blandishments: instructed in them from their infancy, they rival every other nation, possessing a servility withal that gives them unbounded influence over their European protectors, (infinitely more, I am told, than the most accomplished female of his own nation can attain,) whose pockets they fleece to support an indigent admirer, or itinerant fakeer. I have known men who, although in other respects sensible men, and of a decisive character, to have been in the hands of these women as clay in the hands of the potter, perhaps even more easily moulded. I speak of Mahometans, for Hindoo women never live with any but their own caste, and are more respectable in every point of view. Their mode of life differs little from that of the wives of labourers and mechanics in Europe. They are not, like the Mussulmans, confined to the zenanah,161 but assist their husbands in his occupation, draw water from the well for household purposes, and dress his food; while the others do nothing but adorn their persons, study deception, and smoke their hookahs. A man, by the Mahometan law, is allowed four wives; and he cannot imagine a greater luxury than being stretched on a charpiah, with a hookah in his mouth, listening to an old fakeer who relates Persian stories, with one or two of these women to fan and champoo162 him. Both Hindoo and Mussulman are equally fond of money: they will quit the kindest master in the world for a few additional rupees. I do not mean to assert that this rule has no exceptions, for I believe there may be many; some, indeed, have come within my own immediate observation—I speak only of the generality. I have known Hindoo servants so attached to their masters, as never to quit the bed-side when they have been ill, except to eat their necessary food; but such instances are very rare. The occupations of servants in this country are so distinct, that it is necessary to have some of each religion in your establishment, and even some of no caste at all; for neither Mussulman nor Hindoo will sweep the house. Kitchens are always at a distance from the dwelling-house, or bungalow,163 on account of the effluvia. This prevents the master or mistress from attending so much to the interior management of it, as they perhaps otherwise would do; a khansommah therefore, or house steward, is considered necessary, who takes complete charge of every thing in this department, even to the hiring a cook and helper. The khansommah is also answerable for all the plate, china, glass, and table-linen, and has authority over all the Mussulman servants. The person who fills this situation is generally a man of respectability, and of some property; he gets much higher wages than any of the others—seldom less than thirty, sometimes fifty rupees a month. Two kismutdars are the usual proportion to each gentleman or lady, to wait on them at table, 69

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either at home or abroad; and there is an established custom amongst them, not to wait on any other person, unless particularly ordered so to do. The dress of all Mussulmen is made alike, the colour and quality varying according to the taste or wealth of the wearer. White muslin, with plain-coloured turbans and waistbands, is the usual dress of this description of people. They never allow their wives to take service, unless driven to it by necessity. These gentlemen kismutdars being much too fine to clean knives or plates, that service devolves on a masauljie, who also carries a lantern, and fetches things from the bazar. This is the most useful servant about the house; for not being of a high caste, he does many things that the others would refuse: he never makes his appearance within the bungalow, but when called for. The kismutdars stand behind your chair, and hand you every thing but liquids, which being cooled in ice or saltpetre nine months out of the twelve, is the business of the abdar, or butler. The first appearance of the kismutdars is with the breakfast, a pretty substantial meal, consisting of fish, boiled rice, hot rolls, an omelette, chicken kooftas,164 (made like forcemeat, and fried in small cakes, very nice and dry,) boiled eggs, cold ham or tongue, potted meats, orange marmalade, toasted bread, a small loaf or two, butter in silver vases, (surrounded with ice to keep it cool,) plenty of fruit, and in the centre of the table either a silver bowl filled with milk, or a glass vase with flowers. The coffee apparatus is placed at one end of the table, served out by one of the kismutdars; the tea-things at the other, by the khansomer. Urns are not made use of, on account of their heating the room; (the tea-pot is taken outside to be filled;) neither are tea-boards ever seen in India. After this, you see no more of the kismutdars until one or two o’clock, unless they are called for, when they bring in a meal called tiffin,165 which may be explained by an early dinner, containing all the delicacies of the season. For this meal invitations are seldom sent, but every body is welcomed to it who happens to arrive at the time. About three o’clock the party separate, take each a book, and repose on couches until sun-set. From two o’clock until six is considered the hottest part of the day, during which the natives uniformly sleep. At six, it is customary to dress and take a ride (or attend parade, if in the army) until dark, and then return to dinner; after which, few people take any thing more than a dish of tea or coffee. Suppers are not general in India. I must now speak of the rest of a gentleman’s establishment, viz. eight or ten (which is called a set) bearers to carry his palankeen; an hircarah, or running footman, to go before it with a spear; a sirdar, or head bearer, and his assistant, who also act as valets, clean the furniture, make the beds, and take charge of the linen. Under these are one or two tailors, (a dirjee,) who sit cross-legged in the verandah, and some sweepers of the house. But I have not yet mentioned the whole complement of servants necessary to form an establishment, as most gentlemen have their own farm-yard, and kill their own mutton. A bhery-wallah is therefore necessary to take care of the sheep and goats. A moorgy-wallah for the poultry. A soor-wallah for the pigs. 70

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A gorry-wan for the bullocks. A mahawat to take care of, and drive the elephant. A sur-wan for the camels. A syce and grass-cutter to each horse. A carpenter to repair fractures. Two or three gardeners. And a clashie to pitch tents, and flog them all when necessary. After these come the women servants, and washerman’s family. Where there are no children, one ayah166 and her assistant are sufficient; but it is usual for each child to have a separate servant: and all that I have enumerated live in huts on your premises, placed in some obscure corner where they cannot be seen. The grounds are generally extensive, and seldom without inequalities, particularly on the banks of the Ganges, so that they are easily concealed. The idea one has of a tailor in England, by no means answers the description of a dirjee in India. They are, properly speaking, sempsters, or as sempstress in the female, so sempster in the male. They make up no gentlemen’s clothes, except they be of cotton; but are exceedingly expert in making ladies’ dresses, especially from a copy, which they imitate with the greatest exactness. I once knew of a ridiculous circumstance that happened in this way. Gentlemen in India, during the hot season, wear fine white jackets, made of shirt cloth. One of these being a little torn at the elbow, was given to the dirjee to repair, and he put a small patch upon it: a short time afterwards, the gentleman, to whom it belonged, wished to have some new ones made, and this being inadvertently given for a pattern, all the new ones appeared with precisely the same patch on each elbow. But to continue my journal. The road from Futteh-poore to Kalian-poore is sandy, and particularly distressing to the eyes from being so very white. The soil, indeed, seems every where to be impregnated with alkali. The saltpetre produced in this country is a source of great wealth to the Honourable the East India Company. The road from Kalian-poore to the village of Sersowl is as bad as a road can be. Scarcely were the torches illumined, (about an hour after we started,) than one of the springs of our carriage gave way: my charioteer however contrived, by means of a pocket handkerchief and a piece of rope, (we found in the seat,) to fasten the two parts together. With this contrivance we were getting on tolerably well, every moment flattering ourselves that the road might mend, or, at all events, hoping that it would carry us on to the next village, where we could get it properly repaired; when, what should appear but a rapid stream, with a steep bank on either side. I confess I viewed it in absolute dismay. Our carriage now so unsafe, all other conveyances far behind, and with no other light than torches, it was really an appalling sight; but necessity, we are told, has no law; so down we went, splashed through the water after our sable guides, and happily reached the opposite shore without a ducking. The next evening brought us to Khanpore,167 having in three months safely completed a journey of eight hundred miles in the same open carriage, and a most delightful journey it was. Our cattle and servants, as may be 71

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supposed, required a little rest, which determined us to remain a few days in this cantonment. It is the principal depôt for the Bengal army,168 containing seldom less than ten thousand troops, including a regiment of His Majesty’s Light Dragoons,169 and one or two of infantry, besides the Company’s artillery, with Seapoy corps, both cavalry and infantry, officered by European gentlemen. It is likewise the head-quarters of the army, the Commander-in-Chief170 residing there. An invitation to a dinner, ball, and supper, at the Judges,171 was the consequence of this delay—we sat down, a hundred and ten persons, at table. A friend of ours, who at this time commanded the troops at Lucknow,172 being anxious to see us before we proceeded to the frontier, as we were now within a night’s run (fifty miles) of Lucknow, we availed ourselves of the opportunity; and as the most expeditious mode of reaching it, proposed travelling by dak,173 that is, in palankeens, with relays of bearers every ten miles. No sooner did the Nawaab Sadut Alli174 hear of our intention, than, with that attention to British subjects for which he was justly famed, he sent his own post chariot and four to meet us. I cannot say that we were perfect strangers, having on a former occasion spent a month in one of his palaces. The city of Lucknow, excepting the Nawaab’s palaces, is neither so large nor so splendid in appearance as that of Benares; his premises are of course superb, and his stud exceeded both in quality and number that of any other potentate. His table, to which all the English of any rank were welcome, had in every respect the appearance of a nobleman’s in England; and no nobleman of any country could possess greater suavity of manners, or more genuine politeness. At the time I am speaking of, he was about fifty years of age; his figure tall, athletic, and commanding, with features expressive, and rather handsome; his complexion by no means dark for a native, and his eyes a fine hazel. On his table were always three distinct dinners—one at the upper end, by an English cook; at the lower end, by a French cook; and in the centre, (where he always sat,) by a Hindostanee cook. Hogmeat, wine, and turkeys, being forbidden by the prophet Mahomet, he allowed himself the latitude of selecting substitutes; accordingly, a bottle of cherry brandy was placed on the table by him, from which he pledged his European guests, and called it English syrup; while the hams on his table (which all came from England) he called English venison, and therefore ate with impunity. He was certainly not a Mussulman at heart; for I have frequently heard him ridicule their prejudices. He passed his early years in Calcutta, chiefly in English society, and had unconsciously imbibed many English ideas. He is styled the Grand Vizier,175 and was placed by our Government upon the throne, to which by birth he was entitled, but by usurpation he had nearly lost. He travelled to Lucknow as an English gentleman, incog. in a palankeen, and just got within the city gates in time to prevent them from being closed against him. He was a staunch ally to the British Government; of which he gave convincing proof when the army under General Lord Lake176 was preparing to take the field against the Mahrattas. Being in want of carriage cattle, he voluntarily furnished six hundred camels, five hundred horses as an addition to the dragoon regiments, a hundred and fifty elephants, and a thousand bullocks, besides baggage-waggons innumerable. In the second campaign 72

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also, when the officers and men were seven months’ pay in arrears, he advanced Government twelve lacs of rupees, for eighteen months, without any interest. No man could have behaved more handsomely, and very few would have been half so liberal. He understood the English language perfectly, and wrote it correctly, but could not pronounce the words. Knowing my predilection for poetry, he presented me with the following specimen, in manuscript, written by LEBITT BEN RABIAL, ALAMARY,177 A Native of Yemen, and contemporary with Mahomet. “On the Return of a Person, after a long Absence, to a Place where he had spent his earliest Years. “Those dear abodes that once contained the fair, Amidst Mitatus’ wilds I seek in vain; Nor towns, nor tents, nor cottages are there, But scattered ruins, and a silent plain. The proud canals that once Kayana graced, Their course neglected, and their waters gone, Among the levelled sands are dimly traced, Like moss-grown letters on a mouldering stone. Kayana, say, how many a tedious year Its hallowed circle o’er our heads hath rolled, Since to my vows thy tender maids gave ear, And fondly listened to the tale I told? How oft since then, the star of spring, that pours A never-failing stream, hath drenched thy head; How oft, the summer’s cloud, in copious showers, Or gentle drops, its genial influence shed? How oft since then, the hovering mist of morn Hath caused thy looks with glittering gems to glow; How oft hath eve her dewy treasures borne, To fall responsive to the breeze below! The matted thistles, bending to the gale, Now clothe those meadows, once with verdure gay. Amidst the windings of that lonely vale, The teeming antelope and ostrich stray. The large-eyed mother of the herd, that flies Man’s noisy haunts, here finds a sure retreat, Here tends her clustering young, till age supplies Strength to their limbs, and swiftness to their feet. 73

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Save where the swelling stream hath swept those walls, And given their deep foundations to the light, As the re-touching pencil that recalls A long-lost picture to the raptured sight. Save where the rains have washed the gathered sand, And bared the scanty fragments to our view, As the dust sprinkled on a punctured hand, Bids the faint tints resume their azure hue. No mossy record of those once loved seats, Points out the mansion to enquiring eyes; No tottering wall in echoing sounds repeats Our mournful questions, and our bursting sighs. Yet midst those ruined heaps, that naked plain, Can faithful memory former scenes restore, Recall the busy throng, the jocund train, And picture all that charmed us there before. Nor shall my heart the fatal morn forget, That bore thy maidens from these seats so dear. I see, I see the crowding litters yet, And yet the tent poles rattle in my ear; I see thy nymphs with timid steps ascend, The streamers wave in all their painted pride, The folding curtains every fold extend,* And vainly strive the charms within to hide. What graceful forms those envious folds enclose! What melting glances through those curtains play! Sure Weiras’ antelopes, or Judah’s roes, Through yonder veils their sportive young survey! The band moved on—to trace their steps I strove; I saw them urge the camel’s hastening flight, Till the white vapour, like a rising grove, Snatched them for ever from my aching sight. Nor since that morn have I Nawarra seen; The bands are burst that held us once so fast; Memory but tells me that such things have been, And sad reflection adds, that they are past.”

* Those carriages that contain women are always surrounded by curtains.

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The original of this was beautifully written in Persian, not as we write with a pen, but with a sort of straight smooth reed,178 about the same size, similarly cut, and admirably adapted for the purpose. The Persians always commence an epistle by an Aliph,179 (the first letter in the Alphabet,) in order to signify the beginning; and write from the right hand to the left, or, as we should call it, backwards. They fold the paper narrow, and placing it on the palm of their hand, write with great facility. A still more curious specimen of eastern phraseology than this, was sent to me once by a native gentleman, who had promised during my absence to visit my little boy, then a baby. It ran as follows: – “To the Begum180—of exalted rank, source of radiance and dignity, may her good fortunes be perpetual!! “After representing to the Presence illumining the world, that our fervent wishes for the honour of kissing the footsteps of her who is the ornament of the Sultanas of the East, are constant and never-ceasing; her slave begs to make known to the Illustrious Perception, that he this morning, when about two watches of the day were passed, agreeable to the commands resembling fate, presented himself at the threshold of the Doulet Khannah,” (Palace of Riches,) “now darkened by the absence of its brightest luminary; and having made known his desire, was admitted to the honour of beholding the radiant countenance of the infant, resembling in beauty the moon of fourteen days, when with inexpressible joy he perceived that the rose-bud, (in whose presence the flowers of the garden blush,) fanned by the zephyrs181 of health, was expanding with a grace far beyond his feeble powers of description. Having made the most minute enquiries respecting all matters fitting for him to be informed of, your slave learned that the infant, and the two cypress-shaped damsels attendant on the threshold, pass their days in uninterrupted tranquillity. The fawn-eyed nymph,* whose beaming beauty fills with envy the splendid empress of the night; whose voice makes the plaintive bird of a thousand notes” (nightingale) “hang his head in despair; she whose fragrant looks cause to dissolve in sorrow the less odoriferous amber; with a grace which would have covered with blushes the lovely Leila, and made more frantic the enamoured Mujnoon,182 begged her humble assurance of eternal obedience. “Thus much it was fitting this slave should represent;—what further trouble shall he presume to give? “May the sun of felicity and wealth be ever luminous.†”

* The fawn-eyed nymph was the chief nurse. † The above is a literal translation. 75

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While we were at Lucknow, a quantity of Worcestershire china183 arrived, that had been sent to the Nawaab from England. He was as impatient to open it, as a child would be with a new plaything; and immediately gave orders for invitations to be sent to the whole settlement for a breakfast, a la fourchette,184 next morning. Tables were accordingly spread for upwards of a hundred persons, including his ministers and officers of state. Nothing could be more splendid than the general appearance of this entertainment; but our dismay may be more easily imagined than described, on discovering that his servants had mistaken certain utensils for milk bowls, and had actually placed about twenty of them, filled with that beverage, along the centre of the table. The consequence was, the English part of the company declined taking any; upon which the Nawaab innocently remarked, “I thought that the English were fond of milk.” Some of them had much difficulty to keep their countenances. I cannot say that I regretted leaving this noisy city; for being just at the new moon, the natives had began, as is their custom, when not restrained by martial law, to blow horns about the streets, fire muskets, pistols, let off fire-works, &c. which was formerly the practice of the Jews on any festival or subject of rejoicing. In this country, the moment they perceive the new moon, all prostrate themselves on the earth, and offer up a prayer of thanksgiving; after which the uproar commences. In a military cantonment they are somewhat checked by watch setting, and patroles to keep the peace; here they are encouraged in it, and make a tremendous noise, both when the moon is new, and also when at the full. On either of these occurrences, the Mahometan as well as Hindoo religion enjoins their followers to bathe; and I have known some religious persons plunge breast high in the Ganges at twelve o’clock at at night, even in the coldest weather. After remaining a few moments in prayer, just at the instant the moon is supposed to be at the full, they make an offering of rice and flowers, which are gently placed upon the water, and float down the stream. It is a pretty sight to see these wreaths floating down at the rate of six miles an hour, with a number of small lamps attached to them. It is not from seeing much, but in reflecting on what we do see, that we gather instruction and amusement for our declining years.

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CHAPTER IX. FROM Lucknow, instead of returning to Khanpore, we proceeded across the country to Futty-ghur,185 where our camp equipage was ordered to meet us. It is the residence of the Commissioners for the ceded, conquered, and centre provinces, and is termed a Sudder Station,186 from containing a complete establishment of the Honourable the East India Company’s civil servants, with only one regiment of Seapoys, a company of artillery, and the Commissioners’ body-guard. It stands on the bank of the Ganges, about three miles from the large city of Furrukabad,187 which is inhabited only by natives, and is a great mart for trade. Furrukabad is one of the best places in India to purchase Cashmere shawls, and a fine description of cloth for neckcloths, called chandelly, which is brought from the Mahratta country,188 and is like Scotch cambric,189 only infinitely finer and more soft. The natives here, work well in gold or silver, and are ingenious mechanics. The principal part of the inhabitants at Furrukabad are Mussulmen. The Nawaab, bearing the title of the city, resides within it.190 Having devoted a few days to our friends at Futty-ghur, and despatched our tent equipage, on the evening of the 26th of June we were preparing to follow them in palankeens, when the clouds gathering portended an approaching storm, and we were much importuned to defer our intended journey until the morrow. I cannot say but that I felt well disposed to acquiesce; but my companion, who was the farthest in the world from being either self-willed or obstinate, appeared so bent upon starting that evening, that I could no longer oppose it; and the event proved him to be right. Alas! the family we quitted,191 little thought that, ere the morning dawned, they should not have a roof to shelter them. Weak-sighted mortals as we are, we know not what an hour may bring forth! We saw the conflagration; and had I not yielded mine to better judgment, should all have perished in it. Scarcely were we out of the cantonment, before our friend’s house was struck by lightning; and so rapid were the flames, that in a few hours it was level with the ground. The table, round which we had all been sitting, was the first thing shivered to pieces. Fortunately the family, who had attended us to our palankeens, did not return to that apartment; and, happily, no lives were lost. About this time is generally the commencement of the rainy season, when storms of this description are prevalent, often violent, but of short duration. The country between Futty-ghur and Agra192 is tolerably well cultivated, abounds in groves of fine mango and tamarind trees, and is plentifully supplied with well-water. From Futty-ghur to Mynpoorie193 we went in one night, and there found our tents. It is a beautiful spot, surrounded by groves of various description, some of them impervious to the sun’s rays; and the country, far as the eye could reach, teeming 77

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with cultivation. The next morning’s trip we made on an elephant; a heavy storm of rain that had fallen during the night so inundated the country, (which here lies flat for many miles,) that the only means of discovering the road was by observing where the water lay the deepest, so that we seemed to be passing along a canal. Our way for many miles of the journey lay across an extensive plain, which now presented one vast sheet of water, without even shrub or tree to relieve the eye. It occurred to my mind, that the spectacle Noah must have witnessed when he took refuge in the ark,194 was not much unlike it. Thus we travelled slowly on, the next fourteen miles, to Shekoabad,195 where our people had found a high dry spot to pitch the tents; and we were very comfortable, for the rain, as is frequently the case at this season, had been partial; not half so much had fallen here, as we had had. After these storms, the sun seems to acquire additional power: so great was the heat to-day, that one of our camels died upon the road. Before Agra came into possession of the English, Shekoabad was a frontier station, occupied only by a regiment of Seapoys, and two or three troops of native cavalry. These troops being suddenly called away on duty, the station was attacked and plundered by a party of Mahratta horse, or probably Pindarees,196 who put all the males (a few invalid soldiers) to death, and captured all the females. Amongst the latter was the wife of an officer, and her two children: one of these, being an infant, they inhumanly massacred; the other was about six years of age, and having gold ear-rings on, the barbarians literally tore them from her ears, and placing her behind one of them, while the distracted mother was guarded by another, they were conveyed to a fort in the Mahratta country, and there confined until an exorbitant ransom could be raised to liberate them. These Pindarees are a race of wandering marauders, who, from a small banditti, have increased within the last few years to a considerable military force. Incapable of entering into bands of amity with any settled state, they supported themselves by plunder, and were in the habit of exercising the most atrocious cruelties, sparing neither sex nor age, and destroying what they were unable to carry away. Thus they came suddenly upon the peaceful cultivators of the soil, while their numbers and warlike accoutrements rendered them altogether irresistible. Having by this means acquired large territorial possessions, always on the alert, they were prepared to assist any native power who might think proper to employ them. Indeed it is a well-known fact, that the armies of Scindia and Holkar were of this description. Emboldened by success, they at length openly attacked the villages which the English had taken under their protection. Our late successful operations, under the command of the Marquis of Hastings, have overthrown, if not totally annihilated, this formidable enemy;197 and since the war of 1818,198 the river Indus199 has become our frontier, while security and comfort have succeeded to the terror and misery formerly the lot of the inhabitants of these regions. Multitudes have already emerged from the hills, into which necessity had driven them, and now re-occupy their native villages. The ploughshare is again employed to turn a soil which for many seasons has lain undisturbed, save by the hoofs of predatory cavalry. Such exertions on the part of the British Government in India 78

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have immortalized us as a nation; I wish I could add, without any individual sufferings; but, alas! although successful as to the main object, we have to lament the loss of many a brave soldier, not so much from the actual chances of war, as from harassing and fatiguing marches in an unhealthy country. I am assured by an eye witness of the dreadful scene, that in one day’s march of fourteen miles, out of eighteen thousand souls, which the camp was estimated to contain, between seven and eight thousand were left dead upon the road. The same correspondent adds, “The number of native servants and camp followers who lost their lives upon this occasion is incalculable. None of us,” he continues, “had above one or two servants out of twenty, who were able to exert themselves; and so suddenly were they attacked, that no man could flatter himself he might not be a corpse before the next hour.”200 Several young men in the troop he commanded, singing and joking as they rode along, apparently in excellent health, would request permission to fall out of the ranks; they were so ill that they could not sit upon their horses; when, throwing themselves upon the ground, they were dead before the column had all passed. We have however the consolation of reflecting, that the war was not provoked by motives of ambition, or a desire of accumulating wealth, but entered into actually in self-defence. Although in viewing the vast extent of territory over which our conquests have been spread, and considering that in less than a century (from a small factory on the coast) we have become sovereigns of a mighty empire; that the population of India is not less than 100,000,000, and spread over a continent of more than 1,000,000 square miles; that the dominion of this kingdom extends over more than one third of this extent, and over nearly two-fifths of that population; it may perhaps be said that we have increased our possessions by gradual encroachments to what they now are. I can only state, from unquestionable authority, that the war of 1818 was not of this description. The Pindarees, at the commencement of it, consisted of from 30,000 to 40,000 regular and irregular horse, receiving continual re-inforcements, and, from want of organization, incapable of being attacked by disciplined troops. They were a collection from the remnant of former wars; the refuse of disbanded armies; the rallying standard of all discontented, untractable spirits, of the restless and ambitious; rapid and decisive in their movements, they were generally successful in escaping pursuit, and only to be defeated when surprised. They provoked the war by a series of outrages, such as no government could hear of and not resent. In 1812 they made an irruption into Bengal, plundering villages, and carrying away the peaceful inhabitants into slavery; in 1813, into Bombay; in 1816, accompanied by circumstances of unparalleled atrocity, into Madras,201 at which period instances occurred where a whole female population precipitated themselves into wells to escape falling into their hands, while fathers and husbands buried themselves in the flaming ruins of their miserable dwellings. Scindia, Holkar,202 and Ameer Khan,203 took this opportunity of entering the lists against us; but for a considerable time we had no reason to expect hostility from the Peishwa,204 a power so important, that all others sunk as nothing in the comparison. An attack of 79

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Holkar on our troops was the signal for general action, the result of which proved the complete defeat of our enemies. Holkar was soon obliged to surrender all the territory he possessed south of Santa-poora; and the campaign was carrying on most successfully, when the Peishwa, long a treacherous friend, now became an open enemy, and stood the acknowledged head of the Mahratta powers. From that moment our arms were of necessity directed against him—he was driven from his capital, and finally reduced from the “exile of a wanderer, to the bondage of a captive.” He is now in confinement at Benares. The Rajah of Nagpore,205 with whom we had signed a treaty of peace in 1813,206 also turned traitor, although indebted to us for his throne. He was repelled with similar courage and success. Our army at this time consisted of 90,000 men—of these 10,000 only were English; and although the native troops found many of their relatives, and much of their property in the neighbouring territory of the Peishwa, such was their fidelity to their employers, that, defying his threats, they carried frequent proofs to their European officers of his attempts to corrupt their loyalty. In the whole twenty-eight actions that were fought, the superior management of the British arms was conspicuous; and between the months of November and June, twenty forts (some of them deemed impregnable) were taken and dismantled. The frontier that then remained to be defended by the British force, extended nearly two thousand five hundred miles. One of these reputed impregnable forts was Huttrass, near Agra, in possession of a Jaut chief named Diah Ram,207 a Hindoo prince of ancient family. The Jauts are, properly speaking, cultivators of the soil, but have long been famed for their warlike achievements. Their origin has been variously represented: some believe them to have been Rajpoots,208 a race of people whose only occupation was war; and from turning agriculturists, that they lost the name of Rajpoot, and were afterwards known by the name of Jauts. However this may be, it cannot be denied that they are the most skilful husbandmen in Hindostan, invariably quit the plough at the call of danger, and prove, if they ever did belong to the sect of Rajpoots, that they are not degenerated. The character of the Rajpoots for heroism in former times, when the distinction of caste was much more religiously observed than it is at present, is well known. Diah Ram was related to the Rajah of Burtpore,209 and was secretly in alliance with other states who were hostile to the British Government. He gained his territory by conquest, but was afterwards deprived of it by the Mahrattas, and reinstated by the British Government. Previous to our going to war with the Mahrattas, this Rajah entered into a treaty offensive and defensive with us, which he afterwards broke by assisting Holkar, a Mahratta chief. On the subjection of the latter, a fresh treaty was made with him, wherein it was stipulated that he should pay ninety thousand rupees into our treasury, adopt our system of police, disband his troops, and cease to coin money. This treaty was no sooner signed than broken. He continued the coinage, was irregular in the payment of his tribute, strengthened his fort, which became the receptacle of all the disaffected, and, to crown his perfidy, when four of our police officers 80

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had been murdered in his district, he gave shelter to the perpetrators, and refused to give them up to justice. At the time our troops attacked his fort at Huttrass, it was defended by five hundred pieces of artillery, with an outer fort, in which were twenty immense bastions, surrounded by a ditch ninety feet broad, seventy-five feet deep, and containing six feet of water. The town is a rectangular work, about seven hundred and fifty yards from the fort. In form, it is nearly square, five hundred by four hundred and eighty yards, with nine circular bastions, and a pretty deep ditch. The attack was made upon the fort at half-past eleven o’clock at night, March 2, 1817. On the preceding evening all our batteries were advanced within a hundred yards of the glacis, and by sun-rise next morning we had forty-three pieces of heavy cannon ready to bear upon it. The general210 who commanded, gave the Rajah until nine o’clock, to decide whether he would stand a siege or surrender. He chose the former. Accordingly, at the hour appointed, all our batteries opened, and kept up an incessant firing until five o’clock the next evening; at which time one of the shells fell upon his principal magazine, containing six thousand maunds* of gunpowder, and caused a terrible explosion. It was the most awful and beautiful scene that could be imagined. The earth trembled as if shaken by an earthquake. This was immediately followed by a stunning crash, which even deadened the sound of our batteries. The fort was instantly enveloped in a thick black cloud, which gradually rose in the form of a regular and beautiful tree, growing rapidly yet majestically out of the ground, at the same time preserving its exact proportions. The panic caused by this occurrence it is impossible to describe, each party supposing that the other had sprung a mine—all was, for a moment, silent horror and breathless expectation! The firing, which had been kept up without intermission for eight hours, ceased as if by magic. Every one seemed transfixed to the spot, too much astonished to speak; for, lo! they were in total darkness! which continued for more than eleven minutes. This so sudden change, from a fine clear sky, with the sun shining forth in all his splendour, to impenetrable darkness, was sufficient to strike the firmest mind with dread. The darkness subsided by degrees, and our people soon discovered what had been the cause; upon which our batteries again opened with redoubled vigour, the Rajah’s answering them feebly, and only now and then, from which it appeared evident that there was much confusion within the fort. We kept it up, however, until eleven o’clock, when the Rajah, being fairly burnt out, contrived with two hundred of his best horsemen to effect his escape. They were all, as we afterwards learned, himself not excepted, clad in chain armour. The destruction occasioned by the explosion of the magazine in the fort was dreadful; scarcely a man or animal within but was wounded by it, and the greater part of the buildings were laid in ruins. The Rajah and his party made * A maund is eighty pounds weight.

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a dart through a picquet of the 8th Dragoons, and a regiment of Rohillah211 horsemen, whose swords made no impression. During the night there had been just sufficient moonlight to distinguish the fort, over which our shells were seen to mount in air, then rolling over each other like so many balls of fire, eight or nine at a time, they sank majestically down. It was afterwards understood that Diah Ram had taken refuge with the Burtpore Rajah, another Jaut chief, to whom he was nearly related. The unfortunate failure of our troops in their several attacks on this Rajah of Burtpore212 doubtless inspired others with courage to oppose us, and perhaps in some measure caused that obstinate resistance which we every where met with. The Rajah of Burtpore, although very old, was a most formidable enemy. He is since dead. The Jauts have repeatedly revolted against the Mogul government,213 the seat of which is Delhi; and although the whole force of the empire has at times been turned against them, they have so bravely defended their strong holds, that they have always been allowed to capitulate on the most favourable terms. Within the last century, taking advantage of the anarchy which at length overthrew the throne of Delhi* they issued forth in great force, subdued the province of Agra, where they demolished all the magnificent structures which the Mussulmen, with great taste, and at an enormous expense, had erected, and carried away plunder to an immense amount.214 The ceilings of the royal residence were at that time covered with sheets of pure gold, or of the finest silver curiously embossed. These all became the spoil of the conquering Jauts. The Tadge215 alone (that wonderful and most elegant production of art) escaped destruction; but the chandelier which was suspended from the principal dome, by ingots of silver, was soon deprived of its elevated situation. Many of the precious stones that were inlaid in the marble fret-work were rudely torn out, and much of the alabaster screen was mutilated. But their fury chiefly turned against the tomb of the Emperor Acbar, which is situated at a place called Secundra, about five miles from Agra.216 It stands within a square enclosed by four brick walls, extending half a mile on either side: these walls are thirty feet high and eight feet thick. Within this enclosure was formerly a garden, planted in avenues of trees, principally orange, lemon, and citron trees, which flourish well in this district. In the centre of this garden stands the tomb, on a platform of stone, to which you ascend by many steps. A colonnade of arches, five and twenty feet high, and thirty deep, enclose the building. The interior, which contains the cenotaph, is entirely of white marble, beautifully inlaid, and was formerly richly ornamented. Many inscriptions of the Koraan217 still remain, although many more have been defaced. The four gateways, East, West, North, and South, composed of red granite, and white marble, with sentences of

* Leaving only the shadow of royalty in the person of an old blind king, named Shaw Allum,218 whose eyes were put out by one of his subjects,219 who was the head of a faction. He was reinstated on the throne by General Lord Lake, about the end of the year 1803, and died at an advanced age, being succeeded by his son the present Emperor. These Sovereigns, from having ruled the whole of the Mogul Empire with despotic sway, are now reduced to the government of a single province.

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the Koraan engraven on them, are very magnificent; and the minarets, which are immensely high, are faced with white marble. But it is impossible to do justice to these superb buildings by description—it is necessary to see them, in order to form a just estimate of their peculiar beauty and magnificence. From Agra and its vicinity, flushed with conquest, the emboldened Jauts pushed on through the adjoining district of Ally Ghur,220 in which are the three strong forts now belonging to Bhagwaut Singh, Diah Ram, &c.221 In that of Ally Ghur, near the city of Coel, they placed a formidable garrison:222 it afterwards stood a siege, and fell before British valour. This fort was taken, after an obstinate resistance, by the army commanded by General Lord Lake in person, August 1804.223 Notorious for their rapacity and tyrannical dispositions, it is not to be wondered at, that wherever they go, the Jauts are both dreaded and detested, or that the former defenceless inhabitants should feel the utmost joy whenever released from their state of bondage, to feel the influence of British lenity and justice. The Jauts are brave soldiers and good cultivators; but in order to make good subjects, they must be divested of all power. I have been led by this subject to an unconscionable distance, and will therefore return with all speed to Shekoabad, from whence the digression took place.

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CHAPTER X. Ferozabad,224 the next place we came to, is a large town, under the direction of a Teseeldar,225 or native collector of revenue, and an establishment of Police. We found the former quite a polished gentleman, who having spent great part of his life in Calcutta among Europeans, had adopted, as nearly as was consistent with the Mahometan religion, their manners and mode of living. He not only waited upon us, as is customary, upon our arrival, but sent fruit, vegetables, and two excellent dishes of curry. What makes this dish so much better here than in England, is a soft and slightly acidulated curd they put into it, called dhye,226 which gives it a beautiful bright colour and piquant flavour. A few slices of unripe mango is also a great improvement. From Ferozabad, in consequence of no rain having fallen there, the immense plain we had to cross bore the appearance of a complete sandy desert, on which we were in some danger of being smothered; for a high wind blew the sand directly in our faces. Nothing could be more uncomfortable; even the horses betrayed symptoms of unwillingness to brave it. The heat on this day’s march was so excessive, that the gig horse, who drew us the last ten miles, was no sooner unharnessed than he dropped down and expired. At Ettamaadpore,227 to which place we proceeded the next day, we met the collector of the district,228 who happened to be there in tents, and spent the day with him. From this place to Agra, (ten miles only,) it being considered unsafe to travel without a guard, we were escorted by four of the collector’s armed horsemen; but when we arrived on the bank of the Jumna,229 and were preparing to cross the ferry to Agra, we met some friends coming to pass the day at a garden house near at hand, and they prevailed on us to join the party. It was built by a man named Ettamaad Dowlut, meaning Ettamaad the Rich,*,230 and is now under the care of the judge of the district. His burial place, or tomb, denominated also a mausoleum, with that of his wife, stands in the centre of the garden. The walls and pavement, of white marble, are elegantly inlaid with cornelian of different colours, porphyry, granite, &c. It is a square building, terminating in a dome, curiously and beautifully painted with flowers, and Mosaic. It stands on an elevated platform of white marble, having at each corner a lofty minaret of the same materials. The whole is surrounded by a marble railing. Under the dome, and immediately over the bodies, are two blocks of highly polished yellow marble, beautifully carved; and round both is an elegant net-work of white marble, inlaid with stones of different * For the history of this native, which is somewhat singular, see “Dow’s History of Hindostan.”

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colours. This man could boast of no pedigree, and not having any immediate successor, his estates became the property of the existing government, and ours, eventually, by right of conquest. In this country the Great Mogul, or, as he is now termed, Emperor of Delhi,231 is the nominal proprietor of all the landed property, and takes upon himself to dispose of it to whom he pleases. Those who hold lands under his government are obliged, at their decease, to bequeath the property to him, when he distributes to the family of the deceased what portion of it he thinks proper. Every thing appears to be carried on in the same despotic way, from the Emperor down to the meanest of his subjects, where they have any power at all. The premises of Ettamaad Dowlut extend considerably beyond the river Jumna; the house itself is built on its bank, and is the resort of many fishing parties from Agra and Secundra. The fort of Agra232 stands on the bank nearly opposite to it. The road from our last halting place was dreary beyond measure: it lay through a deep ravine, or pass, only of sufficient breadth for one carriage to travel, and so extended for at least six miles. Unfortunately for us, a waggon had broken down in one part, and completely filled the space; we were consequently obliged to leave the carriage, and scramble up the almost perpendicular side of this ravine, or wait for hours in the sun until the waggon was in a state to move on again. Luckily we had only a mile to walk, for the heat was excessive. Early on the following morning we crossed the Jumna, and proceeded to Secundra to breakfast. Here we found a regiment of dragoons, tolerably settled in bungalows that they had raised since their arrival there a few months before. The most tremendous storm I ever witnessed occurred on the following day. About ten o’clock in the morning the sky began to lower; black rolling clouds seemed gathering over our heads, with now and then a violent gust of wind. The atmosphere meantime became tinged as by a distant fire, which in an instant was succeeded by total darkness, accompanied by dreadful peals of thunder. On the spot we happened to be, there were we obliged to remain: for at least twenty minutes I could not distinguish my own hand. It was really awful! The natives fled from their houses, and prostrated themselves on the ground, in momentary expectation of an earthquake. A gentleman walking in his garden, was obliged to remain there: he could not see the way to his house. From the commencement of this wonderful phenomenon, until the sun shone forth again, was full three hours. I never witnessed such a scene before, and sincerely hope I never may again. Secundra was at this time much infested by parties of predatory horsemen,233 who were so expert at their trade, that notwithstanding chokidars (armed watchmen) were kept on guard at every house and stable, they contrived to steal and carry off many valuable horses. They were even bold enough, at one time, to attack individuals by throwing spears at their palankeens; so that when any lady or gentleman went from home, the former was attended by matchlock men,* and the latter never failed to carry pistols with him. * Men who carry a very long gun that is fired by means of a match, which they carry ready lighted.

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A catastrophe still more serious than these incursions of the predatory horse had nearly taken place, owing to the rashness of a young officer in the regiment; and but for the very great presence of mind of the Judge, who dined that day in the cantonment, every European would have been put to death. It was the season of the Moharum,234 when galloping along by one of their ornamented biers, he overthrew some of the lamps. The alarm was instantly given; people flocked in numbers to the spot, raised a hue and cry, and some attempted to stop him, but he eluded them and took refuge in the guard-room. They then proceeded in a body to the commanding officer’s house, and demanded that he should be given up, threatening, in case of refusal, to get reinforcements from Agra, and destroy every European they could find. A servant of the Judge’s, upon hearing this, and knowing what a desperate set of people they were, went with all speed to inform his master, who was dining at the regimental mess-room. The Judge immediately mounted his horse, and galloped into Agra; which having entered, he ordered the city gates to be shut, and not to be opened again without his permission upon pain of death. The commanding officer of Secundra235 meantime made a pretence of searching for this young man, (whose friends had assisted him to quit the place in disguise,) until informed that he was safely out of their power. He could not, however, venture to rejoin his corps again, and very soon after left the country. The scenery round Agra and Secundra is somewhat dreary, from the numberless ruins which meet the eye on every side: but there are many things worth seeing in the neighbourhood, particularly the Tadge Mahl at Agra, the fort and palace,236 and the mausoleum of Christie237 at Futtypoor Siecra;238 also a monastery239 founded for those of the Roman Catholic persuasion of any country or nation, by Sumroo,240 the German general, whom I before made mention of as having caused the massacre of Europeans at Patna. In this monastery he was buried.241 The Begum Sumroo,242 his widow, keeps up the establishment, and has also added a nunnery. The Tadge Mahl243 at Agra requires a much abler pen than mine to describe it; and it is not in the power of any pen, in my opinion, to do it justice. It was built by the Emperor Shaw Jehaan,244 in the year 1719,245 (at which period he began his reign,) over the burial place of Montaza Mhul,246 his favourite wife. To her, when on her death-bed, he promised that he would erect a monument which should surpass in beauty any thing of the kind in the known world, and be as superior as she was to the rest of her sex. He accordingly issued his royal mandate to his ministers to collect, at any expense, artificers from all quarters of the globe, as he was determined nothing should be spared to render this work perfect. In as short a time as could be expected, artificers arrived from England, France, Italy, Greece,247 and all the oriental courts, and the building was immediately commenced upon. The plan was the Emperor’s own; but it is said that the ornamental part was sketched by a Frenchman, and executed under his auspices by artists from Rome, particularly the pattern and inlaid work of precious stones on the skreen and sarcophagus. This building stands in the centre of a large garden, on the banks of the river Jumna, with large minarets containing three octagon apartments, one above 86

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another, at the four corners, each being surrounded by a colonnade. They are composed of porphyry, granite, and white marble. The interior of the Tadge is divided into several suits of apartments, being in form of a square, with the cenotaph in the centre, under the first story; of which there are three at each corner, surmounted by marble domes, making in the whole one large, and four small domes, with a small high minaret at each corner also of the square marble platform on which it stands, and to which you ascend by a flight of steps from the garden. The platform, or terrace, is enclosed by marble railing. I was shown some lines written on this elegant structure, which I will here transcribe, with the reply. “Inscribed to the EMPEROR who caused it to be erected. “Oh thou! whose great imperial mind could raise This splendid trophy to a woman’s praise; If love, or grief, inspired the great design, No mortal joy or sorrow equalled thine. Sleep on secure; this monument shall stand (While desolation’s wing sweeps o’er the land, By time and death in one wide ruin hurled) The last triumphant wonder of the world!” “On reading the above. “No eastern prince, for wealth or splendour famed, No mortal hand, this beauteous temple framed. In death’s cold arms, as loved Montaza slept, While sighs o’er Jumna’s winding waters crept, Tears such as angels shed, with fragrance filled, Around her form in pearly drops distilled, Of snowy whiteness—thus congealed they stand A fairy fabric, boast of India’s land.” The Tadge Mahl is justly reputed the most elegant and chaste structure that can be imagined. Its walls are faced and lined with the whitest marble; the tomb, and whole of the interior, including the skreen, being curiously inlaid with precious stones, not only in the form of flowers, but even in their different shades and colours. In one small carnation I counted forty-two different stones. These stones are principally agate, cornelian of infinite variety, lapis lazuli, onyx, garnet, turquoise, and the like. The grand gateway at the entrance of the garden is proportionably magnificent, (there are three others, with six apartments over each,) being of sufficient depth to contain the Emperor’s body-guard drawn up in state for him to pass through, and lofty in proportion. 87

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The palace and royal baths within the fort are something of the same style, but the materials are much inferior to those in the Tadge. The ceilings of the apartments in the palace were originally cased with solid silver or gold, and are alone reputed to have cost eleven lacs of rupees.* In each state apartment was a chandelier, suspended by silver or gold chains to match the ceiling. All these the Jauts destroyed and carried away, when they overrun the district; since which time they have been only washed with gold or silver, in imitation of their former splendour. The beautiful carved work of the apartments they likewise destroyed, a few patches only remaining by which we can judge of what it has been.

* A lac of rupees is twelve thousand pounds.

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CHAPTER XI. THE tomb of Christie at Futty-poor Siccra248 is about a day’s journey westward of Agra. It stands upon an elevation of one hundred feet from the ground, having just as many stone steps to ascend before you reach the grand entrance. These steps extend along the whole front of the building. The gateway is a square building of red granite, with a flat roof, and a parapet on the four sides: the front of it is covered with Persian inscriptions, and carving of curious workmanship. To this roof you ascend by three hundred and sixty-five stone steps, on either side. Through the gateway is a spacious area, arcaded on all sides, and paved with white marble. In the centre of it stands the tomb of a holy man named Christie: it was erected to his memory by a merchant, who having risked a considerable property on board some vessels to a distant country, promised him, if his prayers for their safe return should prove successful, that he would cause a monument of this description to be built in token of his gratitude, and that the entrance to it should exceed in height any thing of the kind in Hindostan. The same tradition states, that from the time these vessels sailed until their return, was precisely three hundred and sixty-five days, which the number of steps are intended to commemorate. The sarcophagus is enclosed within a square building of white marble, surrounded by fretwork of the same, and raised by several steps from the area, which marble steps extend the whole length of the building on either side. The tomb itself is white marble, richly inlaid with mother of pearl, fastened by small gold nails; the whole being enclosed within curtains of silver gauze. The dome, which surmounts this building, is beautifully painted on the inside with emblematical devices, and passages from the Koraan. This place is constantly guarded by priests, who have a college near the spot founded by the same merchant, and an annual stipend to keep both in repair.* From hence we proceeded, about a quarter of a mile farther, to a magnificent palace built by the Emperor Acbar,249 now, alas! rapidly falling to decay. The scite of it covers above an acre of ground. The apartments we were shown as having belonged to Tamoulah,250 the beloved of Acbar, (as she was emphatically termed,) are composed of red granite and alabaster. The walls are divided into compartments, on which are landscapes in sculpture delicately executed. A structure contiguous to the palace251 particularly attracted our attention, as having an immense pillar in the centre, stuck from top to bottom with elephants’

* In one of the apartments of this mausoleum was a trapdoor, which upon touching the spring flew up, and discovered a gradual descent of some hundred feet; at the bottom of which was stable room for a thousand horses, who in cases of emergency have been concealed there.

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teeth, on which we were told the trophies used to be hung that the Emperor gained in battle. This pillar supported an octagon gallery round it, for the ladies of his family, so contrived as that they should see what was going on below without being seen. On four sides of this gallery, were passages leading to the apartments occupied by these ladies. To the Emperor himself, a kind of throne, on an elevation in the body of the building, was appropriated; the whole of the interior being finished with peculiar elegance. From hence we traversed an extensive stone terrace, to a building I can only describe as the rotunda, where, during the hot season, the Emperor was accustomed to sleep. The approach to it, like most others, was by several stone steps surrounding the whole. The apartment on the ground floor was of considerable size: it used to be occupied by his body-guard, and was surrounded by three hundred and sixty-five stone pillars. The one over it, in like manner, by fifty-two, and the upper room by twelve; to which the ascent led by a handsome stone staircase, in good preservation. From this apartment we could distinguish the fort of Bhurtpore,252 before which our army were five times repulsed, and it still remains in the possession of its Rajah. The avenue towards Delhi, through which the Emperor Acbar used to pass in his approach to this palace, contains seven high arched gateways, at that time guarded by a proportionate number of armed men. The perspective through these is the most correct and beautiful I have ever seen. Agra and its vicinity, in the direction of this place, is celebrated for oranges: we ate them here in great perfection, although the barbarous Jauts had left little vestige of a garden. These provinces having been newly conquered by the British army,253 had as yet paid no revenue to Government, who accordingly appointed two commissioners to survey them, and form an estimate of what they were capable of furnishing. I consider myself particularly fortunate in being of their party, since it afforded me a more perfect view of the manners and customs of the natives, and a better opportunity of seeing the country than was likely to occur again; indeed we visited some parts of it where Europeans had never been before. On the 1st day of December, 1808, attended by a regiment of Seapoys and a numerous retinue, we travelled in the suite of the commissioners towards Delhi, the capital of the Mogul Empire. Our line of march, including cattle, baggagewaggons, and followers, extended more than a mile. On quitting Secundra we crossed the river Jumna, opposite to an ancient hunting seat of the Emperor Acbar, at a village named Madower. In the rainy season the Jumna is here both wide and rapid, although during the hot winds it is nearly dry: its waters in the hot season are supposed to possess properties like those of the Nile,254 that is, in producing cutaneous disorders, which, although extremely troublesome, do not affect the general health. The irritation caused by these watery pustules is sometimes excessive, only to be relieved by cooling medicine and a spare diet; yet I am inclined to believe, that by boiling the water before it is made use of, the ill effects of it might be in a great measure if not wholly prevented: precipitating small pieces of charcoal will also much assist the purification of it. 90

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From Madower we drove through a cultivated country supplied with water by numerous wells, and thickly planted with trees. Among these the baubool* tree255 rose conspicuous. On either side the road were fields of the cotton plant,256 which at a distance appeared like low shrubs bearing innumerable large white blossoms: the cotton was, at this season, just starting from the pod. From hence we made Huttrass in two marches. Huttrass is two-and-thirty miles from Secundra. After passing through two or three small villages we came to a level country richly cultivated, and saw the fort of Sarseney. This fort was resolutely defended by its Rajah, Bhagwaut Sing, in the year 1802, but laid siege to and taken by the troops under command of General, afterwards Lord Lake, by whom it was dismantled, and is now in a ruinous state. The town of Sarseney appears to have recovered itself from the ravages of war; but the natives of these provinces are so prone to pillage, that merchants are afraid to expose their goods for sale. We were told of a waggon-load of merchandise, consisting chiefly of bale goods, that was plundered near this place only a few days before; and four matchlock men, who travelled with it for protection, were murdered on the spot. Near Sarseney we saw the remains of some beautiful gardens, containing several light pavilions of white marble. They consisted of one large apartment, surmounted by a cupola, and surrounded by a verandah. These pavilions were raised six or seven feet from the ground. The approach to them was by wide paved terraces, crossing each other at right angles, shaded by lofty trees, under which were fountains and beds of flowers. The town is completely commanded by the fort, which stands upon an eminence, and is now occupied by a native collector of revenue, called a teseeldar. The city of Coel, which we entered towards evening, is a large populous place, surrounded by a high brick wall, and secured at each entrance by ponderous gates, with a number of armed men. The general face of the country, from Sarseney to Coel, is one extensive plain, with here and there a few small bushes, or a cluster of miserable huts. It is not here, as in England, that the eye is regaled at intervals by the smiling appearance of a neat thatched cottage, through the luxuriant foliage of a spreading oak. Small forts built of mud supply their place; and these are to be seen in all directions. Just before we reached Coel, I observed a number of toddy trees, the sap of which is made use of instead of yeast to lighten bread; and, when fresh, is eagerly drank by the Hindoo natives, who are many of them fond of intoxicating liquors, an effect which this syrup speedily produces. There is another sort, called bang,257 extracted from a herb of that name which is cultivated in most of their gardens. The cultivated parts of this district are almost overrun with a plant they call palma christi,258 from which an oil with medicinal properties is extracted, known in England I believe by the title of castor oil.

* From the baubool wood is made the best kind of charcoal, (a fuel much used in Indian kitchens instead of coals,) and also the best and strongest tent pegs.

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From hence we proceeded the following morning, on elephants, through an avenue of lime trees a mile in length, to the fort of Alli Ghur,259 which was taken by assault in 1804 by General Lake. It is situated on an extensive plain, has been put into thorough repair by the British Government, and was, at the time I am speaking of, garrisoned by British troops. About ten miles from Coel, on an artificial eminence, stands the picturesque village of Purwah. The soil in general appears sandy, and except near villages, completely uncultivated. The next place we passed was Chourpoor, or, in plain English, Thieves’ Village; we were however fortunate enough to go unmolested, and shortly after came to a fortified place called Meah-poor. Kourjah, where we arrived to breakfast, is a large well-built town, of red brick dwellings, embosomed in trees; the soil richer than any we had seen before. It was a beautiful sight to observe in one field the young barley springing up, and in the next, either grain in sheaves, or ripe for cutting. Thus they contrive to have the harvest come in succession, so that neither time nor ground shall be lost. The fort of Kourjah is completely dismantled, and the appearance of the inhabitants we saw extremely wretched. I rode through the principal street on an elephant, accompanied by one of the commissioners; and we were followed by hundreds of children, sent by their parents to beg, coda ka wasti, “for the love of God,” a few pice* to buy otta.† The remains of some fine orchards are observable, but the ravages of war still more so. On leaving Kourjah we crossed a down, bounded only by the horizon, leaving on the left hand a large village well wooded, and at a short distance from it two mud forts. The level country continued; but soon we found ourselves encompassed by a grass jungle five-andtwenty feet high; the stems of it were like small reeds, that rebounded as we passed by with considerable force. The immense height of this grass (although the chief of our party were mounted on elephants) prevented our distinguishing any thing beyond the road we travelled. This led us into another thick jungle of brushwood, which continued many miles. Wells, containing in general excellent water, are found by the road-side, for the accommodation of travellers, every five or six miles throughout these provinces, in place of running streams, which are very rare. The natives have frequently two or more wells in a field, from which, by means of a bamboo lever, they draw water very expeditiously; and swinging round the buckets attached to each pole, throw it over the land with great facility. We felt the cold at this place (Secundrabad) very severe. Our tents were pitched on a plain of fine soft grass, beautifully embellished by trees forming with their united foliage an extensive shade. In the evening I rode on horseback with some of the gentlemen, while others took their guns, and were well repaid for their walk by meeting with excellent sport. They brought home several brace of partridge,

* Pice is the smallest copper coin, answering to the French liard, but of even smaller value. † Otta-meal of the coarsest kind.

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some pheasants, a peacock, and two or three hares. In the course of the night our people saw two leopards. Our journey the following morning lay through a thick jungle of briars; the road was tolerably beaten, but intolerably dusty. The air continued extremely bleak. At the entrance of a wood we came to a good looking village, which, the guide told us, was inhabited by banditti; this was not very agreeable intelligence, considering that our encampment could not be many miles distant. On arriving at the tents, we found the head man of this village waiting to present the commissioners with Persian and other fruits; amongst which was a quantity of grapes, so large and highly flavoured, that I wished it were in my power to transport some of them to my friends in England. The pears and apples were equally fine, and the oranges much sweeter than in England, but they wanted that grateful flavour; which may, I think, be attributed to their being left on the tree here until they are ripe enough to fall off, whereas those imported into England from Lisbon260 are gathered when only half ripe, and always retain some little acidity. Our next march was to a place called Sooragepore, fifteen miles farther. The weather continuing very cold, I mounted my horse, and, accompanied by some of the gentlemen, rode about ten miles, when we unexpectedly encountered a deep stream, which we were obliged to cross in boats. Whether my horse was alarmed, or from what cause I know not, but he would not allow me to mount him again; so, after many fruitless attempts, I gave it up, and his groom led him the rest of the way. The practice in this country of a groom running with each horse is frequently found a convenience, and it certainly proved so, in this instance, to me. There was fortunately an elephant, with a howdah* on its back, at no great distance behind, who proved more tractable, and on him I prosecuted my journey. A few miles farther brought us to a serai, or receptacle for travellers, of which I have before spoken. Near this serai stands the tomb of some Mussulman of rank: it is composed of three large domes, cased with marble; and at each corner of the platform are four minarets of the same material. We encamped on this day near the field of battle on the memorable 11th of September, 1803, when the British forces under Lord Lake conquered the Mahratta army,261 (full treble their number,) and made them fly in all directions. The presence of mind and bravery of this distinguished general was never more conspicuous than on this occasion: the conquest of Delhi, and possession of the royal family, were the immediate consequences. This place is about five miles from Delhi, and is called Putpore Gunge. It is divided from Delhi by the river Jumna, which having crossed in boats that awaited our arrival, we met a

* A howdah is like the body of a gig, fixed on the back of the elephant by ropes and an iron chain: under it is a thick pad, to prevent its chafing his back. This pad is entirely covered with housings of broad cloth, generally scarlet, with a deep fringe all round, reaching half way down his legs. On one side, under the housing, is hung the ladder, by which you ascend and descend; for which purpose the elephant sinks on all fours. His rising again is rather alarming, as he does so by a sudden jerk; the fore feet first, the hinder ones rather more leisurely. They sometimes roar most terribly when they kneel down.

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messenger from the resident,262 to conduct us to his house, and soon after, himself and suite came out to meet us. Accordingly, remounting our elephants, (who had forded the stream,) we followed our conductors, and were soon after seated at an elegant breakfast, at the resident’s palace, where a numerous party were expecting our arrival. Amongst these was the Begum Sumroo, widow to the general of that name before spoken of.* Since his death, which happened many years ago, she married Monsieur L’Oiseaux,263 a French officer in the Mahratta service, under General Perron.264 Being at that time in possession of a large territory that had been purchased with the riches amassed by Sumroo, and having regular organized troops in her service, she gave him the appointment of commander-in-chief. But either owing to the natural fickleness of her disposition, or that she found him difficult to manage, she soon took an inveterate dislike, and formed a project to get rid of him. Having won over the troops to her views, she caused a pretended revolt among them; when, agreeable to the arrangement she had made, they seized and carried her to a place of confinement. Her emissaries immediately conveyed the tidings of it to L’Oiseaux; (who was enjoying himself at one of his hunting seats;) and this account was quickly followed up by another, purporting that the Begum had destroyed herself by swallowing a large diamond ring that she usually wore on her finger. She foresaw the effect this intelligence would produce on the timid mind of the Frenchman, who immediately became so alarmed, that with a pistol he put an end to his existence. No sooner was the Begum informed of the event, than she quitted her prison, resumed the reins of government, and every thing again wore the face of peace. This woman has an uncommon share of natural abilities, with a strength of mind rarely met with, particularly in a female. The natives say that she was born a politician, has allies every where, and friends no where. Her own dominions and principal residence is at Sirdanah,265 about twenty miles from Meerat, and a day’s journey from Delhi. She adheres to the Mussulman mode of living, as far as respects food, but no farther. She has not the slightest fancy for the seclusion they impose; on the contrary, frequently entertaining large parties in a sumptuous manner, both at her palace in Delhi and at Sirdanah. During Lord Lake’s sojourn at Delhi, he was her frequent guest.266 They used frequently to sit down between twenty and thirty persons to dinner; and when the ladies of the party retired, she would remain smoking her hookah, for she made it a point never to leave her “pipe half smoked.” This Princess has been frequently known to command her army in person on the field of battle; and on one occasion, during the reign of the Emperor Shaw Allum,267 she is said to have saved the Mogul Empire by rallying and encouraging her troops, when those of the Emperor were flying before the enemy. In consequence of which, Shaw Allum immediately created her a Princess, or Begum, in her own right, to take rank next after the royal family. He also conferred on her the title of Zaboolnissa, which signifies “ornament of her * On quitting Meer Kossim, at Patna, General Sumroo entered the Mahratta service, and was stationed at Agra, where he first saw the Begum, then a young and beautiful girl, whom he contrived to steal from her friends, married her, and educated her in the Romish faith.

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sex.” Her features are still handsome, although she is now advanced in years. She is a small woman, delicately formed, with beautiful hazel eyes; a nose somewhat inclined to the aquiline, a complexion very little darker than an Italian, with the finest turned hand and arm I ever beheld. Zophany,268 the painter, when he saw her, pronounced it a perfect model. She is universally attentive and polite. A graceful dignity accompanies her most trivial actions; she can be even fascinating, when she has any point to carry. She condescendingly offered to introduce me to the royal family, which without hesitation I accepted, as my curiosity had been much excited, and, being a lady, I knew that I should be admitted into the private apartments. The following morning she gave a splendid breakfast to our party, and I afterwards accompanied her to the royal residence. We were received at the palace gates by several of the household, who escorted us across three or four courts paved with flat stone, until we came to one of white marble. Here we quitted our palankeens, and, with some of the Begum’s suite, approached the hall of audience. In the centre of this apartment stood the musnud,269 or throne: it was a square block of crystal, of immense value. Before this the Begum made a profound salaam, and motioned to me to do the same; indeed I had determined to follow her example on all points of etiquette during the visit. We then ascended a few marble steps that led into one of the passages to the zenanah, where we were informed His Majesty270 expected us. Before this door, which was about twelve feet high, hung a curtain of scarlet broad cloth. The Begum now led the way, through crowds of eunuchs,271 into a square enclosure paved with white marble, enclosed by colonnades of the same, under which were doors leading to the different apartments. Here we were met by the Queen Dowager, mother to the reigning Emperor,272 an ugly, shrivelled old woman, whom the Begum embraced; which ceremony over, the attendants left us in her care. We followed this good lady across another court, similar to the one we had just quitted, except that it was covered by a carpet, at the edge of which the Begum left her shoes. I was preparing to do the same, when I heard some one say, in Persian, “It is not expected of the English lady;” or, which is a more literal translation, “The English lady is excused.” On looking up I perceived the Emperor of Delhi, seated at the opposite side of this court under a colonnade, surrounded by his family, to the number, as I afterwards learned, of two hundred: all, except the Queen, were standing. The throne on which the Emperor sat was raised about two feet from the ground: the ascent to it was by two small steps. The whole was covered with a Persian carpet, spreading a considerable distance on either side. The cushion on which he sat (cross-legged) was covered with crimson kinkob, brocaded with gold, a large tassel suspended from either corner. Three large round bolsters, covered with the same kind of silk, supported his back and arms. On a small square cushion before him stood a silver casket, about the size of a large tea-chest, which contained otta of roses and betel nut.273 His dress was purple and gold kinkob, confined at the waist by a long white shawl. His turban was also of shawl, across the front of which he wore a broad band studded with precious stones. On the King’s right hand, below the steps of the musnud, (throne,) sat the Queen.274 She was 95

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distinguished by a tassel of pearls, fastened on the top of her head, and falling over the left temple. Her hair, as is customary with women in India, was parted over the forehead, smoothed back with rose oil, braided behind, and hanging down her back. A gold ring, of eight inches in circumference, with a large ruby between two pearls on it, hung from her nostrils, which were pierced for that purpose. This ring denoted that she was the head of the family, a custom that applies to the meanest of her subjects in a similar situation. Round her neck were two rows of very large pearls, and a number of other necklaces, some set with precious stones, others of pure gold, with which her arms, wrists, and ancles, were also decorated. These gold rings are so pure as to be quite malleable: they are made from the coin called gold mohar,275 merely melted down without any adulteration, and are generally put on the wrists of infants soon after they are born, being occasionally re-melted, added to, and the size increased, as the child grows larger, unless meantime the parents should require their value to purchase food; in which case they substitute silver: all slaves wear iron ones.* Her Majesty’s fingers and toes were covered with rings of ruby, emerald, and sapphire, and an onyx by way of talisman: cornelian and lapis lazuli276 are exclusively worn by the men. Her dress was of scarlet shawl, with a deep border of gold all round, in shape not unlike a pelisse, with an enormous long waist. Her ornee, or veil, covering half the head, and falling in graceful folds below her feet, was of clear white muslin, with a gold border. She, like the Emperor, sat with her legs bent under her, and, like him, chewed betel nut all the time she was speaking. This lady is a Pitaan,†,277 and of a remarkably dark complexion, almost black, which contrasted with the whiteness of the pearls produced an extraordinary effect. The Emperor, who is of Mogul extraction, of the house of Timoor, and a lineal descendant of the great Tamerlane,278 is remarkably fair for an Indian. His eyes are large, dark hazel; a well-shaped nose, fresh colour in his cheeks; and he might certainly pass for a handsome man, if he were not disguised by a black bushy beard. His age appeared to be about fifty; the Empress not half that age. I afterwards heard that she had been in the suite of the former Queen, and was not of royal parentage.

* Their distrust of each other, and perhaps being frequently surprised and plundered by hostile powers, first led to the idea of carrying all their valuables about them; yet is the practice of loading their children with such articles not unfrequently productive of much misery, for, lured by the prospect of gain, these unhappy infants become the prey of some unprincipled being, who having stripped them, throw their bodies down a well, and they are no more heard of. Such occurrences are, I regret to say, too common in this country. † The Pitaans are a race of people who inhabit the tract of country to the north-west of Hindostan. The Afghans, who inhabit a country north-west of Delhi, are also called Pitaans, and, as tradition states, are descended from Saul, King of Israel. They were at one time in possession of Kabul, but it was wrested from them by Timoor Shaw, and made a royal residence for the Great Moguls. He removed his throne from Candahar to Cabul, and the seat of government was afterwards transferred to Delhi.

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The Dowager Begum, mother to the King, took her station rather in front of the throne, on his left-hand side: he immediately ordered her a seat. When a Mussulman Emperor dies, all his wives and concubines, except the mother of the reigning monarch, are confined in a separate palace, maintained, and guarded at his expense, as long as they live; nor do they consider such confinement any hardship, being accustomed from their infancy to attach the idea of respectability to that of seclusion. It is perhaps the only state in which these women could be happy. The dress of the Queen mother was ruby-coloured satin, with a gold and silver border. Her ornee was of green shawl, bordered with gold. On her neck, ears, and wrists, she wore a profusion of pearls, besides a superb armlet composed of different precious stones.* Her fingers, which were seen just emerging from the sleeves of her dress, were covered with jewels. The sons, and near relatives of the family, stood behind the Dowager Begum, forming a half circle: his own and his sons’ wives were on the opposite side, while the Emperor, being seated in the centre, the party formed a complete crescent. I was particularly struck with the wife of one of the princes, named Jehanghier:279 she was a tall thin young woman, of light complexion, (a Mogulanee princess,) of rather pensive appearance, dressed entirely in white muslin, without an ornament of any kind. Her husband, it appeared, was a wild extravagant youth, in disgrace with the Emperor his father, and under temporary banishment from court, but petted and supplied with money by the Empress, (his mother,) whom His Majesty frequently addressed, in my hearing, by the title of “Mother of Jehanghier.” When we were admitted into the Royal Presence, the Begum Sumroo made three salaams, and I followed her example. This is called the tusleem, and only performed to crowned heads. In compliance with eastern custom, I then advanced towards the throne, and presented, on a clean white napkin, the usual offering of four gold mohurs, (eight pounds sterling,) which the Emperor accepted, and with a condescending smile handed over to the Empress. I then, agreeable to the lesson I had been taught, retreated backwards to the edge of the carpet, again making the tusleem. The same ceremony, with two gold mohurs, was repeated to Her Majesty; which she having graciously accepted, the same sum was presented to the Dowager; so that I paid rather dear for my curiosity. Having gone through the pantomime of again retreating backwards, (it not being the etiquette to turn our backs on royalty,) I regained my post, by sidling into the circle next to the Begum Sumroo. The Emperor immediately ordered a seat to be placed for me at the foot of the throne, which politeness, rather than inclination, induced me to accept; for I foresaw that a conversation with him would be the consequence; and so it proved. The first question he asked me was, “What relation are you, Lady, to the Royal Family of England?” I hesitated to reply. Thinking that I had not understood him, he asked the Begum if I did not understand Persian. She replied, she believed I did, a little. He then repeated his former question to her. She said, she did not * Every Indian wears a talisman on the left arm, in addition to their other ornaments.

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know. I still remained silent, affecting not to understand him, although wondering what could induce him to ask the question. Not wishing to lessen my own consequence, and still more averse to telling an untruth, (for I saw that he had an idea of my being so related,) I turned to the Begum, and addressed some observation to her in the Hindostanee language, which seemed to convince him that I could speak no other; and as that is not the language of the court, His Majesty’s conference with me was but of short duration. As a particular mark of favour, he then took a betel nut from his casket, and cutting it into two pieces, sent half of it to me by his youngest son, Murza Selim,280 a boy of about twelve years of age. I did not at all relish the idea of putting it into my mouth; but it would have been an affront if I had not; so I contrived, unperceived, to get it out again as quick as possible. His hookah was then brought, from which he took two or three whiffs, and sent it away. The Queen’s was also placed before her; but as it is not etiquette to smoke in His Majesty’s presence, unless he signifies his approbation, (which he omitted to do on the present occasion,) hers was also, after a few minutes, removed. On our preparing to take leave, the Queen took from a small tray (in the hands of one of her attendants) a pair of green shawls, which she gracefully placed upon my shoulders, saying, “Jeta ro!” which means, “Live for ever!” I then tusleemed to the King, who returned it by a slight inclination of the head; and, retreating backwards, we were soon out of the Presence. I took this opportunity to inquire of the Begum Sumroo what His Majesty meant by asking me if I was related to the Royal Family of England? and what reason he had for supposing me related to them? From her reply, I discovered that this mistake had arisen from my having on a gold bandeau under my white lace veil, which owing to its weight had slipped over the left temple. This circumstance, added to the rich appearance of the bandeau, (it being of the Etruscan pattern of dead and shining gold, tastefully intermixed,) impressed His Majesty with the idea that I must be a branch of that illustrious family; a bandeau on the head being with them the insignia of royalty.* At the palace gates the Begum and I separated, to dress for dinner; to which we afterwards sat down, at the resident’s table, in number upwards of fifty persons. Contrary to the practice of women in this country, the Begum Sumroo always wears a turban, generally damson colour, which becomes her very much, and is put on with great taste. I had almost forgotten to mention a ceremony that struck me as being extremely ludicrous, which is, that of a man, with a long white beard, marching into the room while the party were at breakfast, and, without any preface, beginning to read as fast and loud as he was able, all the news of the day, from a paper in manuscript called the Acbar; in which was related every, the most minute circumstance respecting the Royal Family, somewhat resembling a bulletin, which I understood was the practice at this hour in the house of every great personage. The Emperor is, in like manner, entertained with anecdotes of the resident’s family, the city news, &c. I could scarcely avoid smiling at the * Of this circumstance I was at that time ignorant.

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profound attention paid by the Begum to this man’s nonsense. These readers are much respected by the natives, who sit for hours while they relate Persian tales, the ladies of the family listening at the same time behind a purdah.* Both men and women are the greatest gossips in the world; but so averse are they to exertion, that they prefer paying a person for talking or reading to them, to doing either themselves.

* A purdah is a curtain, generally quilted, which hangs before a door, to denote that it is a private apartment; and so sacred a barrier is it considered, that no person, except the principals of a family, presume to approach it.

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CHAPTER XII. A PARTY was proposed for the next day to view the curiosities with which this neighbourhood abounds. I accordingly accompanied General O—281 on an elephant, the rest of the party following, some on elephants, some on horseback. We first proceeded to the Kootub Minar,282 a kind of obelisk so named, about twelve miles from Delhi. The resident being of the party, we had, in addition to our own attendants, his bodyguard, forming altogether a grand cavalcade. General O— and myself attracted particular attention, from being mounted upon one of the royal elephants that the Emperor had been so polite as to order for my use during our sojourn in his capital. The animal was of course richly caparisoned, and with a silver howdah on his back looked very superb; but another still more potent reason was, the handfuls of silver which the General threw among the populace as we passed. They soon recognized him as their former Governor, and gave the strongest proof of his popularity by the shouts with which they followed us much beyond the city gates. The first object that attracted my attention after passing through the adjmere gate,283 was the remains of a college founded by Meer Dahn Alli Khan,284 in the reign of Shaw Jehan, which must have been magnificent. A little farther, on the left hand side, stood the Royal Observatory285 amid piles of ruinous palaces, too numerous to describe, but affording the most striking proofs of the opulence of their former possessors. In little more than an hour we reached the superb mausoleum of Sufter Jung,286 grandfather of the late Sadut Alli,287 Grand Vizier, and Nawaab of Lucknow. This building, which in magnificence and elegance of structure exceeds any I have seen except the Tadge at Agra, stands on an elevated terrace of marble, erected upon another of stone, in the centre of a large garden, surrounded by four high brick walls, and is in the most perfect state of preservation. The garden is filled with odoriferous shrubs of every description. The entrance to it lies through an immense arched gateway, beautifully proportioned, forming a hollow square open to the dome, round whose tastefully carved fret-work roof, were several small apartments railed in towards the square. The approach to these was by a handsome stone staircase. After passing through two or three of these small rooms, we came to a spacious apartment which extended the whole length of the building; on the sides and ceilings of which were flowers delicately painted, and of brilliant colours, on a silver ground. The building itself is of stone. From hence we proceeded to the Kootub Minar, and were not sorry to find tables spread in a fine large tent, with an elegant cold collation. After doing justice to this repast, we sallied forth on foot to examine this greatest of all curiosities. It is considered to have been erected upwards of two hundred years, but whether of Mussulman or Hindoo workmanship does not appear so clear, although generally 100

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supposed to be the latter. It is in form an obelisk, two hundred and thirty feet in height, with a base in proportion, lessening very considerably towards the top. The building is divided into four equal parts, with a railing of stone round the outside of each. Its walls are composed of red granite and white marble, in alternate triangular and semi-circular pieces. A circular staircase leads to the summit—a flat roof, surrounded by a parapet. Having ascended half its height, I was glad to retrace my steps, being completely fatigued; but some of the gentlemen who reached the top, were amply compensated for their trouble by the beautiful and extensive prospect that presented itself. Although the day was remarkably mild, and near the surface of the earth scarcely a breath of air was stirring, yet on the top of the Kootub Minar the wind was so high that the gentlemen with difficulty kept their feet. Our march from hence, to the tomb of Kootub ud Deen,288 was frequently intercepted by fragments of ruins. The remains of this holy man are enclosed within a court about fourteen feet square, paved and surrounded with white marble: the enclosure is of net-work, ten feet high. The marble slab over the body, when the weather permits, is covered with scarlet cloth, measuring ten feet square, fringed with gold, and richly embroidered. This place is guarded day and night. Two moolahs289 receive an annual stipend for reading a certain number of daily prayers over the cenotaph. This extraordinary man exacted a promise when dying, and made it binding to all his posterity, under forfeiture of a considerable sum of money, that no woman should be allowed to approach his remains; which being politely signified to us, we contented ourselves with looking through the skreen, for as I was the only lady of the party, the gentlemen did not choose to make any distinction. This worthy Mussulman, we concluded, must have been crossed in love. The priests, (who were no small gainers by the visit,) now produced some white muslin turbans, one of which they bound round each of our heads. Thus adorned, we marched through sundry passages and marble courts, until we came to the tombs of Bahadar Shaw and Shaw Allum, late Emperors of Delhi.290 The latter was father, the former grandfather, to the present monarch. Their tombs are within one enclosure, in the centre of a square space, similar to that of Kootub ud Deen, only larger, defended also like his by marble net-work. These tombs were covered by one large canopy of scarlet and gold kinkob, fringed with gold. This was supported by six long silver poles, most richly embossed. The grave of Shaw Allum, last deceased, was covered with a pall of the same materials as the canopy: two fans, of peacocks’ feathers, with silver handles, lay at his feet; while two priests read alternately passages from the Koran, which we were told is customary for twelve months after the decease of any potentate, a certain number of moolahs being paid by the family for this purpose. A kind of mass is performed; and during these twelve months the lamps round the tomb are not suffered to expire. We then passed under a gateway of considerable depth, the ceiling of which (a square of twenty feet) was sandal wood, beautifully and curiously carved. This led to a bridge of rude stone by the side of a cascade, twenty-five feet in height by five-and-forty broad, rushing from an artificial rock, and over rugged paths, until the stream meandered slowly through an enchanting valley. This spot 101

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seemed formed for meditation; and I truly regretted the short time I could devote to its beauties. Our guides now conducted us to the “wonderful brazen pillar.”291 This pillar is of solid brass, twenty feet high, and four feet in circumference. Tradition reports it to have been placed there by a Rajah named Patowly, the founder of Delhi;292 to which he was induced by his superstitious reliance on a Brahmin, who told him, when he was about to lay the foundation of that city, that provided he placed his seat of government on the head of the serpent that supports the world, his throne and kingdom would last for ever. This pillar was accordingly struck, to ascertain the precise spot, under the superintendance of the Brahmin, who announced to the Rajah that he had been fortunate enough to find it. One of the courtiers, jealous of the increasing influence of this Brahmin, pretended to have dreamed that the place on which the pillar stood was not the head of the serpent, which he alone, in consequence of his nightly vision, had the power to point out. The Rajah immediately gave directions for the pillar to be taken up. The Brahmin appeared equally anxious that it should be; “for,” said he, “if I am right, you will find it stained with brains and blood; but if it prove otherwise, sacrifice me, and pin your faith upon the courtier.” The experiment ended, as might be supposed, to the confusion of the courtier and eternal honour of the Brahmin, who literally contrived that it should appear as he had predicted, covered with brains and blood. The Rajah in consequence loaded him with riches, and the people ever after looked up to him as a superior being. Such is the power of priestcraft! We now remounted our elephants, and returned, by a circuitous route, towards Delhi, in order to view the mausoleum of Humayoon,293 eldest son of Timoor Shaw,294 and Governor of Candahar;295 also father of the renowned Acbar.296 This building is enclosed by a wall of immense height and thickness, forming a square of considerable extent. Two ponderous gates, studded and barred with iron, command the entrance. On an extensive terrace of white marble, raised on many steps, stands this superb sepulchre; the component parts of which are granite and marble, tastefully disposed, and delicately inlaid with silver. The first terrace is of stone, to which you ascend by seven steps; from thence to the marble one are about fourteen more. Under this terrace are thirty-two cells for mendicant fakeers, and round it is a net-work railing of granite. It has one large dome of white marble, and four smaller ones, supported on pillars of granite, which are covered with a roof of grey marble. The ornament on the top of the principal dome is plated with gold. The sarcophagus is of the purest white marble, with verses from the Koran inscribed on it in Persian characters. This stands in the centre of a spacious apartment open to the dome, lined throughout with white marble, and paved with the same material. Four large windows in the dome diffuse a solemn gleam of light, calculated to impress the mind with ideas equally awful and magnificent. This room measures seventy feet square. Attached to each corner of the building is a circular one, with a winding staircase, leading to small apartments which are open to the dome, except by a low railing. The fakeer in waiting directed our attention to a large round plate of silver in the centre of the dome, from which, he said, had been suspended a chandelier of the same precious metal, but which was stolen 102

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by the Jauts when they overrun this province. There was notwithstanding still so much left to admire, that we should probably have devoted more time to it, had we not been engaged to dine with the Begum Sumroo. Humayoon being the eldest son of Timoor Shaw, ought, according to English ideas, to have succeeded him on the throne;297 but primogeniture was not considered at that period in Hindostan—the reigning prince usually named his successor. The sons of Timoor Shaw were not all by one mother: his favourite wife, an intriguing clever woman, and the mother of Shaw Zemaan,298 caused him to be seated on the throne. He formed an alliance with Tippoo Sultaan299 to attack the British possessions in India. Humayoon rebelled against this brother, who accordingly caused him to be seized, and his eyes put out.300 The rest of his days he passed in confinement; and, when dead, was buried here by his son Acbar, at whose expense this splendid monument was raised. At the Begum Sumroo’s palace301 we found thirty persons of rank assembled, and a splendid banquet in the European style. This ended, she arose and threw over the shoulders of each of the ladies a wreath of flowers formed of a tuberose plant, united by narrow gold ribbon. No sooner was she re-seated, than strains of soft music were heard, and two folding doors of the saloon flew open as if by enchantment, discovering a number of young girls in the attitude of dancing a ballet, or, as it is here termed, a notch.302 It appeared to me, however, little more than a display of attitudes; indeed their feet and ancles were so shackled by a large gold ring, of more than an inch in thickness, and bells strung round another, that springing off the ground must have been impracticable; in fact, their dancing consisted in jingling these bells in unison with the notes of the musical instruments, which were played by men educated for that purpose. To this music they give effect by appropriate motions of the hands, arms, and person, not forgetting that more expressive vehicle of the sentiments, the eyes. Their movements were by no means devoid of grace, particularly when accompanied by the voice, although the tones were, in my idea, extremely harsh, and frequently discordant. Seldom more than three girls perform at a time, and with the characters they change the figure. They performed a tale admirably; for by attending to the different gestures, it was as easily comprehended as if it had been recited. One, more superbly dressed than the others, came forward alone, to go through the motions of flying a kite, which she performed to admiration, and with peculiar grace. They pique themselves, I am told, on this art. After breakfast, next morning, we accompanied the resident to view the royal baths and gardens. The baths are small apartments, en suite, having cupolas on the top of each, with one or more small sky-lights of painted glass. They are paved and lined with white marble, inlaid with cornelian, lapis lazuli, agate, &c. in elegant Mosaic patterns. The cold baths are supplied by fountains from the centre, fixed in a marble bason nearly the size of the room, with a bench all round the inside of it. The tepid and hot baths are rendered so by flues supplied from without. From hence we passed to the aviary, a long narrow apartment formed of the same materials, in which at this time were only a few singing birds for 103

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show. There was a larger, we were told, in the Zenanah garden, much better supplied. A paved terrace led from this place to the menagerie. Here we saw tigers, lynxes, leopards, hyænas, and monkeys of various description and sizes; but, to my surprise, no lions. These beasts were reposing under colonnades of marble, secured to a staple by long iron chains. I do not think they liked our intruding on their retirement, for with one accord, but by different modes, they loudly testified disapprobation. The keeper said they were frightened at seeing so many white faces. The royal gardens came next in rotation, but were scarcely deserving of the name: they had never recovered the depredation made by the general enemy, the Jauts. The only things worth notice in them were a few large trees, planted by the Emperor Aurungzebe himself, who was fond of gardening, and kept his gardens in great order. A number of wide paved walks crossed each other at right angles, and in the centre of them was a bason containing gold and silver fish; besides which were fountains playing upon beds of flowers, laid out in the Dutch style of tiresome uniformity. Small circular buildings, supported by pillars and faced with marble, terminated the principal walks. The description of the royal apartments in the fort at Agra, will answer also for those at Delhi. Fluted pillars of white marble, with gilt cornices; pavement of the same, nearly covered with a Persian carpet; are the leading features of the latter, with a chandelier suspended from the centre of each room. The chandelier in the banqueting room at Agra, was, in the time of the Emperor Acbar, suspended by ingots of gold. I did not hear of any thing so splendid at Delhi, where, for want of chairs and tables, the palace appeared to me scarcely habitable. There is however in every room a cushion, (or place for one,) raised a little from the floor, for His Majesty; indeed, when we consider that no one would presume to sit in his presence, or even in an apartment usually occupied by him, all other articles of furniture would be superfluous. The Emperor’s general residence is in the Zenanah: he seldom occupies the outer palace, but on state occasions. In the evening I was introduced to the son of Abdoulah Khan,303 of cherished memory, among the learned men of his country as one of the most liberal patrons of the fine arts, besides being an excellent, just, and good man. He was a native of Cashmere,304 and chief of a province. He died in 1805. We had now only to view the Jumna Musjeed,305 or principal place of Mahometan worship in this city; for which purpose some of the party set forward immediately after breakfast. This stands in the middle of the city. The ascent to it is by a number of large, handsome, stone steps, on three sides of an immense square area, out of three principal streets. To this area you pass, on either side, through a double gateway, having apartments over it crowned by a parapet of cupolas. The area is arcaded on three sides—the fourth is the musjeed, or chapel, at one corner of which a saint is interred within an enclosure or skreen of marble net-work, covered by a superb canopy: near this no person is permitted to approach with shoes on. The large area is paved all over with white marble, having a square reservoir of water in the centre. This musjeed is surmounted by three marble domes, with gilt ornaments of a spiral form on the tops of each, and is supported at either end 104

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by a handsome minaret of granite three stories high, each story having a balcony round it with marble net-work railing, and on the top of each a dome, open all round, supported upon pillars of granite. A spiral staircase leads to the top. The ascent to the musjeed from the area was by seven steps of granite, to a terrace of marble twenty feet broad, on which it stood, extending the whole length of the front. As it was not a Sabbath-day, or at the usual hour of prayer, we were permitted to make a minute inspection. There were neither seats, divisions, nor pews, within the building; nothing but a plain marble pavement, with a pulpit similar in shape to those in England, formed from a solid block of marble; the whole being enclosed by arches, and the roof also arched, with curious carved work in all directions. Some Mussulmen were at their devotions within the saint’s enclosure, and we of course did not disturb them. I knew a gentleman who was imprudent enough once to touch one of his servants with a walking-stick as he passed along, while the man was in the act of prayer, which was no sooner ended, than deliberately taking his sword, he made a cut at his master that had nearly proved fatal: it separated his cheek from the mouth to the ear. These people are wonderfully tenacious where their religion is concerned; and it is no joke to trifle with them. Several were bawling out at the musjeed, as loud as they were able, the first verse of the Koran,306 which runs thus: “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “

Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures! The most merciful! King of the day of judgment! Thee do we worship. Of thee do we beg assistance. Direct us in the right way: In the way of those to whom thou hast been gracious; Not of those against whom thou art incensed, Nor of those who go astray.”

This verse is repeated by all good Mussulmen when about to undertake any thing of consequence, particularly by the Siads,307 or immediate descendants of Mahomet. In the course of the day I received a message from the Empress, through the Begum Sumroo, inviting me to accompany her to a grand entertainment, proposed to be given in the palace on the marriage of one of the royal family. It was to commence on the following evening, and to last for three days. Not doubting my acceptance of it, the Begum said that a Hindostanee dress was preparing for me to appear in, which would be presented by the Empress herself. Unfortunately, it was not in my power to make use of it; for the commissioners having finished their business, had made arrangements for quitting Delhi that very day. On taking leave of the Begum Sumroo, she presented me with a handsome shawl. 105

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We accordingly set forward as usual, and marched about fifteen miles before breakfast. On leaving the capital of the Mogul empire, we re-crossed the river Jumna, and passing over a sandy plain, arrived at the pretty neat town of Shaw Derah. This place is exceedingly populous, being the depôt of grain for the city of Delhi, and also a place of security for the cattle belonging to the royal family. The village of Furr uk Nugger, where we pitched our tents, is on the banks of the Bind Nullah, which, although a deep river, did not appear to fertilize the soil around it, as the next morning’s march presented only an uncultivated waste: no symptom of fertility was perceptible until quite the latter part of it, near a small indifferent village named Moraad Gunge, and here was little more than a few shrubs and stunted trees. This country has so frequently been the theatre of war, that it is now nearly laid waste. At sun-rise the next morning I mounted my horse, and, in company with two of the gentlemen, rode the next sixteen miles into Meratt308 to breakfast; soon after which we received the visits of the Judge, two Rajahs, and several officers of His Majesty’s 17th regiment who were there encamped.309 It was now the 18th of January, the weather most delightful. On the 19th I received visits from the ladies, and the commissioners gave a dinner party. On the 21st we had a large party to breakfast, and I afterwards returned visits; in doing which I had an opportunity of witnessing a most curious ceremony, peculiar, as I was informed, to these provinces. A young girl appeared veiled from head to foot, with a cord tied round her waist, the end of which was held by a man apparently much older than herself, who walked three or four yards before her, to whom we were informed she was just married. My curiosity induced me to make farther inquiries, when I learned that it was customary in the sect to which she belonged, for the father, or nearest male relative of a bride, to bind a rope round her waist, tying the end of it round the wrist of the bridegroom, when he leads her home as his property, followed by a procession of relatives, friends, and acquaintance, as we then saw. This ceremony, it appears, is intended to be emblematic of their being tied together for life, and that her family resign all right and title to her. In the evening some of us went out on elephants with the dogs, who put up three hyænas, whom we chased for a considerable time, but never could get within gunshot of them. Our people brought in a tiger that had just been killed: his skin was so beautiful that I had it cured, in order to cover footstools with it. On the 24th I rode out coursing with some of the gentlemen of our party, and found so many hares that we were puzzled which to follow.

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CHAPTER XIII. ON the following day the commissioners quitted Meratt, and halted a few hours at Sirdanah, a palace belonging to the Begum Sumroo, where she generally resides. We were escorted over the estate by her colonel commandant, a respectable old gentleman of the name of Peton, a Frenchman310 by birth, but resident at her court for many years. She has a regular cantonment here for her troops, and a strong fort containing some good houses, which are inhabited by the officers and their families. Her soldiers are tall, stout men, with light complexions, hooked noses, and strongly marked features, being principally Rajpoots, who are the best soldiers, but much addicted to chewing opium, generally proud, and often insolent. Their uniform is a dress of dark blue broad cloth, reaching to the feet, with scarlet turbans and waistbands. Her park of artillery seemed also in excellent order: most of the large guns stood in a line in front of the palace gates. She paid us the compliment of ordering a salute to be fired, and apologized for not being there to meet us, on account of the entertainment at the palace, which had detained her at Delhi. We saw a number of fine horses in her stables, and an English coach that had been lately built for her in Calcutta, which was to be drawn by four of them, with two postilions. I had afterwards the pleasure of accompanying her in it. The carriage was painted a bright yellow, with silver mouldings, lined with violet-coloured satin, embroidered all over with silver stars. The window frames of solid silver; the lace and hangings silver ribbon, wove in a pattern, and very substantial, with silver bullion tassels. The wheels were dark blue, to match the lining. The postilions wore scarlet jackets and caps, almost covered with silver lace. She has several fine gardens full of fruit trees. The branches of the orange, lemon, and citron trees, at that time, fairly bent under their luxurious load. The surrounding country is highly cultivated, presenting a most cheerful prospect. This is part of what is called the Dooab,311 in consequence of its being fertilized by two principal rivers, viz. the Ganges and Jumna. Doo is Persian for two, and aab for water.* It is particularly pleasing to the eye, being well wooded and thickly planted with villages, wearing symptoms of great prosperity. In the course of thirteen miles, we passed through five of them. From hence to Katowly nothing occurred worth mentioning. Like most other large towns, it is enclosed by a high brick wall, with four entrances, East, West, North, and South, secured by as many ponderous gates, studded and barred with iron, having a number of armed men at each of them.

* Applicable to all the districts west of Allahabad.

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On the 28th we proceeded on our journey, and felt the cold uncommonly severe. The morning was fine, clear, and frosty, which produced wonderful effects on the breakfast table. Our road was over a sandy plain, with frequent inequalities, which, if they had not been heaps of loose sand, I should have called hills. This continued for six miles, and distressed our carriage cattle exceedingly. After that, we came upon an extensive down which commanded a good prospect. As I before mentioned, part of the tent equipage, crockery, &c. are sent forward at night to be ready on the next encamping ground in the morning. In consequence of the intense cold of the preceding night, two of the bearers were found dead upon the road. Nor was this the only fatal accident that happened: a bullock in one of the waggons was shot, by the carelessness of a man of the Seapoy guard, and died upon the spot. A short distance from Muzzuffer Nuggur,312 (the place of our destination,) we passed a handsome town called Owlah, built entirely of brick, which is rather unusual, as in general by far the greater proportion of houses in this country are of cob.* All brick houses in Hindostan have flat roofs with a low railing all round, where the inhabitants sit smoking their hookahs of an evening, listening to a relater of Persian tales, or a reciter of poetry, such as the Shah Naumeh,313 &c. About midway on our march the following morning, we were intercepted by a branch of the river Hindon,314 which having forded on elephants, we returned to our carriages, and drove through groves of mango trees the rest of the way. After breakfast I accompanied some of the gentlemen on a shooting excursion, when we discovered a beautiful shrubbery surrounding the hut of a Brahmin fakeer, close by the side of a fine large lake, on which were innumerable wild fowl, of whom he was the protector. We found means, however, with a few rupees, to satisfy his conscience with respect to their being killed. This place is fifteen miles from Muzzuffer Nugger, which town is above a mile in length. From this place the country was for the most part level, and cultivated down to the road side. We remarked several flights of wild pigeons on our journey, started a tiger cat and a brace of quail, and saw some romantic views. I mounted my horse next morning with the intention of riding to Saharunpore;315 but three miles beyond our encampment, we came to a river which we were obliged to ford on elephants, but re-mounted our horses on the other side, and reached Saharunpore to breakfast. Shortly after our arrival, the judge316 paid us a visit, and invited the party to dine with him. I forgot to mention, that the judge and collector of every district always accompanied the commissioners to the boundary of it. The climate is considered colder here, than in any part of India. From the judge’s house (which stood on an eminence within the fort) we could easily distinguish three distinct ranges of hills, covered with snow, which

* Cob is a mixture of mud, sand, and straw, with a portion of cow dung.

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never entirely melts. Saharunpore lies low, and in the rainy season is considered extremely unhealthy, owing to the number of streams by which it is surrounded, bringing down putrid matter from the hills; consequently, fevers and agues are at this time very prevalent. The town is large, and built chiefly of brick. Near it we were shown a garden, the property of Government, well stocked with fruit and vegetables, but that was all—it had certainly no beauty to boast, in the year 1809. This was a frontier station to the Sieke country;317 and it was now thought advisable to assemble an army at a place called Cheelconnah, (about seven miles from hence,) in order to check the encroaching spirit of Runjeet Sing,318 their leader. Accustomed from their infancy to carry arms, both the Sieks and Mahrattas are expert in the use of them, particularly the matchlock, which they fire at a mark on full gallop, and seldom miss their aim. The higher classes of these men wear their beards long, and bushy up to the eyes, and are extremely fanciful in the colour of them, sometimes tinging them with lilac, pink, light blue, yellow, and even scarlet. I saw one man whose beard was white, edged with purple. Mahometans in general only wear mustachios. The dresses of the Sieks we saw, were made of silk, wadded with cotton, reaching to their feet; the sleeves entirely obscuring the hands, and edged with a broad gold or silver lace all round the skirts. These dresses are made to fit the shape; the skirt to wrap across the front, and fasten by strings on one side; their throat being always exposed.* Over this, they wear a long shawl, bound tight round the waist; a turban on their heads; and in cold weather, when they go out of doors, two square shawls, one plain, the other sprigged, envelope turban, face, and shoulders, leaving the smallest possible aperture, just that they may see their way: shawl socks, and shoes trimmed up at the points, either embroidered on scarlet or yellow cloth, or made of scarlet or yellow leather. Mussulmen are fond of gay colours, and have not the same objection to wearing any thing made of leather as the Hindoos have. The principal traffic among the natives here seems to be in slaves. Children are brought down annually from the hills for sale. I saw two, apparently about four and five years old, that had been purchased by a native lady for twenty-five rupees—(one pound eleven shillings and three-pence each.) I was horror-struck at the idea, and very far from thinking, at that time, that any circumstances could induce me to purchase a human being like a horse or any other animal; therefore let no one say what he will not do, for we are all, more or less, the creatures of circumstance. Some of our party made a digression from Saharunpore towards Fizabad,319 in order to examine the source of the Jumna. They experienced much difficulty on account of the roughness of the road, over which the cattle could not travel; so they were obliged to dismount, and pursue their researches on foot. At length

* Seapoys wear three rows of very large white stone beads, tight round theirs, which at a distance has the appearance of a stock.

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they discovered what they sought; it was a pure stream, flowing rapidly through a narrow pass over a bed of large stones. From this place, which our party quitted on the 3rd of January, we proceeded to Munglore, a fortified palace belonging to Ramdial Sing, Rajah of Hurdoar.320 In so doing, we passed a large well-built town named Jubrarah, the residence of his eldest son, who came out to receive us at his castle gate. A more ruffian-like figure I never beheld: he measured, I was told, seven feet in height; and I can answer for it, that he was stout even beyond proportion. We did not quit our carriages upon this occasion; but he paid us the compliment of mounting his horse, and with his numerous retinue attending, or rather escorting us to his father’s palace. Here we found the gates thrown open, and the old Rajah waiting to receive us with a silver salver in his hand, about the size of a common plate, piled up with gold mohars, which he first presented to the commissioners, and on their declining it to me, when, agreeable to etiquette, I made my salaam and declined it also. The same ceremony having been gone through to one or two others, he affected to appear much chagrined, and gave it to one of his servants, who carried it away. We now followed him into his castle. He was a fac simile of Blue Beard,321 scimitar and all, that one reads of having murdered so many wives. Equally gigantic as his son, he possessed a stentorian voice that made one tremble. I verily thought that we had entered the country of the Brobdignags.322 The Rajah’s dress was no less singular than the rest of his appearance; and, to crown all, he had on a pair of bright yellow jack-boots.323 Munglore is a place of some consequence in the manufacturing line, besides being on the high road from Cashmere to our provinces. Persian goods of every description must pass this place. The town is large, and built entirely of brick, which the Rajah causes to be refreshed once a year, to make them look like new. The inhabitants weave cloth, print chintz, &c. They all forsook their houses on our approach, and followed us with loud shouting. I was told it was occasioned by seeing me, the only English lady they had ever seen; and my being on horseback astonished them still more. Their women, when travelling, have thick curtains drawn round the carriage, so as to elude the most vigilant inspection. Munglore is surrounded by fine large timber trees; and the enclosures to the fields are all of prickly pear, a plant frequently met with in hothouses in England, and which forms an impenetrable fence. The inhabitants are all Hindoos. They esteem the peacock a sacred bird: we observed numbers of them walking quite tame about the streets. While taking the air on an elephant in the evening, I fell in with a caravan of merchants from Cabul,324 who at first stared at me as if they had seen an ourangoutang; but I desired one of my attendants to explain to them that we had a large encampment not far off, and if they would go there, they would be able to dispose of a great many things. They made no objection, and accordingly we all proceeded together. Their cargo consisted of beautiful Persian cats, birds, dried fruits, sheep with ponderous tails like those at the Cape of Good Hope,325 and goats, from whose wool the Cashmere shawls are made. These animals were considerably larger and higher than those of Europe; their coats thick, black, and apparently 110

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coarse, until examined, when close to the skin is discovered that fine soft wool, the manufacture of which is held in such estimation for shawls. A couple of these goats were purchased in our camp for thirty rupees* From hence we continued our journey to Jualapore, a village immediately at the foot of the Tibett mountains. Previous to reaching it, we came to a place named Landowra,326 another palace belonging to the Rajah of Hurdwaar, who had gone forward to receive us. We soon descried him towering above his satellites, with an offering of gold mohars on a napkin; when, (agreeably to custom on such occasions,) descending from our elephants, we touched the gold mohars with the tips of three fingers of the right hand, and made a salaam; upon which, one of his servants took them away as before. It is merely a form in the person offering, to denote that he acknowledges himself an inferior. He then conducted us through a large paved court, and up several stone steps, into the palace, where we were surprised to find chairs placed round a large brazier filled with charcoal. As soon as we were seated, several servants entered with wooden trays of about two feet long and a foot and a half broad; on some of which were shawls, pieces of kinkob, muslin, &c.; on others, Persian fruits, fresh and preserved,—sweet cakes, biscuits, and otta of roses. About five-and-twenty of these trays were placed at our feet; while in the court before the palace were paraded several Persian and Arab horses, richly caparisoned, with silver chains about their necks, and pendant ornaments of value. From this superabundance of good things it was necessary, in order to avoid giving offence, to take something. I took a small square handkerchief, and one or two of the gentlemen a Persian sword of no great value. The horses had their walk only to be admired; after which they were quietly replaced in the stable; and mounting our elephants, we bade this good gentleman adieu. Native chiefs are magnificent, and even profuse in their presents to Europeans. We might have given all we saw in charge of our servants, to take away, if we had wished it, and he would have been highly gratified, as he would have considered himself entitled to expect from us double its value in return, and would not have suffered much time to elapse without asking some favour. I once accepted a Persian cat, and in a few days after received a request from the Bibbee Saheb327 to send her a pair of white shawls. * Most shawls are exported unwashed, and fresh from the loom. They are better washed and packed at Umrutseer328 than at Cashmere, where they are manufactured. Sixteen thousand looms are supposed to be in constant motion there, each of them giving employment to three men, whose wages are about three pice a day. It is calculated that eighty thousand shawls are disposed of annually. The wool from Tibett329 and Tartary330 is the best, because the goat which produces it thrives better there: twenty-four pounds weight of it sells at Cashmere, if of the best sort, for twenty rupees; an inferior and harsher kind may be procured for half the money. The wool is spun by women, and afterwards coloured. When the shawl is made, it is carried to the custom-house and stamped, and a duty paid agreeable to its texture—one fifth of the value. The persons employed sit on a bench at the frame, sometimes four people at each frame; but if the shawl is a plain one, only two. A fine shawl, with a pattern all over it, takes nearly a year in making. The borders are worked with wooden needles, having a separate needle for each colour. There is a head man who superintends and describes the pattern. The rough side of the shawl is uppermost while manufacturing.

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Travelling over a vile road to Paharpore, we gradually approached the mountains, and reached Juallapore to a late breakfast. This being the entrance of the Moradabad district,331 we were met by its judge and collector332 with their separate suite. Juallapore is eighteen miles from Munglore: the last nine miles was through an inhospitable-looking jungle, where tigers are said to abound. We saw plenty of florican, the black-spotted feathered partridge, hog deer, &c. Where the latter are found, there are always tigers. The following morning some of our party, myself among the number, made an excursion to the celebrated bathing-place of Hurdoar,333 where we fell in with a party of Sieks of high rank: they consisted of the Ranee Mutaab Kour, wife of Rajah Rungeet Sing;334 Rajah Sahib Sing, of Patialah, and his wife;335 Rajahs Bodge Sing336 and Burgwaan Sing.337 These people paid us every mark of respect and politeness: they were attended by a numerous retinue. The town of Hurdoar is on a bank of the Ganges, about eight miles from Juallapore: it is built chiefly of stone, and stands at the foot of an immense range of mountains covered with luxuriant verdure. The Ganges here divides into several limpid streams, which, after running for several miles over a bed of large smooth stones, unite in one, which measures twelve hundred yards across. Its source is near Punniallee, on the south-east side of Hemallah. The name Hurdoar338 is composed from Hur, the name of a Hindoo saint, (who made this his place of ablution, and eventually his residence,) and doar, which in the Shanscrit339 language means a door; by which the natives understood that the way or door to this saint’s favour, was by frequenting the place that he had named and patronized. As he had a high character for sanctity, and was withal a shrewd, clever man, it soon became a place of great celebrity, and continues so to the present time. There is an annual fair340 held here to commemorate the anniversary of this man’s birth, at which it is computed there assemble no fewer than a million of souls.* The extent of ground occupied by these, in one continued throng, is generally from three to four koss.† The grand bathing-day takes place on or about the 11th of April, dependant however on the state of the moon‡. Tunkal is a town about three miles from Hurdoar, where five elegant houses have been built in the oriental style, with a profusion of Hindoo emblems and decorations, said to have cost thirty thousand rupees each. Two of them belong to * The surest way of founding a village in this country is by setting down a fakeer on the spot, who immediately builds a mud hut, hoists a small red flag upon a pole, and the following year appears a populous village. † A koss is about one mile and a half English. ‡ A pilgrimage to Mecca is also considered necessary to constitute the character of a good Mussulman, and is considered highly meritorious. These pilgrims support themselves chiefly by alms on the journey; and you not unfrequently see the most emaciated objects lying dead by the road side, particularly in a thinly inhabited country, as in the new road from Calcutta to the upper provinces of Hindostan. I counted five myself on that road, who appeared lying flat on their faces, with scarcely any clothing on them, and the bones almost starting through the skin. There is an institution at Mecca for pilgrims, provided for by the will of Ahmed Shah;341 so that while they remain there, they are very well off.

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rich bankers at Naugreedabad; one to Rajah Nyn Sing,342 who lives in the neighbourhood of Muratt; one to Goorah Khan;343 and one to Ramdial Sing, Rajah of Hurdoar. They were all built within the last seven years. Hindoos always plaister the inside of their houses with cow-dung, which old women and children are constantly employed picking up. They make it into flat cakes with their hands, and stick them on the outer walls of cottages to dry: they then pile them up, under shelter, for use. The walls and terraces, when perfectly finished, have the appearance of stucco, without any unpleasant smell at all. A general officer in the Company’s service brought to England, some years ago, a Hindoo lady as his wife, and left her in handsome lodgings, in London, while he went to visit his friends in Scotland. The first thing she did, after he was gone, was to purchase a cow, and have her brought into the drawing-room. The hostess expostulated; but the general’s lady assured her that if any damage was done, it should all be paid for, and she was pacified; but when, a few days afterwards, the housemaid told her mistress that all the cleaning in the world would never get the cow-dung off the gilt mouldings, she was petrified! concluding of course that the lady must be mad, she wrote off to the general by that evening’s post. Another common practice among Hindoos, is, that of exposing different kinds of grain on sheets, before their houses, to dry in the sun; so that the whole village looks like a bazaar. The Brahmins who reside at Hurdoar persuade their followers, that by performing their ablutions, and making offerings to the Ganges at that place, they instantly become purified of their former sins. I hope I am not uncharitable; but could not help suspecting, that some of my party would not have been sorry to be so easily rid of theirs. We saw here some pilgrims who had travelled all the way from Juggernaut,344 in the bay of Bengal,345 (some thousand miles,) to perform a penance. They were at this time just setting out on their return, laden with baskets full of small bottles filled with sanctified water, for the purification of those who were unable to come so far. The road between Juallapore and Tunkal may be justly compared to those of the New Forest in Hampshire,346 but still more beautiful from its vicinity to the mountains. After rambling about, (until we were tired,) viewing a number of descents by stone steps, with their appropriate decorations, that conducted votaries to the sacred stream, (each guarded by one or more fakeers,) we returned to our encampment infinitely gratified by the trip. The commissioners being occupied by business, we did not quit Juallapore until the 12th, which afforded me an opportunity of viewing some waterfalls at Angenny, a place exactly opposite Tunkal, on the other side of the river. Six persons started on four elephants: three spare elephants having been pushed forward to sound the bed of the river, (as we proposed fording it,) and to clear the jungle on the other side. The stream where we crossed was about seven feet deep, rapid, and perfectly clear, so that we could distinguish a bottom of large round stones, which were so slippery that it was a service of danger to pass over them. The elephants trembled at every 113

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step, and supported each other by heeling to it, as ships do with a wind on their quarter. It must have been a curious spectacle from the opposite shore to see four elephants wedged like a wall together, with people on their backs, all stepping cautiously as if aware of danger. We crossed a little above the Falls, which are stated to extend for half a mile, and reach fairly across the river. Their descent in many places does not exceed eight or nine feet. We had a complete view of them from Angenny, and were delighted by the sound of dashing waters, and view of stupendous mountains clothed with the stately fir* and spreading bamboo, while the sweet warblers of the wood strained their harmonious throats to bid us welcome. Our advanced guard having shot some jungle cocks,† we had them broiled; and they proved a welcome addition (being young and finely flavoured) to the cold provisions we had brought. After regaling ourselves and resting the elephants, we re-mounted, in order to explore the country, and entered a bamboo jungle, the branches of which were so entwined that the spare elephants were absolutely necessary to force a passage for us. It was really wonderful to see with what dexterity these animals twisted off large branches with their trunks; or, at the instigation of their driver, tore up whole trees by the roots. After buffeting through in this way for about an hour, we came to a charming valley between two ridges of hills, whose summits seemed to touch the clouds. Trees and shrubs of various foliage adorned their almost perpendicular sides, while the meandering Ganges, in distant murmurs, died on the listening ear. Having made a circuit of some miles through this delightful country, we re-crossed the Ganges in boats, and reached our encampment before it grew dark. The next morning was fixed on for pursuing our journey. I accompanied the judge of Moradabad (whose district we were just entering) on his elephant through thick grass jungles, higher than the animal on which we rode, although he measured fourteen feet. Our advanced party fell in with a wild elephant, from whom they defended themselves by collecting round a tree and firing at him, then setting up a hideous yell, which at length frightened him away. For eighteen miles not the slightest trace of a road was perceptible; but the guides persisted that they were going right, and brought us to a village named Kurranpore. Here the inhabitants were so alarmed at seeing us, that they fled and hid themselves in a grass jungle. A little beyond this village is a morass, only rendered passable by loads of reed and bamboo that our people had spread the day before to form something like a road. The elephants did not seem at all inclined to cross it, nor do I think it was altogether safe, but fortunately no accident occurred. Soon after this we reached a part of the Ganges where there is a ferry, and found excellent boats with platforms for the conveyance of our carriages and horses, waggons, bullocks, &c. &c. This place is named Bhynee Ghattah. Here we quitted what is termed the country of the Doo-ab, and entered that of the Pungaab,347 or junction of five rivers, inhabited by a people called the Rohillas. The banks of

* This is the only place in Hindostan where the fir tree is found in perfection. † Like English cocks and hens, only wild.

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the Ganges, on the Rohilcund348 side, are immensely steep; and the soil, a deep loose sand, which so considerably delayed the baggage, that many of the gentlemen’s tents were not pitched until quite late at night. Our encampment extended two miles, over a plain that separated the villages of Allum Serai and Nagul. From hence we passed over a vile road through a jungle of brush-wood and low stumps, (called the dak shrub,) besides two or three streams knee-deep for the horses, to a place called Nugeebabad,349 which is, being interpreted, “City of great Men.” Our tents were pitched near the garden-house of Sultan Khan,350 son of the Nawaab Nugeeb ul Dowlah,351 whose tomb we visited in the course of the morning. It stands surrounded by trees that completely shade the building, and is encompassed by a brick wall. The tombs of him, and his favourite wife are united under a slab of stone, covered with a smooth white paste called chunam,352 which bears a high polish, and at a distance looks like alabaster. They are raised considerably off the ground by a terrace of flag-stones. On three sides of this terrace are colonnades neatly painted with emblematical devices; the fourth is divided into three small apartments for devotion, terminating in as many cupolas. This is the first place, after leaving the Persian territory, where bales of shawl and other Persian merchandise are examined, and a duty levied on them by the East India Company. It is the abode of many merchants, who enrich themselves by purchasing wholesale, and retailing them into the provinces. Large plantations of sugar-cane were observable throughout this part of India, and mills for extracting the juice in order to make it into sugar, to be seen in every village. Those little neat baskets of split bamboo, in which pilgrims carry the Ganges water, are manufactured here, and find a brisk sale. I purchased some shawls and (under such circumstances that I could not avoid it) a slave boy! The circumstances were these:—A poor debilitated woman, with an infant in her arms, and this child, (about four years of age,) seated themselves at the door of our tent, and would not be removed. Thinking she was a beggar, I sent her a few pice;353 upon which she said that she came to sell her child, and not to solicit pice, for they would do her no good. I then went out and remonstrated with her upon the cruelty of such an act; told her that if she did, there was not the smallest chance of her ever seeing him again—in short, said all I could to work upon her feelings as a mother, and endeavour to turn her from her purpose; but still she persevered, and implored me with tears to take him. She had a numerous family, she said, who must all starve unless she could get money by this means to pay the bunyah. The price she asked for the boy was thirty-six rupees, the half of which she owed for food. Her husband, she said, was a cripple, and could not work. I sent a person with her to ascertain the truth of this statement, and finding that the woman had not deceived me, I paid the money and received the boy. Some victuals that was placed before them they eagerly devoured. The child remained without a murmur, in hopes of another meal when hungry; and the mother departed happy, in the belief that her boy was provided for. This traffic, so repugnant to English ideas, exists only near the hills, where the population is so great, and the means of providing for it so small, that unless purchasers could be found for the children, half of them must starve. This boy 115

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had quite the countenance of a Chinese Tartar,354 with immense large eyes. The first thing I did was to have him bathed and clothed, for he was perfectly naked. He did not like being dressed at all, and for a long time took every opportunity of slipping himself out of it. In the evening we mounted our elephant, and rode about a mile to inspect a large fort,355 built of hewn stone, within which Nugeeb ul Dowlah had stood a siege by Shaw Allum, Emperor of Delhi, at that time denominated “The Great Mogul.” This fort is at present untenanted, but is capable of being made a very strong intrenchment, large enough to contain a garrison of three thousand men, although for the actual defence of it perhaps five hundred might suffice. It is situated on an extensive plain, surrounded by a strong wall and two deep ditches, supplied from a reservoir within the fort.

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CHAPTER XIV. ON the following day we halted at Nugeenah,356 about fifteen miles from our last encampment. On the road we forded several small streams, one of which (the Gongon) is frequently impassable in the rainy season for many hours, being at that time both deep and rapid. We were told of a tiger that had been seen of late near this river, but he did not favour us with his appearance. A gentleman known to some of our party, had, in passing about two months before, the good fortune to kill one on this very spot. The small town of Nugeena contains eighteen thousand inhabitants: it is celebrated for the manufacture of blankets, and coloured glass. The Nawaab’s residence is at Arampore,357 which we passed close by. In the square space in front of the palace, we observed a number of his attendants—fair, handsome men, sitting or lounging upon charpiahs, with a degree of independence that surprised us. These Rohillah chiefs are not very partial to the English.358 From Nugeenah to Dawmpore (where we found our tents) is about fourteen miles. Our road lay over a level country, well wooded and watered, the cultivation in many parts reaching to the road side. Dawmpore is famous for the manufacture of pistols, swords, gun-barrels, and matchlocks. From Dawmpore, by way of Soharra to Saispore, is, without any exception, the wildest fifteen miles of country I ever travelled: it is covered with bushes, the haunt of ferocious animals; through it runs a deep sandy road. The gentleman who was driving me in his curricle, told me that he had killed five tigers on the spot we then were, not more than a month before, and a most singular circumstance occurred. He had gone on to the village afterwards, where he had left his gig, in order to return home in it, when passing a bush where one of the tigers were found that he had shot, a tigress darted out and (what is very unusual) pursued him so swiftly, that notwithstanding he put his horse at speed, he had the greatest difficulty to escape her. The only reason he could imagine for her being so furious was, that it might have been one of her cubs which he had destroyed. At a place called Soondree, about fourteen miles farther, the country appeared well cultivated, which is rather astonishing in such a neighbourhood, and the road tolerably good. We passed through two or three groves of the sweet-scented bauble tree,359 whose odour resembles that of mignionette. On the 21st we quitted Soondree, and reached the judge’s house at Moradabad360 to breakfast. The city of Moradabad stands in the centre of the most park-like country imaginable. Among the hills, not far from it, the apple, cherry, walnut, arbutus, and beech trees, flourish; and plenty of wild strawberries are found in the woods. The neighbouring gardens produce peaches, apples, strawberries, pine apples, and all sorts of vegetable in the highest perfection. The culture of potatoes361 is particularly encouraged in this district, and succeeds remarkably well. In 117

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seasons when there is a scarcity of grain, (which frequently happens,) this vegetable may prove a most valuable substitute, and probably the introduction of it into India, be the means of saving many thousand lives. Although first cultivated by its European inhabitants, the natives are all fond of it, and eat it without scruple. The houses at this place are in general large, and chiefly built of brick. The one in which the judge resides is a perfect palace; indeed it was formerly the palace of a Rohillah chief. It is surrounded by an out-work of embrasures, bastions, &c.; is situated outside the city, on a space sufficiently large to encamp an army; and was once attacked by the force under Ameer Khan,362 (when united with Holkar, he threatened to exterminate the Europeans,) but gallantly and successfully defended by Mr. Leicester, at that time judge of the district, until troops arrived to his relief. There are six principal squares, in which all the houses are of brick, and one square in the centre of the city, not only spacious, but magnificent. It has within it seventy gates, the whole being surrounded by a high brick wall. The streets, contrary to the plan usually pursued in this country, are wide. No manufacture is carried on here; but the inhabitants are celebrated as being excellent mechanics, particularly in the upholstering line. It is a station for one battalion of Seapoys, and a healthy situation at all seasons of the year. The river Ram Gonga363 runs parallel with the north-east side of the city, and supplies the inhabitants with good water and plenty of excellent fish. We remained here until the 28th, when the commissioners took their departure for Futteh Ghur.364 We forded the Gongon in carriages, near the village of Syfree. Our road lay the whole way through fields of green barley or wheat, bounded on the right by groves of mango trees; while the left presented a pleasing and extensive prospect. A large estate, belonging to the principal zemeendar,365 wore the semblance of great security and comfort. Passing along a fine hard road and level country, richly cultivated, we saw a place named Ryepore, near the large town of Secrowly, embosomed in gardens. Our tents were pitched on an extensive level of turf, surrounded by trees of various kinds. Villages in the Rohillah country366 are in no instance surrounded by a wall, as in the districts of Coel, Delhi, Meratt, and Agra; (in fact, throughout the Douab;) neither have the Rohillas any fences to their fields. Sugar-cane, wheat, and barley, appear to be the chief productions of their country. Neither the strength of our party, nor the sentries which at all times paraded before the doors of our tents, could at all times secure us from thieves; but we found a complete guard, at this place, in the person of a small terrier that had been fastened to one of the bed-posts. About the middle of the night, when all was quiet in the camp, (and the sentries, I suspect, asleep,) this little animal became very restless, then barked violently, and at length broke from his fastening, and made a dart towards the opposite wall of the tent. The glimmering light of the lamp discovered to me at the moment two large staring eyes, glaring frightfully round in search of plunder. The dog could not get at the man; but the alarm was given, and the intended thief secured: he had nothing on but a cummerbund*; yet in that were secreted two knives, sharpened at either edge. This place is named Shoepore. * Cummerbund is a breadth of cloth wound round the loins.

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From hence we continued our route over a fertile country, with occasional inequalities scarcely deserving the name of hills, to Alli Gunge. The cultivation reached the road on either side, interrupted only by occasional groves of the mango tree, through which we drove. On the other side Alli Gunge, the soil becomes sandy, and the face of the country assumes a totally different appearance. After crossing a small river, we entered what is called a jow jungle,367 much resembling the birch wood in England, of which brooms are made. This continued for about three miles, and conducted us to the banks of the Ram Gonga, where ferryboats had been prepared, but, as it was then practicable, I preferred crossing it on my elephant. An elephant is the only animal, except a camel, that can ford this river, even when it is at the lowest. In the rainy season it would be impracticable to ford it at all, as it is then both deep and rapid. From hence we drove in a curricle to Barreilli,368 a city inhabited entirely by Mussulmen; it has been celebrated in history, and is still of considerable consequence. It stands on an extensive plain, bounded on every side by lofty trees. The soil is deep and sandy; the city itself irregularly built; and its inhabitants, chiefly Rohillas, are so very uncivil, (to give the mildest term to their demeanour,) that no European can enter it without the risk of being insulted. These people possess the pride of ancestry, in a preeminent degree. The city swarms with the insolent, proud descendants of Haffiz Ramut, chief of the Rohillas: he was killed in battle at this place by Sujah Dowlah, Nawaab of Lucknow, at the head of the forces belonging to the Emperor of Delhi, who, it is reported, owed his success on this occasion to the firmness of his English allies under the command of Colonel Champion.369,* This circumstance is still fresh in the remembrance of the natives, whose veneration for their chief is very great; and their detestation of the English, from the part they took against him, proportionably so. The city of Bareilly was founded by Haffiz Ramut;370 and his remains are interred there, beneath a splendid monument erected to his memory. The inhabitants of this city are always ripe for rebellion, but are incapable of much resistance, having neither wall, nor ditch, to protect them. Among these are a few merchants who trade in drugs and timber, from the neighbouring hills, to whom the support of the English Government is of consequence. It is what is called a Sudder Station, having a court of circuit, a court of appeal, a judge of the district, collector, chaplain, surgeon, &c. with one battalion of Seapoys. In a court of circuit there are two judges, in a court of appeal three. The Seapoy cantonment is about a mile from the city. The houses of the civilians occupy an open space between the city and the cantonment: near them stands a fortified jail. We passed nearly a month at Bareilly. It is almost the only place in India where the nights throughout the year are never oppressively hot. This place is famous for carpenters’ work of all descriptions. They imitate the painting on China trunks, boxes, tables, &c. so well, that it is scarcely possible to distinguish them from * See Hamilton’s Account of the Rohillah War371.

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the original articles. Their chairs are beautifully varnished, and tastefully shaped. The Bareilly furniture is indeed justly estimated throughout the provinces, and produces a fund of wealth to the manufacturers. The facility with which they get timber from the hills, greatly assists their views. From hence to Pilibete,372 which lies at the foot of those hills from whence the timber is brought, is only two days’ journey. Being so near these hills, we were desirous of visiting the source of the Gogra,373 which river takes its rise from thence; and accordingly, on the 1st of March, sent forward our camp equipage. The two first marches were unmarked by any particular occurrence: the country over which we travelled was flat and uninteresting; but on the third day we entered a beautiful and extensive forest of sissoo trees,374 infested by every wild animal that the country produces, notwithstanding, the natives appeared to live in it without any visible means of defence. Curious to know the reason of such apparent apathy, I learned that they were all Predestinarians, and often saw their cattle and children carried off without an attempt to rescue them. “Their time is come,” they say, “and if you should succeed in saving them from the threatened danger, another, still more terrible, is sure to be at hand.” The second day, in passing through this immense forest, we met travellers whose countenances bespoke them of a different race. They proved indeed to be inhabitants of the second, and third range of mountains, bringing their merchandize, chiefly drugs, to an annual fair, held about this time, at a village named Bellary, on the outskirts of the forest. Assafœtida375 is a principal article of traffic, as it is a favourite ingredient in the cookery, both of Hindoo and Mussulman. It is a low bush, with long leaves, that are cut off near the stem, when a milky juice exudes, which hardens gradually, like opium, but loses its virtue, if left long exposed to the sun. The people I am speaking of, are of a bright copper colour; their stature is short and thick; they have broad faces, flat noses, small eyes, scarcely any beard, and no mustachios. They do not wear turbans like the natives of Hindostan, but fasten their hair in a bunch on the top of the head, with a long black bodkin. In appearance they strongly resemble those figures often seen on old china jars; and, living on the borders of Tartary, we may justly conclude them of Chinese extraction. Nothing could exceed the beautiful wild scenery of this day’s march. We continued to ride through a thick forest, intersected by innumerable running streams, clear as the purest crystal, over which was occasionally thrown a tree in full foliage, to answer the purpose of a bridge. The approach to one of these streams was invariably marked by the feet of wild animals. On one part of our route, which lay along the edge of a steep precipice, we distinguished the footsteps of wild elephants, as if a drove had lately passed, and this appearance continued for more than a mile. Our guide informed us that a large male elephant had been occasionally seen, and was recognised, on this path, for many years; frequently attacking, and, of course, destroying, the unprotected traveller. As we were armed, and strongly guarded, I felt no apprehension, but could not avoid being anxious for the arrival of the servants that were to follow. Nature must surely have regarded with peculiar complacency this most enchanting spot. A rich valley, reposing beneath a majestic acclivity, covered with herds of cattle, grazing 120

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on its velvet pasture, under the shade of spreading branches, with here and there a cluster of peasants’ huts, were its peculiar characteristics. All appeared tranquil as in the midst of the most civilized country, nor seemed to fear their lordly neighbours. Our breakfast tent was pitched a short distance beyond this, on the banks of the Gogra. The mountains, although in fact, at a great distance from us, appeared but just on the opposite shore, forming one of the finest landscapes I ever beheld. When the heat of the day had a little subsided, we sallied forth to enjoy the prospect, occasionally seating ourselves on a projecting rock. The moon was near the full, and arose from behind the mountains superlatively bright. To what sublimity of idea did their vast summits, illumined by her rays, give rise, while their more humble bases were veiled in obscurity! Next morning, we pursued our way, and safely arrived at Behrmundeo. Our tents were pitched on a plain of the liveliest verdure. In front ran the Gogra, slowly meandering over its pebbly bed, bounded on the opposite shore by almost perpendicular mountains. The sides of these mountains clothed with trees of various foliage, many of them in full blossom, impregnating the air with the most exhilarating odours; while not more than a hundred yards from us, lay the forest, filled with game of every kind. The few native inhabitants of this country, are solely occupied in tending their herds and cutting wood. The river supplies them with fish and wild fowl in abundance, both which they eat without scruple. Soon after breakfast, our Hindoo servants asked permission to pay their obeisance to the deity who is said to preside there. I confess my curiosity was raised to see a spot so celebrated: at sun-set, therefore, on the following evening, we repaired thither, when instead of a temple, as I expected, decorated with all the emblems of Hindoo superstition, I beheld only a pedestal of granite, about five feet high, with three rusty iron spikes of a foot long stuck into the top of it. These were ornamented with a few faded flowers and boughs, the pious offerings of our people, while at its base were seated three squalid unfortunate children of a mendicant fakeer, who, with mouths and eyes wide open, appeared like horrible fixtures to the place. Some gentlemen, we were told, had been at this place before, but never any lady. Finding so little attraction here, we walked along the sands, which as the river subsides, are left dry, and soon become hard, for a considerable distance. Large fragments of rock occasionally interrupted our progress. Near these were a cluster of deserted huts, that our guide informed us, were occupied at a particular season of the year, by the hill people, whose mountain dwellings, he pointed out to us, at an immense distance on the summits, and between the fissures of the opposite range. They came down, he said, to sift the sand for gold dust, lumps of which were frequently found there, as large as a common sized hazel-nut. This forms another part of their traffic with Bellary, the village before-mentioned, and on the approach of summer, these people return to their snowy dwellings. We now seemed to have reached the uttermost parts of the earth. Huge snow-capped mountains, frowning in awful majesty, formed an amphitheatre around us, from one of which (about the centre of this vast space) the river takes its rise. Not a human being to be seen or heard. It was stillness all. 121

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Oh, had I but the pen of Young376 or Milton377 to describe it! The delightful reverie into which I had fallen, was at length interrupted by my companion, who having strayed some little distance, returned to point out to me amongst the varied foliage, that of the fir, oak, and ash. On returning to the tents, I mentioned having seen them, which induced some of the gentlemen of our party to ascend these mountains, and explore. I wished much to have accompanied them, but was persuaded to relinquish the attempt, as it could only be accomplished on foot, and, of course, with very great fatigue. Two only of the gentlemen reached the summit, and they passed the night in a hut that appeared not to have been long untenanted. After traversing a beautiful green sward, for about a quarter of a mile, along the bank of the river, they gradually ascended to the height of forty feet, and found themselves on a flat cultivated space. From hence they proceeded along a winding path, occasionally impeded by mountain rills, near which they observed innumerable plants of extraordinary beauty*; also the fern, ivy, and common dock-plant of England, and they had no doubt, from the nature of the soil, but that violets and primroses might have been found, had there been time to search for them. Sometimes they came to a beautiful valley interspersed with trees and huts, where the wild strawberry, raspberry, barberry, and hawthorn, flourished in abundance; at others, they were obliged to be assisted by their guides up perpendicular heights of six or seven feet. Near one of these, they were led to expect a mountain torrent of some magnitude, but were disappointed, from having missed the turn which would have led them to it; it proved to be four hours’ walk beyond the village at which they halted for the night. Two beautifully picturesque valleys conducted them to an acclivity covered with the pine, fir, and mountain ash, intermixed with those trees which are peculiar to the more southern provinces. After toiling for four hours, over a path scarcely wide enough for one person, sometimes bordering on a precipice of tremendous depth; they reached the summit, on which they found a deserted village. The inhabitants, it was concluded, were gone to the fair at Bellary. A friend of ours, thinking it might prove a good speculation, ordered two or three hundred small caps of scarlet cloth to be sent there the following year, and exposed for sale. No sooner were these produced, than the hill people crowded round and evinced the strongest anxiety to possess them. So rapid was the exchange for drugs effected, and so clamorous did they become when all were nearly disposed of, that the vender was actually obliged, by stratagem, to make good his retreat. But to rerurn to my narrative. These unsuspicious people, having left their habitations open, our gentlemen entered one of the huts, in order to take some refreshment and repose; but on calling for the provisions, what was their dismay to find that none were brought, although at least a dozen people had started with them. A bottle of brandy had been given to one of the guides, but by some accident he * Some of them they brought to me, and I succeeded in propagating them, but they degenerated as well in colour as in size. 122

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had broken it. In fact, neither cold meat nor brandy had arrived. They had then no other resource left, than to kindle a few sticks, in order to warm themselves, and determine to be as comfortable as circumstances would permit. So, dismissing the guides, and barricading the door with logs of wood, they sought shelter from hunger in the arms of Morpheus;378 thus they might probably have remained some hours insensible to its attack, had not an alarm of a different nature occurred, which filled their minds at the moment, with a sentiment not very unlike fear. About midnight, the door of the hut was forcibly assailed, accompanied by voices who loudly demanded entrance. The wind had risen almost to a hurricane, and whistling through the interstices of their miserable dwelling, rendered quite unintelligible the language of the intruders. Having neglected to provide themselves either with fire-arms, or side-arms, they debated whether it would be more prudent rather to make the door more secure than to open it. One of the gentlemen, however, suggested that they might still be unable to defend themselves for any time; nor could they entertain the slightest hopes of succour from their guides, of whom it was most probable they should see no more; for, upon the least appearance of hostility, these men generally decamp. It was at length determined, that they should each take a log of wood in his hand, and boldly open the door; when, ridiculous to tell, instead of the abuse and blows they were prepared to parry, a party greeted them who had been sent by us with some good cheer. For we had learned after they were gone, that the provisions they intended to have taken with them, had been inadvertently left behind. No longer grumbling at the interruption to their slumbers, they seated themselves upon the ground, and never (as they afterwards assured me) made a more comfortable meal. These huts are composed of pieces from the rock, cemented together by clay, and thickly thatched. At dawn of day, our gentlemen began to descend, which they found as tedious, and more terrific than their labours on the preceding day. One of them had the curiosity to measure the height of the mountain, and found it from its base to the summit, exactly four thousand feet.* The following day was passed in exploring the country in a contrary direction. Game of every description rose almost beneath our elephants’ feet; amongst which were a great number of the black feathered partridge, equally as fine in flavour as beautiful in plumage; they are shaped like those of England, but rather larger: these and quails seemed to abound in the vallies where we were. One night, while we remained here, a circumstance of rather an alarming nature occurred, but, providentially, was not succeeded by any serious consequence. The roar of a wild elephant near our camp, threw every thing into confusion, and we had reason to fear his nearer approach, as one of the female elephants that conveyed the tents was answering to his call, and all efforts to silence her were vain. It was supposed that she might, some time or other, have been used as a decoy

* The cattle bred in these hills are remarkably small, and nice eating; the meat being very fat, and the grain extremely fine. The bullocks in general are about the size of an English calf.

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elephant, for our people were obliged to chain her round a large tree to prevent her running off, and also to kindle fires round the camp to keep him at a distance. But our perils were not destined to end here; as, before the fires were fairly lighted, a hungry tiger sprung on one of the bullocks and dragged him off. It was too dark to distinguish the tiger, but his growl could not be mistaken, which added to the screech of the elephants, made a most terrific concert. In vain did the gentlemen assure me, that the constant firing of musketry kept up by our attendants, would secure us from harm; I trembled at every joint, and most heartily wished myself any where else; nor were my fears dissipated until the return of day-light. We next morning bid adieu to this haunt of our formidable enemies, and encamped about fourteen miles distant; where, free from shade, the sun was intensely hot, and the nights extremely cold. While taking our usual ramble one evening, we got intelligence of some neighbours that might have proved still more dangerous than those we had quitted. A party of five hundred Mowattys379 had pitched their tents about a mile and a half from ours, and were reported to have plundered several villages in their route. These are a description of robbers, something like gypsies, and very desperate. As we were not ambitious of becoming acquainted with them, no time was lost in collecting our small forces, and striking the tents; or in taking speedy measures, as silently as possible, to decamp. We halted not again until we were entirely clear of the forest. The change of climate experienced now, was very great; not only the days, but nights, became oppressively hot under canvas; and although highly gratified by the trip, I was by no means sorry to find myself in a bungalow at Bareilly. March and April are the only months in which Europeans can visit Behrmundeo with safety. Before that time the weather is too cold, and afterwards, the water is so impregnated with melted snow, mixed with putrid leaves that are washed down from the hills, as to render it certain death to the traveller who attempts it. We just returned to Bareilly in time to eat ortolans380 in perfection; they come in season with the hot winds, and are found in immense flights wherever there is a sandy space. These birds are about the size of larks, and when fried with crumbs of bread, are really delicious. At first, they are like little lumps of butter, and may be eaten bones and all; but towards the latter end of the season, they fall off amazingly, and are at all times so delicate that if you attempt to keep them alive, they are good for nothing; they are not killed with shot, but with a grain called gram.381 Ortolans and mangoes are great delicacies during the hot season, and fortunately both are to be procured in abundance. After remaining a short time at Bareilly, we proceeded towards Futty Ghur. In two marches we reached Kutterah,382 the scene of battle between Sujah Dowlah and Haffiz Ramut, of whom I have before spoken. This town of Kutterah is large, populous, and in good repair. It was built by Sujah Dowlah to commemorate his victory over the Rohillahs; it is protected by a high brick wall, and secured by ponderous gates thickly barred with iron.* The wind having blown hard all night, * Distant from Bareilly about thirty miles.

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and still continuing to do so, I travelled in my palankeen. This country is more than usually diversified with hill and dale, which, with a variety of cultivation, afforded a most agreeable prospect; but we had the misfortune to find our tents pitched in an open space, without the shelter of a single tree, and the wind continuing to blow, raised the light sandy particles in such quantities as to render our situation, that day, by no means enviable. Added to this, none of the insignificant villages near us, afforded even fodder for our cattle. The country, from this place, continued level, and extremely fertile. We passed through the village of Acbar, and about four miles further, that of Sianna. Near the latter were some luxuriant banyan trees,383 which formed an extensive shade, while clumps of bamboos in every direction, added much to the beauty of the scene. The wind had now considerably fallen, but the threatening aspect of the weather portended an approaching storm, it did not however deter me from mounting an elephant at this place, and we were fortunate enough to arrive at our encampment before the rain commenced, which soon afterwards fell in torrents, accompanied by heavy thunder, and some vivid flashes of lightning. The town of Jellalabad,384 where we halted, is built upon an eminence, and contains a pretty strong fort. We found plenty of game in the neighbourhood, particularly hares, and the common brown feathered partridge. I saw also several foxes; these are the prettiest creatures imaginable, beautifully formed, and not much higher than a rabbit; the colour is the same as those in England. The road from Jellalabad to Umrutpore385 is very bad; I travelled it in an open carriage, at the imminent risk of my life. The prospect, however, is extremely beautiful, the country being checkered by groves of the kudgua, mango, and sweet-scented banbool trees.386 About two miles after leaving Jellalabad, we recrossed the river Ram Gonga. As it was too deep to ford, we had recourse to boats. So thick a fog prevailed, that although the river is not broad, we could not distinguish the opposite side, and the cold dampness of the atmosphere was exceedingly unpleasant. About six miles farther, we crossed another stream of about three feet deep, beyond which, by a gradual ascent, we reached our tents at Umrutpore. This village stands upon a plain of considerable extent, as smooth as any bowling-green. In the course of the journey to-day, a gentleman of the party being on horseback, was attacked by a wild buffalo, who, inflicting a wound with his horns on the flank of the horse, so frightened him, that he set off at speed, and by that means probably saved the life of his rider. I was fortunately on an elephant, of whom these animals are afraid. From Umrutpore to Futty Ghur, the distance is only eighteen miles; but the road is as bad as it can be, and passable; particularly the last two miles, which led through a thick jow jungle to the river Ganges. Here we crossed in boats so rudely constructed, that as the wind blew strong, and the stream was exceedingly rapid, I did not feel very comfortable. Futty Ghur being the station appointed for the Commissioners to reside at, we left them there, and returned to the place from whence we had started, viz. Secundra near Agra. 125

CHAPTER XIX.387 AT Secundra we remained until the middle of September, 1809. At that time a committee was ordered to proceed to Poosa,388 (below Patna,) where the East India Company had a stud, in order to select horses for the cavalry. Once more, then, I was to become a traveller, and destined to proceed in a contrary direction. We were to march as far as Futty Ghur, which stands on the banks of the Ganges, and thence go by water down the country. Having in a former part of this narrative given a description of the road between Futty Ghur and Secundra, I shall pass over the present march, and commence my journal from the period of our embarkation at Futty Ghur on the 27th of September, 1809. Our boats having been prepared for the voyage, consisting of a budgerow to sleep in, a pinnace389 to eat in, a boat fitted up as a kitchen; another for poultry, sheep, and stores; another for servants and baggage; and a sixth for the washing-boat and Hindoo servants; and being joined by the fleets of two other gentlemen, we set sail with a fair wind towards Khawnpore,390 and arrived there on the 29th to dinner. The next day we sailed rapidly down the stream for twenty miles, and then came to for the night; on which occasion the boats were made fast to long wooden pegs, driven into the bank for that purpose. This gives the servants an opportunity of dressing their food on shore; besides which, shoals and quick-sands are so numerous in the Ganges, that it would be dangerous to move by night. At day-break the next morning we again set sail, but had not proceeded far before our budgerow got aground, and it was six hours before she was under weigh again. This was by no means an agreeable situation on a river full of quicksands. The weather was fortunately mild; and towards evening we reached a village named Tickerry, which being inhabited by Hindoos, furnished no supplies for our other servants. Having undergone much fatigue during the day, (for all hands are obliged to put a shoulder to the wheel in cases of emergency,) they preferred rest, and deprivation of a meal, to walking any distance in search of one. This circumstance, fortunately, does not often occur, as a man’s strength in this country is estimated by the quantity of food that he eats. I have frequently known a palankeen bearer devour two seers391 of boiled rice at a meal; and so proud are they of an enormous appetite, that they challenge each other to eat, as English clowns do to fight. Kumjour wallah, (a man of little strength,) is one of the most opprobrious epithets that can be used towards them; indeed, of so much importance do they consider a hearty meal, that while thus engaged you may summon a man in vain— he will not stir until he has finished it. Happily, the ceremony is a short one. They dress their victuals in earthen vessels, which are broken in pieces the moment that the contents are removed into brass ones; (out of which it is eaten;) and these 126

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are scowered with sand after every meal. Not a servant in the family, except the sweeper, would touch any thing from their master’s table if they were starving; (in fact, Hindoos do not eat animal food at all;392 and meat for Mussulmen must be prepared after the Jewish custom,393 or they are forbidden by their law to eat of it:) so they betook themselves to their usual resource in such cases, composing themselves to sleep; some on the top of their boat, and others under an old sail on the bank. Our pinnace being the largest in the fleet, it was agreed that the party should assemble in it at breakfast and dinner. Of an evening, when the boats were made fast for the night, (which was generally the case about sun-set,) some of us walked or rode out until dinner was ready. The dinner hour here is eight in the evening. The mornings began now to grow cool; and the party proceeded in high spirits, with a certainty that the weather would become pleasanter every day. Finding ourselves near the town of Jehanabad,394 which contains an excellent market, we came to there for the night considerably before our usual hour; but this frequently answers, as there may not be another good place to stop at when you wish to do so, the banks being often craggy and irregular, and no village within hail. About noon the next day we came opposite to the ancient city of Allahabad, but the river had fallen so low that we could not approach it, we were consequently obliged to make for the opposite side of the river Jumna, where the water is always deep. After procuring some necessary supplies by means of a small wherry395 from Allahabad, we proceeded next day as usual; but no village being in sight at the hour for legowing,396 our boats were made fast to a sand-bank in the middle of the river. Our voyage to-day was by no means agreeable; for the river was bounded on either side by high, and almost perpendicular banks. The wind blew strong from the eastward during the night, which being against the stream, caused a heavy swell, and annoyed us not a little; in fact, we were obliged to quit the position we had taken, and not without great difficulty gained the opposite shore. The river shortly after assumed the appearance of a sea, for which our boats were by no means calculated. Unfortunately for us, it soon increased to a gale of wind; during which, one of our baggage boats was upset, and the budgerow broke from her moorings, drifting with considerable rapidity towards a place in the Nawaab’s country inhabited by thieves, whose chief support is from the plunder of boats, which they have a most ingenious mode of attacking without being seen. Accustomed to swimming and diving from their infancy, the water may almost be termed their natural element. When they perceive boats legowed for the night, and that the crews are retired to rest, they cover their heads with earthen pots, having two holes bored through them for eyes, and slipping into the river, float silently round until an opportunity offers of climbing upon deck, when making themselves masters of all property that is moveable, without disturbing any one, they swim off with it securely. So expert are they at this occupation, that a gentleman has frequently missed his writing desk in the morning, without the smallest appearance of any one having been there. 127

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The next morning was cloudy, with a drizzling rain; but the wind proved fair, and we let go our anchorage. The river however winds so considerably here, that a fair wind one half hour is contrary the next, so that we made but little progress. The banks were still high, almost inaccessible: on their summits we observed several large villages. The weather had now become cool and pleasant. In the course of the day we saw a great many fishing boats, that amply supplied our table with delicious fish: one sort, called the roe, resembles the codfish we have in England. Mullet of all descriptions are very plentiful in this river. In a few hours the face of the country wore quite a different appearance: sloping banks clothed with verdure, villages disposed amid groves of trees, and whole families bathing and playing in the stream, succeeded to the barren craggy banks we had just left, and proved a most agreeable change. About noon we arrived at Mirzapore,397 a celebrated place for the manufacture of carpets, little, if at all inferior, to those of Turkey or Persia. Mirzapore is a station for civilians, that is to say, a judge, collector, registrar, assistants, &c. with one or two regiments of Seapoys. It is also a principal seat of customs. The following morning, at an early hour, we passed the fort of Chunar,398 which is considered one of the hottest places in India, and reached Benares about seven o’clock in the evening. Villages became daily more numerous, and ferryboats plied in abundance. We passed this day two indigo factories, and the military station of Ghazipore, as likewise the fort and town of Buxar. From Buxar to Chuperah399 the river winds considerably, and there are many quick-sands which, in the rainy season, render the navigation extremely dangerous. A gentleman, whose budgerow stuck on one of these, was obliged to walk backwards and forwards on it the whole night, kneedeep in water; for had he stopped but for one minute, he would have been swallowed up for ever. A boat from the shore, as soon as they could see him, put off to his assistance; but his own, with all the property it contained, was irretrievably lost. This part of the country is well cultivated, and rendered picturesque from the numerous villages and groves with which its banks abound. The traffic on the Ganges is really wonderful: we passed in one day upwards of two hundred merchant vessels, laden with grain quite to the water’s edge. About two o’clock a storm came on from the south-west, which nearly sunk our cooking boat, and obliged us to make fast to the nearest bank: it lasted without intermission for at least four hours. These storms are very common in the rainy season, which is called the south-west monsoon. It begins at Khanpore about the 20th of June, and continues until the end of October: in Bengal a month earlier. Heavy rolling clouds, from the south-west to the north-east point of the compass, announce its approach. The sky assumes a terrific aspect, and after some days of extreme heat, the rain comes down in torrents. The first shower or two, causes the earth to smoke and (such you can almost fancy to be the case) to hiss like water falling upon a hot plate of iron, but after that, the air becomes cool, and the whole atmosphere breathes perfume, carrying delightful fragrance on every breeze. This heavy rain does not continue, as in Bengal, to inundate the country for many 128

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weeks, giving to it the appearance of one large sheet of water, but is succeeded at intervals by fine reviving weather. The ravines which intersect the upper provinces carry off the superabundant water. About ten o’clock the next morning we reached Chuperah, and finding it a cheap place for natives to purchase provisions, they were all permitted to go on shore. This delayed us so long, that we did not reach Danapore until the morning after. Here we crossed a small branch of the Ganges, (which by an accumulation of sand had been separated from the main river,) and continuing our course for ten miles farther, entered the river Gunduk, and soon reached Soanepore.400 This village is situated on a promontory, between the two rivers Gunduk and Ganges. An annual fair is held here for those of the East India Company’s stud-horses that turn out undersized, (or too low for the cavalry.) Here the cocoa-nut, bamboo, and tamarind trees, so beautifully intermix their foliage, that it may be justly termed a most luxuriant spot. We quitted the boats, and having despatched our camp equipage, mounted horses, and rode the first fourteen miles towards Poosa. We now came to a stream, which not being fordable, we were obliged to dismount, and cross it on a raft made of bamboos, fixed upon three canoes abreast of each other: an extensive lake now presented itself, covered with wild fowl. The surrounding country appeared populous, and consisted chiefly of pasture lands. Soon after crossing the narrow deep stream of which I have been speaking, we encamped under the spreading branches of a tree that afforded ample shelter for ourselves and cattle. The ground, as far as the eye could reach, was covered with the most lively verdure, interspersed with stately trees: here and there stood a hamlet, or cottage, neatly thatched, round which the stream meandered slowly, and the cattle browzed contentedly on its banks. After travelling the next morning in an open carriage for eighteen miles, on an execrable road, we arrived at Poosa. The superintendant at this time was a Mr. Moorcroft, who afterwards penetrated the third range of the Snowy Mountains, and published an ingenious work on the subject of his researches.401 The pasture at Poosa is remarkably fine. The bamboo plant flourishes here in perfection, forming alike an admirable fence to their lands, and considerably adding to their beauty. A river called the Choota Gunduk fertilizes the soil. There appears however a strong objection to this place—I mean the climate—as is the case throughout the province of Tirhoot,402 in which district, Poosa is situated: a cold, damp atmosphere, and constant fog in the winter; a hot, damp, close one, in the rains; (when very few escape the ravages of fever and ague;) and in the hot season a burning sun, without sufficient wind to cool, even by means of tatties, and yet too hot a one to live without them. The seasons in India are only divided into these three, of four months in each; but they are very different in the upper and lower provinces. The province of Tirhoot is favourable only for the growth of indigo and production of horses. The superintendant’s mansion stands alone: his nearest neighbour, with the exception of those attached to the establishment, lives twelve miles off. On the 4th of November we quitted Poosa, and crossed the Ganges by three separate ferry boats to Patna, being obliged to traverse beds of sand between each. From Patna 129

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we proceeded in carriages to Danapore, where we did not arrive until one o’clock, much fatigued, and almost starved. On the morning of the 12th, accompanied by a party from Danapore, we re-crossed the Ganges, in order to be present at the Hadjepore fair,403 so called from a village inland, of that name, although the booths are erected and merchandize exposed at Soanepore, the village before mentioned as standing on a promontory at the junction of the rivers Ganges, and Gunduk, forming at this time the gayest scene imaginable. The surrounding scenery is very beautiful, being a continuation of woods along the bank of either river. Those who preferred living in their boats, sheltered by the spreading branches of luxuriant trees, made them fast to the shelving bank. On the present occasion, many were gaily decked with flags, and formed a line of above a mile in length. The noise of firing matchlocks, and the sounds of native music, proved to our ears exceedingly annoying. There is a fine race-course at this place, which was well attended, and the gentlemen had good sport. Instead of a ball as they have in England, this was a dinner for separate parties, provided by the same traiteur,404 under the trees. The business of the Committee, and individual amusement, kept us here until the 28th, when we all returned to Danapore. On the 3rd of December we turned our faces westward. Having before described the country between Patna and Khanpore, I shall only add, that we travelled it either on horseback or in an open carriage, and arrived there without accident on the 4th of January. Having passed a few days with our friends, we commenced our march towards Meerat by the way of Chobipore,405 leaving Futty Ghur upon our right, and passed a fort belonging to the Rajah of Tutteah, before which Colonel Guthrie, of the Company’s service, lost his life in 1804.406 A little farther, on the same road, brought us to a place called Canoge,407 where many curious coins have been dug up of as ancient date as Alexander’s conquest,408 and with his name upon them: how they came there has never been satisfactorily accounted for. The ruins are very extensive; and the natives make a great profit from these coins. They manufacture and dye red muslin for turbans in a superior manner at Canoge; also coarse cloths, checked muslins, rose water, otta of roses, &c. I observed also a number of gardens filled with poppies for producing opium, which they obtain by making an incision into the round part of the poppy, just below the flower. This is generally done in the evening, and before morning a sufficient quantity of opium exudes to take off. It appears like a clear dark gum, which hardens by exposure to the air. Our route from hence lay through ravines for nearly fourteen miles. Scarcely could a space be found large enough to pitch our tents upon. We were much disturbed at night by wolves, which the sentries affirmed were the largest they had ever seen. Next morning’s march brought us near to a fortified place, reported to be the haunt of banditti. Our guide, by way of encouragement, informed us that a few days before a gentleman was robbed here, and two of his servants put to death. We had, however, the good fortune to pass the night unmolested, and proceeded as usual on the following day. A dreary road, over a bleak and sandy plain, much cut up by heavy loads, appeared before us. The wind blew exceedingly cold; and, 130

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to add to my discomfort, when about the centre of this dreary wild, one of the springs of our carriage snapped. Behold me, then, standing the picture of misery, shivering with cold, and sharply pressed by hunger, (for we had not yet breakfasted,) while they bound up, as well as circumstances would permit, the untimely fracture. Blacksmiths and carpenters are found in every village, so that the damage was easily repaired when we arrived there. Next morning the weather was so cold, that I preferred riding the first five or six miles on horseback; the carriage was consequently sent forward by one of the grooms, who having by some chance let go the reins, a spirited Arab mare, being in the shafts, set off at speed, overturned the gig, and almost killed the man. We received a present to-day from the Rajah of a wild hog that he had just killed; dressed some of it for dinner, and found it excellent, resembling both in appearance and flavour the most delicate veal. From hence we reached Sarseney to breakfast, which place having described in my journey from Secundra to Hurdoar, I shall here pass over; suffice it to say, that the town appeared more flourishing than at that period, and the fort exhibited more evident marks of decay. Its former Rajah, Bagoin Sing,409 was so attached to the place from its having descended to him through a long line of ancestry, that he offered Government a large sum of money for the re-possession of it; but prudence forbids their acquiescence. He is one of those who are not to be trusted. After marching the three successive days with little variation to the scene, and no remarkable incidents, we arrived near the fort of Mala Ghur, the residence of Bahadar Khan,410 (a quiet, civil ally of the English Government,) and encamped close to his garden. Bahadar Khan himself was absent; but his brother, who lives with him, paid us a complimentary visit with a present of fruit and vegetables, and in the evening we walked with him over the gardens. The next morning we drove through a beautiful country, over a fine hard road for about twelve miles, to Galowty, a village surrounded by clumps of trees and green fields. During this ride over a fine open plain, we started a herd of antelopes, which the dogs we had with us pursued for about half an hour full in our view, and afforded excellent sport. The antelopes at length eluded them by darting into a thicket. They are the most elegant animals in shape, as well as action, that I ever beheld. The first four miles from Galowty led through fields of grain, chiefly barley; after which we entered a dock jungle that was extremely difficult to drive through on account of the stumps. This continued all the way to Hauper. Hauper is a large town, situated on an eminence, with a brick wall all round it. It is a station for invalided Seapoys of the Mussulman persuasion, and a very refractory set they are. Their chief employment is drinking bang, (a spirituous liquor extracted from an herb somewhat resembling mint,) and smoking. An officer resides on the spot, but he cannot keep them out of mischief: they are always inclined to be insolent to strangers, and sometimes have been known to plunder them. Many fine large groves of the mango tree appeared about this place. From Hauper we proceeded still through a dock jungle to Ker Koondah, a village as inhospitable as could be well imagined, and one in which little was to 131

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be got, and much apprehended. We did not however retire to rest until a very late hour, and kept the sentries upon the alert for the rest of the night, so that we escaped the usual fate of travellers at that place, (the loss of their property,) and arrived safely to dinner at Meerat next day. Thus ended our trip from Agra to Poosa, and from Poosa to Meerat, a journey of sixteen hundred miles, performed chiefly in an open carriage. As it may perhaps amuse those who have not been in India, I annex a list of our establishment for the march. Two palankeens. Twenty-four bearers. One sirdah, or head bearer, and his assistant. Two elephants with their drivers, and two attendants. One of these carried a tent. One gig. Eight horses. Eight grooms. Eight grass cutters for the horses. Here it may not be amiss to mention, that the horses do not eat hay as in England, but the fibrous roots of grass well beaten, which requires a man for each horse to cut and prepare. These roots, and grain, (a kind of vetch,411) constitute the food of a horse in India. One coachman. Six clashies, or men to pitch tents. Three tents, with two poles in each, and double walls: the space between the walls a passage of about five feet all round. These tents are twenty feet between the poles, about sixteen feet wide, and five-and-twenty feet high. Some of them have boarded floors and glass doors; but this is only in a standing encampment. They are lined throughout with chintz, carpeted, and have branch lights for candles fixed against the poles. Twenty coolies—(people from the bazaar, at so much per diem, to carry furniture for the tents, which is all transported upon their heads.) One washerman and his family. One baker and his assistant. One khansomer, or house steward. Two footmen, or waiters. Two tailors. One masalgie, to clean knives and carry the lanthorn, go of errands, &c. Two women servants. One cook and assistant. One sweeper to each tent. Seventy sheep. Thirty-five goats. Two shepherds. Nine camels. Three camel drivers. 132

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Fourteen bullocks. Five waggons. Seven drivers. Twenty-four fowls, forty ducks, twelve geese, twelve rabbits, twelve turkeys. Two men to take care of the poultry. Besides the families of all these servants, with their horses, bullocks, and attendants, which may be computed upon an average of three to one. As it is customary for every individual to draw water for himself from the wells, each of them are supplied with a brass pot, called a lota: it contains about a quart, and is shaped like two-thirds of a globe, with a rim round the top. Round this they tie a strong whip-cord, about the common depth of a well; and when travelling, each man fastens his lota round his waist; for they are much too cleanly to drink after one another. Link-boys and guides are procured at every village; so indeed are coolies, should more be required on the journey. These are relieved at the next village by others, and so on. It is also customary to apply to the head man of that village to furnish a guard for the night, which guard is paid and discharged in the morning, except a robbery is perpetrated during the night, and then (unless by dakoity, as they are called) the man who furnishes the guard is answerable. He also presents a kid, or a couple of fowls to you, on your arrival. We had not been long at Meerat before a party was proposed to go tiger hunting. As I had never witnessed the sport, I was prevailed upon to join them. Having procured five or six elephants that had been properly trained, some rifle and double-barrelled guns, &c. &c. the next morning at day-break we sallied forth. A native chief, with his hundred horsemen, and a numerous suite of attendants with spears and matchlocks, joined us. One of the boldest elephants was selected for me, as being the safest. A timid elephant, on these occasions, is considered dangerous, because when alarmed he starts off, regardless of any impediment that may lie in the way, frequently running under trees, and always making violent efforts to get quit of his load. It however not unfrequently happens that the means we think most likely to secure our safety, prove the cause of our destruction; so it had nearly happened to me. The elephant on which I was mounted, having by some chance got before the others in the jungle, smelt the tiger first, and instantly twisting his trunk round a bush that was before him, began tearing it up with all his might, roaring horribly all the time, when, to my utter dismay, up rose an enormous tiger. The party were there almost at the same instant. The tiger, alarmed (as they supposed) by the clatter of so many horses, probably aroused from sleep, made no resistance, but slunk off into a thicker covert. Nothing, however, could induce my elephant to move, as long as a single stem remained of the bush he had been crouched under, so that the party all pursued him, leaving me behind. I cannot say that I was much disturbed at the circumstance, for having seen a tiger alive, and in a wild state, I was satisfied; and after seeing him swim a small nullah, with his pursuers closely following, I returned quietly home. In a few hours the gentlemen came back. The tiger had shown wonderful sport, and had crossed 133

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another stream. At length, finding himself still closely pursued, he turned, made a spring upon one of the elephants, and for some moments hung by his fore-paws on the lower frame of the howdah. The gentleman who was on it immediately pointed his gun to the throat of the animal, which took effect: he let go his hold, when a volley from the party despatched him. He was a beautiful beast, stood nearly five feet high, with paws and legs beyond proportion large. It was supposed that, being gorged with food, he was asleep when my elephant roused him, and too lazy until enraged to offer battle. The claws of these animals are said to be poisonous; but I rather think the fatality lies in the jagged wound they inflict, which tearing away not only flesh, but sinews, is seldom known to heal, and generally proves fatal. The next day I witnessed a sport of a different kind, being perfectly harmless, and I believe perfectly innocent. A number of young Hindoo girls, apparently about the age of six or seven years, most gaily dressed with scarlet muslin veils, &c. assembled round a pond. They were accompanied by a crowd of middleaged women, whom I concluded to be their mothers, followed by a number of boys. On a signal from the women, these girls threw (each of them) something into the water; when the boys instantly plunged in, with sticks in their hands, and began battering most furiously what I now discovered to be dolls grotesquely dressed for the occasion. The girls it appeared, upon inquiry, being now of an age to be betrothed, the present ceremony denoted that they voluntarily threw away childish things, exemplifying that saying of St. Paul’s, “When I was a man, I put away childish things,”412 &c. As it was considered an ill omen if the doll did not immediately sink, the greatest anxiety was manifest in the countenance of each interested spectator; the boys meantime continuing to splash and halloo as long as any remained above water; after which, making their salaams to the pond, they all quietly retired.

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CHAPTER XV.413 IN the month of April in the following year, the commissioners were directed to make a further settlement of the Bareilly district. For this purpose they proceeded towards Jehanabad,414 near Pilibete; and we joined them there, crossing the Ganges at Ghurmoktasir Ghaut,415 about forty miles from Meerat. On landing at the village of Tigree, our dismay may be imagined, to find that there was no road for a carriage. Unfortunately, we had not brought any other conveyance: it was necessary therefore to make the attempt. After many hair-breadth escapes, (passing through a deep sand, covered with thorny brambles, without the slightest trace of human footsteps,) this was at length effected, and we reached the village of Shawpore. Here it was discovered that the water was so bad as not to be drinkable; and our people had neglected to bring any, prepared, as it generally is, either by a preparation of charcoal, or through a filtering stone; so that we were obliged to send six miles back to the Ganges in order to fetch some, and then wait two or three hours until it was purified. As I said before, patience is a great virtue, particularly in India! We commenced our march the next morning as usual, about day-break, and soon crossed a stone bridge of considerable length, built across a morass. The vestiges of magnificence were perceptible in this structure; but time had proved a serious enemy—the pavement was much broken, and the parapet with its costly ornaments fallen away in large fragments. From this place to Amrooah,416 which is about twenty miles, we traversed an open country much resembling Bagshotheath,417 and saw several herd of antelopes. Near this town are some very ancient Hindoo buildings, well worth the attention of an antiquary. This place is celebrated for a delicate kind of ware, like that invented, or rather brought to perfection, by Mr. Wedgewood:418 the inhabitants make beautiful ornamental vases of it, pyramids, hookah stands, &c. chiefly white raised figures in groupes, from Grecian and ancient history,—and flowers, on a light grey or exquisite lilac ground. From Amrooah we crossed a sandy plain of four miles long, without a hut, or even a shrub of any description to be seen. In general, these sandy plains are almost covered with wild melons; so kindly does Providence watch over the traveller, and those who seek their livelihood from afar! In this climate melons are particularly grateful, and conducive to health; not only the yellow solid melon, but the large green water melons, flourish abundantly in this arid and uncultivated soil. This sandy plain conducted us into a vile road, with ruts so deep that the carriage was continually in danger of being overturned; and we were several times under the necessity of quitting it, in order to have it extricated. This unpleasant kind of travelling fortunately did not continue long—we had soon the pleasure of finding ourselves upon a fine hard down, with occasional clumps of trees. Our 135

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tents were pitched near a village called Palkburrah. The scene in front of us presented the cheering prospect of “valleys filled with wavy corn.”419 In the cool of the evening, while sitting at the door of the tent, a man, apparently in the situation of a farmer, came up to me, and respectfully making his salaam, entreated me to give him some medicine for his wife, who he informed me was extremely ill. I replied, that I was afraid of administering without seeing the patient; and asked if he could conduct me to her. With concern I learned that she lived seven miles off, and in a contrary direction to the road we were travelling. I then inquired if there were no Brahmin in his village who understood the properties of medicine? Yes, he said, there was, and she had consulted him; but had latterly got considerably worse, and had now no faith in his prescriptions. She had heard, he said, of our arrival there in the morning, and believing that the English knew every thing, she had requested him to come for our advice. I again repeated that it was impossible to prescribe with any prospect of success, unless I could see the patient. He said, if she thought herself equal to the journey, he would bring her into Moradabad next day, whither we also intended to go. I told him if he could accomplish that, I would consult one of our English physicians, who knew a great deal more about the matter than I did, and I was convinced would do every thing in his power for her. With this arrangement he appeared perfectly satisfied, and took his leave. I confess that I thought it very improbable we should hear any thing more of them; but, to my surprise, this poor woman was at Moradabad before us. She was sitting on the cart that had conveyed her thither. A faint smile illumined her pallid countenance as I approached her: she thanked me a thousand times for my condescension; (as she termed it;) expressed the greatest reliance on the English, who she seemed to think could do any thing they wished; and said she was sure she should soon get better now. It went to my heart to hear her talk so; for her complaint was a confirmed dropsy,420 occasioned by poorness of blood. She was reduced, poor creature, almost to a skeleton. We immediately sent for the surgeon of the battalion, who was kind enough to receive her under his care, and promised to pay her case particular attention. Alas! assistance came too late—she survived only a month longer; but during that period I had the satisfaction of knowing that she had every possible attention paid her, and every thing done that could be to relieve her. I confess I felt deeply interested for this stranger; and my only consolation arose from the reflection, that I had done all in my power to save her. She was not more than two or three-and-twenty years of age. Our remedies often act with wonderful success upon these Hindoos, whose mode of living is so temperate, and their blood so pure, that you have only the complaint itself to combat. The constitution is naturally good; and if they have fever, it is soon conquered; besides which, they will take wine, or any thing, if given in the shape of medicine. A Mussulman, on the contrary, is so afraid of disobeying “the Prophet,” that he would rather die than take any thing that is proscribed by the Koraan: an instance of the kind occurred in our own family. We were once travelling, when both Hindoo and Mussulmen servants were attacked by bilious fevers: the Hindoos were all restored to health by a few grains of calomel,421 136

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with a dose or two of Epsom salts,422 and drinking plentifully of conjy*; whereas several of the Mussulmen died, because they did not know the preparation of calomel, and therefore would not take it. Immediately on quitting Moradabad we forded a narrow stream, with a steep bank on either side, and crossed the river Ram Gonga. The bed of sand between these two streams is the deepest I ever passed: we were obliged to quit the carriage; and even then, the horse could scarcely drag it through. This sand extended nearly two miles; after which we came into a road so completely cut up by carriages of burthen, that a foot pace was all we could aspire to. I think I never was more tired of an expedition than of ours this morning. A little farther on we descried a stone bridge of one arch, over a rapid stream, so terrific in appearance from its immense height, that had it been practicable, I should have preferred wading through the water to passing over it. The road was paved with flat stones, and rose nearly perpendicular to the centre of the bridge, from whence the descent was equally abrupt; neither had it the smallest parapet or railing on either side. It really required great firmness of nerve to venture over in a carriage. After considerable fatigue we reached a village called Moorah, where our tents were pitched in a beautiful grove of mango trees, laden with green fruit. It was now the latter end of April. The fruit was then about the size of young apricots: they are delicious in tarts, and emit a most grateful odour. From hence we travelled over an open country, with innumerable small hamlets, to Kamora de Morah, a village belonging to the Nawaab of Rampoor.423 Our supplies at this place were scanty; but they were cheerfully furnished, which is not often the case in villages that belong to native chiefs. This country is much intersected by streams, some of which we forded, and over others found a rude kind of stone bridge, in many cases quite dangerous to pass. The climate is many degrees cooler in the Moradabad district than at Meerat. I found the nights at this season really cold. We now travelled with cultivation on either side for seventeen miles, and encamped in a large grove composed of different sorts of trees—a thing very unusual in India, as they generally plant each sort separate. This variety of foliage may perhaps account for the different sorts of birds assembled in it, all straining their melodious throats at once. Of a grove composed of the mango only, the dove, and a small delicate creature called the mango bird,424 seem to claim exclusive possession, while tamarind trees are covered by paroquets. The country here is very beautiful, being every where diversified by fields of corn, villages peeping through luxuriant groves, and rich pasture lands; but the roads so miserably bad that we expected the carriage every minute to overturn. Halting at a village named Ourourie, near which runs a fine clear stream, we caught fish in abundance, particularly that named the roe, and found it by no means inferior to the codfish we eat in England. * Conjy is rice boiled in water until dissolved, and taken in a liquid state.

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From Ourourie we travelled over a plain, and were often delayed by being obliged to cross nullahs, whose banks were steep and rugged; we consequently performed this stage on an elephant, leaving the gig to be led slowly after us. The sagacity of the elephant is so great, that he always feels with one paw whether the ground will bear his weight before he trusts himself upon it; indeed I have heard it asserted, that they have even the power to smell the nature of the soil, and judge from thence whether it is firm or not. I have seen many instances myself of sagacity in these animals, but never any that struck me more forcibly than what daily occurred on this march. It is customary to feed elephants on cakes made of the coarser particles of wheat, after the flour has been separated from it. This is called otta, eaten also by the natives as bread, and sold in every bazaar. When our elephant arrived at her ground, after having (as usual) fastened her fore legs to a wooden peg fixed in the earth for that purpose, the mahowat, her driver, usually went away to purchase otta*; upon which occasions he placed a child of his own, about two years of age, on a little straw between the elephant’s legs, charging her to take care of the child until his return. Strange as it may appear, it is no less true, that so careful was the animal of her young charge, that during the father’s absence, no one dared to approach her, not even a dog. On the man’s return from the bazaar he loosed her feet, and mounted upon the neck, in order to take her to the river to drink and bathe, (which latter they delight in,) desiring her at the same time to give him the child. This she immediately did, by cautiously winding her trunk round the child’s waist, and lifting him up within the father’s reach. I have seen the same elephant take a piece of the cake that lay before her, and place it gently in the child’s lap. After travelling over as vile a road as could be met with, we reached the Jehanabad. This is a large town in the vicinity of Pilibete, where the commissioners having business, we remained for more than two months. In order to protect ourselves from the heat of the sun, (at this time excessive,) thatched roofs, supported on pillars of wood, were erected over our tents, which answered the purpose admirably. The party consisted of nine, myself and Mrs.—,425 the only ladies. We found a kind of shed, sufficiently large to accommodate us all as a diningroom, and it was fitted up accordingly. We assembled about six in the evening, took a short ride before dinner, and passed our time delightfully. Being situated upon an eminence, our saloon commanded an extensive prospect. Immediately round us was a fine pasture land, ornamented by a number of small coppices, which gave it quite an English appearance; and beyond that, a diversity of hill and dale, extremely grateful to the eye. Going out one evening earlier than usual, we espied a man seated on a square of ground, measuring about six feet across, (a little raised,) surrounded by a fire made of a kind of peat, and himself besmeared, head and all, with ashes. A more deplorable object I never beheld. Upon inquiry,

* Otta, and the leaves of the peeple tree, are the usual food of elephants, who tear off large branches with their trunks, and load themselves.

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we found that he sat thus, with his legs doubled under him, and his head bare, from sun-rise to sun-set, in pursuance of a vow; that he was a Brahmin, and this a voluntary penance—and a dreadful penance it must have been, for the fire was within his reach all the way round, and he kept constantly replenishing it. No one but a Hindoo, or one of Don Juan’s friends,426 could have supported it. I do really think that he must have washed himself with something, and so become fire-proof; otherwise, with the heat of the sun and fire together, he must surely have been melted; or perhaps his safety lay in having nothing to melt, for he was literally only skin and bone. During our residence at this place we were visited by two gentlemen, who told us that they had been on a shooting party for about a month, and in that time had killed four-and-twenty tigers, one wild elephant, two wild buffaloes, and two bears. The skins of the latter were so fine, that I prevailed on them to spare one to me for trimmings. This place, so inviting to walk in, was extremely dangerous on account of snakes, centipedes, and scorpions, with all which it abounds. Our servants complained also of the water, which they said was bad tasted, and unwholesome. It certainly had somewhat of an earthy flavour; but it was of little consequence to us—first, because we took the precaution to qualify it; and, secondly, that we had brought a good supply with us, and never drank any that had not been filtered or purified by a proportion of charcoal and alum. A much more serious objection to us, was, that the place was subject to blasts of mephitic vapour. One of these, rising from the valley, passed through the room in which we were sitting after dinner. There were at that time only six persons round the table—two on each side, and one at each end. The current of air of which I am speaking, was so partial as to affect only the gentleman and myself who sat on that side of the table. We were seized at the same moment by violent pain across the eyes, a sensation of extreme tension, and throbbing of the temples; giddiness, and sickness at the stomach. Nor were we free from acute pain in the head, for some hours after. The natives of Jehanabad seemed to feel a great dread of these visitations, by which, they told us, many had lost their lives; and we were given to understand, that they thought Mr.— and myself must either be angels or diables not to have suffered more. A few nights after this catastrophe, a band of desperate fellows attacked a village near, in which part of our retinue had taken up their abode: falling on its sleeping inhabitants, sword in hand, they plundered and cut down all who had the courage to oppose them. Our gentlemen, on hearing the tumult, ran with pistols to the spot, but too late to save the lives of many. Three servants of the party, besides a number of women and children, had already fallen a sacrifice to these barbarians. One poor little infant was cut to pieces in its mother’s arms. Unfortunately, no prisoners were made; for hearing European voices, they immediately decamped, while the darkness of the night favoured their escape. Being so near it, I took the opportunity to visit Pilibete, which appears to have been a place of some consequence. It is surrounded by a high brick wall, defended by ponderous gates. At the entrance of the town stands a handsome mosque, 139

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erected in memory of Haffiz Ramut.427 The scite of this mosque is a square of considerable extent, at each corner of which is a solid minaret. Ascending a flight of steps sufficiently broad to give a just idea of the magnificent interior, we passed under an arched gateway into a spacious court paved with grey marble, having arcades of the same on either side. The central building was a solid square, entered by three arches from the front, surmounted by domes, with a small minaret at either corner. The inside of these domes are elegantly and tastefully painted to represent various flowers in their richest and most brilliant tints. A mullick,428 whom we met in the town, gave us much intelligence respecting the place; and in the course of conversation I learned how the village apothecaries are remunerated for attendance on the poor. The head man of each village contracts with any Brahmin skilled in the use of drugs, to pay him eight annas (which is the half of a rupee) a year, for as many villages as are under his controul; and this mullick assured me that a native physician, (hakime,429 as they are called,) then residing at Pilibete, by this mode alone realized a regular income of a hundred and fifty rupees per annum. The town of Pilibete is celebrated for the manufacture of a strong coarse kind of cloth, made from hemp, which grows on the adjacent hills; and a very pure kind of lime called chunam, with which, buildings are faced to represent marble; and so complete is the deception, that even the touch scarcely convinces the inquirer that it is not marble. This district is full of wild elephants; numbers of them are caught annually in pits dug for that purpose. We saw a large male elephant brought in between two decoy ones, which are always females. They preserve their ascendancy by pushing him with great violence from one to the other, until the poor animal is so bewildered that he does not know which way to turn, and so becomes an easy conquest. Pilibete is also a great mart for timber, which finds a ready sale at Bareilly. This accounts for the roads from hence to that city being so dreadfully cut up. They appear to cultivate rice and paddy at the foot of these hills, where the ground is occasionally overflowed. The etymology of the word paddy430 is so extraordinary, that I cannot avoid mentioning it. The grain so named somewhat resembles rice, but more so tapioca. By the natives it is called dahn; but having originally been given to our troops in Bengal instead of money,—which pay, in the language of the country, is termed poddy,—it has, in the course of time, been converted into the word paddy, by which these fields are now almost as generally known as by their original name of dahn. Many subversions of the same kind have crept into the oriental languages, which often occasion ludicrous mistakes. I observed here a few patches of the bamboo plant, which proved the springy nature of the soil. There is a noble dock-yard at this place, in which they were at this time building some trading vessels of large dimensions; while an immense number of people also found employment in the repair of a magnificent bridge of ancient structure, across the river Ram Gonga, which runs through the heart of the town. About the middle of June we returned to Bareilly, and remained in a good bungalow until the 17th of July. This was the hottest season that had been known 140

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for years. The rain, which usually begins to fall about the 20th of June, did not commence until the 7th of July, and then it came down in torrents. Our party now separated—the commissioners for their residence at Futty Ghur, and we, to return to Meerat. The heavy rain that had fallen rendered the road so slippery, that at one place the poor horse which drew the gig was fairly tripped up, and lay for some seconds on his side, so much alarmed, that although a fine high-spirited Arab, he had not courage to move from this perilous situation; and was only relieved by being completely unharnessed. We had fortunately several attendants near, who dragged the carriage for about fifty yards into a more even road, which gave the horse time to recover himself, for he trembled like a human being. This incident delayed us so much, that it was near two o’clock in the day before we reached our tents at Sickerry. After being so long exposed to a scorching sun, I was delighted to see that they had pitched these tents under the shade of lofty trees by the side of a large pond. So cool and refreshing was it, that I thought with regret on the prospect of quitting it so soon. How many circumstances, trivial in themselves, serve to convince us that we know not what is best for us. About four o’clock the clouds foreboded an approaching storm; loud thunder rolled; the vivid lightning flashed; the angry waters would not be restrained—they burst their bounds, and in an instant our tent was overflowed. No remedy appeared but patience. I felt thankful that it happened before it grew dark, for the night multiplies all horrors; indeed I have observed, that in every misfortune some consolation may be derived, if persons would take the trouble to seek it; and I consoled myself also by thinking that it was too violent to last long—so, seating myself on a sofa a la Turke,431 I quietly awaited the event. The storm abated in about an hour; but the atmosphere still retained so much humidity, that I awoke in the night with most excruciating pain in one of my ancles; and on attempting to rise next morning, I had the mortification to find that I could not stand—indeed, that I had nearly lost the use of my limbs. With some difficulty I was placed in my palankeen, and (as much by water as by land, for the whole country was overflowed) conveyed to our next encampment. My palankeen was borne the greatest part of the way upon the bearers’ heads, instead of their shoulders; and the horse on which my husband rode by the side of it, swam with him in many places. I consoled myself with the conviction of the bearers being an amphibious kind of animal, who, if the water did not actually run into their mouths, would paddle their way through. In the rainy season, unless the weather is cloudy, it is intensely hot; and there is sometimes a complete stagnation of air. The myriads of insects that swarmed around, were sufficient to tire the patience of Job432 himself; when, to add to the miseries of this inauspicious journey, the bed and bedding came in completely drenched—it had been deposited in a pool of water. Nor had I in my travelling baskets one suit of dry linen. Exposure to the sun, however, soon extracted all moist particles, and rendered every thing as it was before. This is an advantage in an eastern clime, which in Europe you have not; but no remedy was at hand for my swollen foot, which, without any appearance of inflammation, had become exceedingly painful; I was consequently obliged to pursue the journey in my 141

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palankeen. This was not accomplished without sundry inconveniences: either the torches were extinguished on a barren heath by a powerful gust of wind, or one of the torch bearers was disabled by a thorn which had penetrated his foot; or, finally, the palankeen bearers fell down on the brink of a lake, &c. Once the two foremost men actually fell in, and the palankeen came down upon the ground; but they soon shook themselves, and resumed their position. Thus, after perils by land and by water, we at length reached Meerat; and I made up my mind, that the rainy season was not the pleasantest for travellers. A short time after our arrival there, the inhabitants were alarmed by three separate shocks of an earthquake, which continued a few seconds each. It commenced by a noise, as of heavy waggons travelling rapidly on a paved road immediately under the house; birds that were in cages, flapping their wings, as if anxious to be free; doors opening, others shutting, without any person near them. I happened to be passing from one room to another, and was seized with such a sensation of giddiness in the head, and sickness at the stomach, that I was obliged to hold by a door-frame, still more unsteady than myself. In many places the earth opened, and several small huts were swallowed up; but, fortunately, the inhabitants had time to make their escape, and no lives were lost that I heard of. All this time the atmosphere was perfectly clear, and not a breath of air was stirring.

142

A

GUIDE UP THE RIVER GANGES, FROM

CALCUTTA TO CAWNPORE, FUTTEH GHUR, MEERAT, &c.; WITH

THE CORRECT DISTANCES OF EVERY STATION, AND WHAT THEIR PRODUCE.

A

GUIDE, &C.

HAVING experienced both difficulty and delay, from ignorance of this navigation, and the different species of accommodation that each station offers to the voyager, the Author is led to believe that a correct statement of these particulars will not be unacceptable, particularly to those who, newly arrived in Bengal, may be under the necessity to make the voyage. On his arrival in Calcutta, a young man is generally received into the house of some friend, or person to whom he brings an introduction; (a circumstance of great importance on his thus setting out in life;) but should he come unprovided with such recommendation, he is reduced to the necessity of resorting to a tavern; of which, although there are several in Calcutta, they are not considered a respectable residence, being for the most part dirty, unpleasantly situated, extravagant in their charges, and frequented chiefly by Europeans of the lowest class. If in the King’s service, a young man’s first step is to wait upon the brigademajor to the King’s troops, (who resides in Fort William,) and report the date of his arrival; from which day his pay and allowances commence. The brigade-major furnishing him with a certificate to this effect, his recommendation will enable a gentleman so applying to procure quarters in the fort—a subaltern officer two rooms, a captain four; but as these apartments are not furnished, such accommodation is only of use to those who are destined to remain there for some time. If he happen to be an officer in the service of the East India Company, he should apply in a similar manner to the town-major, who will furnish him with the necessary certificates and instructions. He will perhaps learn from him that he is posted to a regiment in the upper provinces of Hindostan, to which he is directed to proceed by water, and that he will by proper application get his boat expenses paid. The mode of making this application, with the consequent preparations for the voyage, it is my intention, in as clear a manner as possible, to point out. He must, in the first place, after having procured his certificate, repair to the auditor-general’s office, and produce it, stating the orders he may have received, and requesting his 145

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boat allowance to the place of his destination; the half of which will be immediately given him, and authority to draw for the remainder at a stated period. There are but two kind of boats at the same time safe and commodious, and these are called, the one a pinnace, (or small cutter,) the other a budgerow. They are each drawn up the river by men called dandies, with another to guide the helm, named a maunjie.433 They each contain a bed-room at the stern, a sittingroom in the centre, and an anti-room in front towards the deck, the whole being surrounded by Venetian blinds. They are hired at so many rupees a month, according to the number of oars: pinnaces, from one hundred and fifty to four hundred and twenty rupees a month; budgerows, from ninety-seven to one hundred and seventy-six. Baggage-boats to accompany the above, from twenty-two to ninetyseven rupees a month. To a budgerow carrying sixteen oars, at one hundred and fifty-seven rupees a month, a baggage-boat would be required at thirty-five, and a cooking-boat at twenty-two, which are of sufficient size to encounter any weather, and at the same time afford ample accommodation for servants, provisions, &c. The best mode of procuring these boats is by application to Messrs. Barber and Co. at the Old Fort Ghaut,434 who will also furnish hands to navigate them, and become security for their not deserting, a circumstance by no means unusual on this voyage, which may perhaps be attributed to the custom of advancing the half of their wages to them before they start, in order, as they allege, to enable their families to procure subsistence during their absence. Besides the security given by Barber and Co., I should recommend that a clashee435 be engaged as a servant to keep guard over, and expedite their movements on the voyage. This man will also be found useful in procuring supplies from the several bazaars én passant.436 Some other preparations are also necessary, such as poultry, a few fat sheep, a couple of milch goats,437 (whose milk in this country is free from any particular flavour, and in tea is infinitely preferable to cow’s milk,) tea, sugar, a quantity of hard biscuits, bread, cheese, &c. This latter article is not manufactured in India, but may be procured in the China Bazaar438 at Calcutta, fresh from England, at a moderate price, sometimes even under prime cost. The pine-apple shape is the best for keeping; and it should be kept in a common earthen jar, with a wet cloth tied over the mouth of it. The voyage from Calcutta to Cawnpore is generally considered to occupy a space of three months; to Futteh Ghur a week longer; and to Ghur Moktasir Ghaut,439 near Meerat, twenty days more. Embarking from Calcutta during the months of March, April, or May, it will be necessary to surround the budgerow with tatties, or blinds, made on a bamboo frame to fit the windows, covered with the fibrous roots of a sweet-scented grass called cus cus,440 which will last the voyage, and by being watered from the top of the budgerow, render the apartments cool and comfortable. Although these roots are firmly wove together, they by no means exclude the light. Of an evening, after the sun is set, they are removed entirely, and replaced in the morning. The hot wind seldom blows so violently as to require them, except from about nine o’clock in the morning until sun-set: the hottest time is from twelve o’clock until five in the afternoon. The 146

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clashee will procure these tatties, and is the proper person to superintend the watering them, &c. If you have palankeen bearers on board, they ought to assist. A small book, called Hadley’s Grammar,441 (which can be purchased at any bookseller’s in Calcutta,) is also a necessary appendage to prevent being imposed upon by the representation of any servant who may speak a little English, and thereby gain an ascendancy over his master to the prejudice of the rest. These men are frequently met with in Calcutta, and are always ready to serve a new comer; but they are generally people of low caste, and not to be depended upon. Leaving Calcutta with the tide, you generally reach a place called Bally Nuggur442 before it turns, unless indeed the wind blows strong against you. This place is inhabited entirely by natives. Here you cast anchor, and remain until the tide serves again; and having passed the Danish settlement of Serampore, the French one of Chandanagore, arrive at that of the Dutch called Chinsurah, where you encounter the second tide. You may indeed, if you are fortunate, reach a place called Banse Bareah, which is two hours farther; but here nothing is procurable except provision for natives. The boats are moored at sun-set, and unmoored at sunrise, it being dangerous on account of shoals to travel after dark. When you come too, for the night, (which it is adviseable on many accounts to do before sunset,) the boatmen cook their victuals; which operation is performed on the shore by means of small stoves, formed from a loomy kind of earth of which these banks are composed. Their cooking utensils are not cumbersome: one large brass, or iron pot, serves to boil rice for all of the same caste, while each man carries his brass platter, and lota, of the same material, to drink out of. It is usual to start the boats at day-break, but they manage it so quietly as not to disturb your repose. Sook Sangor is the next place, and is about seven hours from Banse Bareah; from hence you may with ease reach Ballypore by sun-set. Milk may be procured at all these villages, and some kinds of vegetable; but no poultry or eggs, except where Mussulmen reside. Start at day-break next morning, and in eight hours you reach Culna. From thence to Mirzapore is five hours farther, where you had better remain for the night, and may procure all sorts of provisions. This place contains many Europeans, and is celebrated for the manufacture of carpets, printed chintz, &c. Purchase punkahs here. From Mirzapore to Nuddeah is seven hours; from Nuddeah to the entrance of the Jalingy river,443 an hour and a half; from the Jalingy to Stuart Gunge, three hours. From Stuart Gunge to a small village called Meahpoorah, six hours; and from thence to Chandpoorah, six hours. This latter is a miserably poor place; it is therefore better to stop at the first good bank for legowing upon after quitting Chandpoorah; of this, the mangy or captain of the crew will inform you. It is always desirable to keep him in good humour, by attending a little to his advice, as on him depends in a great measure both your expedition and comfort on the voyage. From Chandpoorah to Augur Deep is ten hours good pulling, oftener twelve. The river between these places winds so much, that it takes nearly a day to arrive, where the distance in a straight line would not be above three miles. 147

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From Augur Deep to Dewarrah Gunge is four hours; from Dewarrah Gunge to Cutwah, eight more. From Cutwah to Plassey (the scene of Lord Clive’s victory over the Bengalees, which first gave us footing in the country) is nine hours. This is a fine sporting country, but dangerous on account of tigers. From Plassey to Satan Gunge is twelve hours; Satan Gunge to Rangamutty, four hours; Rangamutty to Berhampore,444 eight hours. This is the nearest station to Calcutta which contains European soldiers, except the artillery cantonment of Dum Dum; but that is ten miles on the other side Calcutta, and inland. Berhampore contains besides a King’s regiment of infantry, one or more battalions of seapoys, and is famous for sundry manufactures, which they bring to the boats for sale; such as stockings, silk handkerchiefs, &c. There are, besides, two shops kept by Englishmen, which are well supplied with articles from England of all description, sold at the average of a rupee for a shilling. The officers’ barracks are about two hundred yards inland: they are handsome, and regularly built, forming a square, one side of which fronts the river. The bank on which they stand is high, sloping, and turfed to the water’s edge, with here and there a flight of stone steps for the accommodation of passengers. The parade runs along the edge of it. This station is commanded by a general officer, to whom you are expected, through his brigade major, to report your arrival, and ask his orders; and in like manner report progress, as it is called, at every military station upon the river, and also to the adjutant of your regiment, wherever that may be. From Berhampore, the city of Moorshedabad is about seven hours tracking, although by land the distance is only seven miles. The river at this place is low at all seasons, and the numerous boats legowed to its banks contribute to impede the voyager. The boat’s crew provide themselves here, with rice for their voyage, it being very plentiful in this part; and the higher they proceed up the country, the more scarce, and consequently dearer it becomes. Sugar is also remarkably cheap at Moorshedabad. A little beyond this city is the entrance of a small river called the Kattaghan, which it is adviseable to pass, and to fasten your boat on the opposite side, the inhabitants of Moorshedabad not being famed for honesty. From hence to Kissenpoorah (a small village) it is six hours; from Kissenpoorah to Jungypoor,445 six more. At the latter is a manufactory for silks, under the control of the commercial resident. From Jungypoor to Sooty is six hours. To Kusseinpoor six more. From Kusseinpoor to Mohun Gunge, nine hours; and from hence to the entrance of the Ganges, three hours more. Having now quitted the Baugharetty or Cossimbazar river, you proceed by the left bank of the Ganges, without seeing more than a few scattered huts, until sun-set. From hence to Radge Mahl is seven hours. Here the ruin of a magnificent palace, formerly belonging to the Rajah, may be seen; and here, every day about noon, the postmen from East to West meet, and exchange their despatches, which 148

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affords the traveller an opportunity of communication either way. Bread, vegetables, kid, (which is a great delicacy in this country,) fowls, eggs, fruit, and charcoal, are found here in great abundance. The inhabitants sell also marble slabs to press paper, carved into various shapes. This is almost the widest part of the river, and in the rainy season has the appearance of an ocean. From Radge Mahl to Sickerry Gulley is fourteen hours. This is a station for invalid seapoys, with a small bungalow belonging to the superintending officer of these establishments. This part of the country abounds with beasts of prey. Radge Mahl is the nearest approach that the river makes to that ridge of mountains which runs in a north-west direction from Calcutta, and are called the Radge Mahl hills. From hence you quickly pass the small village of Saabad, and in two hours more that of Gunga Pursaad. Here it is adviseable to legow for the night, as you will not find so good a place for many miles. The finest honey in India is to be procured here, and very cheap. From Gunga Pursaad to Sickerry Gully is about five hours’ tracking. This is a Hindoo village, and nothing to be got except milk. The next village of any consequence is Pier Ponty, which you ought to reach in twelve hours. From Pier Ponty to Puttal Guttah is a hard day’s pull; but there is generally a breeze of wind near the hills, which carries the boat forward in opposition to the stream. The next place is Col Gong, which you may reach about sun set on the following day. It contains a good bazaar, and the houses of several European officers of the Company’s service who reside here upon their pensions, besides one or two indigo planters. Move forward at day-break the following morning, about ten o’clock you will pass a nullah; and at three reach the populous village of Bogglipore. This is a station for seapoys commanded by European officers; a judge, collector, &c. A peculiar description of cloth is manufactured here, which takes its name from the place. It is adviseable to remain at Bogglipore for the night. The best ghaut to legow at, is called Bibbee Gunge. Cast off the boats at day-break, and towards evening you will reach the village of Chea Cheraigne. About ten the next morning you will pass the Jinghira Rock, about half-past one the Gurgut Nullah, and at sun-set find nothing but a patch of sand to legow upon; it is therefore adviseable to stop at the first good ground you meet with, after passing the Nullah. The next place is Pier Pahar, where the stream runs so strong, that unless you have a breeze to stem it, you will not reach Monghir until seven or eight at night. At Monghir are some curious hot springs, and many other things worth seeing. It is a large station for invalid seapoys, commanded by a general officer. Birds of beautiful plumage are offered for sale, but they will not live away from their native hills. Pass the end of two nullahs, and come to a village inhabited by seapoy pensioners, near Soorage Gurrah. 149

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From Soorage Gurrah to Bareah, which is a good legowing place, may be done in about seven hours. From Bareah to Deriapore (twenty koss from Monghir) will take the whole day: it is better to legow before you arrive there, as a koss or two beyond it, you will find nothing but sand. Pass a bungalow at Sennaar, and come too at the village of Bar, about four koss farther, where, as there are Mussulmen inhabitants, many articles of consumption are procurable. The water about Bar is shallow, and the current rather strong. About six miles from Bar is an indigo factory. Pass Bidapore. From Bar to Patna is full twenty-four hours. From Patna to Dinapore about eight hours. At Seerpoor, a little beyond Dinapore, the boat’s crew lay in a stock of rice for the remainder of the voyage. Pass the Soane River, which is famous for beautiful pebbles and fine clear water, to Cheraigne, Wilton Gunge, and Chuprah. From Chuprah to Revel Gunge is three koss and a half, a good legowing place. Pass the mouth of the Deewah River, and reach Berhampore Ghaut by sun-set. Pass the village of Berreah, and come too for the night at a small place on the right, about two koss beyond it. About eleven o’clock the next morning pass Bulleah, and reach the fort of Buxar in the evening. At Buxar it is necessary to wait on the commanding officer. Pass the Caramnassa River to the village of Chowra. From Chowra you proceed to Arampore, and from Arampore to Ghazipore, which is a large military station. Report your arrival to the commanding officer. From Ghazipore you come to Zemineah, Chursapore, and to an indigo factory at Danapoora, in twelve hours. From Danapoora you may reach Sidepoor in seven hours; to the end of the Goomty, (or winding river,) in two hours more; Kytee, in one hour; and Kataroury, in two hours. This place is a koss and a half (about three miles) from Bulwar Ghaut. Move next morning at six o’clock, you will pass Bulwar Ghaut about nine; a small brick town named Kylee, about two; and reach Radge Ghaut, at Benares, in the evening, in good time to legow. From Benares to opposite little Mursapore takes about three hours fair tracking; and to the cantonment at Sultanpore, (or chutah Calcutta,) nine hours more. From Sultanpore to the fort at Chunar, six hours. From Chunar to Badsulah, (on the other side the river,) ten hours. From Badsulah to Kutchwah Ghaut, six hours. From Kutchwah Ghaut to Mirzapore, seven hours. From Mirzapore to Jehangeerabad is three hours. From Jehangeerabad to Bahaderpoorah, five hours and a half. From Bahaderpoorah to Charracoar, five hours. From Charracoar to Diggah, (distant only ten koss in a straight line from Mirzapore,) five hours. 150

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From Diggah to Barrarie, seven hours. From Barrarie to Tellah, four hours. From Tellah to Sersah, ten hours. From Sersah to Dumdumaye, three hours. From Dumdumaye to Derah, twelve hours. From Derah to the fort at Allahabad, seven or eight hours, if the wind is not against you, and the water calm; but the stream in this part is very strong, and the river in many places very shallow; it is therefore adviseable to land on the Jumna side of the fort, and proceeding across the promontory in a palankeen, sending the boats round to a place called Taylor Gunge, which will take them nearly a day to accomplish. At Allahabad supplies of every description may be procured. Here it is necessary to wait upon the commanding officer in the fort, and report your name, rank, and destination. From Taylor Gunge to Ramohowdah, (ten koss by land from Allahabad,) will take ten hours. From Ramohowdah to Jehanabad, three hours. From Jehanabad to Acbarpore, four hours. From Acbarpore to Konkerabad, six hours and a half. From Konkerabad to Shaw Zadabad, four hours. From Shaw Zadabad to Kurrah, three hours. Muslin and cloth of the coarser kinds are manufactured here. From Kurrah to Mannickpore, three hours and a half. From Mannickpore to Kerah Nugger, six hours. From Kerah Nugger to Bunderpoor, one hour and a half. From Bunderpoor to Nobusta Ghaut, five hours and a half. From Nobusta to Ochree, six hours and a half. From Ochree to Dalmow the river is particularly shallow, and abounds in quick-sands; it is therefore almost impossible to say how long a budgerow will take tracking it, as the dandies are obliged to walk the greatest part of the distance up to their waists in water, and are frequently detained to push the boat off a sandbank. If no such impediment should occur, the usual time is about eight hours. From Dalmow you pass the villages of Kutterah, Garassen, and Singpore, on the left; while on the right stand those of Kosroopore, Hajipore, and Adempore. Reach Rowaadpore from Dalmow in twelve hours. Rowaadpore to Buxar and Doreah Kerah, in seven hours. Doreah Kerah to Sooragepore, three hours. Sooragepore to Nuseeb Ghur, ten hours. At the latter is a large brick house built by General Martine,446 a Frenchman. He had another large house at Lucknow, and a fine estate near it called Lac Peery, which means a thousand trees. On this spot he erected a superb palace and tomb: the latter he soon after occupied. He was a man of low origin, great abilities, and made immense sums of money by various speculations. He came to India an adventurer, was formerly a general in the Mahratta service, but latterly a general merchant. His character was most eccentric: he caused two centinels of wood, the height and size of men, dressed in the uniform 151

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of a British artilleryman, to be placed on either side his tomb, where a lamp is kept constantly burning. He has directed by his will that the house at Lac Peery should be at the service of any European gentleman, or lady, to reside in for one month at a time, but no longer. It is in charge of the officer commanding at Lucknow. A large sum of money is also bequeathed to his native city of Lyons, in France. The origin of this man’s fortune is said to have been collecting dead leaves, and selling them to the natives for fuel. From Nuseeb Ghur to Madarpore, seven hours. Madarpore to Jaugemow, three hours. Jaugemow to the east end of Cawnpore, five hours. Cawnpore is the largest military station, and depôt in the upper provinces, or indeed on this side of India. It is six miles in extent, and contains excellent accommodation for ten thousand troops. From Cawnpore to Betoor takes twelve hours. This place is a station for civilians, who manage the revenue and judicial departments at Cawnpore, from which it is distant about twelve koss. It is celebrated by the Hindoos as one of their most ancient places of worship, and is therefore resorted to, at particular seasons of the year, by an immense concourse of people, who line the banks of the Ganges for many miles. From Betoor to the village of Dyepore is about twelve hours. Here is a bungalow and an indigo factory. Dyepore to the entrance of the Ram Gonga river, is twelve hours. To Singerampore, twelve more. Singerampore to Futty Ghur, twelve hours—that is, from sun-rise to sun-set. From Futty Ghur it is about twenty days’ tracking to Ghur Moktasir Ghaut, (the nearest point at which a boat can approach Meerat.) Pass many small villages, but no place worthy notice until you reach the large brick town of Kurrah, about the second or third day from Futty Ghur. Remember to lay in a stock of supplies for one month before you leave Futty Ghur, as nothing more can be got until you arrive at Meerat. From Kurrah, two or three hours brings you to Sooragepore, a small Hindoo village. Sooragepore to Budrowlee, eight hours. This is capital legowing ground, except that the banks are low, and a number of alligators are generally to be seen upon them; a great variety of waterfowl frequent also this part of the river, particularly wild geese, in such flights as often to darken the atmosphere. From Budrowlee you pass an uninteresting country to Oolye Ghaut, and from thence to Heronpore. From Heronpore to Kirkawara, near which place much wheat is cultivated. Kirkawara to Ram Ghaut, where there is a superb palace built by the Rajah of Jyepoor. Hindoos flock here in great numbers at stated periods of the year to make offerings to the Ganges, and perform ablutions. Ram Ghaut was formerly the resort of Scindia and the Mahratta chiefs. The palace is built upon a rising ground, about a hundred yards from the shore: it fronts the river—is surrounded 152

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by lofty trees. At the bottom of the garden is a flight of stone steps, upon an extensive scale, leading into the river. The town appears flourishing, and is built down to the water’s edge. A number of projecting banks impede the progress of the navigator until he reaches Anopsheer, which is considered about half way between Futty Ghur and Meerat. The shores now assume a more pleasing prospect: luxuriant pasture, with numerous herds of cattle feeding on it, relieves the eye; and the adjacent country appears well wooded. The village of Ahar contains some good brick houses, and a handsome Ghaut; but the river near it is very shallow. At Bussy Gusserat, the next place of any consequence, there is capital legowing ground; and farther on, a village called Sukerah Telah, a great mart for trade. To Sukerah Telah succeeds the village of Poote, where some Hindoo places of worship render the scene peculiarly picturesque. The most striking feature is a spacious flight of stone steps, highly ornamented, and shaded by trees down a sloping bank to the water’s edge. From this place to Ghur Moktasir Ghaut, is not more than a day’s tracking. Meerat lies about forty miles inland from Ghur Moktasir Ghaut.

153

VOCABULARY A D A P T E D TO T H E TO U R .

Arampoore—Aram means ease, and poore a village. Bungalow—is a cottage ornee. Bunyah—a man who sells grain in a bazaar. Charpiah—a bedstead without posts or tester. Conjy—rice boiled in water. Cummerbund—a breadth of cloth round the loins. Dak—travelling post with relays of bearers. Dakoity—banditti. Deen—religion, or light. Dock—a shrub with large leaves and thick stem. Fakeer—a mendicant priest, either Mahometan or Hindoo. Gold mohars—a gold coin, value two pounds English. Jow jungle—underwood, brushwood.

154

VOCABULARY A D A P T E D TO T H E V O YA G E .

Badul—thunder. Bhallu—sand. Bullow—call (any one.) Chelli jow—Move quickly. Daal—an oar. Daal mokoof kur—Stop the oars. Daal kench—Pull the oars. Dandies—boatmen. Douccra naar—another boat. Geah—gone. Goleah—the steersman. Goon—rope fastened to the mast-head, by which they tow the boat. Gungah—the Ganges. Howah—wind. Jeldi—quick. Jure ko paunee—strong stream. Kinnary—the shore. Koldo—to open. Kutchaar—a steep overhanging bank. Legow—fasten. Luggee—long bamboo poles used to push off the boat. Lungur—an anchor. Mastule—a mast. Mhangy—captain of the boat’s crew. Naar—a boat. Naar koldo—Unmoor the boat. Nullah—a stream. 155

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Owtah—coming. Pankah—a muddy beach. Paul—a sail. Pawnee, bursna, lugga—It’s going to rain. Ro—Stay. Soono—Do you hear? Tiphaan—a storm.

THE END.

Editorial notes Abbreviations EIC Hobson-Jobson

East India Company H. Yule and A. C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson: The Anglo-Indian Dictionary (Ware: Wordsworth, 1996)

Notes 1 Calcutta: Now Kolkata: a city in West Bengal. Calcutta was one of the three administrative centres of British India, the others being Madras (Chennai) and Bombay (Mumbai). Although located near to several Indian villages the town largely developed around the trading station established by the EIC in the seventeenth century, which was fortified in the early eighteenth century. In the latter part of the eighteenth century, Calcutta became known as the ‘City of Palaces’ because of the numerous palatial residences built there. 2 Bengal: A Presidency of British India (see note 7). The region is now divided between India (forming the modern Indian state of West Bengal) and Bangladesh. 3 Hindostan: Hindostan usually referred to the geographical area north of the Deccan, especially the area around the Ganges and the Yamuna rivers. 4 Ganges: The river that flows through India and Bangladesh, rising in the Himalayas and flowing into the Bay of Bengal. It is considered sacred by many Hindus. 5 Khaanpore: Now Kanpur: a city in Uttar Pradesh. Deane uses various spellings to denote this large military station. It gained notoriety during the First War of Indian Independence in 1857 when Nana Sahib (1824–1859) and his forces held the garrison under siege. After the British surrendered, Indian forces killed many of the British soldiers. Then, later at Bibi Ghar, they also killed around 200 British women and children. 6 At the expiration of the war, of 1804: The Second Anglo-Maratha War took place from 1803–1804, when the Scindias and Holkars, powerful Maratha dynasties, rebelled against the incumbent Peshwa, the leader of the Maratha Empire. At this time, the Peshwa was Baji Rao II (1775–1851). The EIC entered the war in support of the Peshwa and defeated the rebels, a victory that extended their control over central India. See also note 204. 7 Presidency: Administrative units organized and controlled by the British EIC.

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8 budgerow: A long barge boat with big sails and living compartments. Prior to the construction of the railways, Europeans frequently used these boats to travel along the Ganges. 9 palankeens: Also palanquins: covered box-shaped carriages for single travellers, carried by two horizontal poles on the shoulders of four or six bearers. 10 bearers: Usually referred to a palanquin-carrier, but the term could also denote a domestic servant who looked after clothing, furniture, and ready money. 11 dhooley: Also doolie: another kind of covered carriage. It consisted of a chair suspended by a bamboo pole frame, which was carried by two or four men. 12 bazaar: A permanent market or street of shops. 13 Barrackpore: The British built a cantonment here in 1772, as an auxiliary station to Calcutta. It also became the site of the Governor-General’s sprawling summer residence in 1801, when Richard Wellesley (1760–1842) appropriated the area and began work on an expansive estate. In the following paragraph, Deane mentions the residence with approval. 14 Seapoy corps: Also sepoy corps: an Indian branch of the British Indian Army. 15 Governor General of India: During Deane’s time in India, there were four Governor-Generals. Richard Wellesley held the post from 1798–1805; he was followed by Charles Cornwallis, who took on the role for a brief period before he died, after which Sir George Barlow became acting Governor-General (1805–1807). Subsequently Gilbert Elliott-Murray-Kynynmound, Lord Minto, assumed the position 1807–1813; finally, Francis Edward Rawdon Hastings held the post from 1813–1823. 16 Chandanagore: Also Chandannagar and Chandernagore: At this time, Chandernagore was a French settlement but, between 1756–1816, Britain intermittently gained control of it. 17 Chinsurah: An unsettled area that passed between various European colonial powers. It was established by the Portuguese, and subsequently controlled by the Dutch. In 1825 it was ceded to the British in exchange for territory in Sumatra. 18 Serampore: From 1775–1845, this small Danish settlement was a hub of missionary activity, since it was exempt from the EIC’s pre-1813 ban on missionary activity and religious conversion in British territories. See also note 19. 19 English missionaries: In the early nineteenth century, English Baptist missionaries, including Joshua Marshman (1768–1837), Hannah Marshman (1767–1847), William Ward (1769–1823), and William Carey (1761–1834), travelled to the Danish settlement of Serampore because they were unable to work as missionaries in British India. While there, they set up schools and colleges and established a religious printing press. Consequently, Serampore became an important centre for religious translation and publishing. 20 a young Malay prince: Not identified. 21 Java: An Indonesian island and the centre of the Dutch East Indies. 22 Dum Dum: A military cantonment north of Calcutta established in 1783, which became the headquarters of the Bengal Artillery until 1853. It was at the Artillery armoury there, in the early 1890s, that Captain Neville Bertie-Clay developed an expanding bullet that became known as the dum-dum. 23 morass: An area of boggy ground. 24 Bengalee language: Bengali: the language of Bangladesh and West Bengal. 25 Hindostanee language: The language spoken in northern India, derived principally from Hindi and Urdu. 26 Patna: Now the capital city of the state of Bihar, Patna was an important trading centre for the British from the seventeenth to nineteenth century. It was also the site of the infamous Patna Massacre in 1763 (see note 107), after which it came under British control, in 1764. 27 caste: A social and religious distinction in Indian society.

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28 Both Hindus and Mussulmen are tenacious in this respect: Although Islam does not officially recognize caste, many Indian Muslim communities adopted this system of social stratification. 29 dandies: In this case, a boatman of the Ganges. However the Anglo-Indian dictionary Hobson-Jobson (1886) notes that it can also refer to a kind of ascetic who carries a staff. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 296. 30 a white patch with a spot of bright scarlet in the centre, and a stripe of white paint down the middle of the nose: Deane is presumably referring to the tilak, a Hindu mark usually worn on the forehead on auspicious occasions. It can also be worn on a daily basis, depending on the region. The colours and shape differ depending on the cultural tradition. 31 trowsers: Trousers, all made from local fabrics. 32 satin: A glossy material, usually made from silk. 33 dimity: A type of cotton, hard-wearing and woven with stripes or checks. 34 calico: Also a type of cotton, typically plain and unbleached. It became one of the most popular domestic textiles exported to England. 35 muslin: Another type of cotton, lightweight and weaved, that became a primary export. 36 “Gird up thy loins”: There are several references to ‘girding up one’s loins’ (i.e. tying up a tunic) in the Bible. See, for example, 1 Kings 18:46: ‘Then the hand of the LORD came upon Elijah; and he girded up his loins and ran ahead of Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel’. 37 Nawaab of Lucknow: Saadat Ali Khan II (c. 1752–1814) was the Nawab, or Mughal governor, of Lucknow and Awadh (1798–1814). 38 kinkob: A fine silk fabric embroidered with threads of gold or silver. 39 paddy: Rice in the husk, or before thrashing. 40 otta: A kind of coarse flour. 41 dohl: More commonly dhal: A dish made of lentils or other pulses, in this case pea. 42 potatoes: Although the Portuguese first introduced potatoes to the west coast of India in the seventeenth century, by the late eighteenth century, the British were planting them in the hills and plains of northern India. 43 mowah tree: Madhuca indica, a deciduous Indian tree. The green berries can be fermented and distilled into an alcoholic drink. 44 Krishna: A major Hindu deity and the eighth avatar of Vishnu. See also Maitland, Letter 17, note 272. 45 Kossimbazar: Also Cossimbazar, or Kasimbazar: A town in West Bengal. It was an important colonial commercial centre from the seventeenth to the nineteenth century. 46 Shoolbereah: Coolbariah in Bengal was the location of one of India’s many indigo factories. There was a huge demand for the blue dye in Europe in the nineteenth century and Bengal was a major producer. 47 Monsieur Savi: Possibly John Angelo Savi (1765–1831), who established an indigo estate in Coolbariah 1780–1785. He was actually Italian but married to a Frenchwoman, Élizabeth De Corderan (1775–?) and had served in the French Navy. 48 a young widow, (their daughter) . . . a Catholic priest, and four French gentlemen: The individual identities of this party have not been identified. 49 bon mot: A ‘good word’ (French) or, as in this case, ‘a witty remark’. 50 Placey: Also Plassey: a small village in Bengal and, as Deane goes on to acknowledge, the site of a famous battle in 1757 between Robert Clive (see note 52) and the Nawab of Bengal, Siraj-ud-Daulah (1733–1757). The British won and consolidated their presence and power in the area. 51 Moorshedabad: Also Murshidabad: a town in West Bengal. Previously the capital of Bengal during the Mughal Empire, it was taken by Major Adams (see note 64) in 1763. 52 Lord Clive’s first victory over the Bengalese: Robert Clive, first Baron Clive of Plassey (1725–1774), was an army officer and administrator in the EIC. He defeated

158

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53

54

55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

65 66 67

68 69

70

Siraj-ud-Daulah at the Battle of Plassey in 1757 and appointed a seemingly more compliant nawab, Mir Jafar (c. 1691–1765) to secure British supremacy in Bengal. the residence of the Nawaab of Bengal: As stated here, the Nawab of Bengal, Babar Ali Khan Bahadur, resided at Murshidabad. He was succeeded by his son Zain-ud Din Ali Khan in 1810. However, as Deane points out, in recent years, this role had become largely performative, with real power resting with the EIC. Berhampore: Also Baharampur: a city in West Bengal that was fortified by the British after the Battle of Plassey in 1757 (see note 50). It became an important military station and it was the site of a major battle during the First War of Indian Independence in 1857. This custom of frequent ablution: Deane refers to the ritual purifications of Hindus common in India. The rituals follow various forms but, as Deane notes, it is particularly auspicious to bathe the whole body in the sacred river of the Ganges. tatties: Deane offers a lengthy description of the tatty in her footnote. In short, they were screens or mats made from the roots of a fragrant grass. They were placed in the openings of doors or windows and kept wet in order to produce evaporation and blow cold air throughout the house. coup d’œil: ‘Quick look’ (French). It can also mean a ‘brief survey’. jemeendars: Also zamindars and zemindars: Indian landowners who were entitled to collect revenue from local farmers on behalf of the Government. tamarinds: Tamarindus indica produces pod-like fruit which is used for making curries and pickles; the seeds can be used to make flour. Radge Mah’l hills: A region located in Jharkhand, near Rajmahal, and inhabited by the Paharia people; it came under British control in 1765. Radge Mah’l: Also Rajmahal: a city in the state of Jharkhand. It was the capital of Bengal 1592–1607, and 1639–1707. serai: A building for the accommodation of travellers. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 811. char-piah: Also charpiah or charpoy: a four-footed Indian bed. bridge built of red brick over the Oodah Nullah: Major Thomas Adams (c. 1730– 1764) of the EIC defeated Mir Qasim’s army at Udhua Nullah in 1763. The British had appointed Mir Qasim as the Nawab of Bengal in 1760 when Mir Jafar, his fatherin-law, proved too independent (see also note 103). However, Mir Qasim similarly resisted British control and conflict broke out. Rajah: Originally meant ‘king’ but the British also used it to denote indigenous rulers. dawks: A system of mail delivery, or passenger transportation, executed by relays of bearers stationed at intervals along a route. remains of a magnificent palace: Deane refers to the remains of Shah Shuja’s palace at Rajmahal. The second son of Emperor Shah Jahan and Empress Mumtaz Muhal, Shah Shujah (1616–1661) was governor of Bengal and Odisha between 1641 and 1661); see note 215. toddy: The fermented sap of the palm used to produce palm wine. In India, it is also used for yeast in order to leaven bread. the Mharattah: Now largely the state of Maharashtra and originally, the home of the Marathas, an ethnic group who originated from the Deccan plateau in central India. They grew in power as the Mughal Empire declined during the late seventeenth century, and they established their own considerable empire until they were finally defeated by the British during the Third Anglo-Maratha War (1817–1818). The Jauts: The Jat or Jauts were an agricultural community originating in Rajasthan, the Punjab, and the North-Western provinces. As Deane mentions, some historians believe they were descendants of militant Rajputs; see, for example, W. Cooke, Races of Northern India (New Delhi: Cosmo Publications, 1973), p. 92. In any case,

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71 72

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

86 87 88 89 90 91

the Jats were known for their rebellion against the Mughals in the late seventeenth century. Bahar: Also Bihar: an Indian state known for its rich resources. It came under British control in 1764 after the Battle of Buxar. See note 125. Dow’s History: Alexander Dow (c. 1735–1779) was an Orientalist and officer in the EIC. His three-volume work, The History of Hindostan (London: T. Becket and P. A. De Hondt, 1768–1772), included a translation of a Persian history by Muhammad Kasim Ferishta alongside his own research. Widely reviewed and discussed in Britain, this volume shaped late eighteenth-century ideas about India and Indian people. In particular, Dow insisted that despotism had shaped the Mughal Empire. Milton, “These are thy works, Parent of good!”: John Milton (1608–1674) was an English poet, best remembered for his Biblical epic Paradise Lost (1667). This quote is from Book 5, l.153: ‘These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good’. The gentleman who resided there: Not identified. These are quite a distinct race of people: Deane may be referring to the Paharia tribe who occupied the hills around Rajmahal, Bhagalpur, and Kharagpur. The local people in this area had resisted British rule and attracted the attention of the EIC. fakeer: Also fakir: in basic terms a beggar, but also a religious ascetic living on alms. The term originally referred to Muslims but, as seen here, it also applied to Hindu devotees. Baugulpoor: Also Bhagalpur: an ancient city in Bihar mentioned in both the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. Hill Rangers: The Bhagalpur Hill Rangers were an auxiliary force intended to pacify the Santal Parganas area in the 1780s. They were first organized by Augustus Cleveland (1754–1784), the city’s first Collector and Magistrate, in 1780. The Judge and his Lady: James Wintle (1781–?) was the Magistrate of Bhagalpur in 1805. the Mayor: Not identified. ginghams: A lightweight cotton yarn dyed before being woven. Along with muslin, calico, chintz, and dungaree, gingham was one of the primary textile exports from India to England. Cashmere: A soft wool that originally came from the Kashmir goat. Predestinarian: A person who believes that God foreordains all that will happen. Meerut: An ancient city in the modern state of Uttar Pradesh. In 1803, the Marathas ceded this area to the British and Meerut became a garrison town. cóprah capell: Deane is referring to either the Indian, or spectacled cobra (Naja naja) or the king cobra (Ophiophagus hannah). Capella means ‘hooded’ in Portuguese and refers to the ability of both species to flatten their necks so as to appear more threatening to predators. salaam: A gesture of greeting in many Arabic and Muslim countries, typically consisting of a low bow of the head and body with hand or fingers touching the forehead. matchlocks: A type of gun with a lock in which a cord or wick was placed to ignite the powder. Monghir: Also Munger or Monghyr: a city in the state of Bihar, about four miles from the famous springs of Sita Kund, mentioned here by Deane. During Mir Qasim’s reign (1760–1763), it was briefly the capital of Bengal. chalybeate springs: Spring waters containing iron. From the seventeenth century, people believed they had healing properties. Brahmans: Brahmins are members of the highest Hindu caste, traditionally the priestly caste; but, by the eighteenth century, they were widely employed in secular occupations. a pretty strong fort: Munger’s ancient fort was Mir Qasim’s base during his conflict with the British in 1763–1764. See note 103.

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92 The ceremony: The hook-swinging ceremony described by Deane in the following paragraphs has various names, such as Charak or Churuk Puja. The devotee is suspended from hooks passed through the body and attached to a long pole, apparently in order to satisfy Lord Shiva. It was the subject of many sensationalist accounts by nineteenth-century travellers, see for example F. Parks, Wanderings of a Pilgrim in Search of the Picturesque, During Four and Twenty Years in the East: With Revelations of Life in the Zenana, 2 vols (London: Pelham Richardson, 1850), vol. 1, p. 127. 93 that passage in the law of Moses, wherein he says, “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn”: Deane quotes from Moses’s speeches to the Israelites; see Deuteronomy 25:4: ‘You shall not muzzle an ox while it treads out the grain’. 94 neem: The neem tree, Meliaceae Azadirachta india, grows all over India and, as Deane goes on to describe, the leaves, bark, fruit, and oil extracted from the seeds all apparently have medicinal properties. 95 avant couriér: ‘advance runner’ (French), i.e. a person running ahead, especially a member of the advance guard of an army. 96 tannahs: In addition to Deane’s explanation, a tannah could also refer to a police station or a fortified post. 97 Benares: Also Varanasi: a city in Uttar Pradesh on the banks of the Ganges, and one of the seven sacred cities of Hinduism. 98 one of the Judges of the Court of Appeal at Patna: In Patna, in 1805, there were three Judges of the Court of Appeal and Circuit: Christopher Keating, James Edward Colebrooke, and John Rawlins. 99 the superintending surgeon: James Macnab was the surgeon in Patna in 1805. 100 Bankipore: Also Bankipur: an administrative centre for the EIC, now in the state of Bihar. 101 “A barren woman . . . can never go to heaven”: It has not been possible to identify a source for this quotation. It seems that Deane is merely repeating inaccurate hearsay. 102 The city of Patna and it dependencies came into possession of the English in the year 1764: Patna officially came under Company rule after the Battle of Buxar in 1764. See note 125. 103 Meer Kossim Khan: Mir Qasim (d. 1777) was the Nawab of Bengal from 1760 to 1763. He was installed by the British when his father-in-law, Mir Jafar (1691–1765), refused to cooperate with Company demands. However, Mir Qasim soon became unhappy with various commercial advances made by the Company and conflict arose. 104 Sumroo, (or Sombre): Walter Reinhardt Sombre (c. 1725–1778) is cited variously as French, German, Armenian, and Alsatian. Regardless of nationality, he served under both French and Indian leaders in the subcontinent, most notably Mir Qasim. 105 husband to the Begum of that name: Sumroo was married to Begum Sumroo or Samroo – original name: Zeb-un-Nissa (c. 1753–1836) – who became an infamous Indian icon and an independent ruler of Sardanah. See also note 263. 106 Meer Kossim Khan was driven into that fortress: Munger Fort (see note 91). Mir Qasim used Munger as his capital throughout his reign and strengthened the fort there. During the conflicts of 1763, he remained at the fort while his armies fought in the fields. 107 he caused them to be massacred: In 1763, Mir Qasim captured a group of British military officers and imprisoned them at Patna. Then, after the British victories at Munger and Udhua Nullah, the Nawab ordered their execution and this came to be known as the Patna Massacre. Various reports of the incident cite Walter Reinhardt Sombre (Sumroo) as the perpetrator of this violent act. See also note 104. 108 Major Adams . . . driving Meer Kossim and his followers to take refuge with Sujah Dowlah, then Emperor of Delhi: Major Thomas Adams successfully recaptured Patna after the aforementioned massacre and drove Mir Qasim into exile. The Nawab then turned to Shujah ud-Daulah, Nawab of Awadh (1754–1775), and Shah Alam II

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109

110

111 112 113

114 115 116 117 118

119 120 121 122 123 124 125

126 127 128

(1759–1806), Mughal Emperor, for support against the EIC. Consequently, and unsuccessfully, these indigenous leaders joined forces for the battle of Buxar in 1764. girls are betrothed by their parents before they attain their seventh birthday: Child marriages were prevalent in India and an increasing source of concern for the British. As Deane notes, this tradition usually entailed a betrothal at a young age with marriage following the onset of puberty. mindy: The tradition of mehndi is the art of producing designs on the body with a paste made from the leaves of the henna plant. It is typically applied to brides before the wedding. The term more commonly denotes the ceremonial artform, and not the shrub itself. second book of Kings, “She put her eyes in painting”: See 2 Kings 9:30. Mahometan law: Under the direction of Warren Hasting (1732–1818), the British codified a separate set of laws for Hindus and Muslims. ‘Mahometan’ is a contemporary synonym for ‘Muslim’. The Hindoos are the original inhabitants . . . gave laws to Hindostan: Deane paraphrases Charles Hamilton’s account of the subcontinent here. See C. Hamilton, An Historical Relation of the Origin, Progress, and Final Dissolution of the Rohilla Afghans in the Northern Provinces of Hindostan (London: G. Kearsley, 1787), p. 2. toolsey: Deane makes a slight error here as toolsey, or tulsi, is a type of basil considered sacred by Hindus. It is therefore a herb, not a vegetable. no one can become a Hindu: Deane is mistaken here. It is possible to convert to Hinduism. Danapore: Danapur: a military station in Bihar and the location of a sepoy uprising during the First War of Indian Independence in 1857. Moneah: Maner or Maner Sharif: a village in the Patna district of Bihar. peeple trees: Also known as the peepal and peepul tree: the Moraceae Ficus religiosa originated in the Himalayan foothills and is considered sacred by Hindus and Buddhists. As Deane mentions, the leaves feed elephants; but it also produces figs and nearly every part of the tree has medicinal properties. Soane: Also Sone or Son: a tributary of the River Ganges. the Judge at Arrah: Not identified. banditti: Banditti were robbers, especially those belonging to a gang. In India they were also known as dacoits. See note 122. dakoities: Also dacoity: a gang of armed robbers. collectorship: The Collector of Revenues was the chief administrator of an Indian District. As the name suggests, their main duty was the collection of taxes but they also held magisterial powers. Arrah: A city, now in the state of Bihar. During the First War of Indian Independence in 1857, it was the site of an eight-day siege at the fortified house of Richard Vicars Boyle (1822–1908), an Irish engineer. Buxar: A city in the state of Bihar. As mentioned by Deane, it was the site of a major battle in 1764 between the EIC, led by Major Hector Munro (c. 1725–c. 1805), and the combined forces of the Nawab of Awadh Shujah-ud-Daulah, the Mughal Emperor Shah Allam II, and the Nawab of Bengal Mir Qasim. The Company’s decisive victory over the indigenous allies ensured British dominance in eastern India. Consequently, in 1765, the Mughal Emperor granted the EIC diwani, or revenue collecting rights, in Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa. Colonel Commandant and his family: Not identified. a clergyman: Not identified Hamlet’s ghost: In William Shakespeare’s play Hamlet (1599), the ghost of Hamlet’s father frequently appears, initiating the play’s tragic plot; see, for example, Act 1, scene 1.

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129 Ghazipore: Now Ghazipur: a city in Uttar Pradesh and a manufacturing centre, famous for its cloth, as Deane goes on to discuss in the following paragraphs. However, it was also known for its opium factory, which was first established there by the EIC. 130 Judge of Ghazipore: Not identified. 131 the General in command: Not identified. 132 the Judge of the district: Not identified. 133 Otta of roses: Also otto or attar: an essential oil made from rose petals, mainly produced at Ghazipur. 134 the General commanding: Not identified 135 Chief Judge of the Court of Appeal: William Augustus Brooke (?–1833) was the Chief Judge of the Court of Appeal in Benares (1804–1829). 136 It is a system of policy on the part of the English to protect . . . our possessions in the country: Until 1813, the EIC held a policy of religious tolerance in the territories it controlled. 137 Emperor Aurungzebe: Muhi-ud-Din Muhammad or Aurangzeb (1618–1707) was the sixth Mughal Emperor (r. 1658–1707). During his reign, he greatly expanded the empire until it encompassed most of the subcontinent. As Deane alludes to in this paragraph, he was notorious for his lack of religious tolerance, destroying Hindu temples and erecting mosques in their place, notably in Benares, Mathura, and Rajasthan. 138 Musjeeds: Now Musjid: the Arabic word for mosque. 139 In the month of November, 1809, so serious a dispute arose in consequence: In 1809, conflict broke out when Holi celebrators clashed with a Muharram mourning procession. Subsequently, crowds of Hindus stormed the great mosque of Aurungzeb. This was seen as belated retaliation for the emperor’s destruction of sacred Hindu sites. 140 an old saying, “Do you cock your hat at me?” – “Sir, I cock my hat”: This ‘old saying’ is reminiscent of an exchange in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (1597), Act 1, Scene 1, ll. 42–3. The original reads: ‘Abraham: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? / Samson: I do bite my thumb, sir’. 141 bankas: In the nineteenth century, the Bankas were identified as a particularly quarrelsome sect. See, for example, J. F. Davis, Vizier Ali Khan: Or, the Massacre of Benaras, a Chapter in British History (London: John Murray, 1844), p. 67. 142 Mahometans have four important periods in the year: There are four sacred months in the Islamic calendar: Muḥarram (1), Rajab (7), Dhū al-Qa‘dah (11), and Dhu al-Ḥijjah (12). These are set out by George Sale in his well-known translation of the Qur’an (London: C. Ackers, 1734), vol. 1, p. 197. However, these are not mentioned by Deane, who goes on to describe four selected times of Muslim celebration. 143 First the birth of Mahomet: Celebrations for the birth of the prophet Muhammad, called Mawlid-un-Nabi, take place in Rabi’ al-awwal, the third month of the Islamic year. 144 Ramzaan, or Ramdaan: Now Ramadan: Deane claims that Ramadan takes place in September but it actually occurs in the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. During this time, there is strict fasting from sunrise to sunset. 145 Mecca: The birthplace of Muhammad, located in what is now Saudi Arabia. 146 Medina: The location of Muhammad’s tomb, also now located in Saudi Arabia. 147 The third is the commencement of their new year: The Muslim New Year occurs on the first day of the month of Muharram. 148 A fourth is called the Moharum to commemorate the deaths of Hussan and Houssein: The first month of the Islamic year is Muharram and the first ten days of this month are a time of public and private mourning. It marks the death of the prophet’s grandson, Husayn ibn Ali, and his supporters at the Battle of Karbala. 149 the plains of Kerbela: The grandson of Muhammad, Husayn ibn Ali, and his supporters were killed in Karbala (present-day Iraq) by the larger military force of Yazid I, the Umayyad caliph.

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150 bier: A movable frame on which a coffin or a corpse is placed before burial or cremation, or on which the remains are carried to the grave. 151 a festival of the Hindoos, sacred to the God of Wealth: Deane is presumably referring to Diwali, the Hindu festival of lights that takes place in October/November to celebrate the new season after the monsoon. It is particularly associated with Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity. 152 carpets equal to those made at Wilton, in Wiltshire: Since the seventeenth century, Wilton had been an important centre for weaving and in 1741 it began producing carpets. 153 Judge of Allahabad: William Towers Smith (1783–1826). 154 “a burnt child dreads the fire”: A common idiom. 155 Allahabad: A large city in Uttar Pradesh founded by Akbar I (1542–1605) and acquired by the British in 1801. 156 a strong fortress and palace built by the Emperor Acbar: The Mughal Emperor, Akbar I, established an imperial city with a fort at Allahabad in Uttar Pradesh in 1575. British troops were first stationed here after the Battle of Buxar and the Treaty of Allahabad, signed in 1765. 157 A considerable revenue is derived from the Mahrattas, who come at particular seasons of the year to perform their ablutions: According to Hindu mythology, the riverside of Allahabad is one of four places where Vishnu dropped amrita, the sacred nectar; these sites became the locations of the Kumbh Mela, a mass Hindu pilgrimage. In the nineteenth century the Mela was annual and Hindu pilgrims, especially those from Maratha territory, travelled to the site. The EIC imposed a tax of one rupee for anyone wanting to bathe there. 158 a Hindoo woman had signified her intention to end her existence on the funeral pile of her husband: Deane is referring to the practice of sati or suttee, which was still legal during Deane’s time in India. It was banned by the British, with the support of many Indian reformers, in 1829 under the governance of Lord William Bentinck (1774–1839). 159 Futtehpore: Now Fatehpur: a city in Uttar Pradesh, located between the Ganges and the Yumuna rivers. 160 hookahs: Indian pipes for smoking through water. 161 zenanah: Also zenana: the apartments of a house in which the women of a family are secluded. 162 champoo: Shampoo. 163 bungalow: These one-storeyed thatched houses originated in Bengal as temporary dwellings for Officers of the EIC. Over time, these structures were replicated throughout the subcontinent and the word ‘bungalow’ evolved from the description ‘Bengalstyle’. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 128. 164 kooftas: kofta: a kind of Indian meatball. 165 tiffin: Usually luncheon for English households in India, although it could also refer to an early dinner. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 920. 166 ayah: An indigenous lady’s maid, and often the only female employee in the home. She was responsible for the personal care of the women and children of the family. 167 Khanpore: See note 5. 168 Bengal army: The army of the Bengal Presidency. The three Presidencies each had separate armies until they merged in 1895 to form the Indian army. 169 His Majesty’s Light Dragoons: A cavalry regiment in the British Army. 170 Commander-in-Chief: The supreme commander of the British Indian Army. During Deane’s time in India, the position was held by General Gerard Lake (predominantly throughout 1801–1807); Sir George Hewett (1807); Lieutenant-General Forbes Champagné (1807–1811), Sir George Nugent (1811–1813), and Francis RawdonHastings (1813–1823).

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171 at the Judges: In 1805, William Leycester (1790–1831) was the Judge at Kanpur. See also note 362. 172 Lucknow: The capital of Uttar Pradesh, and formerly the capital of Awadh, part of the Mughal Empire. The British took control of the city in 1856. 173 dak: As previously noted, this was a system of mail transport via relays of bearers and horses. In this instance, the cargo is people not post. 174 Nawaab Sadut Alli: Saadat Ali Khan II, Nawab of Awadh: See note 37. 175 Grand Vizier: The principal leader of the Ottoman Empire. 176 General Lord Lake: Gerard Lake (1744–1808) was intermittently Commanderin-Chief of the British army in India from 1801–1807. His successes during the Second Anglo-Maratha War (1803–1804) were the highlight of his military career. 177 Lebitt Ben Rabial, Alamary: Lebid Ben Rabiat Alamary was a celebrated poet from Yemen at the time of Muhammad. Deane includes here one of his unnamed poems in an English translation by Joseph Dacre Carlyle. See Specimens of Arabian Poetry from the Earliest Time to the Extinction of the Kaliphate, with Some Account of the Authors (London: T. Cadell and W. Davies [1796] 1810), pp. 4–10. 178 straight smooth reed: Reed pens, usually made from bamboo, were extremely common for calligraphy. 179 Aliph: Aleph is the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet. 180 Begum: A title usually denoting an indigenous Indian woman of the upper classes or aristocracy. 181 zephyrs: Light breeze or wind. 182 the lovely Leila, and made more frantic the enamoured Mujnoon: Layla and Majnun is a narrative poem composed by the Persian poet Nezami in 1188. It was translated into English by the Orientalist Isaac Disraeli in 1797 and reprinted as The Loves of Mejnoun and Leila, a celebrated Persian romance: With notes, Illustrative of the Manners and Customs of the Persians (Calcutta, 1800). 183 Worcestershire china: The Royal Worcester China Company was established in 1751. 184 a la forchette: ‘with a fork’ (French). Also used to indicate a meal of such substance as to require cutlery; it often indicated a hearty breakfast, taken late morning or lunchtime. 185 Futty-ghur: Deane uses several different spellings for ‘Fateghar’, a cantonment town and an administrative centre for Furrukhabad. 186 Sudder station: The chief station of a district, where the Collector, Judge, and other officials reside. 187 Furrukabad: Farrukhabad: as Deane states, this was an important trade centre. 188 Mahratta country: Broadly refers to what is now the state of Maharashtra but Deane could also mean the Deccan plateau, from where the Marathas originated. See note 69. 189 Scotch cambric: Cambric is a light plain-weave cotton, originally from Cambrai in France. In the eighteenth century, England prohibited its importation because of its similarity to Indian materials, which became known as Scotch cambrics in order to distinguish them from the French originals. 190 The Nawaab bearing the title of the city, resides within it: The Nawab of Furrukhabad was Imdad Husain Khan (r. 1802–1813). In 1802, he ceded his entire territory to the Company in return for an annual pension. 191 the family we quitted: Not identified 192 Agra: A city in Uttar Pradesh, famous as the home of the Taj Mahal, as well as the Agra Fort. It came under British control during the Second Anglo-Maratha Wars. 193 Mynpoorie: Now Mainpuri: a city in Uttar Pradesh. 194 the spectacle Noah must have witnessed when he took refuge in the ark: Deane compares the scene here to the one witnessed by Noah as he escaped the Biblical flood. See Genesis: 6–12.

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195 Shekoabad: Also Shikohabad: a town in Uttar Pradesh. As Deane goes on to describe, in 1803 during the Second Anglo-Maratha War a group of Maratha horsemen attacked the British detachment at Shekoabad. However, her report is rather sensationalist as records suggest that the Marathas actually negotiated with the British, allowing them safe passage in return for withdrawing from the campaign against Sindia, with the exception of Mrs Wilson, wife of EIC Captain Wilson, who was held hostage. See R. G. S. Cooper, The Anglo-Maratha Campaigns and the Contest for India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). 196 Pindarees: Pindaris: Originally a band of horsemen, attached to the Maratha Empire. They became notorious for their violence and rapacity during the Anglo-Maratha Wars. 197 Our late operations, under the command of the Marquis of Hastings . . . this formidable enemy: In 1818, after Deane’s departure from India but prior to the publication of her book, Francis Edward Rawdon Hastings, 1st Marquess of Hastings, Commanderin-Chief of the Indian Army and Governor-General of India (1813–1823), defeated both the Pindaris and the Marathas in the third and final Anglo-Maratha War. 198 war of 1818: The Third Anglo-Maratha War was the final, decisive conflict between the British and the Marathas. It began when the British invaded Maratha territory to take action against the ongoing marauding violence of the Pindaris. In response, three of the Maratha leaders joined forces: Peshwa Baji Rao II, Appasaheb of Nagpur, and Tulsabai Holkar. They were defeated and the Maratha Empire collapsed. 199 the river Indus: Originates in Tibet and then runs through the length of what is now Pakistan. 200 “The number of native servants . . . before the next hour”: It has not been possible to trace the source of this quote. 201 In 1812 they made an irruption into Bengal . . . into Madras: Between 1812 and 1816, the Pindaris persistently invaded British territories. There were numerous reports of violent atrocities. Deane claims that these incursions, seemingly supported by the Marathas, were the motivation for the Third Anglo-Maratha War. 202 Scindia, Holkar: Deane is referring to the leaders of the Sindia and Holkar dynasties of the Maratha Confederacy: Daulat Rao Sindhia (1779–1827) and Malharrao Holkar III (1806–33) – although the latter’s mother, Tulsabai, was largely in control of the Holkars due to Malharrao’s young age. 203 Ameer Khan: Amir Khan (1769–1834) was a Pashtun who fought with the Maratha Empire against the EIC in the Third Anglo-Maratha War (1817–1818). 204 Peishwa: The hereditary leader of the Maratha Empire. At this time, it was Baji Rao II (1775–1851), who had been supported by the British during the Second AngloMaratha War. However, in 1817, he switched allegiances and joined forces with the other Maratha dynasties during the Third Anglo-Maratha War. 205 Rajah of Nagpore: Rajah Madhoji II Bhonsle, also known as Appasaheb, joined the Peshwa’s forces during the Third Anglo-Maratha War. 206 a treaty of peace in 1813: Appasaheb actually formed an alliance with the British in 1816. However, he then went against the conditions of the treaty by engaging with Peshwa Baji Rao II a year later. This resulted in the Battle of Nagpur in 1817. Appasaheb and his troops were defeated and the British-installed Raghuji III in his place. 207 One of these impregnable forts was Huttrass, near Agra, in possession of a Jaut chief, Diah Ram: In the following pages Deane outlines the events of the siege of Hattrass, or Hathras, a city in Uttar Pradesh. In 1817, Raja Dayaram of Hathras resisted the British and subsequently escaped capture. 208 Rajpoots: Also Rajput: warrior clans based in northern and north-western India. 209 Rajah of Burtpore: Ranjit Singh was the Maharajah of Bharatpur (r. 1778–1805) and was succeeded by his son Randhir Singh (r. 1805–1823).

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210 The general: Sir Dyson Marshall commanded the British regiment sent to capture the fortress at Hathras; see note 207. 211 Rohillah: Afghan warriors who settled in India in the second half of the eighteenth century in Rohilkhand, an area in Uttar Pradesh, on the upper Ganges. 212 The unfortunate failure of our troops in their several attacks on this Rajah of Burtpore: Ranjit Singh, the former ruler, resisted four attacks by the British, led by General Lake, during the siege of Bharatpur in 1805. Previously, he indicated his intention to join the British during the Second Anglo-Maratha War. Instead, however, he joined forces with Yashwantrao Holkar (1776–1811). Deane suggests his successful act of resistance at Bharatpur served as inspiration for further indigenous oppositions. 213 The Jauts have repeatedly revolted against the Mogul government: The Jats of Bharatpur fought many wars against the Mughal Empire in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 214 Within the last century . . . carried away plunder to an immense amount: In the latter half of the eighteenth century, the Jats took advantage of the Maratha Empire’s defeat of the Mughal Empire. They captured Delhi in 1771 and seized Agra in 1761, plundering the city. 215 Tadge: The Taj Mahal is a mausoleum erected between 1631–1648 by Shah Jahan (1592–1666), the fifth Mughal Emperor, for his favourite wife Mumtaz Mahal (1593– 1631). Deane provides a lengthy description of the monument in Chapter 10. 216 the tomb of the Emperor Acbar, situated at a place called Secundra, about 5 miles from Agra: Akbar I’s tomb remains at Sikandra, now a suburb of Agra. Akbar was the third Mughal Emperor (r. 1556–1605). 217 Koraan: The Qur’an is the principal religious text of Islam. As Deane states, verses and passages from the text are inscribed on the panels of the Taj Mahal. 218 Shaw Allum: Shah Allam II (1728–1806) became the Mughal Emperor in 1759 during a time of great conflict, and reigned until 1806, despite losing against the British at Buxar. Later he sought British protection and granted them the diwani of Bengal in exchange. See note 125. 219 whose eyes were put out by one of his subjects: Deane misidentifies the perpetrator of this incident. It was actually the Rohilla chief Ghulam Qadir Khan who captured Shah Allam II in Delhi in 1788 and then blinded him. Deane’s contemporary, Lady Nugent, makes a similar mistake. See A. L. Cohen (ed.), Lady Nugent’s East India Journal (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), p. 194. 220 Ally Ghur: Aligarh is a city in Uttar Pradesh; in 1804 it was the site of a successful siege and battle led by General Lake during the Second Anglo-Maratha War. 221 Bhagwaut Singh, Diah Ram &c.: Rajah Dayaram was the ruler of the region but Deane’s other references here are unclear. See also note 207. 222 near the city of Coel, they placed a formidable garrison: Coel or Koil was adjacent to the Aligarh fortress, and both were captured by the British under General Lake in 1803. 223 August 1804: Deane makes a mistake here regarding the date of the Siege at Aligarh. Lord Lake captured the fort from General Perron (see note 264) and the Maratha army in September 1803. 224 Ferozabad: Now Firozabad, a city in Uttar Pradesh. 225 Teeseldar: More commonly tehsildar or tahsildar: the chief indigenous revenue collector of a district. 226 dhye: This soured milk was a common ingredient in Indian cooking. 227 Ettamaadpore: Now Etmadpur: a town in Uttar Pradesh. It served as a tehsil, or administrative centre, during British rule. 228 the collector of the district: Not identified. 229 Jumna: The Yamuna river, the second largest tributary of the Ganges, flowing from the Himalayas and merging with the Ganges at Allahabad.

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230 a man named Ettamaad Dowlut, meaning Ettamaad the Rich: Deane refers to Mir Ghiyas Beg, also known as Itmad-ud-Daulah, a poor merchant who became the chief minister in the Mughal court of Jahangir (Akbar I’s son). The tomb, mentioned by Deane, was commissioned by his daughter who had married Jahangir in 1611. 231 Emperor of Delhi: As Deane notes, the Mughal Emperor was now known as the Emperor of Delhi, signalling the diminishing extent of his power. For the majority of Deane’s time in India, this position was held by Akbar Shah II (1760–1837). He reigned from 1806–1837. 232 fort of Agra: Agra fort and palace was commissioned by Akbar I in 1565. It remained the principal residence of the Mughal Emperor until 1638 when Delhi became the capital. The Marathas captured it in the eighteenth century and the British acquired it in 1803. 233 predatory horsemen: Pindaris, see note 196. 234 Moharum: See note 148. 235 the commanding officer of Secundra: Not identified. 236 Agra, the fort and palace: See note 232. 237 the mausoleum of Christie: The tomb of the Sufi saint Salim Chisti (1478–1572). 238 Futtypoor Siccra: Fatehpur Sikri is a town in Uttar Pradesh, near Agra, founded by Akbar I as the capital of the Mughal Empire. It contains a number of notable monuments and is now classified as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. 239 a monastery: I have found no mention of a monastery at Fatehpur Sikri; however, there is a Roman Catholic Church and Cemetery, in which Sumroo is buried. 240 Sumroo: See note 104. 241 in this monastery he is buried: Walter Reinhardt Sombre (or Sumroo; see Chapter 5, note 104) is buried in the Roman Catholic Cemetery in Fatehpur Sikri, one of the oldest Christian burial sites in India. 242 Begum Sumroo: See note 105. 243 Tadge Mahl: See note 215. 244 Emperor Shaw Jehaan: Shah Jahan was the Mughal Emperor (r. 1627–1658). He is often praised for his cultural achievements. He is especially remembered for commissioning the Taj Mahal in memory of his wife Mumtaz Mahal. See note 215. 245 in the year 1719: Deane is mistaken about the date of the Taj Mahal, which was largely completed by 1643. 246 Montaza Mhul: Mumtaz Mahal. See note 215. 247 artificers arrived from England, France, Italy, Greece: Reportedly, craftsmen from all over India, Persia, and Europe helped to complete the building. 248 The Tomb of Christie at Futty-poor Siccra: See notes 237 and 238. 249 a magnificent palace built by Emperor Acbar: Akbar I built a walled city and imperial palace complex at Fatehpur Sikri. Deane goes on to describe several of its features. 250 The apartments we were shown as having belonged to Tamoulah: Deane is surely referring to the Jodha Bai Palace built for Akbar I’s chief wife, Mariam-uz-Zumani, also known as Jodha Bai. She was originally a Rajput princess and was the mother of Akbar’s successor Jahangir. The Jodha Bai palace is made of red granite, just like the structure described here. 251 A structure contiguous to the palace: Deane is referring to Diwan-i-Khas or Hall of Private Audience, famed for its central pillar. 252 the fort of Bhurtpore, before which our army were five times repulsed: Lohagarh Fort at Bharatpur withstood the British army, led by Lord Lake, on four occasions in 1805. 253 These provinces having been newly conquered by the British army: In 1803, during the Second Anglo-Maratha War, the British gained control of Agra and Delhi and the surrounding areas.

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254 the Nile: A major river in north-east Africa. It is widely regarded as the longest river in the world. 255 baubool tree: The Mimosaceae Acacia arabica, also known as the babul or babool tree, is native to India and Africa. It has many uses, including those mentioned here. 256 cotton plant: Cotton comes from the Gossypium plants, a shrub native to tropical and subtropical regions. 257 bang: Also known as bhang: from Hindi, used to refer to the dried leaves of the Cannabis plant when used a narcotic. 258 palma christi: Ricinus communis, the castor bean plant, reportedly has medicinal qualities. 259 the fort of Alli Ghur: Aligarh: See note 220. 260 Lisbon: The capital city of Portugal. 261 We encamped on this day near the field of battle on the memorable 11th September, 1803, when British forces under Lord Lake conquered the Mahratta army: Putpore Gunge, or Patparganj, is where General Lake’s army pitched their tents on 11 September 1803, after their victory at Aligarh. They were subsequently surprised by Maratha horsemen and the conflict that took place there became known as the Battle of Delhi because the Marathas surrendered the city soon after their defeat. 262 the resident: Sir Archibald Seton was the Resident at Delhi 1806–1811. The Resident was a British official stationed in Indian kingdoms. He largely controlled local policy while the Indian ruler was reduced to a symbolic figurehead. 263 Monsieur L’Oiseaux: More commonly recorded as Le Vassoult: Begum Sumroo’s second husband. After Walter Reinhardt died, Begum Sumroo married a French nobleman who had joined her military force. However, he proved unable to lead her armies, and this provoked dissatisfaction and defections. Eventually the couple fled Sardhana but they were soon captured and Le Vassoult killed himself. 264 General Perron: Pierre Cuillier-Perron (c. 1755–1834) was a French adventurer in India. In 1795, he fought with the Maratha army and became Commander-in-Chief of Mahadji Sindhia’s army, which was defeated by General Lake and Sir Arthur Wellesley (1769–1852). 265 Sirdanah: Sardhana: a small principality near Meerut, ruled by Begum Sumroo. 266 During Lord Lake’s sojourn at Delhi, he was her frequent guest: After the battles of 1803, the Begum left the Marathas and joined the British. She frequently entertained prominent figures, such as Lord Lake and Reginald Heber (1783–1826), the Bishop of Calcutta. 267 during the reign of the Emperor Shaw Allum, she is said to have saved the Mogul Empire by rallying and encouraging her troops: Begum Sumroo helped Shah Allam II to quell a rebellion initiated by Najaf Quli Khan in 1787. 268 Zophany: Johan Joseph Zoffany (1733–1810) was a German neoclassical painter who had travelled in India between 1783–1790, and painted the altarpiece of the Last Supper for St. John’s Church in Calcutta. His work was very popular in England. 269 the musnud: A large cushion used by native Princes in India instead of a throne. 270 His Majesty: Akbar II (1760–1837) was the Emperor of Delhi (1806–1837). 271 crowds of eunuchs: Eunuchs were frequently employed as the guards of women’s living quarters in India. 272 Queen Dowager, mother to the reigning Emperor: Qudsia Begum, third wife of Shah Allam II and mother of Akbar II, the reigning Emperor. 273 betel nut: A palate cleanser and a mild stimulant made from wrapping the nut of the areca tree (Areca catechu) in the leaf of the betel vine (Piper betle). 274 sat the Queen: Begum Mumtaz-un-Nissa, mother of Mirza Jahangir (1791–1821). 275 gold mohar: Also mohur: the chief gold coin of British India. 276 cornelian and lapis lazuli: Semi-precious stones used in jewellery.

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277 Pitaan: More commonly Pashtuns or Pathans: an ethnic group, mainly living today in Afghanistan and Pakistan. 278 The Emperor, who is of Moghul extraction, of the house of Timoor, and a lineal descendent of the great Tamerlane: Akbar II descended from Timur (1366–1405), also known as Tamerlane, who was known for his barbaric conquests from Russia through to his invasion of India in 1383. Christopher Marlowe (c. 1564–1593) wrote a two-part play about him, Tamburlane the Great (1587–1588). 279 the wife of one of the princes, named Jehanghier: Mirza Jahangir, Akbar II’s son, had three wives: Halima-un-Nissa, Birj Bai, and Umrao Bai. It is unclear who Deane is describing here. Jahangir was exiled to Allahabad when he shot at Sir Archibald Seton, Resident at Delhi. 280 Murza Selim: Mirza Muhammad Salim Shah (1799–1836) was another son of Akbar II and Mumtaz-un-Nissa Begum. 281 General O – : Sir David Ochterlony (1758–1825) was previously the British Resident to the Mughal Court after the Battle of Delhi in 1803. Apparently, he had a zenana and would take evening walks with his thirteen Indian wives. See Cohen, Lady Nugent’s East India Journal, p. 207. 282 Kootub Minar: The Qutub Minar dates from the twelfth or thirteenth century and forms part of a collection of buildings and monuments in Mehrauli. There are various theories as to the origin of the tower, but many historians believe it was built by Qutb al-Din Aibak the first Sultan of Delhi. See, for example, T. G. P. Spear, Delhi: Its Monuments and History (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994). 283 the adjmere gate: The Adjmeri Gate, built in 1644, is one of the Gates of Delhi. 284 Meer Dahn Alli Khan: Not identified. 285 the Royal Observatory: Jantar Mantar, constructed in 1724 in Delhi, was one of the observatories built by Maharaja Jai Singh II of Jaipur. 286 superb mausoleum of Sufter Jung: Safdar Jang was the Nawab of Awadh (c. 1708– 1754) and father of Shuja-ud-Daulah. 287 late Sadut Alli: Saadat Ali Kahn II died in 1814. See note 37. 288 tomb of Kootub ud Deen: The tomb of Qutbuddin Bakhtiar Kaki (1173–1235), a Sufi saint of the Chishti Order in Delhi, is the oldest shrine in Delhi. As Deane mentions, no women are allowed to enter the inner shrine. 289 moolahs: Also mullah: a Muslim learned in Islamic law and theology. 290 tombs of Bahadar Shaw and Shaw Allum late Emperors of Delhi: The graves of two Mughal emperors lie in the Qut’b complex: Bahadur Shah I (1643–1712) and Shah Allam II who, as Deane goes on to note, was the father of the reigning emperor, Akbar II. However, she mistakenly claims that Bahadur Shah was Akbar II’s grandfather; this was, in fact, Alamgir II. 291 “wonderful brazen pillar”: Deane describes the Iron Pillar in the Qut’b complex. There is no definitive history for the pillar but it dates from third or fourth century AD. 292 Patowly, the founder of Delhi: Deane’s reference here is not clear. 293 the mausoleum of Humayoon: Humayun, also known as Nasir-ud-Din Muhammad (r. 1530–1556), was the second emperor of the Mughal Empire, the son of Zahir udDin Muhammad Babur. The tomb was apparently commissioned by his first wife, Hamida Banu Begum in 1565. 294 Humayoon, eldest son of Timoor Shaw: Here Deane is mistaken. Humayun’s father was Zahir ud-Din Muhammad Babur (1483–1530) the founder of the Mughal Empire in India. He was, however, a descendent of the conqueror Timur. See note 278. 295 Candahar: Kandahar is a city in Afghanistan. 296 father of the renowned Acbar: Humayun was the father of Akbar I (1542–1605) who succeeded him to become the third Mughal Emperor.

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297 Humayoon being the eldest son of Timoor Shaw ought . . . to have succeeded him on the throne: As stated in note 294, Timoor Shaw was an ancestor of Humayun’s but not his father. Deane also makes a further error here as Humayun did succeed his father, Babur, and subsequently assigned specific territories to his brothers. 298 Shaw Zemaan: Kamran Mirza (1509–1557), or Kamran, was Humayun’s brother. He challenged Humayan’s authority on a number of occasions until eventually, in 1553, Kamran was captured by his brother who blinded him and rendered him powerless. 299 Tippoo Sultaan: Tipu Sultan (1750–1799) was the ruler of the kingdom of Mysore. Clearly Deane’s history here is chronologically inaccurate as he cannot have conspired with the brother of Humayun in the sixteenth century, or Timur Shaw’s children. 300 caused him to be seized and his eyes put out: As stated in note 298, it was Prince Kamran, not Humayun who was blinded. 301 Begum Sumroo’s palace: Bhagirath Palace was in Chandni Chowk, Delhi. 302 a notch: The nautch was a staged dance performed by women; however, the term often referred to any kind of stage entertainment. 303 son of Abdoulah Khan: Not identified 304 Cashmere: Kashmir is a large area in north-west India. 305 Jumna Musjeed: Constructed by Shah Jahan’s daughter, Jahanara Begum, as the principal mosque of the city in 1648. It remains one of the largest mosques in India. 306 the first verse of the Koran: Deane provides the first verse of the Qur’an. Her source is not clear but her rendering is very close to that of George Sale’s 1734 translation (see note 142). 307 Siads: Also Sayyids: Muslims who claim to be descendants of the prophet Muhammad. 308 Meratt: Another spelling of ‘Meerut’. See note 84. 309 The Judge . . . there encamped: The members of this party have not been identified. 310 Peton, a Frenchman: Not identified. 311 the Dooab: Also doab: a tract of land between two rivers, most specifically, as is the case here, the Ganges and Yamuna. 312 Muzzuffer Nuggur: Also Muzaffanagar: a city in Uttar Pradesh. 313 Shah Naumeh: Also Shahnameh or Shahname: The Shahnameh or ‘The Book of Kings’ is a Persian epic by Abolqasem Ferdowsi. Ferdowsi brought together preIslamic narratives about the Persian Empire’s mythical and historical past and recorded them in the form of a poem (c. 975–1010). 314 the river Hindon: A tributary of the Yamuna river. 315 Saharunpore: Also Saharanpur: a city in Uttar Pradesh. It came under British control in 1803 during the Second Anglo-Maratha War. 316 the judge: Roger Martin (1795–?). 317 Sieke country: Sikhs originated from the Punjab region of north-west India. 318 Runjeet Sing: Ranjit Singh (1780–1839), also known as the ‘Lion of Lahore’, ruled the Sikh empire in north-west India and stabilized the Punjab during his reign. Even though he signed a treaty with the British in 1806, he continued to expand his empire toward Afghanistan. 319 Fizabad: Also Faizabad: a city in Uttar Pradesh, and previously the capital of Awadh. 320 Ramdial Sing, Rajah of Hurdoar: Ramdayal Singh was a Gujar chief who ruled over the area of Landhaura, a city in the district of Haridwar that came under British occupation in 1803. 321 Blue Beard: The eponymous character from a French folk tale. He was a wealthy man who lived in castle and murdered several of his wives. The story was first recorded by Charles Perrault in Histoires ou Contes du Temps Passé (1697). Robert Samber is credited with the first English translation in 1729. 322 Brobdingnags: The giants in Jonathan Swift’s satirical novel Gulliver’s Travels (1726).

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323 jack-boots: Large leather military boots often reaching to the knee. 324 Cabul: Kabul, now the capital of Afghanistan. 325 Cape of Good Hope: A vital stopping point in modern South Africa for ships on long voyages between Britain and India. 326 Landowra, a Palace belonging to Rajah of Hurdwaar: See note 320. 327 Bibbee Saheb: Bibi was often used as a respectful title for Indian women or to refer to the Indian mistresses of English men. Sahib more frequently referred to European men, but it is generally a polite form of address. 328 Umrutseer: Amritsar: A city in the north-west province of Punjab. 329 Tibett: Tibet: A country in Asia, on the north side of the Himalayas. 330 Tartary: A name given to an area of Asia and eastern Europe, which formed part of the Tartar Empire in the Middle Ages. 331 Moradabad district: In Uttar Pradesh. 332 its judge and collector: At this time, Charles Lloyd (1797–?) was the collector at Moradabad. Alexander Wright was the Judge until 1809, when William Leycester assumed the post. See also note 362. 333 celebrated bathing-place of Hurdoar: The city of Haridwar is located on the river Ganges and Hindus regard it as one of the seven holiest places in India. During the Haridwar Kumbh Mela, millions of pilgrims, devotees, and tourists congregate at the various ghats for ritualistic bathing in order to achieve moksha, i.e. self-realization. 334 Ranee Mutaab Kour, wife of Rajah Rungeet Sing: Mehtab Kaur (c. 1782–1813) was the first wife of Ranjit Singh and the mother of his son Sher Singh, who became ruler of the Sikh empire from 1841–1843. See note 318. 335 Rajah Sahib Sing of Patalia and his wife: Sahib Singh (1773–1813) was the Maharajah of Patiala, a princely state in the Punjab. His first wife was Ratan Kaur. 336 Bodge Sing: Rajah Bhag Singh (1760–1819), ruler of the princely state of Jind and Sangur. 337 Burgwaan Sing: Not identified. 338 The name Hurdoar: Also Hardwar and Haridwar. As Deane states, the name of the city derives from doar, or dwar, meaning gate or gateway in Sanskrit. However, the prefix Hari may refer to Lord Vishnu or the saint Bharthari mentioned by Deane. He apparently meditated here on the banks of the Ganges and bestowed his name on one of the ghats, Har Ki Pauri. 339 Shanscrit: Sanskrit is an ancient Indo-European language of India and the language of the Hindu scriptures and classical Indian poetry. 340 annual fair held here to commemorate the anniversary of this man’s birth: Deane’s reference here is unclear but there are various religious festivals at Haridwar, the most famous is the Kumbh Mela which now takes place every twelve years. 341 Ahmed Shah: Possibly a reference to Ahmad Shah Durrani, (1722–72), ruler of Afghanistan and founder of the Durrani empire. 342 Rajah Nyn Sing: Not identified. 343 Goorah Khan: Not identified. 344 Juggernaut: Deane is presumably referring to the Shree Jagannath Temple, Puri: an important pilgrimage site and famous for the annual Ratha Yatra, or chariot festival during which huge temple cars, or Juggernauts, pull representations of the principal deities through the town. 345 bay of Bengal: An area in the north-eastern part of the Indian ocean. 346 New Forest at Hampshire: An area of unenclosed pastureland and forest in the county of Hampshire in southern England. 347 Pungaab: Punjab: An area now encompassing part of eastern Pakistan and northern India. As Deane states, it means ‘land of five rivers’ in Persian. 348 Rohilcund: Rohilkhand: See note 211. 349 Nugeebabad: Najibabad: A town in Uttar Pradesh.

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350 Sultan Khan: Zabita Khan (d. 1785), a Rohilla chief who fought alongside his father, Najib-ud-Daulah, during the third battle of Panipat in 1761 when the Afghan forces defeated the Marathas and prevented their expansion into the northern territories. 351 Nawaab Nugeeb ul Dowlah: Nawab Najib-ud-Daulah (d. 1770): a noted Rohilla warrior and tribal chief in the eighteenth century. His tomb, visited by Deane, lies in the city of Najibabad. 352 chunam: A powder made from prepared lime, which produces a polished plaster. 353 pice: A small copper coin worth very little at this time. The term, however, was also used to denote money in general. 354 Chinese Tartar: An ethnic group from China. 355 a large fort: The Patthargarh Fort outside Najibabad. It was built by Najib-ud-Daulah in 1755 and withstood a siege by Shah Alam II. 356 Nugeenah: Also Nugeena and Nagina: a town in Uttar Pradesh. 357 Arampore: Also Rampur, a city in Uttar Pradesh. It was established after the Rohilla War of 1774–1775 by Nawab Faizullah Khan. The incumbent Nawab of Rampur was Ahad Ali Khan Bahadur (1787–1840). 358 These Rohillah chiefs are not very partial to the English: In the First and Second Rohilla Wars (1773–1774 and 1794) the Rohillas had been driven from Rohilkhand and their capital of Bareilly by Shuja-ud-Daulah, Nawab of Awadh, who had the assistance of the EIC. There consequently remained much resistance to British rule. 359 bauble tree: Possibly the babool tree or the baobab tree, Adansonia digitate, which blooms with large sweetly scented flowers. See note 255. 360 Moradabad: Muradabad, a city in Uttar Pradesh. It came under British control in 1801. 361 the culture of potatoes: See note 42. 362 attacked by the force under Ameer Khan . . . defended by Mr. Leicester: Amir Khan (see note 203) attacked the house of the Collector William Leycester at Muradabad in 1805. However, the outbuildings had been fortified upon his arrival in the city and the British were able to defend it. 363 Ram Gonga: Ramganga West River is a tributary of the River Ganges. 364 Futteh Ghur: Also Futty Ghur, now Fatehgarh: a cantonment town in Uttar Pradesh. 365 zemeendar: Also zemindar, or zamindar. See note 58. 366 Rohillah country: Often referred to as Rohilkhand. See note 211. 367 jow jungle: Dense landscape of various species of shrubby tamarisk which abound in the low alluvials of India rivers and which were useful in many ways, such as making baskets. 368 Barreilli: Also Bareilly: the principal city of Rokhilkhand, situated on the banks of the Ramganga West River. As noted here, it was a centre of furniture making and has a significant history reaching back to the Mahabharata where it was said to be the birthplace of Draupadi, a key character in the Indian epic. In the following pages Deane gives a detailed description of the city. 369 Haffiz Ramut . . . under the command of Colonel Champion: Hafiz Rahmat Khan Barech (1723–1774) was a Rohilla chief remembered for his contribution to the Third Battle of Panipat in 1761. He entered into an alliance with Shuja-ud-Daulah, who assisted the Rohillas in their fight against the Marathas in exchange for money (see note 382). Hafiz later refused to pay his debt, and Shuja-ud-Daulah enlisted the help of the British, led by Colonel Alexander Champion, Commander-in Chief, to invade Rohilkhand. Hafiz Rahmut Khan was subsequently killed during the Battle of Kutterah in 1774. 370 The city of Bareilly was founded by Haffiz Ramut: During his reign, Hafiz Rehmat Khan made Bareilly the capital of Rohilkhand. 371 Hamilton’s Account of the Rohillah War: Charles Hamilton (1752–1792) was an employee of the EIC. He took part in the campaign against the Rohilla tribes and

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372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382

383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393

394 395 396 397 398 399 400

produced a history of them, An Historical Relation of the Origin, Progress and Final Dissolution of the Government of the Rohilla Afghans in the Northern Provinces of Hindostan, Compiled from a Persian Manuscript and Other Original Papers (London: Printed for G. Kearsley, 1787). Pilibete: Also Pilibhit: a city in Uttar Pradesh. It is in an area dense with forest. Gogra: Also the Ghaghara River: another tributary of the Ganges. sissoo trees: Dalbergia sissoo, also known as the North Indian Rosewood, was a great source of timber and valuable for construction, joinery, boat and carriage building, and furniture. Assafœtida: An extremely pungent gum frequently used in Indian and Middle Eastern cooking. Young: Edward Young (1683–1765), an English poet best remembered for his poetic observations of the sublime in Night Thoughts (1742–1745). Milton: John Milton. See note 73. Morpheus: Greek god of dreams. Mowattys: Robbers, something like gypsies, and very desperate. ortolans: The ortolan bunting or Emberiza hortulana is a tiny songbird that was served as a delicacy, especially in France. gram: Usually refers to chickpeas, which are legumes not grains. However, Deane may be referring to gram flour, which is made from the chickpea. Kutterah: The battle of Kutterah took place in 1774 (see also note 369). It was the decisive battle in the First Rohilla War, a conflict between Hafiz Rahmut Khan and Shuja-ud-Daulah who had enlisted British support. After Colonel Alexander Champion claimed victory, the Rohillas retreated and Rohilkhand fell to the nawab. banyan trees: The Ficus benghalensis is a common tree in India. It was often used as shaded meeting places in villages. Jellalabad: The site of a siege and a battle between the Afghans and the British in 1842. Umrutpore: Also Amritpur: a town in Uttar Pradesh. banbool trees: Most likely the Babool tree. XIX: This is clearly a misprint; it should read Chapter XV. Poosa: Also Pusa: an estate in Bihar, used by the EIC for horse breeding. pinnace: A small boat, typically with sails and/or oars that accompanies larger vessels for various purposes. Khawnpore: Also Kanpur. See note 5. seers: A varying Indian denomination of weight, roughly around one kilogram. Hindoos do not eat animal food at all: Although Hinduism does not prohibit eating meat, many Hindus believe vegetarianism is the best way to observe their custom of respect for life. meat for Mussulmen must be prepared after the Jewish custom: Deane is referring to the halal method of meat preparation in Islamic culture. It is similar to Judaism’s kosher process. They both have specific ritualistic requirements for slaughtering permitted animals which involves draining the blood from the body. Jehanabad: Also Kora Jahanabad: a city in the Fatehpur district of Uttar Pradesh. wherry: Rowing boat, usually for carrying passengers. legowing: See Deane’s glossary. Mirzapore: A city in Uttar Pradesh, known for its production of carpets but also renowned for its brassware. the fort of Chunar: An ancient Fort in the Mirzapore district of Uttar Pradesh. Major Hector Munro seized it in 1764. Chuperah: Also Chapra: a city in Bihar that from the eighteenth century thrived as a market town due to French, Portuguese, and English industries in the area. the river Gunduk, and soon reached Soanepore: The Gandak River, one of Nepal’s major rivers meets the Ganges at Sonpur, or Sonepur, in Bihar. As Deane goes on to

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401

402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412

413 414 415 416 417 418 419

420 421 422 423 424

explain, it was the location of the annual Hajipur fair, now known as the Sonpur Cattle Fair. Mr Moorcroft . . . on the subject of his researches: William Moorcroft (1767–1825) was an explorer employed by the EIC. He managed the company stud in Bengal and travelled extensively to Tibet and Nepal in order to find better breeding horses. Moorcroft published an extract of his account of the expedition in Asiatick Researches; or Transactions of the Society Instituted in Bengal for Inquiring into the History and Antiquities, the Arts, Sciences and Literature, of Asia (London: John Murray, 1818), vol. xii, p. 382. Tirhoot: Also Tirhut: a division in the state of Bihar. Hadjepore fair: Also Hajipur fair. See note 400. traiteur: ‘Caterer’ (French). Chobipore: Also Chaubepur: a village in the Kanpur district of Uttar Pradesh. a fort belonging to the Rajah of Tutteah, before which Colonel Guthrie, of the Company’s service, lost his life in 1804: Colonel Guthrie attempted to capture Rajah Chutter Saul, who was in possession of the fort of Tetteeah; but the Colonel died while trying to retreat. Canoge: Also Kannauj: an ancient city in Uttar Pradesh, home to many ruins and artefacts. many curious coins have been dug up of as ancient a date as Alexander’s conquest: Alexander the Great (356–323 BC) led his army into India in 326 BC. He had coins minted to commemorate his Indian victories. Rajah, Bagoin Sing: Not identified. Bahadar Khan: Not identified. vetch: A herbaceous plant of the pea family. that saying of St. Pauls, “When I was a man, I put away childish things”: See 1 Corinthians 13:11. The full verse is as follows: ‘When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things’. Chapter XV: This should read XVI. Jehanabad: Now Jahanabad: in the Pilibhit district of Uttar Pradesh. Ghaut: Also ghat: the steps used in both river landings and mountain passes, although the British in India applied the word to mountains generally. In this case, Deane is referring to the landing place at the river. Amrooah: Now Amroha: a city in Uttar Pradesh, north-west of Moradabad. It is known for its production of mangoes and textiles as well as the pottery industry mentioned by Deane. Bagshot-heath: The borough and village of Bagshot are located in Surrey Heath. Mr. Wedgewood: Josiah Wedgewood (1730–1795) was an English potter. He founded the Wedgewood Company, which is credited with industrializing the manufacture of pottery. “valleys filled with wavy corn”: Deane slightly misquotes this line from ‘O Lovely Peace’ in Handel’s oratorio Judas Maccabaeus (1746), based on the libretto by Thomas Morell. The correct line is: ‘And vallies smile with wavy corn’. See ‘O Lovely Peace, with Plenty Crown’d’ in G. F. Handel, Judas Maccabeus (London: Printed for S. J. Button and J. Whitaker, 1809), p. 178. dropsy: Now more commonly referred to as oedema, dropsy is a condition whereby watery fluid collects in the tissues or cavities of the body. calomel: Mercurous chloride, is a white powder formerly used as a purgative. Epsom salts: Or magnesium sulphate: used for medicinal purposes. Nawaab of Rampoor: Ahmad Ali Khan (1787–1840) was the Nawab of Rampur, which became a princely state after the First Rohilla War of 1774. mango bird: Presumably the Indian Golden Oriole which sucks the juice from the ripe mangoes.

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425 Mrs. – : Not identified. 426 Don Juan’s friends: Don Juan, or Don Giovanni, is a fictional libertine, first documented by Tirso de Molina in El Burlada de Sevilla (1630), but since immortalized in numerous fictional versions. Deane is presumably alluding to the sinful lifestyles depicted in the play. 427 mosque, erected in memory of Haffiz Ramut: Hafiz Rahmat Khan actually built a mosque here in 1769. 428 mullick: See Deane’s glossary. 429 hakime: Also Hakim: usually refers to a native physician who uses traditional remedies. However, it can also refer to a judge or ruler. 430 etymology of the word paddy: See note 39: paddy is rice in the husk, not a different grain as stated here. Furthermore, Deane’s etymology differs to that provided in Hobson-Jobson, which states that the word has a double origin, emerging from both the west of India and from Malay. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 650. 431 a la Turke: That is to say, reclining on the sofa. 432 Job: A biblical character known for his faith and patience while enduring many trials, as recounted in the Book of Job. 433 maunjie: See glossary entry for Mhangy. 434 Messrs Barber and Co at Old Fort Ghaut: An agency that hired boats with boatmen to new Company employees. 435 clashee: In this instance, an indigenous sailor who was in charge of work on the boat. 436 én passant: ‘In passing’ (French). 437 milch goats: A hardy animal that produces nutritious and sweet milk. 438 the China Bazaar: Since the early nineteenth century, Calcutta has had a large Chinese community. The Tiretta Bazaar and neighbourhood remain part of the old China Town. 439 Ghur Moktasir Ghaut: Now Garhmukteshwar: a town in Uttar Pradesh. 440 cus cus: Short, curly, and sweet-smelling grass. It is native to all tropical regions in Asia and can be used to make various products, such as mats, boxes, and baskets. 441 Hadley’s Grammar: George Hadley’s A Compendious Grammar of the Current Corrupt Dialect of the Jargon of Hindostan, (Commonly Called Moors): With a Vocabulary, English and Moors, Moors and English (7th edition, London: J. Asperne, [1796] 1809). 442 Bally Nuggur: Now Baranagar: a city in West Bengal, situated on the banks of the River Hoogly. 443 Jalingy river: A branch of the Ganges River. 444 Berhampore: A city in West Bengal. 445 Jungypoor: Now Jangipur: a city in West Bengal. As Deane mentions, it was an important trade centre for silk during British rule in the subcontinent. 446 General Martine: Major General Claude Martin (1735–1800) was an officer in the French, and then the English, EIC army. He later defected to the service of the Nawab of Lucknow.

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JULIA MAITLAND, LETTERS FROM MADRAS (1846)

Julia Maitland (1808–1864), née Barrett, travelled to India in 1836, accompanying her first husband, James Thomas, who was a Judge in the Madras Presidency. Thomas was a widower with three children; during their time in India, the couple also had two further children. After seven months in Madras, Thomas was appointed Judge at Rajahmundry and the family relocated to this ‘up country’ station for the following 18 months, with the exception of brief sojourns in Samuldavee by the coast. In 1839, Thomas received two new postings, the first to Cuddapah and Bellary, and the second to Bangalore. However, by this time, their daughter Henrietta was sick and Julia had recently given birth to a son, James Cambridge Thomas. Thus, she was advised to return home with the children. Not long after she left, her husband died in India. Two years later, in 1842, Julia married the author and curate Charlies Maitland (1815–1866). The following year, in 1843, Maitland’s Letters from Madras: During the Years 1836–1839 was published anonymously by John Murray. The volume received favourable reviews. The Gentleman’s Magazine describing it as ‘a good and evidently a genuine account of the manners and society of India, including not only the European portion of the inhabitants, but the native population also’.1 In a long, anonymously written review-essay in the Quarterly Review in 1845, Elizabeth Eastlake judged it ‘the very lightest work that has ever appeared from India, yet it tells us more of what everybody cares to know than any other’.2 Maitland’s successful blending of entertainment and information was presumably one reason why the publisher John Murray chose to reissue the volume, with very minor revisions, in 1846, as part of his Home and Colonial Library. This series ran from 1843–1849 and ultimately comprised 49 titles, mostly cheap reprints as well as some original works and translations. It was intended to help Murray acquire a greater share of the colonial writing market, and Maitland’s inclusion in a predominantly male list indicates the contemporary perception of her text as authoritative and informative. This perception, and the volume’s appeal, continued into the 1860s, with another edition appearing in 1861. A facsimile edition, with scholarly apparatus, has more recently been published by the Woodstock Press in 2003.3

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JULIA MAITLAND, LETTERS FROM MADRAS (1846)

A prominent theme in Letters from Madras is Maitland’s interest in education as a means of inculcating Christian morality in children. This interest continued once she returned home to Britain. Rather than become involved in philanthropic projects, however, she went on to write three moralistic children’s novels: Historical Acting Charades (1847), The Doll and her Friends, or Memoirs of the Lady Seraphina (1852), and Cat and Dog, or, Memoirs of Puss and the Captain (1854). All were popular and went through several editions. Julia Maitland died from phthisis in 1864.

Notes 1 ‘Review of Letters from Madras: By a Lady’, Gentleman’s Magazine (July 1843), p. 58. 2 E. Eastlake, ‘Lady Travellers’, Quarterly Review 76 (June 1845), p. 111. 3 J. Maitland, Letters from Madras, ed. A. Price (Otley: Woodstock Books, 2003).

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LETTERS

FROM

MADRAS, DURING THE YEARS 1836–1839.

B Y A L A D Y.

LONDON:

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. ___ 1846.

INTRODUCTION.

THE public attention has of late been so much directed to our East Indian possessions, that any particulars concerning that portion of the globe may probably find a welcome from the general reader. It is under this impression that the following Letters are offered to the public. They were written during the years 1836, 37, 38, and 39, by a young married lady, who had accompanied her husband to Madras for the first time, and they are (with the necessary omission of family details) printed verbatim from the originals. This will account for some abruptness of transition, and also for a colloquial familiarity of style, which might easily have been remedied if it had not been thought more advisable to give the correspondence in its genuine unsophisticated state. Those who open the volume with an expectation of finding details relative to the wars and vicissitudes1 which have lately excited universal interesta will be disappointed, as the writer quitted India in 1840. Neither did she devote much attention to public affairs, though she occasionally notices the apprehensions and opinions that were prevalent at the time. But first impressions,b when they occur incidentally in a familiar narrative, are amusing, and may sometimes be useful: such, indeed, constitute the chief feature in these Letters. The reader will also find in them many traitsc of national character; and some descriptions of the Author’s intercourse with the natives of Hindostan, and of the endeavoursd in which she shared to improve their condition. It is proper to observe that, whenever European individuals are mentioned,e fictitious names have been assigned to them, and other precautions taken to prevent the personal application of such passages.

Note 1 wars and vicissitudes: The First Afghan War (1839–1842) took place directly after Maitland’s departure from India and prior to the publication of her text.

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CONTENTS. 

LETTER THE FIRST.

PAGE

Outward passage—Bay of Biscay—Combination of noises—Cure for sea-sickness—Passengers—Land at Madeira—Visit to a convent— Re-embarkation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188 LETTER THE SECOND. Letters for England—Amusements on board—The Tropics—The “Wave” emigrant-vessel—Cape Verd—Fire-works—Slave-brig—Whales. . . . 190 LETTER THE THIRD. A Triton—Letter from Neptune—Ceremonies on crossing the Line— Catching albatrosses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192 LETTER THE FOURTH. Tristan d’Acunha—Governor Glass—Land at the Cape—Cape Town— Boa constrictor—English Church—Expenses—Society—Political Parties—Schools—View from the Kloof—Return on board . . . . . 195 LETTER THE FIFTH. Gales of wind—Passengers from the Cape—Landing at Madras—Catamarans— Witch of Fife’s voyage—Curiosities—Snake-charmers—Native servants— “Griffins”—Visitors—A native’s advice—Native servility—Treatment of servants—Jargon spoken by the English to the natives . . . . 199 LETTER THE SIXTH. Bishop Corrie—Schools—A Moonshee—Lessons in Tamul—Dinnerparties—General laziness—Letters from Natives . . . . . . . . 203

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LETTER THE SEVENTH.

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Native entertainment—Mohammedan dancing-girls—Concert—Hindoo dancing-girl—Conjurer—Supper—Hindoo speech . . . . . . . . 206 LETTER THE EIGHTH. Anxiety for despatches—Madras scenery—Moonshee’s letter— Native ignorance—Religion—Death of the Bishop—Dishonesty of native servants—Trial of a thief—Reasons for submitting to a false charge . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 LETTER THE NINTH. Entomologising—St. Thomé—Temperature—Wedding—Tamul translation—The tailor—Mohurrum—Excessive heat . . . . . .

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LETTER THE TENTH. Preparing for a journey—Sail for Coringa—Land at Vizagapatam—Arrive at Rajahmundry—Law-officers—Cholera—Domestic arrangements— Peons—A traveller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 LETTER THE ELEVENTH. Residents—Snakes—Hyænas—Thugs—Employment of time—Schemes— Fishing for wood—The Barrack-sergeant—Poor travellers—Visit from a Rajah—A Cobra capello—Snake-charmer. . . . . . . . . 221 LETTER THE TWELFTH. Domestic expenses—An amah—The butler’s bills—Indian mode of visiting—Religious service—Visit from “Penny-Whistle Row”— A dialogue. . .

225

LETTER THE THIRTEENTH. Native school—Female education—Leopards—Hyænas—Letter from the Moonshee—M. d’Arzel—French adventures—An ensign and his pony— School opened—Utility of Schools . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229 LETTER THE FOURTEENTH. Visit to “Penny-Whistle”—Dratcharrum—The Rajah’s palace—Method of dismissing visitors—Dinner—Procession—Pagoda—Amusements— The Rajah’s Wife—A new tribe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 184

CONTENTS.

LETTER THE FIFTEENTH. Instance of faithfulness—Progress of the school—“Curry-and-rice” Christians—Want of missionaries—Topics of conversation—Visit to Narsapoor—The missionaries and their wives—Palanquin travelling— Return home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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238

LETTER THE SIXTEENTH. Discussion on divinity—Interruption to the school—Shore’s ‘Notes on Indian affairs’—English incivility to natives—Magazines and reviews—Pagoda service—Progress of the school—Snake-poison—Remedies for snakebites—Dexterity of snake-charmers . . . . . . . . . . . . .244 LETTER THE SEVENTEENTH. Indian toy—Rule against accepting presents—Dishonesty of rich natives— Company—Military and civilians—Hindoo tradition—A Moonshee translator—Lending-library—School lectures—Indian spring . . . . . 248 LETTER THE EIGHTEENTH. Religious discussion—Parables—Fondness of natives for metaphysical subtleties—Heads and tails—A native’s notion of “charity”—Government circular—Salutes in honour of the native religions—Presents to idols by Government—Offerings to idols—Tricks of the Bramins—Idolatry encouraged by Government—School-prizes—Motives for learning English—A “tame boy”—Invitations to officers . . . . . . . . . 252 LETTER THE NINETEENTH. Samuldavee—Native dialects—Moonshee’s method of reading the Church Prayer-book—“First-caste” monkeys—Jackals—Bramins’ reasons for preserving idols—A dishonest Zemindar—“Don” and the monkey . . 257 LETTER THE TWENTIETH. Filling of the rivers—Native indifference to truth on religious subjects— Progress of the school—Moonshee’s definition of idolatry—Quaint translations—Land-wind—Moonshee’s conscience—Boasting of natives— Notions of honesty—Devotedness to employers—A false alarm . . . 260 LETTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. Snakes—Green bugs—Thugs—Trial of a Moonsiff—Dutch settlement— Black bugs—Return to Rajahmundry—A cool visitor—Captain and Mrs. C—– Exchange of presents—Instance of encouragement given 185

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to idolatry—Emigration of Hill Coolies—Proposed “Europe” shop— The Dussera—Prospect of war—Visitors—An eclipse—Importance attached to employment in a Government office—Indian “hospitality”— Misgovernment—Moonshee’s account of the eclipse—Cause of superior progress of some of the scholars—National music—News from Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 LETTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. Delay of the post—Distress of natives—Sale of grain—Captain and Mrs. Kelly—Anxiety for letters—A lazy Moorman—The Hakeem and the idol—State of the country—Shipwreck—Female education—Robbers— Scarcity—Major C—’s drawings—Bone-stones—Method of teaching— Visit from “Penny-Whistle”—Progress of the school—Management of children . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 LETTER THE TWENTY-THIRD. Decrease of the famine—Mode of distributing charity—Proposed native reading-room—Gentoo newspaper—A ball—Narsapoor missionaries— Reading-room opened—School-rewards—A Sunnyassee—Circulating library . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274 LETTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. Arrive at Samuldavee—Magic lantern—Schools—The Collector and the Swamy—Christenings—A proxy—Abolition of the pilgrim-tax—Decline of idolatry—Want of elementary books—Schools—Letter to the editor of a Madras newspaper on native education—Return of plenty—Monsoon— A new school—Rajah Twelfth-cake—Society for protecting the natives— Native manner of ending letters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277 LETTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. Birthday feast—School at Samuldavee—Converts—Rule of promotion— Appointment—Chittoor—Masulipatam—Ramiahpatam—Arrive at Madras—Native love of finery—Female Orphan Asylum—Education— The “Caste” question—Addictedness of natives to perjury—Death of Runjeet Singh—Suttee—English encouragement of idolatry— Rebellions—“Chit”-writing—Etiquette of visiting . . . . . . . . . 285 LETTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH. Indian fever—Employment of a thorough Madras lady—Chittoor—An unwelcome arrival—Bangalore—The Pettah—Inhabitants—A Moorish

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horseman—Architecture—Hindoo mythology—Reported conversion of PAGE a Hindoo tribe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291 LETTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. Climate—European ladies in Bangalore—Conspiracy at Kurnool—Unjust proceeding at Rajahmundry—Storm on the coast—Poverty of the people— A “crack” Collector—End of the conspiracy—Return of the troops— Expectations of a war with China—Conclusion . . . . . . . . . 295

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LETTER THE FIRST.

Bay of Biscay, August 17th. I BEGIN now, in hopes of meeting a ship, to tell you our histories. This is the first day I have been well enough to write; and I am not very steady yet, as you may perceive, but still we are all exceedingly well—for the Bay of Biscay.1 We have persuaded my brother Frank2 to go with us as far as Madeira,3 and take his chance of finding a homeward-bound ship. The Captain4 says he never had so smooth a passage, but there is a good deal of swell here. The wind allows of our passing outside the roughest part of this unfortunate Bay, which is a very great advantage. Mrs. M—5 was quite right in advising us to take the roundhouse. There is much more air than in the lower cabins, and the noises do not annoy me at all. We all go to bed at nine o’clock, so that it is no hardship to be awakened at five. Certainly, the first morning, when I woke, there did seem to be as quaint a combination and succession of noises as could well be imagined. Pigs, dogs, poultry, cow, cats, sheep, all in concert at sunrise. Then the nursery noises: Major O’Brien6 twittering to his baby—the baby squealing—the nurse singing and squalling to it—the mamma cooing to it. Then the cuddy noises: all the servants quarrelling for their clothes, &c. &c. So on till breakfast-time. I was too sick to laugh then, and I am used to it now. Then, when I was as sick and cross as possible, in came my Irish maid Freeman7 with a great plate of beefsteak and potatoes. I exclaimed in despair at the very sight of it, “Oh, what is all that for? O dear me!”—“Sure, it’s for you to ate, ma’am.”—“Eat! I can’t eat.”— “Oh, you must ate it all, ma’am: you’ve no notion how well you would be if you would only ate hearty!” Her cramming was a great bore, but she cured me by it. Frank is nearly mad: he is in such raptures with everything on board, I think he will end by turning ship’s surgeon. The first night his hammock was slung under the doctor’s. The poor doctor complained to me in the morning how very odd it was he could not keep his cot steady,—he had been swinging about, he said, all night. Frank confided to me privately the reason, viz. that the doctor looked so tempting over his head, he could not resist swinging him at every opportunity. However, next night he was found out, for the doctor peeped over the top of his cot and caught him in the fact; and when Mr. Darke,8 the second mate, came into 188

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the cabin, poor Dr. Lowe9 exclaimed, “Here, Darke! I could not imagine why I could not keep my cot steady all night, and at last I looked over the top, when I found this precious fellow swinging me!” Our passengers are Mr. and Mrs. Wilde10 (he is going to St. Helena11 as Chief Justice: they go with us to the Cape,12 and there wait for a homeward-bound ship to take them to St. Helena);—the O’Briens;13—Miss Shields,14 good humoured and lively, going out as a missionary;—Miss Knight,15 sick and solemn;—several Irish girls apparently on their promotion;16f—Mr. Harvey,17 who plays chess, and takes care of his flowers: he has them in an hermetically sealed glass case, which he is taking to the Cape;—a number of hitherto unnamed gentlemen, who sit down to eat and drink, and rise up to play;—one or two pretty boys, who saunter about with Lord Byron18 in hand;—and Mr. Stevens,19 the missionary, who is good and gentle, but so sick that we have not yet made much acquaintance: he is getting better, and talks of reading the service next Sunday. August 23rd. FUNCHAL.20—Here we are on shore again, in this beautiful Madeira, and all excessively thankful and happy to be out of our ship, though it is very hot on shore, compared with the real sea air: it has been quite cold at sea. Our chief employment just now is eating figs and grapes, and planning our excursions for to-morrow. We have been landed about an hour, and are to remain here till Thursday. Frank is gone to the consul to get a passport, and inquire about a ship to take him home. We are grown pretty well used to the life on board ship. Everybody is good-natured and civil. Captain Faulkner21 is our chief crony, but we are all good friends. I am beginning greatly to enjoy some parts of our sea-life, especially the bright blue water, and the bright yellow moonlight,—such colours as no shoregoing people ever saw.g August 25th.—Madeira is very lively, very like Lucca:22 the country, and the heat, and the people, are Italy over again. We have just been to visit a convent here.23h There is not much to be seen. The nuns spoke to us through a double grating and sold us flowers. Nobody is allowed to see the inside of the convent. They spoke nothing but Portuguese. They came to me, chirping, and asking me to talk to them, and to tell them something; but, unluckily, though I could understand what they said to me, I could not answer a word; so we were obliged to be content with nodding and bobbing, and looking friendly at each other. We have taken some beautiful rides and gathered nosegays of wild flowers—heliotropes, roses, fuchsias, and every variety of geraniums. To-night we go on board again, leaving Frank here to find his way home by the first ship. We shall be very anxious to hear his adventures: I am afraid he may be obliged to go round by Lisbon, for no English ship is expected just at present. The Captain has sent his summons for us, so I must say “Good-bye.”

189

LETTER THE SECOND.

August 29th, Lat. 22° N., Lon. 23½° W. THE Captain has just told us that he expects to pass a ship every day, so we are all setting to work getting our letters ready, as he only allows five minutes for sealing and sending off. I hope, by the time you receive this letter, Frank will have arrived safely at home, and not the worse for his journey. Pray make him write to me directly; I shall be quite uneasy till I hear from him, for we left him at Madeira quite ignorant of what his plans might be. Everybody on board was very sorry to lose him, and they all sing his praises with much good taste. We are now entering the Tropics,24 and the weather is still cool, owing to the constant breeze. We have had no calms, but on an average have made about one hundred and fifty miles in the twenty-four hours. I suspect I shall never get over the sea-sickness in rough weather, and I almost give up the hope of employing myself, for I really can do nothing; but as long as I keep quiet, and do not interrupt my idleness, I am much better. Towards evening, like all other sea-sick people, I grow very brisk, and can walk the quarter-deck, and chirp with anybody. Our chief adventures since we left Madeira have been the sight of flying-fish and porpoises. I made a good many sketches at Madeira, but cannot work much towards finishing them. I have learnt two or three Tamul25 verbs, and read different bits of different books—made the Captain teach me now and then a little geography, and the first mate a little astronomy—finished Melville’s ‘University Sermons’26—chatted with our fellow-passengers—and that is all I have done; and in fact that is the way most of the ladies spend their time on board ship. We are too uncomfortable to be industrious, and too much interrupted and unsettled to be busy. September 3rd.—We are beginning to be aware of our latitude. The trade-winds have left us, and we have a strong suspicion of a calm coming on; but, unluckily, calm does not mean smooth, for the rocking and rolling are just as bad as when we had plenty of wind. The thermometer now stands at 78° in the day, and higher, I should think, in the night; but our cabin is certainly the coolest of any, and I have not yet found the heat unbearable. The gentlemen are all “rigged Tropical,” with their collars turned down, and small matters of neckcloths;—grisly Guys some of

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them turn out! The very sea looks tepid, and goes past with a lazy roll, as if it was too languid to carry us on. We live in hopes of catching a shark: one was seen this morning, but he was too cunning for us. We are also on the look-out for an albatross. When we first sailed, all the gentlemen protested against the horror of ever shooting an albatross, and quoted the Ancient Mariner27 at every opportunity; but since the 1st of September, the recollections of the shooting season have greatly softened down the sentiment, and they are now ready for all the albatrosses that may make their appearance. They say “they think that old fellow of Coleridge’s28 must have been a horrid bore.” We passed the Cape de Verd Islands29 the day before yesterday, but did not go on shore. They are not much of a sight. September 9th.—Yesterday we overtook a ship going to New South Wales,30 filled with settlers and live stock. A good many of our gentlemen went on board, and brought back miserable accounts of the discomforts of the ship compared with ours. This ship (the “Wave”) left England before us, but we overtake all the ships. Mr. Kenrick,31 our first mate, says he thinks he should feel quite mortified at being in a ship which let others pass her, but he supposes it is all habit! The “Wave” had felt a good deal of bad weather from going inside the Cape de Verd Islands, instead of outside, as we did. Captain—says he never settles his course till he sees how the weather promises; and this time he thought the outside would be best—which we all consider very clever of our skipper. At night we had a show of fireworks, that the two ships might know each other’s places: it was really very pretty. We, being magnificent, sent up two blue-lights and two skyrockets: the blue-lights were the best; it looked as if the whole concern—ship, sails, and sea—were playing at snap-dragon:32 altogether it was the best adventure we have had. I contrived to creep forward to see it, but I have been ill and keeping to my cabin lately. I sit with the door open, which gives me plenty of air: and if I spy any of the ladies looking neighbourly, as if they thought of “sitting with me,” I just shut my eyes, which answers as well as “sporting my oak,”33 and does not exclude the air; but they must think I get plenty of sleep! September 24th.—Yesterday, at three o’clock in the morning, we came up with a French brig bound from Madagascar to Rio.34 She was, as the sailors said, “A most beautiful little craft!” and looked to great advantage in the moonlight: I put my head out of the port to admire her and listen to the conversation, little suspecting her real character; but next morning the skipper told us there was no doubt she was a piratical slaver, and that, if we had been a ship of war, we should have stopped and examined her; but we are not strong enough for such adventures, so she and her poor slaves are gone on. Next morning we saw two whales playing in the waters, swimming, blowing, jumping, turning head over heels, and pleasuring themselves, as if they had been minnows. October 1st.—News of a homeward-bound ship in the distance, so I must get ready.

191

LETTER THE THIRD. TO HER YOUNGER BROTHER35

HEREWITH you will receive a full, true, and particular account of the ceremony of shaving on crossing the Line,36 which you are requested to communicate to “Master Frank,” whose absence was most particularly regretted on the occasion. The night before, we heard some one call out that a sail was in sight, upon which I scrambled out on deck in the greatest possible hurry, in hopes of an opportunity of sending a letter to Mamma.37 When I got out, all the officers began to laugh at me, and I found that the announcement was merely some of the Tritons38 informing Neptune39 of the arrival of our ship. About an hour afterwards, a Triton suddenly appeared on the quarter-deck, dressed up in oil-cloth and rags, and bits of rope, &c. &c., bringing a letter from Neptune to the Captain, and waiting for an answer. The Captain read the letter aloud: it was very civil, saying how happy Neptune was to see the Captain again, and that he would come on board at one o’clock next day, and have the pleasure of introducing any of the youngsters to his dominions: he condoled with the ladies who had been suffering from sea-sickness, and hoped to have the honour of seeing them all in the morning. The Captain sent his compliments in return, with a cordial invitation to Neptune for the next day, only begging that he would use the youngsters very civilly. Triton then took a glass of grog and made his bow. Then a lighted tar-barrel was sent off from the ship, supposed to be Triton’s boat going off, and the first mate lighted him home with blue-lights and skyrockets. Altogether it had a very fine effect. Next morning the usual tricks were played on the novices. One young midshipman was up before light “to look out for the Line.” Another saw it, as well he might, a hair having been put inside his telescope. Another declared he felt the bunt of the Line at the moment we crossed it. When I came out I beheld a great sail stretched across the deck, just in front of the main-mast, so that we could see nothing, except that on the other side of it there was an immense slop oozing out from something, and in front was written “Neptune’s original easy shaving-shop.” At the appointed time the sale was hauled away, and we saw all the contrivances. At the starboard gangway there was a sail hung across two masts, stretched from the bulwark to the long-boat, so as to make a great bag, filled about four or five feet deep with water: there was also a ladder by which to help the victims in on 192

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one side, but nothing to help them out on the other. On the other side of the ship were all Neptune’s party, hallooing and bawling with speaking-trumpets. Neptune himself was not a bad figure. Face and legs painted black and white, and dressed up à la Guy,40 with oil-cloth and bits of rope and yarn hanging on each side of his head. He sat in his car with his wife and daughter, who were merely dressed up in gowns and bonnets begged of the maids. The car was drawn by eight Tritons with painted legs, and black horns on their heads. Neptune was accompanied by his secretary, his doctor, and his bear, who was, by far, the best of the set, dressed in sheep-skins, and held by two Tritons. We were all on the poop, to be out of the way of the mess; and all the gentlemen who had not crossed the Line before had taken care to dress conformably, in jerseys and trowsers, and no stockings. Presently all the party came aft, and Neptune and the Captain had a conversationi concerning the news of the ship and Neptune’s own private history. “How are you off for fish, Mr. Neptune?” “Very badly, indeed, sir: I’ve had nothing these two months but a bit of an old soldier who was thrown overboard; and he was so tough I could not eat him.” Bear began to growl. “Can’t you keep that beast quiet?” said Neptune. Tritons tugged at bear. Bear sprawled and flounced, knocked down two men, all rolling in the slop together; at last Tritons tugged bear into order. The Captain desired Neptune to proceed to business: so the bear got into the sail, that being his domain, in order to duck the victims. The barber brought out his razor and shaving-pot, which were an old saw and a tar-brush, and established himself on the top of the ladder; the doctor at the bottom, with a box of tar-pills and a smelling-bottle, with the cork stuck full of pins; and all the Tritons with buckets of water in their hands. The two first mates went upon deck “to see fair play,” as I was told. Of course, fair play is always a jewel, but in the present case it proved rather a rough diamond; for before many minutes were over Mr. Darke had a bucket of water in his hands, as hard at work as anybody; and Mr. Kenrick was mounted on the top of the hay, workingj a waterpipe in full play. Then a Triton came on the poop to summon down the passengers, and began with Captain Faulkner. As soon as he got on deck they received him with buckets of water, and hunted him up the ladder and into the bear’s dominions. They had orders not to shave the gentlemen, only to duck them, which hurt nobody. Then came a scuffle between gentleman and bear, which ended by both going under water together. Then bear’s work was done, and gentleman had to scramble out how he could, people being stationed on the other side with buckets of water, “a dissuading of the victim:” however, he got free at last, and was quite ready to help drown all the others, as their turn came round. Young Temple41 managed best: he was so strong and active that the great bear (who was the most powerful man in the ship) could not get him under the water at all; but he kicked the barber down the ladder, and then, in spite of the water-pipe playing in his face, sprang on to the bear’s back, like a monkey, and with one more leap cleared bear, bath, and buckets, and was in the midst of the liberated party, ready to take his share of the fun without having been touched by anybody. After they had settled all 193

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the stranger gentlemen, they took the midshipmen, and then the sailors. The gentlemen and midshipmen were all very good sport, but the sailors grew rather savage with each other, and especially when they came to shaving with tar and their rusty saw. The end of all was Samson:42,k Samson is a very little boy, who had a name of his own when he came on board, but it is quite forgotten now, and he is always called Samson, because he is so small and weak. They shaved him very gently and good-naturedly, holding him on their knees, as the monkey did Gulliver,43 and then bathed him, and handed him over from one to another just like a baby: the poor little thing, partly frightened and partly amused, looked as if he scarcely knew whether to laugh or to cry; so he did both. This was the whole concern, I think. We have seen plenty of whales and shoals of porpoises, and caught four albatrosses. They catch them by fishing with a line and a bait: the albatross comes peering at the bait in hopes of its being a fish, entangles himself in the line, and is drawn on deck quite easily, unhurt: when they are on deck they look about them and squall: they are rather stupid: they will not eat, but snap at anybody who is civil to them. They patter about with their great web feet, and seem to like to watch what is going on, but they are not really tame, only stupid: they are about the size of a large turkey, and have very long bills; some are all grey, but the largest are white and grey: they are rather handsome birds. Three of those we caught were set at liberty, but one was killed, to be stuffed. I am trying to get some of his feathers for Frank. Do not forget you promised to write to me. Be sure and send me off a letter as soon as ever you have taken your degree,44 for I shall be most particularly anxious to hear of that grand event. Tell me everything you can about all at home. The more trifles and the less worth telling they seem to you, the more valuable to me at such a distance.

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LETTER THE FOURTH.

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October 6th. YESTERDAY we arrived at Tristan d’Acunha:45 very few ships touch there, on account of its being out of the way; but occasionally, as was the case with us, the wind allows of it, and good-natured skippers are glad when it so happens, on account of the poor Robinson Crusoes46 who live there. Tristan d’Acunha is an extinct volcano, so steep that it seems to rise perpendicularly from the sea: the Captain told me it was eight thousand feet high. It is almost a bare rock, but here and there are patches of ground which can be cultivated. In Bonaparte’s time,47 Lord Castlereagh48 took a fancy that the French might make it useful as an intermediate point of communication with St. Helena: sailors say it was an absurd notion, for that the winds and currents make it impossible for any ship to sail from the one island to the other. However, Lord C. established a corporal and party of soldiers to take care of the island. When all fear of Boney was over, they were sent for home; but some of them had grown so fond of their desert island, that they begged leave to remain, and here they have been these twenty years—Corporal Glass,49 now styled the Governor, and five of his men, with their six wives, and among them thirty-two children. It was not possible for us to go on shore, but Glass and four of his men came off to see us. They looked very healthy and comfortable—cared not a sous50 for anything out of their island—and did not ask one question concerning anything outside their own little rock. The Captain gave them a good supper and plenty of valuable presents, and everybody made up a parcel of clothes or some little oddments. They said what they most wanted was nails, as the wind had lately blown down their houses. They have fifty head of cattle and a hundred sheep; a little corn, twelve acres of potatoes, plenty of apples and pears, and “ecco tutto!”51 I was curious to know whether old Glass was master, and whether the others minded him; but he said no one was master; that the men never quarrel, but the women do; that they have no laws nor rules, and are all very happy together; and that no one ever interferes with another. Old Glass does a great deal of extra work; he is schoolmaster to the children, and says many of his scholars can read the Bible “quite pretty.” He is also chaplain,—buries and christens, and reads the service every Sunday, “all according to the Church of England, Sir.” They had only Blair’s Sermons,52 which 195

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they have read every Sunday for the last ten years, ever since they have possessed them; but the old man said, very innocently, “We do not understand them yet: I suppose they are too good for us.” Of course they were well supplied with books before they left us. They make all their own clothes out of canvas given them by the whalers; they sew them with twine, and they looked very respectable: but they said it was not so easy to dress the ladies, and they were exceedingly glad of any old clothes we could rummage out for them. Their shoes are made of seal-skin: they put their feet into the skin while it is moist, and let it dry to the shape of the foot, and it turns out a very tidy shoe. After they had collected all the “incoherent odds and ends” we could find for them, and finished their supper, they went off again in a beautiful little boat given them by a whaler. The Skipper gave the Governor a salute of one gun, two bluelights, and two rockets; and they treated us with a bonfire from the shore. I was sorry for several things I had left behind, which would have been treasures to Mrs. Glass,53 especially worsted for knitting. These South Seas54 are much worse than the Bay of Biscay; nothing but rolling by day and by night: but we are all looking forward to a week at the Cape to set us right again. October 19th. CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.—We landed here on Sunday morning, and were very happy to find ourselves on shore. We are to stay a week, and have hired horses, and mean to ride every day. Cape Town55 is just like the Dutch toy-towns—straight streets; white houses of only two stories, with flat roofs; trees in almost every street. The place is filled with English, Dutch, Hottentots,56 Malays,57 Parsees,58 fleas, and bugs; the lastl appear to be the principal inhabitants and the oldest settlers. At first we got into a Dutch boarding-house, which Frank would have called the “Hotel de Bugs;”m now we are in an English lodging, much cleaner; only we have to wait on ourselves a good deal. On leaving the ship we all divided into separate parties, as at Madeira: ours consists of ourselves, Misses Shields and Knight, Captain Faulkner, and Mr. Temple. Mr. Temple is a tame boy, whom Captain F. looks after, for fear he should get into scrapes on shore—going out as a cadet. He is very merry, goodnatured, and hungry; and his company and pretty fresh face come very natural to me, and remind me of my brothers. I especially like him when he is very hungry. We all went yesterday to see a live boa constrictor: he was the most horrible creature I ever saw; thirty-three feet long, greenish and brownish, and with a few silver scales, but the most detestable countenance you can imagine. If the Lady Geraldine’s eyes were like his when they shrunk in her head, I do not wonder at anything that happened to Christabel.59 I hear there is a Hottentot infant-school here, which I mean to go and see; but we make all our distant excursions first; we have been about fifteen miles into the country. It is not so pretty as Madeira, but there are one or two magnificent views: the chief characteristics of the scenery are high rocks, green grass, and white sand, 196

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but the white sand is entirely covered with flowers—English hothouse flowers, growing wild. We went to the English church twice on Sunday—a pretty church, built by the English residents, with a respectable High-church clergyman—somewhat dull. There is a Sunday-school belonging to the church, and taught principally by English ladies. Here are plenty of Methodist chapels;60 the Wesleyans61 are said to be the best. There is a very poor museum; but I bought at it a couple of ugly shells for the C—s.62 I hope they will not break in coming. Mr. Harvey, who is very scientific, says they are curious, and “right to have:” they are land-shells—Achatina.63 Papa always likes to know how a place would answer to live at; so tell him that here there are three prices: one cheap, for Dutch; one dear, for English; and one dearest, for visitors: we pay the dearest, of course; and we get six mutton-chops for fourpence halfpenny, and everything else in proportion. Houses are dear, and society baddish—second-rate—with a great deal of quarrelling concerning Colonial politics. Instead of Whigs and Tories, they have the Caffre party and the Government party,64 who will scarcely speak to each other. We dined yesterday with some people named Wilderspin65—queer, and good, and civil: they have been many years at the Cape, and are most curiously adrift as to English matters. They asked whether O’Connell66 was still “celebrated in England?” whether he was received in good society? whether party-spirit ran high? whether there were many disputes among Church-people and Dissenters?67 &c. I saw at the Wilderspins’ a Miss Bazacot,68 who is here superintending the schools: she seems really clever, and minding her schools well. The Hottentots are very willing to come, both to week-day and Sunday schools. English, Malay, and Hottentot children are all taught together. At one of the schools there was a little Malay girl, who had learned to read, but was very dull at learning her tasks by heart, when suddenly she grew uncommonly bright, and knew all her texts, chapter and verse, better than any child in the school: when the mistress made inquiries into the cause of this great improvement, she found that the creature had taught her old Malay father to read, and he in return used to take immense pains in teaching the child her texts, till they were thoroughly driven into her head: she taught him to read and to pray; and now, every night before he goes to bed, he repeats his prayers and the rules of the school! I think the innocence of repeating the rules is very pretty. I have got a Malay cap, for Frank’s private admiration: they are high pointed things, made of straw and wicker-work, very uncouth, but picturesque-looking, especially on the boatmen. We have been up the Kloof.69 I long to go up Table Mountain,70 but it is thought unsafe. When the cloud that they call the Table-cloth comes down, people are often lost in the fog. There is a magnificent view from the top of the Kloof— Cape Town, and the plain, and the hills on one side; and on the other only the sea and the rocks—but such sea, and such rocks, that anything else would be but an interruption, frittering away their grandeur. It is a sort of Chine,71 as they 197

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call the openings between the hills in the Isle of Wight:72 the side on which we stood, covered with the beautiful silver-tree; and, directly opposite, the immense rock of Table Mountain overhung by its cloud, and the sea at its base, so far below, that the roar of the breakers round Green Point73 is only a murmur that just softens the silence. To-morrow we go on board again, leaving here our fellowpassengers, Mr. and Mrs. Wilde and Mr. Harvey. We shall all be sorry to part with them: their cabins are taken by people returning from the Cape to Madras,74 and we shall think ourselves very fortunate if our new companions are as agreeable and friendly as those we lose.

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LETTER THE FIFTH.

Madras, December 19th. HERE we are at last, in our cousin Staunton’s house,75 safe and well. He and his wife very kind and friendly, and I like all that I have seen of the place and the people. We are most happy and thankful to be on shore. The latter part of our voyage was very wearisome. After leaving the Cape we had a constant succession of gales of wind, very often contrary, and what the sailors called “a chopping sea,” pitching and tossing us every way at once; and whenever we asked whether there was any hope of a change, the sailors answered, “No, there seems a fresh hand at the bellows.” Then we had calms where we did not expect them, and the Captain said there had been a hurricane somewhere, which had “upset all the winds.” Then many of the passengers grew tired of one another, and squabbled a little for amusement, as it is said they always do after passing the Cape; and though the skipper used to harangue concerning the affecting scenes he always witnessed on the passengers leaving the ship, nobody seemed to agree with him. The passengers we took in at the Cape were chiefly officers in the Indian army, who went out as cadets before they had learnt much, and since that time had pretty well forgotten the little they knew. They might have been divided into two classes— those who knew their declensions, and those who did not. They were particularly fond of grammatical discussions, and quite eager about them,—such as whether any English words were really derived from the Latin; whether regiment is to be considered as a word of three syllables or two; whether lunatic comes from the French, because “loon” is French for moon, &c. They used also to extend their acquirements by the study of navigation. After breakfast the captain and officers always took an observation of the sun, technically called “taking a sight.” Then the passengers all began doing the same, privately called “taking a look.” They were a capital set in their attitudes,n with their glasses, all peering up into the sky, à la chasse76 for the sun and moon. However, they were all very civil, and inoffensive, and unobjectionable; and I hope they are all as happy on shore as we are. We had a beautiful day for landing—no surf at all. In England I have often bathed in a worse sea. It is very curious that the Madras surf should be so formidable: it generally looks nothing, not to compare to a Brighton77 rough sea; but in reality its force is irresistible. I sometimes see the great lumbering Masoolah 199

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boats78 as nearly as possible upset by waves which look so gentle and quiet that one longs to bathe in them. We landed in a great boat with twelve boatmen, all singing a queer kind of howl, and with very small matters of clothes on, but their black skins prevent them from looking so very uncomfortable as Europeans would in the same minus state. The scene in the Madras Roads is the brightest and liveliest possible. The sea is completely studded with ships and boats of every size and shape, and the boats filled with crews even more quaint and picturesque than themselves. But none can compare to the catamarans,79 and the wonderful people that manage them. Fancy a raft of only three logs of wood, tied together at each end when they go out to sea, and untied and left to dry on the beach when they come in again. Each catamaran has one, two, or three men to manage it: they sit crouched upon their heels, throwing their paddles about very dexterously, but remarkably unlike rowing. In one of the early Indian voyagers’ log-books80 there is an entry concerning a catamaran: “This morning, six A.M., saw distinctly two black devils playing at single-stick. We watched these infernal imps above an hour, when they were lost in the distance. Surely this doth portend some great tempest.” It is very curious to watch these catamarans putting out to sea. They get through the fiercest surf, sometimes dancing at their ease on the top of the waves, sometimes hidden under the waters; sometimes the man completely washed off his catamaran, and man floating one way and catamaran another, till they seem to catch each other again by magic. They put me in mind of the witch of Fife’s voyage in her cockle-shell: –81 “And aye we mountit the sea-green hillis, Till we brushed through the clouds of the hevin; Then sousit downright, like the star-shot light Frae the liftis blue casement driven. But our taickil stood, and our bark was good, And sae pang was our pearly prowe, Whan we could not climb the brow of the waves, We needlit them through below.”

December 27th.—I think I shall like Madras very much, and I am greatly amused with all I see and hear. The heat now is not at all oppressive, this being the cool season. The houses are so airy and large, and the air so light, that one does not feel the heat so much as one would in Italy when the temperature is the same. At present the thermometer is at 78°, but it feels so much cooler, from the thorough draughts they keep up in every room, that I would not believe it to be more than 70°, till I looked with my own eyes. The rooms are as large as chapels, and made up of doors and windows, open day and night. I have seen so many curiosities already, that I do not know which to describe to you first—jugglers, tumblers, snake-charmers, native visitors, &c. &c.; for the last few days we have been in a constant bustle. Those snake-charmers are most wonderful. One day we had eight 200

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cobras and three other snakes all dancing round us at once, and the snake-men singing and playing to them on a kind of bagpipes.82 The venomous snakes they call good snakes: one, the Braminee cobra, they said was so good, his bite would kill a man in three hours; but of course all these had their fangs extracted.83 I was told that they had their teeth drawn once a-month, but I suppose in fact they have the venom extracted from their teeth. The men bring them in covered baskets. They set the baskets on the ground, and play their bagpipes for a while; then they blow at the snakes through the baskets; then play a little more: at last they take off the lid of the basket, and the snake rises up very grand, arching his neck like a swan, and with his hood spread, looking very handsome, but very wicked. There is one great convenience in visiting at an Indian house, viz.—every visitor keeps his own establishment of servants, so as to give no trouble to those of the house. The servants provide for themselves in a most curious way. They seem to me to sleep nowhere, and eat nothing,—that is to say, in our houses, or of our goods. They have mats on the steps, and live upon rice. But they do very little, and every one has his separate work. I have an ayah (or lady’s maid), and a tailor (for the ayahs cannot work); and A—84 has a boy: also two muddles—one to sweep my room, and another to bring water. There is one man to lay the cloth, another to bring in dinner, another to light the candles, and others to wait at table.85 Every horse has a man and a maid to himself—the maid cuts grass for him; and every dog has a boy. I inquired whether the cat had any servants, but I found that she was allowed to wait upon herself; and, as she seemed the only person in the establishment capable of so doing, I respected her accordingly. Besides all these acknowledged and ostensible attendants, each servant has a kind of muddle or double of his own, who does all the work that can be put off upon him without being found out by the master and mistress. Notwithstanding their numbers, they are dreadfully slow. I often tire myself with doing things for myself rather than wait for their dawdling; but Mrs. Staunton laughs at me, and calls me a “griffin,” and says I must learn to have patience and save my strength. (N.B. Griffin means a freshman or freshwoman in India.) The real Indian ladies lie on a sofa, and, if they drop their handkerchief, they just lower their voices and say, “Boy!” in a very gentle tone, and then creeps in, perhaps, some old wizen, skinny brownie, looking like a superannuated thread-paper, who twiddles after them for a little while, and then creeps out again as softly as a black cat, and sits down cross-legged in the verandah till “Mistress please to call again.” We have had a great many visits from natives to welcome A— back again, or, as they say, “to see the light of Master’s countenance, and bless God for the honour!” One—a gentleman, in his black way—called at six in the morning: he left his carriage at the gate, and his slippers under a tree; and then, finding we were going out riding, he walked barefoot in the dust by the side of our horses till “our honours” were pleased to dismiss him. Another met us, got out of his carriage, kicked off his shoes, and stood bowing in the dirt while we passed; then drove on to the house, and waited humbly under the verandah for an hour and a half, till we were pleased to finish our ride. One paid me a visit alone, and took the opportunity to give me a 201

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great deal of friendly advice concerning managing A—. He especially counselled me to persuade him to tell a few lies.” He said he had often advised “Master” to do so; but that he would not mind him, but “perhaps Mistress persuade Master. Master very good—very upright man; he always good: but Master say all same way that he think. Much better not! Mistress please tell Master. Anybody say wrong, Master’s mind different: that quite right—Master keep his own mind; his mind always good: but let Master say all same what others say; that much better, and they give him fine appointment, and plenty much rupees!” I said that that was not English fashion, but my visitor assured me that there were “plenty many” Englishmen who told as many lies as the natives, and were all rich in consequence: so then I could only say it was very wrong, and not Master’s fashion nor mine; to which he agreed, but thought it “plenty great pity!” These natives are a cringing set, and behave to us English as if they were the dirt under our feet; and indeed we give them reason to suppose we consider them as such. Their servility is disagreeable, but the rudeness and contempt with which the English treat them are quite painful to witness. Civility to servants especially seems a complete characteristic of griffinage. One day I said to my ayah (a very elegant lady in white muslin), “Ayah, bring me a glass of toast-and-water, if you please.” She crept to the door, and then came back again, looking extremely perplexed, and whined out, “What Mistress tell? I don’t know.” “I told you to bring me some toast-and-water.” “Toast-water I know very well, but mistress tell if you please; I don’t know if you please.” I believe the phrase had never before been addressed to her. Everything seems to be done by means of constantly finding fault: if one lets the people suppose they have given a moment’s satisfaction, they begin to reason, “Master tell very good; try a little more than worse; perhaps Master like plenty as well.” One day I gave some embroidery to be done by a Moorman86 recommended by my tailor: the Moorman did not bring his work home in time; I asked Mrs. Staunton what was to be done. “Oh,” she said, “of course stop the tailor’s pay.” “But it is no fault of the poor tailor’s.” “Oh, never mind that: he is the Moorman’s particular friend, and he will go and beat him every day till he brings the work home.” They are like babies in their ways: fancy my great fat ayah, forty years old, amusing herself with puffing the wind in and out of my air-cushion till she has broken the screw! The jargon that the English speak to the natives is most absurd. I call it “John Company’s English,”87 which rather affronts Mrs. Staunton. It seems so silly and childish, that I really cannot yet bring myself to make use of it; but I fancy I must in time, for the King’s English88 is another characteristic of griffinage, and the servants seem unable to understand the commonest direction till it is translated into gibberish. *

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My letter is called for, as a ship sails this evening; so I must say Good-bye.

202

LETTER THE SIXTH.

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January 11th, 1837. BISHOP CORRIE89 called on us the other day, to my great delight, for I had so long revered his character, that it was a very great pleasure to me to see and make acquaintance with him. He is a most noble-looking old man, with a very fine countenance, and a gentle, benevolent manner—a pattern for a bishop in appearance as well as everything else. On Sunday morning we went to the cathedral, but the good bishop did not preach, and we had but an indifferent sermon, on Virtue and Vice. In the evening we went to a chapel in Black Town,90 some miles from the place where we live, and so crowded that we were obliged to be there threequarters of an hour before the time, in order to secure seats; but we were well repaid for our labour and trouble. We heard a most delightful preacher:91 his sermon was clear, and striking.o He is said to be doing an immense deal of good here. His chapel was originally intended for half-castes, but he is so popular that the Europeans will go there too. People complain, and perhaps justly, thatp those for whom the chapel was built are kept out in consequence; but I do not see why the English should not have a good sermon once on a Sunday, as well as the blackies. We went yesterday to the examination of a native school of Caste boys92—not Christians, but they learn to read the Bible for the sake of the education they receive in other respects. They looked very intelligent, and very picturesque in their turbans and jewels. They answered extremely well, in English, questions on Scripture, on geography, and history, and wrote English from dictation. However, they gave one or two queer, heathenish answers, such as: Query. “What is meant by God’s resting from his work on the seventh day? Did God require rest?” Answer. “In the night time he did.” This school was established by some English gentlemen for the more respectable classes of natives. Most of the English schools admit Caste boys and Pariahs93 without any distinction, which is really almost like expecting young gentlemen and chimney-sweepers to learn together in England. The real Madras schools, which taught Dr. Bell94 his system, are native hedgeschools,95 held under a shed. The industry of the poor little scholars is wonderful: from six in the morning till eight at night (with the exception of a short time in the middle of the day to go to sleep and eat rice) they are hard at work, bawling their hearts out: our infant-school noise is nothing to theirs. It is very curious—such 203

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a lazy, inert race as the Hindoos are—what pains and trouble they will take for a little learning; and little enough they get (poor things!) with all their labour. A Moonshee96 seems to be a component part of most English establishments, so I have set up one also. He comes three times a-week to teach me Tamul. He is a very solemn sort of person, with long mustachios, and numbers of beautiful shawls which he twists round his waist till they stand out half a yard in front of him, and come into the room before his face appears. When we hired him he made many salams,97 and said he preferred our friendship to any remuneration we could give; but he condescends to accept five pagodas98 a month besides. He comes when I choose, and goes away when I bid him. If I am not ready, he sits on his heels in the verandah for a couple of hours doing nothing, till I call him. If I am tired in the course of my lesson, I walk away, and bid him write a little; and there he sits, scribbling very slowly, and very intently, till I please to come back again. He is President of a Hindoo Literary Society,99 and at its first opening delivered a lecture in English, of which he is very proud. He brought it to me to-day to read. The whole was capital; and it concluded with a hope “that this respectable institution, so happily begun in smoke, might end in blaze!” This Tamul that he is to teach me is a fearfully ugly language—clattering, twittering, chirping, sputtering—like a whole poultry-yard let loose upon one, and not a singing-bird, not a melodious sound among them. I suspect I shall soon grow tired of it, but meanwhile it is a little amusement. I read stories to Moonshee, and then he writes down the roots of the words for me to learn by heart. One day I was reading about a “hero who ate kicks;” but Moonshee looked a little coy, and said he would not write down “kicks,” because that was a word that would be of no use to me. A Tamul-writer came to-day to copy some document on cadjan-leaf100 for Mr. Staunton. He held the leaf in one hand, and a sharp steel-pointed style for a pen in the other. He had the nail of his little finger as long as a bird’s claw, which I thought was for untidiness, but I find it is for ornament. He wrote very fast, and seemed quite at his ease, though sitting on his heels, and writing on his hand in this inconvenient manner. We have been to one or two large dinner-parties, rather grand, dull, and silent. The company are generally tired out with the heat and the office-work all day before they assemble at seven o’clock, and the houses are greatly infested by musquitos, which are in themselves enough to lower one’s spirits and stop conversation. People talk a little in a very low voice to those next to them, but one scarcely ever hears any topic of general interest started except steam navigation. To be sure, “few changes can be rung on few bells;” but these good folks do ring on “the changes in the service,” till I cannot help sometimes wishing all their appointments were permanent. At an Indian dinner all the guests bring their own servants to wait upon them, so there is a turbaned sultan-like creature behind every chair. A great fan is going over our heads the whole time, and every window and door open; so that, notwithstanding the number of people in the room, it is in reality cooler than an English dining-room. What would grandmamma say to the wastefulness of an Indian dinner? Everybody dines at luncheon, or, as it is here called, tiffin-time,101 so that there is next to nothing eaten, but about four times as much 204

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food put upon the table as would serve for an English party. Geese and turkeys and joints of mutton for side-dishes, and everything else in proportion. All the fruit in India is not worth one visit to your strawberry-beds. The ingenious French at Pondicherry102 have contrived to cultivate vines; but the English say nothing will grow, and they remain content to waste their substance and their stomach-aches on spongy shaddocks103 and sour oranges, unless they send to Pondicherry for grapes, which the French are so obliging as to sell at a rupee a bunch. After dinner the company all sit round in the middle of the great gallery-like rooms, talk in whispers, and scratch their musquito-bites. Sometimes there is a little music, as languid as everything else. Concerning the company themselves, the ladies are all young and wizen, and the gentlemen are all old and wizen. Somebody says France is the paradise of married women, and England of girls: I am sure India is the paradise of middle-aged gentlemen. While they are young, they are thought nothing of—just supposed to be making or marring their fortunes, as the case may be; but at about forty, when they are “high in the service,” rather yellow, and somewhat grey, they begin to be taken notice of, and called “young men.” These respectable persons do all the flirtation too in a solemn sort of way, while the young ones sit by, looking on, and listening to the elderly gentlefolks discussing their livers instead of their hearts. Every creature seems eaten up with laziness. Even my horse pretends he is too fine to switch off his own flies with his own long tail, but turns his head round to order the horse-keeper to wipe them off for him. Some old Anglo-Indians104 think themselves too grand to walk in their gardens without servants behind them; and one may really see them, skinny and straw-coloured, and withered like old stubble, creeping along their gravel walks, with a couple of beautiful barefooted peons,105 with handsome turbans, strutting behind them, and looking like bronze casts of the Apollo106 in attendance upon Frank’s caricatures of our old dancing-master. Few things amuse me more than the letters we daily receive from natives, underlings in office, who knew A— before he went to England. One apologises for troubling him with “looking at the handwriting of such a remote individual,” but begs leave humbly to congratulate him on the safe arrival in India of himself and “his respectable family,” meaning me! Another hopes soon to have the honour of throwing himself “at your goodness’s philanthropic feet.” Is not this the true Fudge style?107 “–––––––– The place where our Louis Dixhuit Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet.”

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LETTER THE SEVENTH.

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January 31st. THE other day a very rich native, an old protégé of A—’s, came to say that he and his son wished to make a feast for me, if I would come to their house. I was extremely glad, for I was longing to get into one of their native houses; so last night we all went to him by appointment—Mr. and Mrs. Staunton, A—, and I. It was a most curious entertainment; but I was surprised to find that the Stauntons, who have been so long in the country, had never seen anything of the kind before. It is wonderful how little interested most of the English ladies seem by all the strange habits and ways of the natives; and it is not merely that they have grown used to it all, but that, by their own accounts, they never cared more about what goes on around them than they do now. I can only suppose they have forgotten their first impressions. But this makes me wish to try and see everything that I can while the bloom of my Orientalism108 is fresh upon me, and before this apathy and listlessness have laid hold on me, as no doubt they will. I asked one lady what she had seen of the country and the natives since she had been in India. “Oh, nothing!” said she: “thank goodness, I know nothing at all about them, nor I don’t wish to: really I think the less one sees and knows of them the better!” Armogum and Sooboo, our two entertainers, met us at their garden-gate, with numbers of lanterns, and rows of natives, some of them friends and some servants, all the way up to the house. The whole house was lighted up like a show, with chandeliers, lamps, and lustres in every possible corner, and hung from the ceiling and festooned to the walls besides: it looked very bright and pretty. The house consisted of one very large verandah, in which stood the native company; that opened into a large drawing-room, with a smaller room at each end, and sleeping-rooms beyond; and on the other side of the drawing-room another verandah leading into another garden. The house was furnished very much like a French lodging-house, only with more comfortable ottomans and sofas; but the general effect was very French: quantities of French nicknacks set out upon different tables, and the walls quite covered with looking-glasses. We were led into the great drawing-room, and placed upon sofas, and servants stationed at our side to fan us: then Armagum and Sooboo brought us each a 206

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nosegay of roses, and poured rose-water over them and over our hands; and they gave me a queer kind of sprig made of rice and beads, like a twelfth-cake109 ornament: then they gave us each a garland of scented flowers, so powerful that even now, at the end of the next day, I cannot get rid of the perfume on my hands and arms. Then the entertainment began: they had procured the musicians, dancers, and cooks belonging to the Nabob,110 in order that I might see all the Mussulman111 amusements, as well as those of the Hindoos. First, then, came in an old man with a long white beard, to play and sing to the vina,112 an instrument like a large mandoline, very pretty and antiqueq to look at, but not much to hear. His music was miserable, just a mixture of twang and whine, and quite monotonous, without even a pretence to a tune. When we were quite tired of him, he was dismissed, and the Nabob’s dancing-girls came in: most graceful creatures, walking, or rather sailing about, like queens, with long muslin robes from their throats to their feet. They were covered with gold and jewels, earrings, nose-rings, bracelets, armlets, anklets, bands round their heads, sévignés,113 and rings on all their fingers and all their toes. Their dancing consisted of sailing about, waving their hands, turning slowly round and round, and bending from side to side: there were neither steps nor figure, as far as I could make out. The prettiest of their performances was their beautiful swan-like march. Then they sang, bawling like bad street-singers—a most fearful noise, and no tune. Then we had a concert of orchestra music, with different-looking instruments, but in tone like every modification of bagpipes—every variety of drone and squeak: you can form no idea of such sounds under the name of music: the chimney-sweepers’ clatter on May-day114 would be harmonious in comparison. Imagine a succession of unresolved discords, selected at random, and played on twenty or thirty loud instruments, all out of tune in themselves and with each other, and you will have a fair idea of Hindoo music and its effect on the nerves. When my teeth had been set on edge till I could really bear it no longer, I was obliged to beg A— to give the musicians a hint to stop. Then there came in a man to imitate the notes of various birds: this sounded promising, but unfortunately the Madras birds are screaming, and not singing, birds; and my ears were assailed by screech-owls, crows, parrots, peacocks, &c., so well imitated that I was again obliged to beg relief from such torture. Then we had a Hindoo dancing-girl, with the most magnificent jewellery I ever saw: her dancing was very much like that of the Mahometans,115 only a little more difficult. There was a good deal of running backwards and forwards upon her heels, and shaking her silver bangles or armlets, which jingled like bells: then glissading up to me, waving her pretty little hands, and making a number of graceful, unmeaning antics, with her eyes fixed on mine in a strange unnatural stare, like animal magnetism.116 I think those magnetic actings and starings must first have been imitated from some Indian dancing-girl, and in fact the effect is much the same; for I defy any one to have watched this girl’s dull, unvarying dance long, without going to sleep. The natives I believe can sit quite contented for hours without any more enlivening amusement; but then they are always half asleep by nature, and like to be quite asleep by choice at any opportunity. 207

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After her performance was ended we had a conjuror, some of whose tricks were quite marvellous. He had on a turban and cummerbund (or piece of muslin wrapped round him), but no jacket, so that one could not imagine a possibility of his concealing any of his apparatus about him; but, among other tricks, he took a small twig of a tree, ran his fingers down it to strip the leaves off—small leaves, like those of a sensitive-plant—and showered down among us, with the leaves, five or six great live scorpions; not little things like Italian scorpions, but formidable animals, almost as long as my hand: I did not admire their company, creeping about the room, so he crumpled them up in his hand, and they disappeared; then he waved his bare arms in the air, and threw a live cobra into the midst of us. Most of his other tricks were juggling with cups and balls, &c., like any English conjuror; but the scorpions and cobra were quite beyond my comprehension. Our gentlemen were surprised at seeing the string117 which is always worn by Brahmins118 round this man’s neck, and said that twenty years ago no Brahmin could possibly have so degraded himself as to show off before us as a common juggler. After he was dismissed we had another gold and silver girl, to dance upon sharp swords, to music as sharp; then a fire-eater; and last of all a great supper laid out in the back verandah. The first course consisted of all the nabob’s favourite dishes of meat, and curries and pillaws119 set out in China plates; the second course, all Hindoo cookery, set out in cups and saucers. A— whispered to me that I must eat as much as I could, to please poor old Armagum; so I did my best, till I was almost choked with cayenne-pepper. The Moorman pillaws were very good; but among the Hindoo messes I at last came to something so queer, slimy, and oily, that I was obliged to stop. After supper Armagum made me a speech, to inform me that he was aware that the Hindoos did not know how to treat ladies: that he had therefore been that morning to consult an English friend of his, Mr. Tracey,120 concerning the proper mode of showing me the respect that was my due; and that Mr. Tracey had informed him that English ladies were accustomed to exactly the same respect as if they were gentlemen, and that he had better behave to me accordingly. He begged I would consider that, if there had been any deficiency, it was owing to ignorance, and not to want of affection; for that he looked upon me as his mother! Then he perfumed us all with attar of roses,121 and we came away after thanking him very cordially for his hospitality and all the amusement he had given us. I was very curious to see the ladies of the family, but they could not appear before English gentlemen. I peeped about in hopes of catching a glimpse of them, and I did descry some black eyes and white dresses through one of the half-open doors, but I could not see them distinctly. *

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LETTER THE EIGHTH.

Madras, February 9th. WE have just received all your letters, which were more welcome than ever letters were before. In England, with your daily post, you little know the eagerness with which we poor Indians look out for our monthly despatch, nor the delight with which we receive it. For some days before the mail is expected all Madras is in a fever, speculating, calculating, hoping, almost praying, that it may arrive a few days, or even a few hours, before the usual time; and when it is known to be “in,” the news travels like wildfire in all directions; peons are despatched from every compound to wait at the post-office and bring the letters the instant they are given out, in order to gain an hour upon the general postmen; all other interests and occupations are forgotten; and many people will receive no visits, if there should chance to be any unfortunate beings so letterless as to be able to pay them. *

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You ask what kind of scenery we have round Madras. Flat plains of sandy ground, covered with a little harsh dry grass; half-cultivated gardens with high hedges; and large dilapidated-looking houses. Here and there we see very curious and picturesque native buildings, chiefly pagodas; but in general there is very little beauty either of architecture or scenery. Indian colouring is not for a moment to be compared with Italian for lightness, softness, or brilliancy. The sunsets are sometimes exceedingly beautiful, but in general I think the colouring is rather heavy and glaring. However, Madras is not considered a good specimen; people tell me that when I go up the country I shall be “surprised and delighted.” The number of open fields and gardens must be healthy, but there is never any fresh feeling in the air: it is all as dead and close as the air of a street. The flowers have no perfume, except the pagoda-flowers, and those are sickly, like withered jessamine;122 and at every turn in the road one meets with the smell of native cookery, fried cocoa-nut oil, and nasty messes of the same kind. Moonshee has just sent me a plate of cakes, with a letter to say that he feels convinced I will not disdain the offer on account of its futility, but accept it as a token 209

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of the filial affection with which he regards my benignity; hoping I will foster him with the milk of my kindness, and regard him as my own son! This is really word for word his composition.r This morning I had a visit from Armagum and Sooboo to ask leave to borrow Mrs. C—’s beautiful Landscape Annual,123 which they had peeped into and admired as it lay on the drawing-room table. They promised to “make cover up, and plenty take care, if Mistress would lend,” which of course Mistress was very happy to do. Armagum said that all the books about England were so long and big that it frightened anybody to look at them, and yet he wanted very much to know something about what Europe was like; and that this “little book, with very good yellow cover, plenty pictures, and very little read,” was exactly what he wanted. So pray tell Mrs. C— that it is probably at this moment making grand show, with a party of natives solemnly looking over and wondering at it. They wonder at everything European, particularly children’s toys. They admire our dolls so much, that they are almost ready to make Swamies124,* of them. At home we talk of ignorance and heathenism, but we have no idea of what the ignorance of heathenism really is. They think it a most marvellous piece of learning for a boy to be able to find Europe on a map of the world, and they are almost as ignorant of the history of their own country as of ours. They think they already know everything that is at all deep or dry and requires study. A Mr. N—125 has established a sort of conversazione once a-week at his own house, for the better class of natives to meet and discuss subjects of general interest and information, in hopes of leading them to think of something a little beyond their monthly salaries and diamond earrings. One of our visitors had been there last night, so we asked him how he liked it, and what was the subject of conversation. It was some branch of political economy connected with Indian government and taxation; but as to how he liked it, he said, “What use hear all that? I know everything master make talk. Now and then I look, just see other people there too, and then I make slumber!” And that is just the way with them in everything but money-getting; they seem awake and alive to nothing else. This man is a sort of half-heathen, half-deist, like most of those who have associated much with Europeans; but he declares that his religion is just the same as ours, only that there are four grades of religion, suited to different orders of minds—idolatry being the lowest, and proper for the common people, but more educated persons see what the idols are intended to represent, and they progress through all the different grades till they arrive at the highest, when they understand everything, and find all religions alike, and all true, only different ways of representing the same thing. A— says he has argued with him till he is tired, but that it is of no use: he always answers, “Yes, sar; that all same what I say.” February 12th.—Everybody in Madras has been in real sorrow of late for the death of Bishop Corrie.126 They say he was the most useful person in all India, and * Inferior gods.

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the most beloved. He was thought to have more judgment, experience, and knowledge of the native character, than any one else. Everybody of every class looked up to his wisdom and firmness: yet he was so gentle, benevolent, and courteous, that it was impossible to know him without becoming really attached to him. I used always to think I had never seen such a pattern of “the meekness of wisdom.” Like most good and active men here, he fell a victim to over-exertion of mind and body. He went on too long at the highest possible stretch, and was suddenly paralysed—carried home insensible from a public meeting at which he was presiding on Tuesday, and was buried on the Sunday following. The weather is now fast changing and growing very oppressive: the thermometer stands at 87°. The other day we had a storm, which lowered it to 82°, and a native wrote us word that he was very sorry he could not keep an appointment with us, because the weather was so cold he was afraid to venture out! As you say you like to hear all about our domestic economy, servants, &c., I must tell you of a thievery which took place last week. We lost a pair of sheets, and the loss was laid to the horse-keeper, who was fined two rupees, it being the custom to punish the servants for every misdemeanor just as if they were children.127 But the purloiner of our sheets was in reality A—’s dress-boy, who had stolen them to make his own jackets. To avoid the expense of paying for making, he took them to a Coolie tailor,128 which you may understand to mean a cobbling tailor, who sometimes cobbles for us, and is therefore obliged to do the servants’ needle-work for nothing, for fear of having lies told of him to “Master,” and so losing Master’s favour. Coolie tailor lives near my tailor, who is a grandee in comparison; and Coolie, being very glad to have some good European materials to boast of, and extremely proud of his job, showed them off to my tailor. Grandee tailor was more used to the ways of Europeans, and knew that they did not give their good sheets for the servants to make jackets of; so he guessed they had been stolen, and told my ayah, and she told me, not out of any pretence of conscience or care of my goods, but because, as she said, Mrs. Staunton had told her, on hiring her, that she was to take care of my things, and that, if anything was lost, I would “take away her bread,” meaning, dismiss her; and then she must “eat up her own money.” It was hopeless for any of us to attempt to find out the truth, because the chances were even as to the dress-boy’s being a thief, or the ayah and tailor liars; so the only way was to give orders that two of the other servants should search into the matter: one alone would have just told a lie on whichever side suited him, but two were supposed to be a check on each other. Accordingly, there was a regular form of trial held under a mango-tree in the compound:* I watched them from the window, and a capital group they made. The butler, as judge, waving his arms in the air like the leaves of a cocoa-nut tree; the criminal standing in the midst, looking more mean and crestfallen than any European could manage to look under any possible circumstances; the ayah, smoothing down her oily hair with her fingers * Field, or garden, round the house.

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as she told her story; and the rest of the servants standing round to make a kind of jury, assisted by all their retainers of hags and imps in the shape of old women and naked black children. A verdict of Guilty was brought in, and the thief, Chelapa by name, was of course dismissed from our service. Then followed a variety of queer scenes. Chelapa would not go, but remained on his knees in A—’s dressing-room, his turban in his hand, stroking his shaven poll, and kissing the floor, in hopes of being forgiven. When he was sent “out of that,” the butler came back with him to bespeak compassion: “Sar! Master boy, cry Sar!” Chelapa took the hint and began to cry accordingly, till, finding nothing would do, he consoled himself by abusing the ayah, telling her he would “walk round the house” every day till he could find out some “rogue business” of her doing: to which, she says, she “made compliments;” but she was in reality so frightened at the threat, that she cried for three days. Then the tailor began to cry, for fear some harm should happen to him in the scuffle, and looked up in my face so piteously every time I went up and down stairs that I could not pass him without laughing. A— asked the horse-keeper why he had submitted to a false accusation, and to be fined for stealing, when he knew he had done no such thing; he answered, “What for make trouble? Master tell horse-keeper thief; what use horse-keeper tell? Horse-keeper make trouble, Master tell ‘Go away!’ ” The probability is, that he was paid by the thief to take the blame. See what a set they are! *

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LETTER THE NINTH.

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August 16th. I HAVE been trying to entomologize,129 as there are abundance of curious insects. Mr. Spence130 himself told me, before I left home, that the insects of India were very little known; and that I could not fail to find many new specimens, especially among the smaller Coleoptera.131 It is impossible to go “à la chasse” oneself, so I employed the beggar-boys, who at first liked the amusement and brought me a great many, but they gradually grew tired of it, and are now too lazy to find me any more at all. I raised my price, but all in vain. These naked imps prefer sitting on the grass all day with nothing to do, crumpled up and looking like tadpoles, and will not give themselves the trouble even to put out their paws to take an insect if he crosses their path. They are indeed a lazy race. The servants lie on their mats, strewing the floor like cats and dogs, and begin to puff and whine whenever one gives them any employment. The truest account of their occupations was given me in her blundering English by my muddle. I said, “Ellen, what are you doing? why don’t you come when I call you?” “No, ma’am.” “What are you doing, I say?” “Ma’am, I never do;” meaning, “I am doing nothing.” However, sometimes they contrive to do mischief. I found my watch stopped: I said, “Ayah, how did you break my watch? did you knock it?”—“Ma’am, a little I knock, not too much!” We are now living at St. Thomé,132 a sort of suburb of Madras, close by the seaside, and comparatively cool. We are really now not oppressed by heat; I could not have supposed such a short distance could have made so much difference: the thermometer is at 84°, which is quite bearable after one has tried 92°. But St. Thomé is not thought healthy the whole year through, because the “long-shore winds,” as they are called, are more felt here than inland. This long-shore wind is very disagreeable—a sort of sham sea-breeze blowing from the south; whereas the real sea-breeze blows from the east: it is a regular cheat upon the new-comers, feeling damp and fresh as if it were going to cool one, but in reality keeping up a constant cold perspiration, which is more weakening and relaxing than even the heat; and yet one cannot shut the wind out, for the moment one is out of its influence the heavy dead heat is insupportable. It only blows at particular times of the year, and is now going off. 213

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This St. Thomé is said to be a thievish place: we have two Sepoys133 to guard the house at night. When we first came we were awakened at intervals by a most horrible yelling and screaming: we thought it must be drunken men, and scolded the Sepoys for not keeping them off, but we found it was the Sepoys themselves, yelling for their own security, to frighten the hobgoblins. Yesterday I saw a slim young black creeping up my back-stairs outside the house, peering about in a sneaking, suspicious sort of a way; and as soon as he saw me he ran off and hid himself. I thought he might be a thief, so I turned out all the servants to catch him, but he proved to be nothing but the dog-boy looking for shoes to clean. I asked him why he ran away in that foolish fright, if he was only employed in his proper business; and I was told that he could not help it, for he had never seen the Mistress so close before, and she frightened him. Mr. and Mrs. Staunton are gone to-day to the wedding of their young friend Miss L—.134 She has married a lieutenant in the army with nothing but his pay, and I am afraid they will be very poor. It seems to me that in this country a small income must be wretched indeed, for what would be luxuries in England, such as large airy houses, carriages, plenty of servants, &c. &c., are here necessaries indispensable to the preservation of health, independently of comfort. The real luxury here, and for which one would gladly pay any price, would be the power of doing without such matters. A— is busily employed in translating into Tamul a book which we hope may be useful. The Moonshee transcribes it for him, and is a complete baby about it. I think he must spend all his time in copying it over and over. One day he brings “to show Mistress a fair copy,” and the next day “if Mistress please to look, a more fairer copy,” and he will stand for a quarter of an hour at a time in the middle of the room, making salaam, and twirling his mustachios, and stroking his manuscript. A— works with the Moonshee while I scold the tailor. I scold him from the “best of motives,” and here are my reasons: he is hired by the month, and paid a great deal more than he is worth,—dawdle that he is!—but it is the only way of getting needlework done at all here. He often asks for a day’s leave of absence, and often takes it without asking. I used to be compassionate to him at first, believing his excuses; but when I repeated them to Mrs. Staunton, she said they were all lies. One day he told me that his mother was sick, and that she would soon be dead, and he would “put her out of the way;” but Mrs. Staunton said that this mother had already died three times to her certain knowledge, and that I must forbid her ever being sick again without my permission; so I gave my orders accordingly, and she has been quite well ever since. Sometimes he sits on his mat crying, and saying he is “plenty sick” himself, so then I send him away for half a day, with orders to come back quite well next morning, or I shall get another tailor; and this always cures him. One day he asked me for five days’ leave “to paint his face:” this did puzzle me, but I found it was on account of the Mohurrum,135 a kind of Mussulman carnival, when they all dress up, and paint not only their own faces, but those of all their animals. The cows’ horns were all painted green and red, and sometimes one horn green 214

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and one red; and I met an elephant with his face painted in crimson and gold half way down his trunk, and his little cunning eyes peering through his finery, such an object that his own mother could not have known him; but he evidently thought himself dressed in a wonderfully becoming costume, and was floundering along, shaking his ears and waving his trunk, and never dreaming what a figures they had made of him. June 1st.—To-day we have the first specimen I have felt of real Indian heat; hitherto it has been an unusually cool season, but to-day there is a regular landwind, and plenty of it. I can only compare it to a blast from a furnace, withering one as it passes by. I have a tatt,136 or thick mat, at my window, which excludes the sun, and men sit outside pouring water on it all day, so that the wind, which is extremely violent, blows always cooled through the water. This keeps the temperature of the room down at 90°, but it is dreadfully feverish, and far more distressing than a higher degree of the thermometer with the sea-breeze. Just close under the tatt it is more tolerable, but the old Indians have a notion that it is unwholesome to sit in the damp: so it may be for them, but nothing will make me believe that I, just fresh from Europe, can catch cold with the thermometer at 90°: so I creep as close to the tatt as possible, and sit with my hands in a basin of water besides. This is a heat quite different from anything you ever felt in Europe, making one quite giddy; but they say it is only as bad as this for about ten days, after which the sea-breeze rises regularly at eleven or twelve o’clock, and restores one to life again. Now, the leaves of the trees are all curled up, and the grass crackles under our feet like snow, the sea is a dead yellow colour, and the air and light a sort of buff, as if the elements had the jaundice; and we are all so cross! creeping about and whining, and then lying down and growling—I hope it will not last long. June 6th.—Weather better: the sea-breeze comes in the middle of the day, and one can breathe without crying; but the nights are hotter than the days. One contrives to sleep as well as one can, but Indian sleep is very unlike English—poor restless work! However, the musquitoes are not so bad here as in Italy: witness my sleeping without a musquito-net, rather than bear the additional heat of the gauze. *

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LETTER THE TENTH.

Madras, July 10th. AT last I am able to resume my journal to you, and I hope to continue it regularly. A— wrote to you constantly and circumstantially during my confinement,137 but till now I have not been able to sit up and write myself. How I long to show baby to you! She is a very fine creature, and as strong and healthy as if she had been born in Old England. She will be christened next week, and then, as soon as we are strong enough to travel, we are to set out on a long journey. A— has obtained the appointment of Zillah138 (or District) Judge of Rajahmundry,139 which makes us all very happy. He has never been in that part of the country before, and we are very busy, making all possible inquiries and preparations. Rajahmundry is in the Northern Circars (or Districts), and every one who has been there tells us that it is a pretty place, and has the grand recommendation of two months of really cool weather. They say the thermometer falls to 58°, and we are advised to take warm clothing with us. It is also a cheap place. There is very little European society, but that is a much less privation here than at home; for in this climate it is almost more trouble than pleasure to keep up the necessary civilities, and there will be plenty of amusement in seeing the really Indian part of India, which Rajahmundry will be. We must take with us stores of everything that we are likely to want for six months,—furniture, clothes, and even great part of our food—for nothing is to be procured there, except meat, bread, and vegetables; and even our vegetables we must grow ourselves, and take the seeds with us from Madras. Anything we forget we must wait for till we can send to Madras. We have not yet decided whether to go by land or by sea, but I am afraid it will be wisest to go by sea, though I should much like to see the country; but a long land-journey at this time of the year would be very fatiguing, and perhaps dangerous, on account of the cholera, which is now very prevalent. At Rajahmundry they speak Gentoo,140 or Teloogoo,141 which is a much prettier language than Tamul. There is no Chaplain, nor even a Missionary, I am sorry to say; but that is the case at eight stations out of ten, and one cannot choose one’s station. RAJAHMUNDRY, August 6th.—I was prevented from finishing this letter at Madras, by take-leave visits, &c., so that I had not a moment to myself; but it 216

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was just as well, for now I can tell you of our safe arrival here. We embarked on Saturday night, July 29th, ourselves, baby, and servants, with almost a shipload of goods, on board a small Liverpool142 vessel which happened to be in the roads, on its way to Calcutta.143 We had a beautiful evening, and no surf. We found the Captain in a fume at our being rather later than he expected; but it did not really signify, for, after all his fretting, he could not get his anchor up, owing to his having bad tackle, so there we were detained at anchor till one o’clock on Sunday afternoon. It was a pretty specimen of sea comfort;—ship rolling, captain growling; sailors singing, or rather bawling, some chorus about being “Off in a hurry; fare ye well, for she must go!” while they were dragging up the anchor; tackle breaking, and chain cable all flying to the bottom of the sea, as soon as ever the song was done; things in our cabin not “cleated down,” but all “fetching way” with every roll of the ship, shuffling about, and taking their pleasure, like the dancing furniture in Washington Irving’s dream;144 ayahs squatted on the floor, half-sick; baby squalling; A— turning round and round in the little cabin, like a tiger in his den, dancing her to keep her quiet, but quiet she would not be; I, ready to cry with sickness and despair, crouched up in a corner unable to move,—and all for nothing, during eighteen hours! At last we were off. We had a pretty good voyage on the whole, but one violent storm on Sunday night; the thunder ringing like a gong, and the air all around us white with lightning. In the midst of it all, some Italian Capuchins145 who were on board amused themselves with singing to their guitar. While the sea and wind together were roaring their loudest, twang, twang went that wretched guitar! The mixture was so absurd that I could not help laughing, in the midst of all my sickness and fright. On Tuesday morning our stupid Captain passed by Coringa,146 which was the port for which we were bound, and, when he took his observation at twelve o’clock, found himself half way to Vizagapatam.147 It was extremely inconvenient. All our letters of introduction were for the Coringa people, and the landjourney from Vizagapatam to Rajahmundry three times as long as from Coringa. The other passengers were very good-natured and obliging, said the delay was of no consequence to them, and begged us to go back to Coringa, if we liked. Accordingly, we did have the ship put about, but there was a strong wind right in our teeth; we were likely to be five or six days putting back; and the pitching and tossing such, that every minute of it settled our minds as it unsettled our stomachs: so we determined to go on to Vizagapatam, where we arrived on Tuesday night. Before we landed, a catamaran brought us off a note from Mr. R., the Assistant Judge148 of the station, inviting us to his house. He has a little bungalow on the top of a rock, surrounded by bushes among which the hyænas walk about at their pleasure; but they never attack human beings, and the place is delightfully cool. Mr. R. received us most hospitably, supplied us with everything we wanted for our journey, and treated us just as if we had been old and intimate friends, though we had never seen nor heard of each other before. We spent Wednesday with him, and began our journey on Wednesday night, regular Indian fashion, in 217

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palanquins149—A—, baby, I, and the ayahs; leaving the other servants to follow at leisure, with the luggage, in carts. We had fifty-two men to carry us, our provisions, clothes, plates, knives and forks, &c., for all the accommodations prepared for travellers are public bungalows, containing one table and six chairs,—and sometimes not those, only bare walls for shelter. An old Sepoy lives at each bungalow, to fetch water, and cook curry and rice; so one can get on comfortably enough. It is all pleasant to me: baby has borne the journey quite well, and I enjoyed it very much. We travelled sometimes all night, sometimes part of the night, according to my strength, and rested at the bungalows during the day, and arrived here on Saturday night. We passed through a great deal of pretty country, and some notorious tiger-jungles; but we saw no tigers—they are always afraid of the lights and noise of travellers. (N.B. A jungle is a tract of uncultivated ground, covered with thick brushwood, and trees here and there, and inhabited by tigers, hyænas, leopards—or cheetahs as they are called150—monkeys, wild hogs, snakes, and quantities of beautiful birds.) Rajahmundry itself is a most lovely spot, on the banks of a magnificent river, the Godavery,151 with fine hills in the distance. We have a good house, a capital garden, and are most uncommonly great grandees. I am very much amused with all the natives who come to pay their respects to the “Judge Doory.” (Doory means gentleman.) My favourite, hitherto, is the Moofti, or principal Mahometan law expounder. He is one of the handsomest and most elegant creatures I ever saw,—somewhat dirty perhaps,—with beautiful Cashmere shawls152 worn threadbare, and in his shabby magnificence looking like a beggarly king. Then there is the Pundit, or principal Hindoo law expounder—a Bramin,153 very much of a mountebank, and something of a cheat, I should guess, by his face and manner. There are plenty of underlings, but these are the two principal men. They always come accompanied by their Vakeels,154 a kind of secretaries, or interpreters, or flappers—their muddles,155 in short: everybody here has a muddle, high or low. The Vakeels stand behind their masters during all the visit, and discuss with them all that A— says. Sometimes they tell him some barefaced lie, and, when they find he does not believe it, they turn to me grinning, and say, “Ma’am, the Doory plenty cunning gentlyman.” The cholera is raging here,—and no wonder! a hundred thousand people assembled twenty days ago, for a grand native festival which only takes place once in twelve years.156 Many of them are too poor to afford to buy proper food, and most of them are dirty; and the accumulation of dirt and filth, with all the wretchedness and starvation to work upon, has bred a pestilence. When I arrived in the town I was fast asleep in my palanquin, and was literally awakened by the horrible stench. A—’s predecessor157 was entirely occupied in making a road through the jungle to drive his tandem on, and never thought of taking any measures to lessen the sickness, which has gained ground fearfully. A— has set the prisoners at work immediately to clean the streets, and the heavy rains are to be expected soon, which always clear away diseases. There is little fear of cholera among Europeans, except in travelling. It is caused among the poor natives by bad feeding, dirt, 218

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and exposure to the climate. We always keep the cholera medicines in the house, in case any of the servants should be attacked; but that is very unlikely, as they are well fed and sheltered. The poor natives go on beating their tom-toms, or drums, all night, in hopes of driving it away; and the want of rest weakens them, and makes them still more liable to catch it. August 11th.—We get on very comfortably, and are beginning to feel a little settled, though still rather in confusion. A— is excessively busy with his Court work, having to get through long arrears of his predecessors. Our furniture is not yet arrived, so we are dependent upon a table and six chairs lent to us for the present: however, a clear house at first arrival was rather a convenience with regard to cleaning the rooms, which I have been very busy about, as A— is in clearing out all the old “cases” accumulated in his Cutcherry. (N.B. Cutcherry means office.) I fancy our predecessor was content with the same accommodation as the spiders, and thought sweeping unnecessary, so he kept no sweeper-woman, and, as may be supposed, the dirt crunched under our feet as we walked. I have had all the palanquin-boys, who are the best housemaids here, hard at work, taking away the old mats, hunting for scorpions and centipedes, dislodging the dirt-pies, disturbing the spiders, and clearing out every corner,—and now we are growing quite decent. We are planting vegetables, clipping hedges, and arranging all things to our own taste; and I think we shall soon be so comfortable, that when a better appointment offers, we shall not like to move. Some of our arrangements are queer wild work. We have a hunting Peon, or “shoot-man,” as he is called, who goes into the jungle every day to catch us half our dinner according to his taste or his luck. He brings hares, wild ducks, pigeons, &c., and yesterday he brought a magnificent peacock. It went to my heart to have such a beautiful creature cooked; but there was no help for it, and he was dead when he arrived. There are pretty spotted deer and antelopes wild about the country, and I am going to have some caught to keep in the compound: they soon grow quite tame, and come and eat out of one’s hand. “John Company” allows us nine Peons to look grand with. Their business is to stand about, go on messages, walk after us (which, by the bye, we, cannot endure), do odd jobs, and “help Bill” in various ways. The other day I sent the baby and nurse out for a walk in our garden, not supposing that she required any escort, but a great Peon immediately stepped forward to march after her. She crowed at his dagger and red belt, and much approved of his attendance. A— has given me two of the Peons for my particular service: I have nothing on earth for them to do, so I mean to set them collecting the pebbles found in the river here, which are very beautiful onyxes and agates.t When they have got over their surprise, and are a little broken in to the “Dooresany’s” (lady’s) ways, I mean to set them catching insects; but I must wait a little first, for fear they should think me mad. We have had a travelling gentleman staying with us for the last two days: we never saw him before, but he asked for shelter on his arrival, so, India-fashion, we took him in to do the best we could for him. I am obliged to make him carry 219

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a chair about with him like a snail-shell—take it into his room at night, and bring it out again to breakfast the next morning. He is a good-humoured, simple sort of person, but most oddly fearful. He took such alarm at hearing the cholera was in one village at which he slept on his journey, that he lost his appetite, ate nothing for twenty-four hours, and came to us really ill with starvation and fright. Then he was exceedingly afraid of robbers on the road, and had a great mind to take a guard of Peons on with him to Vizagapatam, only we laughed him out of it. There was some excuse for his fears, because he was just come from a very wild part of the country, but here we are as quiet and safe as at home. Home always means England; nobody calls India home—not even those who have been here thirty years or more, and are never likely to return to Europe; even they still always speak of England as home. *

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LETTER THE ELEVENTH.

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Rajahmundry, August 14th. OUR goods arrived last week. They had all been wetted through in the journey, and very much spoiled, but, by dint of keeping the sun and the palanquin-boys at work upon them, they are coming round again. Captain Price, the commanding officer158 here, has just called. He seems very civil, nothing else particularly. He has a wife, whom I have not seen yet, as they were away till yesterday. The commanding officers are generally changed every three months. There is a Scotch Dr. Stewart,159 and a Mr. Macdonald,160 the sub-collector, but he is not here now. There will also be in time a Registrar, or, as they spell it here, “Register,” but none is appointed yet. These and ourselves are all the residents; but there are continually travellers passing through, as this place is on the high road from the north to the south of Madras. I fancy the civilians all expect to come to us on their journey; and the militaries go to Captain Price: and whichever of us receives the visitor must make a dinner-party. Last night I was awakened by a great uproar: I found it was on account of a snake who had crept into the house and hidden himself under a box. The maty161 had found him out, and the servants were all hunting and fighting him with sticks. He was caught and killed. A— thought he was not of a venomous kind, but they are not pleasant visitors. I often hear the hyænas at night howling about the country. They are horrid spiteful-looking creatures, but so cowardly that they never attack any but weak animals. They do mischief in the poultry-yard, and sometimes carry off a small dog, and, if very hungry, now and then a young donkey; but one is no more afraid of them than of foxes in England. Did you ever hear of the Thugs?162 They are a tribe of Hindoos whose business and trade is murder. They are brought up to it from childhood, choose their victim by omen, consider themselves and their vocation under the especial patronage and direction of one of their goddesses, Kalee,163 and set about their murdering work in the most cool and business-like manner. You will find a long account of them, and quite true, in Wolff’s last volume of his Journal.164 There is a great sensation about them just now, and we are hunting them out everywhere. One has been brought to A— for trial165 to-day, and I am very curious to hear about him. 221

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I left off writing just now for my “tiffin,” and could not imagine what they were bringing me to eat. Some bran, which I had been boiling to season a new tin kettle, and which the maty supposed to be some particular Europe cookie I was making for myself; and, thinking I was provided for, he has eaten up all my meat! August 15th.—The Thug turned out to be an accuser instead of a criminal. A Peon had caught him, and he pretended that the Peon had offered to release him on his paying a certain sum, and that he had paid it, but the Peon still kept him prisoner. On investigation it turned out to be all a lie from beginning to end; so the Peon is released and the Thug sent to prison. I was hard at work to-day unpacking books, sitting on the ground all over dust, sorting and putting them on the shelves, when Mrs. Price called to pay her first devoirs with all her best clothes on, worked muslin and yellow gloves. I thought the only way to prevent her being ashamed of me was to make her as dirty and dusty as myself; therefore, under pretence that it would be so nice for her to have some new books to read, I made her sit down by me and look them over too, and we got on very well. She is very young, pretty, and unaffected, and I like the thoughts of having her for a neighbour. It is pleasant to have some Englishwoman within reach as a companion. August 29th.—Your packet, sent by private opportunity, has just arrived, to my great delight. I had received, a fortnight ago, letters from home of a later date, but private-hand letters are always slow. People never seem to be able to lay their private hands upon them till after they have finished all their unpacking. We like our station better and better; it is far pleasanter than Madras, which was like England in a perspiration: here we have fresh, sweet country air, and no troublesome company, yet always enough to prevent us from feeling lonely. I thoroughly enjoy the quiet, and I have plenty to do, more than I can ever get through in the day, so that I am never dull. In fact, one has less time at one’s command here than at home, although the very early rising seems to give so many hours. But we are obliged to go out in the early morning; it is indispensable to lie down for some time in the middle of the day; we go out again in the cool of the evening, and come home again too tired to employ ourselves much at night. One’s time seems to be spent in tiring and resting oneself. I have caught a number of most beautiful butterflies: Coleoptera are more scarce, as I cannot grub for them myself, for fear of centipedes. This morning, I took a fancy for gardening myself, and while I was removing some dry leaves a large centipede showed his horrid pincers within an inch of my hand. He did not hurt me, but he has cured me of gardening.u I have a number of schemes in hand; one is to make butter: the natives make it with rennet, shaking it in a bottle, and it is rather a nasty mess; but after a week’s hard work and much scolding, the old carpenter has produced a churn: a fine, heavy, awkward concern it is, but the natives admire it greatly, and stand looking at it and calling it “Missis Dub” (meaning Mistress’s tub). However, the butter is still waiting for pans to set the milk in, and they had to be made on purpose from description, and have not yet appeared. When I inquired for them this morning, I was told “Potman done fetch mud, chatties166 done make, but mud not done dry yet.” 222

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The other day I wanted some book-shelves made, and I sent for the carpenter. They told me they thought I should be wanting wood, so he was gone fishing, which seemed rather, as Johnny M.167 would say, a “non sequitur;”168 but it was quite true, for they really do fish for all the wood they use. It is washed down by the river; and when any is wanted, they just swim out, and catch the first piece that suits them. There is an old Englishman169 living here as barrack-sergeant,—a sinecure for long service. He has been in the place these ten years, and is a very respectable old man. He has a half-caste, dropsical wife, and a sickly nigger-looking child, but seems quiet and contented. A— lends him books and the newspaper, and lets him come every Monday to change his books, and chat a little, which he likes best of all. He sits and proses for about half an hour, and is very happy at having a little intercourse with Europeans again. He takes particular interest in the young Queen,170 thinking she has a troublesome life before her. Yesterday he said to me, “Only think, ma’am, of such a young person for to be Queen of the realm! And in these times too, when the oldest hand could hardly keep them in order. She’ll have a tough job of it, poor young lady! I pity her from my heart, indeed I do! This paper says Lord Durham171 is to be called to her Majesty’s counsels. I hope his Lordship is a fatherly kind of gentleman, ma’am, who will help her Majesty in some of her difficulties.” A— is very kind in hunting out poor travellers who happen to be passing. The rich ones, who want for nothing, come to us as a matter of course, but the poor ones would pitch their tents under a tree during the hot hours, and go away again unnoticed, if he did not go and find them out. The other day he discovered seven English soldiers travelling to join their regiment: they were not in want of absolute necessaries, but, on his trying to find out what he could do for them, they told him at last, confidentially, that the greatest treat he could possibly give them would be a little tea and sugar to make themselves “a cup of English tea,” which was a thing “they had not tasted they did not know when:” of course we sent them plenty, and books and tracts for the tea to wash down. They had a Bible among them, but they said “they set such store by it, they seldom let it see the light;” so we gave them another for use. A— is very anxious to set up an English school for the natives, if he can persuade Sergeant Keeling to be schoolmaster; but the Sergeant thinks himself “not scholar enough.” We think he is, and he speaks Teloogoo very well. To-day a great Zemindar,172 or Rajah, came to pay us a visit: he is a proprietor of large estates in this district, and pays a rent to the Government of ten thousand a year,—quite a grandee; but he has some lawsuit going on at this court, so he said he was come to ask A— to “protect a poor little man.” He stayed an immense time, and talked a great deal of nonsense, as they all do. It is very striking to see how completely want of education has blasted all their powers of intellect. They talk for hours and hours, without ever by any chance bringing out an original idea or a generous sentiment. Their conversation is never anything but wearisome twaddle. I suppose extremes meet. Do you remember Mr. J.173 once telling us that some celebrated person was “too well informed”—that he had “lost his originality”? These people, from being too ill informed, have never found theirs. September 16th.—A day or two ago the Maty bolted into the breakfast-room, exclaiming, “Sar! one snake, sar! One big snake in godown!174 He very good snake, 223

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sar!” They call the venomous snakes “good” by way of propitiating them: they consider them as a species of evil-disposed gods, and pay them some kind of worship, though they kill them too whenever they can. This brute was a large deadly cobra capello:175 it had hidden itself behind some bottles in a recess under the steps where the water is cooled. A— went directly to load his gun, and I peeped out, but could not go near enough to see the creature on account of the sun, and I calculate I should not have gone any nearer if it had been ever so shady. There stood all the palanquin-boys with bamboos in their hands, ready to beat it if it came out, and all the Peons peeping over their shoulders, array enough to attack a tiger. A— forbade their killing it in that way, on account of the danger of their getting bitten if they missed a blow, and he shot it dead himself, after which they all dragged it out, and beat it to their hearts’ content. Two days afterwards we were told of another cobra in a hole of a tree at the bottom of the garden; but while A— was preparing his gun, one of the snake-conjurers came and charmed it out of its hole, and brought it into the garden to show us: it was quite fresh, its teeth not extracted, and its bite certain death; but this man had it perfectly under command: he set it up and made it dance, and, when it tried to strike, he just whisked the tail of his gown in its face, and quieted it again. I offered to buy it, and pay him for killing and bottling it, but I could not persuade him to sell it at any price: he thought its possession would bring him good luck. In answer to my offers, the butler, who was interpreter, told me, “if Missis put snake in bottle of rack,176 snake dead.” “I know that,” said I, “I like it dead.” “Yes, ma’am, but that man like ’live.” “What is the use of his keeping it alive? sometime snake bite.” “No, ma’am, no can bite; that man make conjure.” However, today the conjurer came to say that he had found another cobra, so he was willing to sell me one if I liked it. Accordingly, he took it with his bare hands out of a brass pan which he brought with him, set it up, made it show its hood and dance a little, and then put it into a bottle of spirits, which soon killed it, and I have it now on my table corked up. It is a magnificent specimen, four feet long, and quite uninjured. The snakes have very much confirmed my belief in physiognomy.177 They certainly have a great deal of countenance; a cunning, cruel, spiteful look that tells at once that they are capable of any mischief; in short, “beaucoup de caractère,”178 and the more venomous the snake, the worse his expression. The harmless ones look harmless; I think I should almost know a “too much good snake” by his too much bad countenance. The Cobra is the worst, his eyes are quite hideous; and that boa constrictor at the Cape was very disgusting: but after all I do not know that there is anything more horrid in the way of physiognomy than a shark; there is a coldblooded, fishy malignity in his eyes that quite makes one shudder.v September 26th.—There was a hyæna killed to-day about half a mile from the town: it had attacked a poor old Bramin, and wounded him severely, which is very extraordinary, as they almost always run away from men. I have ordered the tail to be kept as a trophy for Frank. Also I have a beautiful leopard’s skin for him, to be sent by the first opportunity.

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Rajahmundry, October 3rd. IN your last letter you ask for particulars of living, servants, house-rent, and suchlike domestic matters. We have a house unfurnished, and a garden of more than two acres, for which we pay about 60l.179 per annum. Provisions are cheap, but there is great waste, because nothing will keep on account of the heat, and we are obliged to take much larger quantities of meat than we can consume, in order to make it worth the butcher’s while to supply us at all. We send for potatoes from Madras, as they will not grow here; other vegetables we have from our own garden, and we keep our own poultry. Servants are expensive altogether, though cheap individually; but we are obliged to have such a number of them that their pay mounts up. We keep fewer than many people, because we wish to be economical. Here is our establishment:—one butler, one dress-boy,* one matee,† two ayahs, one amah,‡ one cook, one tunnicutchy,§ two gardeners, six bearers, one water-carrier, two horse-keepers, two grass-cutters, one dog-boy, one poultryman, one washerman, one tailor, one hunter, and one amah’s cook—altogether twenty-seven: and this is reckoned few;180 and it is as much as ever they can do to get through their little work in their lazy dawdling way. If anybody comes to dinner, the cook sits down and cries for a cook’s maty or helper, and I am obliged to hire one for him. They all find their own food themselves, and the caste people would not touch any of our food; but the maties and under-servants are generally Pariahs, and are very glad to eat up anything they can lay their hands on. The amah181 is a caste woman, and her whims are the plague of my life: I am obliged to keep a cook on purpose for her, because her food must all be dressed by a person of her own caste; and even then she will sometimes starve all day rather than eat it, if she fancies anybody else has been near it: she has a house built of cocoa-nut leaves in the compound, on purpose to cook her food in. I am also obliged to keep

* Valet. † The matee cleans plate, washes china, and lights candles. ‡ Wet-nurse. § Housemaid.

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a separate nurse for her baby, and see after it regularly myself, because they are so careless about their own children when they are nursing other people’s, that she and her husband would let the poor little creature die from neglect, and then curse us as the cause of it. Think of the amah’s being caught drinking rack and eating opium! She used to go out and howl so that the servants were afraid to come near her, saying she made “one pishashi182 (devil) noise.” When she had cleared the coast with her pishashiing, her own people crept out from their hiding-holes, and brought her rack and bang183 (that is, spirits and opium). You ask what shops we have. None at all: the butler buys everything in the bazaar or market, and brings in his bill every day. One of the Court native writers translates it into English, and very queer articles they concoct together! such as, “one beef of rump for biled;”—“one mutton of line beef for alamoor estoo,” meaning à-la-mode184 stew;—“mutton for curry pups” (puffs);—“durkey for stups” (stuffing for turkey);—“eggs for saps, snobs, tips, and pups” (chops, snipes, tipsycake,185 and puffs);—“mediation (medicine) for ducks;”—and at the end “ghirand totell” (grand total), and “howl balance.” October 15th.—Of late I have been hindered from letter-writing and everything else by relays of stranger-company—true Indian-fashion. People say this custom of receiving everybody without previous notice, and being received in return, is “so very delightful,” “hospitable,” &c. &c.; and so it may be,—but it is also extremely inconvenient and disagreeable. I cannot get over the dislike to intrude myself upon people whom I never saw, and who must receive me whether they like it or not; neither do I enjoy being put out of my way and obliged to turn the house out of windows for chance travellers whom I never heard of before, and never shall see again. However, such is the mode here. One of our visitors, Mrs. S.,186 was a very pleasing person, and I should have much liked to see more of her; but she was on her way to England, and only stayed with us two days. Two of our visitors are with us still, and will remain till they have found a bungalow to suit them, as they are coming to live here: they are Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton,187 the new registrar and his wife. We have had the English service now for the last month, and mean to continue it regularly; A— officiates, as is the custom when there is no clergyman: all the English residents attend very regularly, and some half-caste Protestants. There is a Roman Catholic half-caste dresser, or surgeon’s assistant, named Rozer, father to Sergeant Keeling’s wife: there is a little Roman Catholic chapel under his care, and he takes a great deal of pains about it, poor soul! keeping it clean, lighting the candles, and putting flowers before the images, though there is no priest living here, nor any one to notice him. When our service was announced, he sent a message to ask if he might be present at it, but when the day arrived he never appeared; and on making inquiry, we found from the Sergeant that poor Rozer himself was very anxious to attend, but was afraid of a reprimand from some distant priest who occasionally comes here in the course of his travels. 226

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October 27th.—I continue to like “up country,”188 as they call it, far better than the Presidency:189 it is much more amusing. Of course everybody tried to make Madras as English as they could, though without much success, except doing away with everything curious; but this place is real India, and I am every day seeing something new and foreign. This is the country of the old Rajahs, and they are very sociable and fond of paying us visits. They think it a great incivility to appear without something in their hands as a present. It is contrary to regulation190 to accept anything of value, so they bring limes, oranges, yams, &c. The other day we received a basket of oranges, with a message that a Rajah whom we had not before seen would come next day and pay us a visit. Accordingly next day, at the appointed hour, we heard a queer kind of twanging and piping, like a whistle and a Jew’s-harp.191 This was the Rajah’s music, played before his palanquin: then came his guards,—men with halberds;192 then his chief officer, carrying a silver mace; then his principal courtiers, running by the side of his palanquin to keep him “pleasant company.” When they all arrived, the halberdiers grounded their arms, and the whole cortège stopped at the military word of command, “Halt! Present! Fire!” but the firing consisted of the old gentleman’s getting out of his palanquin, and quietly shuffling into the house, between two rows of his own servants and ours, salaming him at every step. He was dressed in a clear muslin pelisse,193 with his black skin showing through; the rims of his ears stuck full of jewels, gold bracelets on his arms, and a diamond locket hung round his neck. I call him “Penny Whistle Row:”194 if that is not quite his real name, it is so like it, I am sure it must mean that. When he came into the drawing-room, he stopped at the entrance (N.B. we have no doors) to make us most profound salams, which we returned to the best of our ability: then he presented us with an orange each, and there were more salams on either side. At last, when we had all done all our “moppeing and moweing,”195 he sat down and began his chirp. He paid a variety of set compliments, as they all do; but, those over, he was more curious about European matters than the natives in general are. In particular he wished to know whether it was true that our King196 was dead, and that we had a woman to reign over us. This was quite beyond his comprehension—how she was to contrive to reign, and how men were to agree to obey her, he gave up in despair. He asked whether the King’s death would make any difference to us: he was in hopes it might have given A— a step in the service. He invited us to come and spend a week with him, which we fully intend to do as soon as the weather allows. When he had sat about an hour, he took his leave with the same ceremonies as at his arrival: salams on all sides, pipe whistling, Jew’s-harp twanging, guards recovering arms, courtiers putting on their shoes, and all marching off to the word of command as before. “Halt! Present! Fire!” At parting he shook hands to show how European his manners were, and he took leave of me in English: “My Lady, I now to your Excellency say farewell: I shall hope you to pay me one visit, and on one week go (meaning hence) I shall come again to see the face of your honour civilian.” 227

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Besides the Rajahs, there are a number of natives of lower rank who are very fond of calling to keep themselves in remembrance in case of an appointment falling vacant. Some only come as far as the gate, and stand there to make a salam when we go out. These never speak, but they put on some part of the dress belonging to the situation they want, in order that we may understand their meaning. A Court writer in expectance holds writing materials in his hand; a Peon sticks a dagger in his belt, &c. Others of rather higher pretensions come to the house and pay a visit. One of them calls regularly twice a-week, and the same dialogue takes place whenever he comes. Visitor.—Salam, great chief! A.—Salam to you. Visitor.—Your Excellency is my father and my mother! A.—I am much obliged to you. Visitor.—Sar, I am come to behold your honourable face. A.—Thank you. Have you anything to say to me? Visitor.—Nothing, great chief! A.—Neither have I anything to say, so good morning; enough for to-day. Visitor.—Enough; good morning, sar: great chief, salam! One has to dismiss one’s own visitors, as they generally think it an impoliteness to go away of their own accord. We are obliged to appoint a particular hour at which they may come, else they would be hindering us the whole day. *

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LETTER THE THIRTEENTH.

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Rajahmundry, October 31st. WE are very eager about our intended Native School—writing, and planning, and preparing. The difficulty, as usual, has been to find a proper master. In this part of India there are no native Christians, and of course we did not wish to have a Heathen master. On Sunday there came unexpectedly to the service a half-caste stranger. As we had never seen him there before, A— made some inquiries about him afterwards, and heard that he was here only for a couple of days on some business of a lawsuit; that he understands English well, writes a good hand, and spells correctly; and it looked respectable and well-disposed his taking the opportunity of coming to church. He is now gone back to his own home; but, as he seemed promising, and we knew of no one better, A— has written to offer him the schoolmaster’s post, if he understands Gentoo; and we are now waiting for his answer. Meanwhile we are busy giving it out among the natives, and collecting promises of scholars. To-day one of the upper Court servants (post-office head writer), called for a chat, so we documentized him, and he offered to look for scholars. A— asked whether, if we set up a girls’ school, any girls would come; but Seenevasarow said, “No: what for girls learn?” We had a great discussion on the subject, but he ended by saying that if a girl learned to read, some misfortune was sure to happen to her relations—most likely her father or mother would die. We told him that I had learned both to read and to write, and my father and mother were alive and well, and that all European ladies learnt reading and writing, and yet no misfortune happened to any of their relations in consequence; but he said, “Ah! Europe people never mind—never hurt; only native people hurt.” A— told him that it was a notion the Pishashi (devil) put into their heads in order to keep them from any good—and a great deal more besides; to which he answered, “Hum! sometime very true; but how can do? girl got no sense!” The consequence of this notion is, that the women, from being utterly neglected, are a hundred times worse than the men. As soon as European children are old enough to talk and understand, one is obliged to have bearers to attend upon them, because it is not safe to trust them with the women; they are so wicked, so lying, and so foolish. The cool weather is coming on now: thermometer 86° and 84°. From having been completely heated through in the summer, I am now pretty well Indianized, 229

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and find the present temperature quite cool and pleasant. In the early mornings it is 74°, which feels so cold that I am glad of a cloak to go out with. The same degree of the thermometer certainly does not feel so hot here as it would at home. There are so many changes in the service, that we shall probably not remain at this station very long, and we may be glad of a removal when the hot season returns; but, for the present, this place is so pleasant and so very pretty, that I should be quite sorry to leave it. Everybody says that the view from our windows is one of the most beautiful in all this part of India. We have just succeeded in putting the garden into nice order, and are are feeling quite settled and comfortable. I have three little deer tethered on the lawn: they are very pretty creatures, and quite tame and friendly. Also I am taming some fine jungle peacocks. To-night the hunter brought in a superb leopard (dead); they had shot him in looking for game: his beauty was still perfect, and in my own heart I was almost sorry such a handsome creature should have been killed; but they are very mischievous among the cattle, and a price is paid by Government for every one killed. The skins all belong to the Collector;197 but I mean to beg this one of him, as it was caught during our reign. Now, in the cool nights, the hyænas and jackals come constantly into our garden, and howl under the windows: it is a most unpleasant noise, like a human being in agony. This morning I was told that “a cat had run away with a child.” I was horror-struck, and thought it must have been a hyæna; but on inquiry I found the child was nothing but a young pigeon—“pigeon-child,” as they explained it. The ducks laid a number of eggs, which were brought for us to see. “You must make little ducks,” said the Master. “Sar, I shall do,” said the butler. I laughed at the order; but a hen was caught, put into a basket with the eggs, and the lid shut down upon her; and in a little time I was told there were “four babies” in the poultry-yard. I have just received a letter from the Madras Moonshee, who begs to express “the concern I have for your happiness as my matron, your state of health, and the state of my rising matron, your child.” I suppose he thinks matron is the feminine of patron. November 3rd.—One evening, while the Hamiltons and several other visitors were still with us, I had gone to my room to rest a little before tea, when I suddenly heard a queer familiar twang in the drawing-room, which, though I could not distinguish a word, I was sure could only come through a French nose. Presently Maty brought a note from the Collector to beg us to help his friend M. d’Arzel198 on his journey; so I went into the drawing-room to receive him. There I found all my party of Englishmen working for their lives at French politesses, such as, “Permetty, Mushoo”—“Mushoo, je suis très aisy,”199 &c. Monsieur himself was a true Frenchman, not at all distingué (an agent to one of the great French mercantile houses), but most completely at his ease, and ready for his company whatever it might be—keeping up conversation, and finding answers to English speeches in French, that I am sure it was impossible for him to understand. He addressed some remark to Mrs. Hamilton, which only meeting with a stare from 230

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her, Mr. Hamilton answered for her, “Elle ne parle pas, Moseer!”200—“A—h!” said the Frenchman, in a tone of most commiserating surprise. I believe he thought she was dumb. He had contrived to travel from Madras, four hundred miles, without knowing one word of any of the native languages, or of English, making himself understood merely by signs. We gave him his supper, ordered his bearers, and sent him on. After he was gone, the Englishmen began talking over all the French adventures of their past lives, and I discovered that they were, as school-girls say, “very fond of French,” not to say proud of it, and many Frenchmen had told them all—the innocent birds!—that they spoke it quite like natives. When Mr. Hamilton and some friend of his were travelling in France together, they took it in turn to give the orders at the inns, because “one man could not speak French every day:” but the friend often grew restive; he used to call to the waiter, “Gassor!”201 “Monsieur.” “Now, Hamilton, I wish you would tell him.” “No, indeed; it is not my turn; I spoke French yesterday.” “Well then, I won’t. It is impossible to talk their nonsense: Gassor, ally vous or.”202 One of our visitors at this time was a young ensign of seventeen, travelling in command of a company of Sepoys in charge of treasure, and it was quite a pleasure to see a creature so innocently important and happy. He travelled on horseback, and had a pony which he talked of just like a human being, and admired as much as any hero. He was attacked by some wild native horses at the entrance of the village—so, he said, “I took off my saddle and bridle, and set my pony at them; and if the people had not come and separated them, I know he would soon have licked them all. He is a capital fellow!” I saw his pony afterwards, the ugliest Pariah beast I ever set eyes on! You must know people here talk of high-caste and Pariah horses, Pariah dogs, &c. The native horses are Pariahs, the high-caste are Arabs. I have a high-caste horse, who is so excessively puffed up with pride that he will not bear the sight of a pony: I am obliged to make the horse-keeper run before me to clear the way of all ponies, or else this creature fights them, with me on his back. November 23rd.—Our school is now opened with about twenty-five boys, and more coming. All caste boys. A— thinks it better to teach them whenever one can, as it is far more difficult to get at them than at the Pariahs, and also the education of the upper ranks has much more influence than that of the Pariahs. We have a Bramin to teach Gentoo, and David Gonsalves,203 the half-caste, to teach English. I went to see them the other morning. (Tell your charity-school girls at home that they come at six o’clock, and are always in time!) The Bramins and merchant boys sat together; there was another row of the Moochy or workman caste;204 another of Mussulman boys; and, behind all, a row of grown-up men, who come to amuse themselves by watching and picking up a little by listening: but they talk, and are very troublesome, so they are in future only to be admitted on examination days. We have but few books, as they are very expensive, and the whole cost of the school must devolve upon the Hamiltons and ourselves; therefore we mean to spend our money in good books, which will be useful for them to read, 231

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and not in mere spelling-books. I make great pasteboard columns, with alphabets, spelling and first lessons, in large printing hand. One column does for the whole school to learn from at once, and we mean to keep to these till the boys can read a little, so as really to make use of a book. I have printed a number of texts to hang round the school-room, and the first text I chose for my poor little heathens was Psalm cxv. 4–8.205 I dare say by sending to Madras, by and by, we may be able to get printed sheets of lessons; but the wind has set in now the wrong way for ships coming from Madras, and parcels sent by land are a long while on the road, and, as our scholars are ready, we do not like to wait. You must understand that we have no immediate hope of making Christians of these boys by our teaching, but we wish to “do what we can:” this kind of school is all we can do for them, and I fully believe that, if schools were set up all over the country, it would go far towards shaking their Heathenism, by putting truth into their heads, at any rate, instead of falsehood.

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LETTER THE FOURTEENTH.

December 15th. WE are just returned from our long-promised visit to Penny-Whistle, after a very amusing excursion, though, if I had known what an undertaking the journey would be, I should never have attempted it, or rather A— never would have consented to it, however urgent my curiosity might have made me. However, we are safe at home again, and the journey has done us nothing but good. When the time came for us to start, according to appointment, A— said he thought it would be scarcely worth the trouble, and that we should be “more quiet and comfortable at home”—such a thorough John Bull!206—but I made him go, as I wished to “see a little of life.” The people had told us that the distance was fifteen miles; so we expected that, starting at half-past five in the afternoon, we should arrive about ten o’clock, in time for a good night’s rest. But it turned out to be thirty miles, and no road; we had to grope our way over cotton-fields, a pouring rain during almost all the night coming down in such torrents that I could not hear the bearers’ song, pitch-dark, and the ground almost all the way knee-deep in water. We were twelve hours splashing and wading through the mud, and “plenty tired” when we arrived. But a palanquin is much less fatiguing than a carriage, and an hour’s sleep and a good breakfast soon set us to rights. When we arrived at Dratcharrum,207 the Rajah’s town, we were taken to a choultry,208,* which he had prepared and ornamented with bits of old carpet for our first reception. I could not imagine why we did not go to his house at once, according to his invitation; but I found afterwards that he had arranged our going first to the choultry, in order that he might send for us in state to his mud palace. All his principal people came to pay their compliments, and he sent us a very good breakfast; and when we had eaten it, his Gomashta (a sort of secretary, at least more like that than anything else) came to say that all things were ready for our removal. I expected something of a row at starting, but I was quite unprepared for the uproar he had provided for us. As soon as our palanquins were taken into the street, a gang of musicians started up to play before us with all their might; a sort * Building for the reception of native travellers. It is generally open to the air, and much less convenient than a ‘Traveller’s Bungalow.’

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of performance much like an imitation of one of Rossini’s most noisy overtures209 played by bagpipes, hurdy-gurdies, penny trumpets and kettle-drums, all out of tune. Then came banners, swords, flags, and silver sticks; then heralds to proclaim our titles, but we could not make out what they were; and then dancing-girls. A— looked rather coy at being, as he said, “made such a fool of;” but when the dancing-girls began their antics, ankle-deep in the mud, the whole turn-out was so excessively absurd, that mortal gravity could stand it no longer, and he was obliged to resign himself to his fate, and laugh and be happy like me. When we arrived at the palace, on entering the gateway, the first thing I saw was a very fine elephant making his salam; side by side with him a little wooden rocking-horse; the court filled with crowds of ragged retainers, and about fifty or more dancing-girls, all bobbing and bowing, salaming and anticking “nineteen to the dozen.” At last we came to the Rajah’s own hall, where we found him, the pink of Hindoo politeness, bestowing more flowers of speech upon us in a quarter of an hour than one could gather in all England in a twelvemonth. He ushered us to the rooms prepared for us, and stayed with us for some time to have a talk, surrounded by all his retinue. His palace consisted of a number of courts, walled in, unpaved, and literally ankle-deep in mud. We could not cross them, but all round there was a raised narrow pathway of hard earth, which we crept round, holding on by the wall for fear of slipping into the mud beneath. Our apartments consisted of one of these courts and the rooms belonging to it. At one end was a room, or rather gallery, which they call a hall, open to the court on one side, without any doors or windows; a small room at each end of the large one, and a sort of outer yard for the servants. The three other sides of the square communicated with other courts of the same kind, one opening into the Rajah’s own hall. In the middle of our gallery there was a wooden alcove overhanging the street, in which Penny-Whistle sits and smokes when he is alone. The furniture was a table, a carpet, four chairs, two cane sofas, and a footstool. The room was hung with pictures of Swamies by native artists, two French looking-glasses in fine frames, fastened to the wall in their packing-cases, the lids being removed for the occasion, and two little shaving-glasses with the quicksilver rubbed off the back. Penny-Whistle was very fond of his pictures, and sent for some other great coloured prints of hares and foxes to show us. They had been given him by an Englishman long ago, and the colour was rubbed off in many places, so I offered to mend them for him, which greatly pleased him. While I was filling up the holes in his foxes’ coats with a little Vandyke brown,210 he stood by crossing his hands and exclaiming, “Ah! all same as new! wonderful skill!” and A— took the opportunity to put in his usual lecture concerning the advisableness of girls’ education. Penny-Whistle said he thought it was a very fine thing to teach girls, but that his people were “too much stupid,” and did not like it, and he would not go contrary to their prejudices, &c. When we were tired of him we dismissed him, as the natives think it a great impoliteness to go away till they are desired; so, when we had talked as long as we could, A— said that I was going to sleep, for that he (Penny-Whistle) “must be aware that sleep was a very good thing.” That is the proper formula. When the peons come 234

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to report their going away to eat their rice, they always inform me that I “must be aware that eating is a very good thing, and necessary to a man’s life.” After we were rested and brisk again, Penny sent us our dinner. We had brought with us, at his desire, plates, knives and forks, bread and beer, and he sent us, besides, all his own messes, native-fashion, brass trays lined with leaves, and a different little conundrum on each leaf; pillaws, quantities of pickles, ten or a dozen varieties of chutnies, different vegetables, and cakes made of grease, pepper, and sugar. The Bramins of Penny-Whistle’s class always have their food served on the leaves of the banyan-tree.211 After dinner he took us out to see the town: we in our palanquins, and he in his tonjon,* and all his ragged robins piping and drumming before us. The whole town of course turned out to see the show: one of A—’s palanquin doors was shut, so Penny stopped his procession and came to beg that A— would do him the favour to keep it all open, and “show himself to the multitude.” The town was all built of mud: the bettermost houses whitewashed, but the others not even that, and the streets ankle-deep in the mud washed off from the houses; but in the midst of all this dirt and discomfort, some little bit of tinsel would peep out at every opportunity: women covered with ornaments from head to foot, peeping out of the mudhovels; men with superb Cashmere shawls looking quite beggarly from rags and dirt. This is “Eastern splendour;”—a compound of mud and magnificence, filth and finery. Penny-Whistle is a great Prince in his little way, one of the old hereditary Rajahs of the highest caste. In the course of our expedition he took us to see the pagoda.212 I had never before been inside one, and was very curious to know what it really was. First, there was a high wall round a large square compound; in the middle of each wall an immensely high gateway. This gateway is the pyramidlike building213 that one sees outside, and that I always supposed to be the pagoda, but I find it is only the portico. On entering the principal gateway, it was such a large place, that I thought we were inside the pagoda itself, but we went through to the compound, and inside that there was another very high wall round a square court, with one porch opposite the principal entrance: on going into this we found ourselves in the pagoda. It was a wonderful, dreamy, light-headed sort of a place, a low roof, and an interminable perspective of rows of massive, grotesque pillars, vanishing in darkness—I could not see the end of them—with many dark recesses in the walls, and here and there a strange, white-turbaned figure, just glancing out for a moment, and disappearing again in the darkness: altogether I never was in a place that gave me so much the feeling of a light-headed dream. In the middle of the court, round which these galleries of pillars ran, was the Swamy-house, or place in which the idol is enshrined. They brought us opposite to it, and by stooping a little I could have seen all the inside, but I thought that perhaps some of the lookers-on might fancy I was bowing down to the god, so I would not run the risk.

* A kind of open sedan-chair.

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When we came back to Penny’s house, we found it all lighted up with stinking torches, and the constant native amusement of nautch214,* and fireworks, and crowds of spectators. We stayed with him as long as we could endure the heat, din, and glare, and then went to our own rooms. There we found everything such a complete contrast to the native taste, that we could scarcely fancy ourselves only a hundred yards from all the Rajah’s row. Our matee had lighted the candles, and placed our tea things, books, and drawing materials on the table, all looking as quiet and comfortable as at home. I never saw anything so curiously different from the scene of the minute before: every feeling and idea was changed in an instant. But the next day we were to see, as the Hindoos say, “all things native” again; so I asked Puntooloo (that is his real name) to let me have a ride on his elephant. He had it brought out directly, but it was such an awful affair, such an awkward ladder to mount by, so many people in the way, such a bad howdah,215 a present from some English gentleman of his own carpentering, and altogether so very inconvenient, that I was frightened and would not go; so I went out in my palanquin, and the elephant walked before me, to see Penny’s garden, as he called it, a muddy swamp full of betel-nut216 and cocoa-nut trees. When we returned to the house, he introduced me to his wife: I had been longing to see her, but did not dare ask it for fear of distressing his feelings; however, he proposed it himself. They brought her when A— was out of the room. She was an immense creature, but young, with rather a good sphinx-like face,—altogether much like a handsome young feather bed,—dressed in green muslin embroidered with gold, and covered with jewels from top to toe, besides a belt of gold coins round her waist. All her attendant women came with her and stood at the door. The Rajah’s Gomashta stood by, to order her about and teach her manners, and one of my peons acted as interpreter. When she first came in, she twirled, or rather rolled, round and round, and did not know what to do, so the Gomashta bid her make salaam, and sit down on a chair; and then I did the same.w We did not know much of each other’s languages—she nothing of mine, and I only enough of Gentoo to be aware that the peon mistranslated every speech we made, and invented the conversation according to his own taste, making it consist entirely of most furious compliments on either side. She was very curious about my clothes, especially my bonnet, which she poised upon her forefinger, and spun round like a top. I showed her some pictures; she held them upside down, and admired them very much. She seemed well amused and comfortable till A— came accidentally into the room, when she jumped up, wheeled round so as to turn her broad back to him, and waddled off as fast as her fat sides would let her. Of course, he went away directly, not wishing to hurt her modesty; and as soon as he was gone she came mincing back again, reseated herself with all sorts of affected airs and graces, and sent him a condescending message to “beg he would not distress himself, for that he was her father and mother.” She did not mind the peons and servants standing by. * Dancing-girls.

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While she remained with me, A— went and sat with Penny-Whistle, and took the opportunity of being alone with him to try to do him a little good. He was very ready to listen, unusually so for a Bramin, and did not refuse to take some books; so next day we sent him plenty, and I have written to Madras for a Gentoo Bible for him, well bound, that he may like it. I wish, when you have an opportunity, you would send me some of those twopenny “moral pocket-handkerchiefs”217,x with alphabets and pictures on them; also some children’s penny pictures, especially anything of the Queen. They would be most acceptable presents to the natives. I took Penny some drawings I had made for him of subjects likely to suit his taste, particularly an eruption of Mount Vesuvius,218 on account of the red flames. I put the drawings in a blue satin portfolio, embroidered with scarlet and gold, and poor Penny was enchanted with the whole concern. We came home on a dry night, quite safely, and found all well; but another unexpected stranger visitor had arrived the night we were away, and was established in our house ready to receive us: however, he was an agreeable person, and we liked his company. In your last letter you ask if we have been alarmed by an insurrection219 of which the newspapers have spoken. I never heard of any one being frightened at it, and it is all quiet now. It was six hundred miles from Madras, and I never even heard any particulars of it till this gentleman passed through. He had been engaged in helping to quell it. He told me that a new tribe, hitherto unknown, had been discovered among the rebels: a fine, manly, but fierce race, showing many traces of Jewish origin, both in countenance and habits. They worshipped an invisible God, but had also one wretched image perched on a tree, which they seemed to look upon as a sort of devil to be propitiated. Unlike the other natives of India, they all lived in houses, boarded, floored, and ceiled with cedarwood.

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LETTER THE FIFTEENTH.

December 21st. I HAVE just despatched a letter to you, and I owe eight to other people, therefore I begin another to you; that, I perceive, is your method with regard to me, which I highly approve. *

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To-day arrived the little parcel which you sent from England by the Hindoo servants. Poor things! the ship in which they sailed was wrecked off the Cape: no lives were lost, but the whole of the cargo was destroyed—all the little property of these two poor boys, the presents they had received in England, &c.; but in the midst of all their distress and alarm, they contrived to save my little package, and, to my very great surprise, brought it to me quite uninjured. Was it not a pretty instance of care and faithfulness? Many thanks for the insect-box and pins, which are great treasures. I had been trying in vain to procure some, and had even sent to Calcutta, but they were unknown there. I wish we could have seen the friend you introduced to us, but he is at Madras, and we are four hundred miles off. It is very seldom that people introduced to each other from England really meet in this wide India. However, those young cadets are generally sent up the country soon after their arrival, and I hope Mr. M—220 may come our way. *

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Our school is very pretty and satisfactory, the numbers daily increasing, and no objection made to the use of our books, which is in itself a great thing. Our boys learn such parts of the Bible as have been translated, and sensible lesson-books, instead of the rubbish they are taught in their own schools. The Hamiltons and ourselves take it in turn to examine the school every Saturday evening, when all the natives who choose to come are admitted to hear what goes on. Besides this, we pay private visits in the week; and as long as the “Doories” keep up this constant superintendence, I hope all will go on well. We have not many rules—the boys receive tickets for regular attendance, and forfeit them for non-attendance, 238

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and their rewards depend upon those tickets. When we examine them, I hear the English, and A— the Gentoo scholars. Their English learning at present only extends to B, A, Ba; but they read the Bible in Gentoo, and A— tries to make them understand it a little. We have a Gentoo master, a Bramin, at about 6l. per annum; an English master, at 30l.: house-rent, peon, and sweepers, about 6l. more; and the only other expenses will be books and rewards. The little half-caste English master is clever and willing, and does his work well. The Bramin is a solemn, stately creature, clever at teaching, but a mean old thing. He made all the boys give him a pice221 (half a farthing) apiece whenever he obtained them a holiday, and he was always inventing excuses and pretences for holidays, till we found out the trick. A— and Mr. Hamilton, who is a most kind and active coadjutor, are also establishing a Pariah school. This will be only for Gentoo. At first we had a great deal of consultation as to whether it would be best to make our scholars pay anything for admission; but, on talking it over with the natives themselves, we found it would not answer our purposes, as there were very few, even among the richest, who would be willing to pay, and we must have made the same rule for all, and our object was to teach as many as we could. There is one little boy who comes dressed in the finest muslin, with a gold cap, and silver bangles, and emerald earrings, looking quite a little prince; but they all prefer a charity-school. They learn very quickly, and are in nice order; Mr. Hamilton says it is already superior to the N—school,222 though that has been established nearly a year; but into that school they admit Pariahs, which always ruins a caste school. Even in England you could not expect a gentleman to send his son to the same school with the children of his footman, and here caste is a religious distinction, as well as a difference of rank. After any natives become Christians, it is doubtless highly desirable for the missionaries to do their utmost to induce them to give up caste, as far as it is a religious distinction; but while they are Heathens, it seems merely waste of time and trouble to attempt it, and only prevents any but Pariahs from coming under their influence. In Bengal223 I hear that it is easier, as the natives there have associated more with Europeans, and their prejudices are less strong. This is strange, as their Heathenism is still worse: the suttees,224 Juggernaut’s sacrifices,225 &c., were all peculiar to Bengal. The castes are not now so unmixed as when first invented. Indeed I believe that some of the original divisions no longer exist; but they make up for it by subdividing the Sudra or merchant caste, and the common people call every different trade a caste. Ayah continually tells me “that man moochy (carpenter) caste;” or “bearer caste,” &c. The shoemakers, I believe, are the lowest of any. The Pariahs are of no caste at all. Learned men think that the Sudras were the original inhabitants of the country, and the three higher castes the conquerors. Nobody seems to know much about the Pariahs; I suppose they were the refuse of all. The trades are as hereditary as the castes; every man follows his father’s business, and seems to have no idea of raising himself in life, beyond making a little more money.y I wish I could, as you ask, tell you any pretty stories for your schools; but I am sorry to say they are not at all plentiful: there are very few natives who are even nominal Christians, and still fewer whom we can reasonably believe to be anything 239

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but what is here called “curry-and-rice Christians.”226 In England, I think people have a very false impression of what is done in India. That is not the fault of the Missionaries, who write the real truth home; but the Committees seem to publish all the good and none of the bad, for fear of discouraging people. In fact, it is unreasonable to expect more to be done without more efficient means. Suppose thirty clergymen to the whole of England,—what could they do? and that is about the proportion of the Missionaries in Madras, and they have to work amongst Heathens. Perhaps about half of them know the language well, and the rest speak it like school-French. The chaplains are not Missionaries: their duties lie almost as completely amongst Europeans as if they had remained at home. Mr. C.,227 for instance, is a very excellent, useful clergyman, with a large English and half-caste congregation, but no more a Missionary to the Heathen than your vicar.228 There are thousands needed where one or two come; and schoolmasters are wanted as much as preachers. There is great difference of opinion as to the class of men most wanted, and most likely to be useful as Missionaries. Some people have an idea that it is scarcely necessary to have persons of the birth and education of our English clergymen, but that a larger number of rather inferior men might be employed at a smaller salary, and be quite as efficient. Of course any Christian really working among the Heathen is likely to do some good; but I believe that the more educated and the more of a gentleman he is, the more influence he will have among the Hindoos. They are themselves most excellent judges of manners and standing in society, and invariably know a gentleman, and respect him accordingly. Their own priests are of the highest caste, and it lowers our religion in their eyes if they see that our Padres, as they call the Missionaries, are of what they consider low caste. Perhaps you will think this idea worldly, and too much like the proceedings of the Jesuits229 when they pretended to be a new class of Bramins; but our home clergy are gentlemen and educated men, and I cannot see why we should send out Missionaries less qualified for a much more difficult work. An English University education, and the habit of really hard study, prove immense advantages in mastering these native languages.z I am, as usual, expecting several visitors to-morrow, to stay till the end of next week. “Missis don’t want, but no can help!” After all, perhaps, it is as well that we are obliged to have people come in this way, or we should grow quite farouche,230 for we are both always so busy, and so fond of our own habits and occupations, that I am sure we should never invite interruptions. You ask what our visitors say, “if ever they say anything?” That, you know, depends upon taste; there is anything, and anything—“fagots et fagots.”231 However, some of them are very sensible and agreeable; and when I have them alone, they talk very well, and I like their company; but as soon as three or four of them get together they speak about nothing but “employment” and “promotion.” Whatever subject may be started, they contrive to twist it, drag it, clip it, and pinch it, till they bring it round to that; and if left to themselves, they sit and conjugate the verb “to collect:” “I am a collector—He was a collector—We shall be collectors—You ought to be a collector—They might, could, should, or would have been collectors;” so, when it comes to that, while they conjugate “to collect,” I decline listening. 240

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January 18th.—A— and I have been out in the district, travelling about to see the world a little. He had a few days’ holiday in his Court, and we took advantage of it to go and visit some of the places on the coast, in order to see which would be the best refuge in the hot season. Also A— wished to inspect the proceedings of some of the District Moonsiffs, or native judges, under his orders. We left the baby at home, as she was quite safe with the old ayah, who really deserves the character she gives herself, “I too much careful woman;” and baby would have been tired, and perhaps have caught cold, with a hurried journey at this time of the year. The nights are now really cold, and the days pleasant. First we went to Narsapoor,232 a large native village about six miles from the sea. We did not expect to find that a good place for ourselves; but we had heard that two Missionaries were established there, and we wanted to see them, and learn how they went on, and whether there was anything we could do to make them more comfortable. They were English shoemakers, Mr. Bowden and Mr. Beer,233 dissenters of Mr. Grove’s234 class, but good, zealous creatures, and in the way to be very useful. They have two pretty, young English wives, as simple as themselves. They are living completely among the natives, teaching and talking to them, and distributing books. One of them is a man of great natural talent, strong-headed, and clear and sensible in his arguments; if he had been educated, he would probably have turned out a very superior person. They complained much of the difficulties of the language; but A— says that the two men spoke it really much better than the general run of missionaries. One of the wives said to me very innocently, “It is pertickly difficult to us, ma’am, on account of our never having learnt any language at all. I don’t know what to make of the grammar.” I advised her not to trouble herself with the grammar, but only to try and learn to speak the language so as to converse with the natives—to learn it, in short, as a child learns to talk. At her age, and without any education, it was next to impossible for her to learn the grammar of an Oriental language; but I do not suppose she will follow my advice, as she had a great notion of studying, reading with Moonshees, and so on. They live almost like the natives, without either bread or meat, which in the long run is a great privation to Europeans; but they have rice, fish, fowls, and vegetables, and they say, “The Lord has brought down our appetites to what he gives us to feed them on.” Though they could get no meat, we had our choice of all the sheep in the village, as I suppose the natives would kill themselves for the Judge if he would but eat them. We did not want mutton for ourselves, but we had a sheep killed in order to send it to the Missionaries, together with some bread, and a little supply of wine, to have by them in case of illness. They had not much of a school, only five or six boys; I do not think that schooling will ever be their vocation. They seem most likely to do good by conversing and associating familiarly with the natives. They said that the people in general were not only willing, but anxious, to talk with them and take their books, and to come and ask them questions; but one day Mr. Bowden went out with his tracts, and took his stand as usual in the bazaar, when a number of people, headed by some Bramins, came round him “a jeering and a hooting.” The Bramins had nothing to say for themselves, but stood interrupting, mocking, and sneering, till they were 241

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tired, and then they said, “Now we have done laughing at you, you may go away— Go!” “No,” said Bowden; “now you have done laughing at me, I shall stay here, and give away all my books;” and so he did, and the Bramins walked off, and left him the coast clear. One man said that it was of no use preaching to him, for that he was quite perfect and free from sin—he was sure he had no sin at all. Bowden gave him a sheet of paper, and told him to write down in black ink all the good things he did, and in red ink all the bad things he did, and to bring the paper to him at the end of a week. At the end of the week the man came, and said he still considered himself free from sin, but did not wish to show the paper! However, he seemed a little disconcerted, and will probably return before long with more inquiries. After we left Narsapoor, we went round to several different villages on the coast, and have decided on establishing ourselves during the hot weather at Samuldavee. There is only one small bungalow, and no village near it;aa but it is close to the sea, and I hope will be cool. We returned home in one night’s run of fifteen hours, which was “plenty long;” but a palanquin is much less fatiguing than a carriage. I find it the best way, instead of undressing and settling for the night at first starting, to begin the journey, all as usual, and to send on a Peon about twelve miles before us, to get ready fire and milk; and when we come up with him we have our palanquins put under trees, and remain there about half an hour, undress and take some coffee, and so settle for the night much more comfortably. Palanquin travelling pleases me very much: I can sleep a good part of the night, and, being able to sit up or lie down at pleasure, with plenty of room, I find it far less fatiguing than being cramped up all day in a carriage. In passing through the villages, the head men, Moonsiffs,* Cutwalls,† &c., always turn out to come and make salaam while we are changing bearers, and we sit up and do our congées235 in our dressing-gowns and nightcaps, quite agreeable. However, as we had seen them all in coming, and as it was a very long run, we did not want to be disturbed again in the middle of the night; so we sent a Peon on before to announce that the Judge certainly was to pass through, but that he would be fast asleep and could speak to nobody, and that he must be transferred from the shoulders of one set of bearers to the other without touching the ground, all of which was performed according to order. About three in the morning we were awakened by the silence and stillness: the bearers’ song had stopped, and our palanquins were quietly set down on the ground, and no one near us. A— got out to see what was the matter, and he found that we were in a cocoa-nut tope,236 the bearers all employed in stealing toddy,‡ and our palanquins completely laden with paddy,§ which they had stolen from the fields in coming along! It would have been a pretty story, if we had not found it out in time, the Judge returning to his * Native judges. † Head men of a village. ‡ Juice of the cocoa-nut leaves. It is collected in earthen vessels, and left to ferment, when it becomes very intoxicating. § Rice in the ear.

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Zillah, with his palanquins laden with stolen paddy, and his bearers tipsy with stolen toddy! We found all well at home, and a large packet of European letters waiting to greet us, which would in itself be enough to make all well.

243

LETTER THE SIXTEENTH.

WE have had a good deal of trouble with the school lately, which is very vexatious, because it really was going on beautifully; forty-five boys in constant attendance, reading and translating the Bible, using our books in school without the slightest objection, and asking for tracts to take home. But a little while ago there came a Mr. G.,237 a Dissenting Missionary, to visit the Hamiltons: he was a conceited, show-off sort of person, and curiously ignorant. He dined with us one day, and also the Prices, who were staying with us, Mr. Lloyd,238 Commander of the detachment, and our Scotch Doctor. The Hamiltons had headaches, and did not come, and I am sure I do not wonder, after their having had to attend to Mr. G.’s clatter for two days. At our house he chose, à propos of nothing, to begin a discussion concerning the evil of the Bishops being in the House of Lords,239 and various other delinquencies and enormities of the Church, including the bigotry of supposing that ordination would make any one a minister, unless he was a godly man. Lloyd said nothing—he never does; the Scotch Doctor sided with Mr. G.; Captain Price thought the Church of England must be right, though he could not say why; A— quoted all the old divines, and I slipped in texts; Mr. G. quoted Mosheim240 (that is to say, he did not quote him, but he mentioned him) as an authority, not in matters of history, but on points of divinity; and he declared that he did not know of any such text as “Not forsaking the assembling of yourselves together;”241 and when it was proved by chapter and verse, he said one must consider such a text as that well before one could arrive at the real meaning, for that it never could mean us to meet for public worship with an indifferent minister, and that it would be much better to stay and read one’s Bible at home. The Doctor said, “According to quhat ye’re a saying then, ye must have got yer Church of England airdination from some o’ the Pops.” A—: “Very likely.” Doctor S.: “Wall, and d’ye think it can be good for anything whan it’s passed through all those rogs?” I suppose the end of the discussion might be, that Mr. G. thought us very bigoted, and we thought him very superficial and ignorant. After this, Mr. Hamilton took him to preach at the school, and ordered all the boys to attend. They did not tell A— what they were going to do, or he would not have allowed it; for although he is only too thankful to be able to help the Missionaries to preach on their own responsibility, when, where, and however they can, he thinks it both wrong and inexpedient for people 244

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in authority to accompany them, as it sets the natives on their guard directly, and persuades them that the Government are going to make them Christians by force, as the Moormans made them Mohammedans. In the present instance it raised a great disturbance. In addition to the preaching, Mr. G. got hold of a man’s Lingum,242 or badge of caste, and took it away; and though he was forced to return it, the whole town has been in a ferment at the insult, and our school is almost broken up in consequence. The boys brought back in a rage all the bags I had given them to put their tickets in, and said they never would come to school again. We have now only twenty boys, instead of forty-five, and they are all petitioning to use their own Heathen books, instead of ours, and we have no more requests for admittance. A little while ago, when we came in from our morning’s ride, we used almost every day to find a pretty boy waiting at the gate, salaaming, and presenting his petition to be sent to school. I hope we shall be able to bring it round again in time, but it is very vexatious. We are reading Shore’s ‘Notes on Indian Affairs,’243—very clever, true, and amusing. He complains much of the English incivility to the natives; and I quite agree with him: it is a great shame. A— says he exaggerates, but I really do not think so. A—, being an old Indian, is grown used to things that strike us griffins. The civilians behave better than the military, though all are bad enough. The other day an old Bramin of high caste called on us while the Prices were in the house; Captain Price, hearing his voice, sauntered out of the next room with his hands in his waistcoat-pockets, and planted himself directly before the poor old creature, without taking any other notice of all his salaams and compliments than “Well, old fellow, where are you going?” in a loud, rude voice. The Bramin answered with the utmost apparent respect, but I saw such an angry scowl pass over his face. A little politeness pleases them very much,bb and they have a good right to it. The upper classes are exceedingly well bred, and many of them are the descendants of native princes, and ought not to be treated like dirt. A new magazine244 is just advertised as coming out at Madras. It is to be conducted by some of the clergymen, in opposition to another periodical, conducted by some others of the clergymen. The first number is to contain strictures on a review which appeared last month in the other magazine. I grudge the waste of time and thought upon such useless work. The writers come out here, they themselves, and everybody else, believing they will work among the Heathen; and while the Idol services are going on all round them, they sit writing their reviews and anti-reviews to the sound of the Pagoda bell! The other night I was sitting in my Tonjon sketching a pagoda, when I saw a long procession of Bramins go in, and suddenly the service began. I could hear it all, through the walls. The first part sounded exactly like a Roman Catholic mass. There was music, and the mumbling chant of the old priests who could not sing, and the shrill voices of the choir-boys, and at intervals a little bell tinkling; till it was all interrupted by violent screams from girls’ voices—perhaps they were meant for singing, but they sounded very horrible: then came loud beating of drums and ringing of bells, and it was all finished. 245

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February 3rd.—We are just come in from the school, the first time I have been there since Mr. G.’s unlucky visit. Some of the deserters have returned, but about fifteen are still obstinate. They all crowded round me, saying, “Good ivning, Sar!” I tried to teach them to say “Ma’am,” and explained that “Sir” belonged to the “Doory;” but a Peon who understands a little English, and is extremely proud of his knowledge, would help, and teach them to say “Mammon:” so they got it perfect, “Good ivning, Mammon!” They are very boasting and confidential, and I am very sympathetic. “Sar! I larn very good; I am second man.” “I am very glad to hear it—very good man.” “And I larn too much good too! I am tree man.” “That is right; you are a very good man too.” Then they salaam and grin, and are very happy. I show them pictures, which makes me popular. The head boys are learning to write English: and to-day they made a petition to be allowed “Europe ink,” as they could not write English words with Gentoo ink. I have been trying to procure some of the cobra capello’s poison for Frank to analyse; and also the native antidotes, the principal of which is a small, smooth, very light black stone245 which they apply to the bite, and they say that it adheres till it has drawn out all the poison, and then falls off. To-day the snake-charmer brought three fresh caught cobras to give me their poison. He set them up, and made them dance as usual, but did not allow them to strike, as that exhausts the venom. When he had played with them as long as he liked, he shut up two of them in their baskets, and proceeded to catch the third by putting one hand on its tail, and slipping the other very quickly up to the nape of its neck, when he held it so tight as to force it to open its jaws, and then squeezed the poison into a tea-spoon. It is yellow at first, and turns red in about ten days. Each snake yielded only three drops; so think how powerful it must be! The cobra did not struggle or writhe at all while the man held it, but afterwards it seemed quite changed and subdued: it lost its spiteful look, and could not be made to stand up and strike, even when the man did his utmost to provoke it, but tried to slink quietly away, looking as if it knew it had lost its power, and was ashamed of not being able to do any mischief. I have put the poison into a little bottle, and keep it carefully covered up from the light. I shall send it home by the first opportunity. It will dry up, of course; but Dr. Stewart says it will not lose its virtue, or rather its vice, and that Frank must be careful what tricks he plays with it. The natives make pills of it, and take them for fever: I believe it is a strong narcotic. I know the bite of a cobra throws people into a stupor. General W.246 told me that one of his servants was bitten, and wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but the General made him run before his horse for several miles till he was quite exhausted. No harm came of the bite; but, as the snake was not caught, it was impossible to be certain whether it actually was a cobra. The natives think their own remedies are much assisted by conjuring. Once, when we were travelling, my bearers stopped, and one of them began to cry and howl and writhe about, saying he was stung by a scorpion in the road, and could not go on. We gave him eau de luce247 to rub the place with, but it did no good. One of the Peons then said he could conjure him: so he sat down before him, and began muttering, and sawing the air with his hand, making antics like 246

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animal magnetism; and in a few minutes the wounded man said he was quite well, put his shoulder under the palanquin-pole, and set off with his song again. In your last letter you ask me if the snake-charmers have any herb with them. I do not think they have anything but dexterity and presence of mind. They pretend to be conjurers, and play a number of antics, all quite absurd, but which impose upon the people. Their music seems to irritate the snakes and incite them to strike: but the snake-charmers know their distance exactly, and jump on one side. They take the snakes with perfect safety, as they know exactly where to seize them in the neck. The snakes grow very tame after a time, and the men extract the poison as fast as it collects. They begin their trade as children, so they grow up expert and fearless. The man who brought me the poison told me all his proceedings “for a consideration.” He said his father was a snake-charmer before him, and used to take him out when he was quite a child, and teach him the manner of laying hold of the creatures, making him first practise upon harmless snakes; that there was no secret in it beyond dexterity: but that the people were so afraid of such “bad animals,” that they “always tell conjure” when anybody was able to touch them.

247

LETTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

February 9th. TO-DAY the Narsapoor head of police sent me a present of a toy of his own invention. It was a representation of a justice-room. There sat the English Judge in his jacket, writing at a desk; round him all the native Gomashtas, squatted on the floor, writing at their desks; at the end of the room a wretched prisoner in the stocks; and, in front of the Judge, another prisoner being tried, with a great Peon by his side, holding a drawn sword in his hand to take care of him. The Englishmen and Court servants were made enormously fat, and when I asked the reason I was told it was to show how rich they were! It was a very droll performance; but I was obliged, much against my will, to refuse it. A— said it was too good to accept, for fear of that tiresome plague John Company’s finding fault. However, I confess it is a good rule. If I had accepted that, some one else would soon have brought something of more value, and in a little while they would arrive at shawls and pearls, and expect injustice in Court in consequence. When A— is out, visitors often come to me privately, begging that I will persuade him to give them offices, or to excuse them fines and punishments, &c. Sometimes they go and make their petition to the baby if she is in another room, but she only sucks her thumb at them. When we are out in our tonjons without the “Master,” the wives of the petitioners assail me, and their children the baby, screaming and throwing themselves on the ground before us. Baby likes the uproar extremely, and crows and dances in great glee. Then the petitioner comes to A— next day, and gravely tells him that “Missy” has promised him the post in question. This Court has been for some years past very badly managed;—idle men sent as Judges, nothing inquired into, cases neglected, and so on; and the consequence is, that some of the rich natives have quite got the upper hand of honesty. One very rich Zemindar’s widow owed, and still owes, five thousand rupees to a man in this village. Instead of paying her debt, she took refuge with her son, the present Zemindar, and shut herself up in his house. One Judge after another has sent Peons with summonses to the old lady to make her pay the poor man his just due; but she cares for none of them, and the Zemindar’s servants always beat the Peons, and send them away. One Judge summoned the Zemindar to account for the assault on the Peons, but he said it was no fault of his—it was 248

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the servants’ pleasure: then the servants were summoned, but they ran away and hid themselves, and were not to be found all over the district. The same thing has just now happened again; but A— will not take the excuse, and has summoned the Zemindar to account for his servants’ misdemeanors, as they are in the habit of taking their pleasure in that way. He has fined him two hundred rupees, and sent word that, unless his mother’s debt is paid, he shall send a battalion to seize her jewels. It remains to be proved which will gain the day: I am curious to see how it ends. Another Zemindar, choosing to protect a man who had a notification sent to him, fought the peons who delivered it, and sent it and them back again: so A— then sent the notification to the Zemindar himself, with a polite request, or rather command, that he would himself see it served without delay. The Zemindar was frightened at this, and obeyed directly, as humbly as possible. All the Court histories and adventures amuse me very much. The business is all taken down in writing, and translated into English. The trials, examination of the witnesses, sentences of the Judge, &c., all go under the general name of “Decrees,” and every day a certain number of copies of these Decrees are brought in for the Judge to examine and verify. I often get hold of them to read, and very curious they are; but the lying and false witnessing are quite horrible. Sometimes the whole case is one great lie supported by innumerable forgeries. The other day a man laid claim to the house and land of another: the claim was well established; there were all the proper documents to show that the estate had been in his possession, witnesses in plenty to swear to the same, and a plausible story as to the manner in which the defendant had cheated him out of it; and, in short, everything to prove him a most ill-used man. But the defendant had just as good a story, as carefully arranged papers, and as many respectable witnesses on his side; but here and there different little things were allowed to transpire which weakened his cause, and gave the plaintiff rather the best of the story. A— made me guess how the matter had been decided; and, of course, I supposed that the land had been restored to the poor injured innocence who claimed it. No such thing: A— says, in the midst of such constant cheating, he is obliged often to judge by the manner and countenance of a witness rather than by his evidence, and in this case it struck him that there was a cunning under look that did not belong to a true man; he therefore set on foot a strict inquiry into the affair, and discovered that the whole was a concerted scheme between the two men; that neither the one nor the other had the property in his possession, nor the slightest claim upon it; and that it belonged altogether to another person, who knew nothing whatever about this lawsuit. The object of the two false claimants was to get a Decree passed in favour of one of them, it did not much signify which: the Court Peons must have seen it executed, and the real owner would have been turned out of his property, while the two cheats divided the spoil. There seem to be very few cases that are not supported by some forgery or false evidence in the course of the trial. Even when the truth is on their side, and would be quite sufficient, they prefer trying to establish their cause by falsehood, though it discredits rather than helps them.cc 249

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February 16th.—For the last few days we have been occupied with company again. A regiment passed through, and we had to dine all the officers, including a lady; now they are gone. I perceive the officers’ ladies are curiously different from the civilians. The civil ladies are generally very quiet, rather languid, speaking in almost a whisper, simply dressed, almost always ladylike and comme il faut,248 not pretty, but pleasant and nice-looking, rather dull, and give one very hard work in pumping for conversation. They talk of “the Governor,” “the Presidency,” the “Overland,” and “girls’ schools at home,” and have daughters of about thirteen in England for education. The military ladies, on the contrary, are almost always quite young, pretty, noisy, affected, showily dressed, with a great many ornaments, and chatter incessantly from the moment they enter the house.dd While they are alone with me after dinner, they talk about suckling their babies, the disadvantages of scandal, “the Officers,” and “the Regiment;” and when the gentlemen come into the drawing-room, they invariably flirt with them most furiously. The military and civilians do not generally get on very well together. There is a great deal of very foolish envy and jealousy between them, and they are often downright ill-bred to each other, though in general the civilians behave much the best of the two. One day an officer who was dining here said to me, “Now I know very well, Mrs.—, you despise us all from the bottom of your heart; you think no one worth speaking to in reality but the Civil Service. Whatever people may really be, you just class them all as civil and military—civil and military; and you know no other distinction. Is it not so?” I could not resist saying, “No; I sometimes class them as civil and uncivil.” He has made no more rude speeches to me since. February 17th.—Yesterday the old Braminee post-office writer came to pay a visit and chat. He had been to a great Heathen feast at some distance—thirty thousand people present. He told us that the Narsapoor Missionaries and Mr. G. were there, preaching and giving away books, and that they said, “What use your feast? arl (all) too much nonsense! What for make noise,—tumtums,—washing?—arl that, what for do? pray to God, that prarper (proper)!” We asked if the people understood and listened, and if any of them believed the “padre’s” words. He said, “Understand, very well;—listen, plenty;—believe, no, sar!” Then he went on to tell us that they could not believe now, no more could he, but that their children’s children would all believe; that we were now in the ninth Avatar,249 which would last sixty years longer; that then there would be “plenty too much great trouble,” and everything “more worser” than it had ever been before; that all religion would be destroyed, and this state of confusion would last for some time, but that, within two hundred years from the present time, the tenth Avatar250 would take place, and Vishnoo251 would appear to put all in order; that he would not restore the Hindoo religion, but that caste would be done away with for ever, and all people be alike upon the earth, “just same Europe people tell.” Then he went on with their usual story that all religions were alike in their beginning and would be alike in their end, and that all enlightened people believed the same thing, &c., &c.—just the nonsense they always talk; but I thought his tradition very curious. 250

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I have taken a Moonshee to translate for me, and to teach me Gentoo. He is a tolerable translator, but a great booby. He was showing me some different forms of the same letter: I asked on what occasions each was to be employed. He said, “This one, carmon (common) letter, I teach boy;—arther (other) one, sublime letter, I teach hanner (honour) ma’am.” Another time I was playing with the baby, and saying, “Talk, baby, talk!” when Moonshee rose from his chair and came to me very slowly and formally, holding his petticoats over his arm. After a solemn salaam, he told me, “I have one subject to inform your honour.”—“Well?”—“I shall inform your honour that this baby cannot talk: it is not capable for her to talk until she shall have arrived at two years.”—Did you ever know such an owl? They have no notion of anything in the shape of a joke, unless it is against the Collectors and the Board of Revenue. That touches their hearts and tickles their fancies directly. So many people apply to us for books, that we are going to set up a lending library, to be kept in the school-room, for natives, half-castes, and travelling soldiers who may halt here. We cannot muster many volumes yet, and some of those are contrived by sewing tracts together. Tailor and I have been very busy making elegant covers out of bits of coloured paper. We greatly want some baby lectures on astronomy for our school. I am trying at them, but it is a tough job, because, first of all, I am a dunce myself, and next I have very few astronomical books, and those—such as Mrs. Somerville,252 Herschel,253 &c.—not suitable. All the elementary books are translated from English lesson-books, and are altogether out of the comprehension of the natives—not so much above them as different from them— expressed in terms which they cannot understand, from being completely unlike their own manner of thinking and explaining. February 22nd.—This is now the Indian spring. The garden is in full flower, and the scent of the orange-blossoms and tube roses quite fills the room as I sit with the windows open; but it is beginning to grow very hot: the thermometer is at 90° in the middle of the day, but I do not find it so oppressive as at Madras; the air is much fresher and clearer. Dr. Stewart advises me not to remain here after the middle of the month, so on the 16th we are all to go to Samuldavee. A— will settle baby and me there, and then he must return by himself, I am sorry to say, to his hot Court. We shall probably be obliged to remain on the coast about four months, but he will be able to shut up the Court and come to us for one month, and occasionally at other times from Saturday till Monday.

251

LETTER THE EIGHTEENTH.

March 8th. I AM very busy now, translating a story with my little squinny Moonshee. Moonshee chuckles over it, and enters into much conversation about it. M.—Your honour has in this your handiwork taken much trouble to bring together arl things prarper! I.—Because everybody ought to know those things, Moonshee. M.—Those are from your honour’s Shasters.254,* My people also have Shasters and Vedas;255 are not those the true words of God? I.—They are not true; they tell to worship idols. Now you know very well, Moonshee, that those idols are only wood and stone; you do not believe them to be really gods. M.—I know very well—piece of stone—nothing at arl. What enlightened person thinks them to be God?—No Bramin, no Moonshee will think—but idols are of necessity for arl carmon people. I.—Now you see we can know those Vedas to be lie, because, if they were words of truth, they would not tell you to make lie to anybody, common people or Bramins. M.—Ah, ha! But if not the words of God, who did make write the Vedas? No man could write, therefore God write. I.—Some Bramins, a great many years ago, wrote. M.—No any Bramins; Vedas are written in the Devinagree256—the most holy Sanscrit—the language spoken by the planets. What man could write? I.—Now could not write; but formerly the Devinagree was common language: Bramins could write very well. M.—Will your honour tell me, is not Devinagree the language of the planets? Upon this I gave him a touch of astronomy, and told him what astronomers could see with their telescopes, so as to know for certain that the astronomical legends in the Vedas are not true. Then he went off into a metaphysical disquisition on the nature of God, which I would not answer further than that man could * Holy books.

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know nothing of God but what he is pleased to reveal. Then he wanted to know why God had not taught all men to speak the same language, so that all might profit by each other’s knowledge. I told him the history of the Tower of Babel,257 which he liked very much, except that he was disappointed at my not knowing how many cubits high they had raised it. He had been educated at a Dissenting Mission school, but left it almost as ignorant as he entered it. He thought that the Bible had been written in English, and that that was an argument against it, English being a modern language. He was charmed at the sight of some Hebrew and Greek, which he had never heard of. He supposed that our Saviour had come to England about a hundred years ago, just when the English first came to India; and, when set right upon that, he argued that, if God had meant the Hindoos to receive the Bible, He would have sent some teachers to India when Jesus Christ came into the world. So then I told him about the first preachers, the Black Jews, the Syrian Christians,258 &c. He said, “Will your honour not be angry if I ask one question, and will honour ma’am tell me that question?” “If I know I will tell, and I will not be angry.” “Certainly no any anger upon me?” “Certainly not.” “Then I would ask your honour, suppose any Europe lady or gentleman make much wickedness—never repent—never ask pardon of God—never think of Jesus Christ, but die in committing sin; what will become of them?” “They will go to hell.” “What! Europe lady or gentleman?” “Certainly.” Then he went on to tell me all about the transmigration of souls, which he said was a great advantage in his religion, for that going to hell was “very offensive.” Then he told me a long story. “If your honour will listen to me, I shall make you sensible how it consists. One man had ten sons, and to his sons he gave rules. But those sons arl ispeak different languages; therefore he allow them take the rules every one in his own language, which may suit him best; is it not so?” I.—Now, Moonshee, I will tell you how it consists. One man had ten sons, and to all he gave rules—same rules, understand. Those sons speak different languages, therefore he allowed them to translate the rules each into his own language, but always same rules. One son tell, “My father give too many rules; I don’t want:” so that son throw away half his father’s rules. Another son tell, “Don’t like some of these rules; myself I shall make:” so that son change half his father’s rules. Another son tell, “I will keep my father’s rules; neither add nor take away.” Which son best, Moonshee? He answered with his usual “Ah, ah!” and looked very cunning. I tried to persuade him to read the Bible, but he said it was too much trouble. I do not think these natives have the slightest notion of there being any beauty or advantage in truth. They think one way is good for them, and one way good for us. They are very fond of metaphysical subtleties, which at first makes one fancy them very acute, but one soon sees that they have no power of perceiving the real state of an argument. They are always caught and pleased with a cavil, when a reason has no effect upon them; but what they like best of all is any illustration or parable. That seems to be their own manner of reasoning.ee I do not suppose they ever have much real conversation with each other—mere chatter and gossip. They seem to have no pleasure in associating with each other on 253

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terms of equality. Everybody has a tail, consisting of poor followers, flappers, and flatterers. The head feeds the tail, and the tail flatters the head; and plenty of “soft sawder”259 seems to be in use. When head walks abroad, tail walks after him at a respectful distance. If head stands still to smoke his cheroot,260 tail, who has no cheroot, stands still and looks admiringly at him. If head condescends to make an observation, tail crosses his hands, bows, assents, and remarks what a wonderfully wise man head is! The other day we happened to tell the post-office writer that the officers were coming to dine with us, and that we did not want him to go and peer out all the gossip concerning them, which he had offered to do, like an obliging jackal. “Sar,” said he, “very great charity, indeed, sar!” “Charity!” exclaimed I, rather astonished. “Ma’am! too much great charity, indeed, ma’am!—but Master very charitable gentleman; always give bread to gentlemen passing through. Last Judge, when anybody pass by, Judge too much sick—gentlemen go ’way, Judge too much well again!” A Government circular is just come to all the Zillah Judges, to inform them that “the Right Honourable the Governor in Council” has been considering the best means of facilitating the re-apprehension of prisoners who have escaped from confinement; and it has occurred to him that it would answer the purpose to make them always wear a dress of some particular colour or material, by which they might be easily identified.—The innocent bird! He must have kept his eyes in his pocket ever since he landed, not to know by this time that the natives strip off their clothes as soon as they are alone, or at work, or running; and, most certainly, runaway prisoners would not remain in full dress merely for the purpose of being identified. To-day’s Gazette261 brings word that Government have just issued their orders that “no salutes to idols be discontinued, but that all respect be paid to the native religions as heretofore.”262 Is not this disgraceful? A fortnight ago,ff at a Mohammedan festival at Trichinopoly,263 the European troops—Artillery-men—were kept exposed to the sun for nine hours, firing salutes, and “showing respect” to Mohammed. The Government lately presented a shawl to a Hindoo idol, and the Government officer, Mr. D.,264 with whom we are acquainted, was ordered to superintend the delivery of it. He does not pretend to be a religious man—a mere commonplace, hunting, card-playing dandy; but even he was disgusted at having such an office to perform; so he went with the shawl in his tonjon, and told the Bramins they might come and take it, for that he would not touch it with his own fingers, to present it to a Swamy. At the same place the Swamy was making a progress in its car, and the officiating Bramin came and told Mr. D. that it had stopped at a certain point for want of sufficient offerings; so Mr. D. went to see about it, and found that they had stuck a wedge under the wheel, which prevented its going on. He had the wedge knocked out, and gave orders that Swamy must arrive at his destination without delay, before all the poor offerers were ruined, or the cholera broke out, as generally happens at these horrid feasts, from the concourse of people, dirt, &c. In 254

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consequence of all this, Mr. D. was much blamed and reprehended at Madras, for having caused the feast to be hurried over more quickly than the Bramins liked. The cars are drawn by men, and very often these men are unwilling to leave their work for the service, and the Bramins cannot catch as many as they want; so the Government order the Collector to take unwilling men by force, and make them drag the car. I believe that, if idolatry were merely tolerated and protected, the idol services would fall almost to nothing, from the indifference of the mass of the people; but our Christian Government not only support and encourage it, but force it down the people’s throats. They have made a law that a Heathen Sepoy may not be flogged, but a Christian Sepoy may. If a Sepoy turns Christian, he is subject to a punishment which they are pleased to say would degrade a Heathen or a Mohammedan. March 20th.—We are going to Samuldavee on Friday, and we had a grand giving away of prizes at the school, by way of taking leave. Every boy with a certain number of tickets had a prize, and they took their choice of the articles, according to their proficiency. First boy took first choice, and so on. The favourite goods were English books, particularly Grammars. Next, the tracts with woodcuts, which you sent me. I had had them bound, so that they looked very respectable, and those wretched woodcuts were wonderfully admired. I gave one tract to the butler’s “volunteer,” a Gomashta, who writes his accounts for him, in hopes “Master” will admire his talents and give him the next vacant post. The Peons admired the tract so much, that they intercepted it by the way, and they sit in a circle by the hour together, pawing and stroking the frontispiece, and Volunteer explaining the meaning to them. There have been many more applications for admission to the school again, and one learned old Moonshee has sent two sons, which is a great compliment. The boys, in fact, only wish to learn English in hopes of making money by it, obtaining places in Court, &c.; but they have no love of knowledge for its own sake. A— gave them a ‘History of the World’265 in Gentoo, and desired them to read it, and answer questions from it; but they brought it back, saying they did not want to know anything that was in it, they only wanted to learn “vords.” So then they were reproached with the attainments of parrots, minas, and such-like, till they looked very sheepish, and promised they would “get plenty sense.”gg We have a young officer staying with us now, who is to keep A— company while I am on the coast. He is a nice, innocent, good-natured boy, and as tame as can be. He has brought a cat and two kittens with him all the way from Bangalore,266 upwards of four hundred miles, and in the evenings he brings them into the drawing-room to pay me a visit and drink some milk, and he sits quite contentedly with them crawling up his great knees, and sticking their claws into him, just like Frank and our old cat at home. He has had six jews’-harps sent him by a brother in England, and he performs Scotch jigs upon them by way of “a little music;” and in the morning, when I go to lie down before dinner, he sits with Moonshee, keeping him to his work, and explaining matters 255

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to him. I hope he will be a pleasant companion for the “Master,” while I am obliged to be away. A— has invited one or two other very young officers, but I do not know yet whether they will come or not. Those “boys” are very remiss about answering invitations; sometimes I do not know whether one of them means to accept an invitation or not, till he makes his appearance at the time appointed, bowing and smiling, with a ring and a gold chain, quite unconscious that he has not been the very pink of politeness.

256

LETTER THE NINETEENTH.

Samuldavee, March 26th. HERE we are, safely arrived and established for the summer. The baby and I were beginning to be so ill with the heat at Rajahmundry, that A— brought us away in a hurry, and settled us here with Peons and servants, and is gone back himself this evening. He means to come every Saturday and stay till Monday, unless any particular business should prevent him. This is a most charming place—the thermometer eight degrees lower than at Rajahmundry, and at present a fine sea breeze from eleven in the morning till eleven at night, and a thick cocoa-nut tope between our house and the land-wind, so that I hope we never shall feel it in all its fury. I do not suppose there is a healthier or pleasanter summer place in all this part of India. Its only fault is its extreme loneliness. This is a solitary house on the shore of an estuary; not even a native village or hut near; forty miles from the nearest European station—Masulipatam;267 and no English people at all within reach, except the two Missionaries at Narsapoor, ten miles off. I have no one ever to speak to, but my own Hindoo servants. I mean to amuse myself with learning Gentoo, and have brought a Moonshee with me. Gentoo is the language of this part of the country, and one of the prettiest of all the dialects, but there is nothing very fine or beautiful in any of them. The idioms are quite disagreeable; they have neither simplicity nor finesse. I believe the old Sanscrit is a very fine language, but it is excessively difficult, and would be of no use to me. The Moonshee I have brought with me is not the little talkative magpie who told me about the language of the planets, but a very slow, sober, solemn gentleman, with a great turn for reading and sententious observations. Whenever I keep him waiting, he reads my books. The other day he got hold of a Church Prayer Book, which he began to read straight through—Dedication, Calendar, and all. He told me that he perceived it was a very scarce and valuable work, but that he would take great care of it, if my honour would grant him permission to read it at his own house, which of course my honour was very willing to do. He admires it greatly, and says, “Ah! good words! very fine words!”—but he says he thinks a man must have “a very purified mind to be capable of using those prayers.” He says he much wishes to read our Shasters, so I am going to give him a Gentoo Bible as soon as I can get one from Madras. 257

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April 2nd.—To-day I have had a specimen of the kind of company I am likely to see at Samuldavee. Three wild monkeys came to take a walk round the house and peep in at the windows: they were the first I had seen, and very fine creatures— what the natives call “first-caste monkeys,”268 not little wizen imps like live mummies, such as we see in England, but real handsome wild beasts. They were of a kind of greenish-grey colour, with black faces and long tails, and their coats as sleek as a race-horse’s. They were as large as calves, and as slim as greyhounds. They bounded about most beautifully, and at last darted with one spring to the top of a rock ten feet high, and sat there like gentlemen taking the breeze and talking politics. In the jungle behind our cocoa-nut tope there are clumps of prickly-pear, sixteen or eighteen feet high, and tribes of jackals sitting playing with their young ones on the turf—very pretty graceful creatures, like large foxes. I have found many shells on the beach, but I am afraid they are not good for much. They were, however, all alive, taking their evening walk, when I met them, taking mine. I set some boys to dig in the sand, but they brought me nothing but broken mussels and cockles. April 23rd.—We are very comfortable here, and the Master pays us his visit once a-week. Moonshee comes every day, and I potter a little at my Gentoo; but I have not learnt much. I do not work very hard, and no Moonshee has any idea of teaching, but I just pick his brains a little by way of amusement. He is a Bramin, and, like all of them, very fond of questioning and discoursing. He has now read my Prayer Book straight through from beginning to end, and with great admiration; but he says the finest words in the book are “Maker of all things visible and invisible;” those, he says, are “very great words indeed.” Now he is reading the Bible. He told me that a learned Bramin came to pay him a visit and to look over his new Bible. The Bramin said that all the words against graven images were “good and very true words,” and that it was certainly a “senseless custom” for a man to bow down to a stone; but that still it was necessary to keep images for the Sudras (low-caste people), for fear they should not believe in any God at all. That is their constant argument. They never defend their idols, nor own that they worship them, any more than Roman Catholics will allow that they worship the saints. Moonshee says there is one particular tribe of Bramins who keep a sabbath, and it is on the same day as our Sunday; so it seems like a Christian tradition, as the Jews’ sabbath was on a Saturday. He thinks it is kept in honour of Kistna,269 but he says it is only a custom, and not commanded in the Shasters. April 24th.—In one of my letters I told you about a bad Zemindar who would not pay his debts, and A— threatened to send a battalion against him. Upon this the Zemindar sent a very polite message with a tray-full of oranges, and a request that his honour the Judge would keep much favour upon him, and look upon him as his own son! But his Honour was extremely indignant, and returned the tray of oranges, with an answer, that he would hold no intercourse with him till the debt was paid. The returning a present which may be accepted is the greatest possible affront, and it hurt the Zemindar’s feelings so much, that he immediately sent 258

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another message to say that, rather than in any way displease Master’s honour, and have his oranges refused, he would pay his debt. Master’s honour thought he had gained the day, but the cunning old fellow despatched a party of his ragamuffins to make an attack on the Government treasury in the next district, and seize money enough to pay his debts here. However, the thieves were detected and defeated, so there the matter rests for the present, and we do not yet know which will win. In my tonjon yesterday I passed a large old tree, inhabited by a family of monkeys—father, mother, and children of all ages. Don, A—’s dog, who was with me, was in a perfect fury to get hold of them, sitting upon his hind legs, and whining with agony. The monkeys were in a rage too, but they were very clever. The old father hunted his wife and children up the tree, on to one of the high branches; and when he had seen them safe where they could only peep out and grin, he came down again himself, and stood at the edge of a dancing bough, chattering, grinning, and evidently trying to provoke Don—taking excellent care, however, to keep out of harm’s way himself—and sneering, till poor Don was so wild with fury, that I was obliged to have him tied up and led away.

259

LETTER THE TWENTIETH.

June 22nd. I HEAR that the river is come down at Rajahmundry, and I wish that, like Johnny Gilpin,270 I had “been there to see,” for the manner in which these Indian rivers come down is very grand. When I came away it was one bed of sand, except a narrow stream just in the middle. A— had made the prisoners dig some channels for the convenience of the neighbourhood, but they had all gradually dried up, and the poor people had to go nearly a mile over the bed of the river to draw water from the middle stream, and the heat and glare from the sand were almost intolerable. But one morning last week he was looking out of the window, and he saw one of his little channels suddenly filled, and the water presently spread as if it was being poured into the channel. In the course of six hours the river was quite full from bank to bank, eighteen feet deep and two miles broad, and rushing along like the Rhone.271 There will now be no more of the very hot weather. Here, at Samuldavee, there has been no really intolerable heat; but at Rajahmundry A— had the thermometer at 100° in our drawing-room, notwithstanding watered tatties272 and every precaution. With us it has not been above 92°, and that only for a few days; generally 86° and a seabreeze. I find the wind makes much more difference in one’s feelings than the heat itself: 90°, with a sea-breeze, is far less oppressive than a much lower temperature with a land-wind. Mr. and Mrs. Beer (one of the Narsapoor Missionaries and his wife) spent a day with me last week. He said they had been “very dull of late;” that the people seemed to have satisfied their curiosity, and now never came near them; and that they had not seen a single instance of a wish really to know or inquire into the truth—only mere curiosity. That is the great difficulty with these poor natives; they have not the slightest idea of the value and advantage of truth. No one in England knows the difficulty of making any impression upon them. The best means seems to be education, because false notions of science form one great part of their religion. Every belief of theirs is interwoven with some matter of religion; and if once their scientific absurdities are overthrown, a large portion of their religion goes with them, and there seems more likelihood of shaking their faith in the remainder. 260

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Our school goes on nicely and keeps full. The children learn what we bid them, and read the Bible, and give an account of what they read, just as they might in England—but it makes no impression: they look upon it as a mere English lesson. They know that the Bible is our Shaster, and suppose it to be as good for us, as their own Shasters are for them. Moonshee reads and studies the Bible, and often brings it to have passages explained. He says he believes all the “good words” against idolatry, but that the worship of any of the superior invisible beings is not idolatry, only the worship of graven images and demons. He was reading the story of Cain,273 and he supposed that the reprimand to Cain, “If thou doest well, shall it not be accepted,”274 &c., was on account of his following “such a mean trade” as tilling the ground. I have just been arranging some questions and answers for the school, and setting Moonshee to translate them. They were, of course, the most thorough a, b, c affairs possible; but Moonshee said they were “deep words,” and his misunderstood translations were considerably quaint. For instance: “Water is a fluid,” he translated so as to mean “Water is a juice.” “Is it a simple substance?”—“Is it a soft concern?” “The sun is much larger than the earth;”—“Sun is a far greater man than earth:” &c., &c. July 9th.—We have had some very bad weather for the last week; furious landwind, very fatiguing and weakening. We were scarcely ever able to leave the house either morning or evening, as the wind lasted all the twenty-four hours. Everything was so dried up, that, when I attempted to walk a few yards towards the beach, the grass crunched under my feet like snow. I have taken a good many beautiful butterflies, and Moonshee often brings me insects. He will not kill them, being a man of too high caste to take away the life even of a flea; of which the fleas, con rispetto,275 take great advantage, and hop about on his shawls and embroidery in a way that is apt to make me very uneasy. I told him, for fear he should hurt his caste or his conscience, that, if he collected insects for me, I should kill them and send them to Europe, and therefore he had better not bring them if he wished them to be preserved alive; but after a good deal of hesitation he came to the conclusion that it would be no sin in him to connive at taking away life, provided he himself did not commit murder. I have a good many native visitors here. They like coming to me when A— is out of the way, in hopes that, when they can discourse to me alone, they will make me believe they are very clever, and that my private influence may persuade “Master” to think the same, and then perhaps he will turn out some one else to give them places. They sit and boast about themselves till they are enough to make anybody sick; and after having given me a catalogue of all their talents and virtues—which are all lies, or ought to be, for very often their boasts are of their own cleverness in cheating and oppressing their countrymen in order to obtain money for Government, squinnying cunningly at me the whole time, to see if I look as if I believe them—they put up their hands like the old knights on the monuments, and whine out, “Missis Honour, please recommend Master keep plenty favour upon me: I too much clover man!” 261

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Moonshee asked me to-day whether the Governor of Madras276 was really the wisest man in England. He supposed that the Governors were always picked out for being the wisest men that could be found in the country. June 22nd.—The other day some of the villagers came to me to make a complaint that one of our Peons had taken up goods in our name, and never paid for them. Of course, I scolded the Peon. Yesterday he brought me a petition addressed to “Your worshipful Honour,” setting forth that it was the poor petitioner’s opinion that, “when any gentleman come to this place for cool breeze, it is the duty of the villagers to give the gentleman’s servants everything they want, and he therefore hopes your charitable honour will look upon him for the future as a most innocent man.” See what notions of honesty they have! This “injured innocence” had received the money from us to pay everybody. But with all their badness, and all their laziness, there is some good in them. If their master or mistress is in distress or difficulty, they do not grudge any trouble or fatigue to help them. Last Saturday I was in a great fright: A— did not come, as I expected, and I had not heard from him for two days. There is no regular post to this remote place, so we have messengers of our own to carry letters and parcels, and we send each other a note every day to say that all is well; for in a country like this, where all attacks of illness are so frightfully rapid, we could not be easy without hearing from day to day. But on Saturday evening, as he neither came nor sent, I was quite frightened, and thought he must certainly have the cholera and be too ill to write, and that I must go and see after him immediately. Accordingly I despatched messengers to post bearers for me all along the road, bade Moonshee write me a letter every day about the baby, and in the evening I set out in a great bustle for Rajahmundry, attended for some miles by all the inhabitants of the nearest villages, all shouting. I took the cheating Peon with me, and told him that he was to go half-way, and then stop, and send a chance village Peon on with me the other half, thinking twenty-five miles quite enough for a man to run in one night; but he said he would rather go all the fifty miles himself, for that he did not mind being tired, and should not be happy in trusting the Mistress to the care of a strange Peon. However, after I had gone about nine miles, I met the messengers with A—’s letters, which had only been delayed by the very common occurrence of the postmen being lazy;—they were fast asleep by the river-side when I met them: so, as A— was quite well, and only detained by some unfortunate visitor, I returned home again. The bearers, Peons, and people whom I had scuffled half out of their lives to get ready in time, all laughed very heartily; but I was glad enough that it was only a laughing matter, and laughed myself as they shouted with redoubled vigour all the way home.

262

LETTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.

Samuldavee, July 10th, 1838. THERE are large snakes here, seven feet long, and as thick as my arm, not poisonous, but I always have them killed, nevertheless; for they are horrible creatures, and, even if they are not poisonous, no doubt they are something bad: I have no respect for any snakes. But, worse than snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and even land-wind, are the GREEN BUGS.277 Fancy large flying bugs! they do not bite, but they scent the air for yards around. When there is no wind at night, they fly round and get into one’s clothes and hair—horrible! there is nothing I dislike so much in India as those green bugs. The first time I was aware of their disgusting existence, one flew down my shoulders, and I, feeling myself tickled, and not knowing the danger, unwittingly crushed it. I shall never forget the stench as long as I live. The ayah undressed me as quickly as she could, almost without my knowing what she was doing, for I was nearly in a fit. You have no notion of anything so horrible! I call the land-wind, and the green bugs, the “Oriental luxuries.” You ask about the THUGS. They are a class of natives who live entirely by murder; they bring up their children to it, and initiate them by degrees—they feel no shame nor compunction; they strangle their victims and take all their property. They pretend that they look upon their horrid profession as commanded by some particular goddess,278 as her service; but I do not believe it. I think they mystify people about their religious obligations in order to lessen the horror, and get off when examined.hh I believe their offerings and sacrifices are intended as expiations, not as propitiations: the worst of these heathens have sufficient light of natural conscience to understand and allow their duty to man. COCANADA,279 August 10th.—Finding the weather cool again, we started from Samuldavee about a fortnight ago, and made a little tour of five days along the coast in our way hither. It was “plenty hot” though, in some of the places we passed through. We went to one place, Amlapoor,280 where A— had to settle a dispute between a Moonsiff, or native Judge, and some of his clerks. The clerks wanted to make out that the Moonsiff had taken bribes and committed other enormities. They came to our bungalow to tell their histories, and A— said that he must go to their Cutcherry (or office) to examine all the papers, and that he should bring with him two ears, and give one ear to the Moonsiff and the other to the clerks. 263

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This obliging promise was quite satisfactory; but the result was that the clerks’ ear heard nothing but falsehoods, and the poor Moonsiff was honourably acquitted, and the clerks pronounced to be rascals. I was glad of it, because I always thought the Moonsiff a very innocent pains-taking creature, and he has been worried quite thin by his clerks, and would have been dismissed from his post if A— had not sifted the stories. He came to see me after his trial was over, looking so pleased and so happy that for a minute I did not know him again, he had appeared so careworn a few hours before. I dare say, next time I see him he will be as fat as a porpoise. We spent one day at a former Dutch settlement, Nellapilly and Yanam.281 It was really quite a pleasure to see a place so neat: the poor Dutchmen had planted avenues, made tidy village greens, chopped the prickly-pears into shape, clipped the hedges, built white walls, and altogether changed the look of the country. They had raised their old-fashioned houses quite high above the ground, as if for fear of the Dutch fens, and made little brick walks and terraces in the gardens, with water-channels on each side to drain them! In short, they had contrived with great ingenuity every possible unappropriateness that could be devised. We paid a pleasant visit of a few days to our friends the L—s,282 whom we found comfortably established in their Collectorate, and objecting to nothing but the black bugs. These are not so horrible as the green ones, but bad enough, and in immense swarms. One very calm night the house was so full of them, that the dinner-table was literally covered with them. We were obliged to have all the servants fanning us with separate fans besides the punkah,283 and one man to walk round the table with a dessert spoonii and a napkin to take them off our shoulders. Except Mr. S—,284 who contrived to be hungry, we gave up all idea of eating our dinner; we could not even stay in the house, but sat all the evening on the steps of the verandah, playing the guitar. Rajahmundry, August 16th.—Here we are at home again; but on our arrival, instead of resting quietly, we found an uninvited visitor established in the house to be entertained for several days—altogether one of the coolest and least ceremonious persons I ever saw. He was lame; so A— one evening lent him his horse out of good nature, and always afterwards Mr.— took the horse without asking any leave, and A— was obliged to walk all the time he was pleased to stay. One day A— made, in his hearing, an appointment with another person to ride to a particular spot next day: “Oh, no,” said our guest, “you can’t go to-morrow, for I am going there myself, and I shall want the horse!” When at last, to my great joy, he took himself off, he left, without asking leave, all his luggage in our only spare room, to wait till he should like to come back again—without any invitation! August 31st.—The present commanding officer here, and his wife, Captain and Mrs. C—,285 are pleasant people, young and Irish, and well-mannered. She is very Irish, however—lets her tame goats run in and out of the house as they please, and break all the crockery. I sent her some fruit twice in plates, and both times she sent back the plates broken, with notes to say how shocked and confounded she was, but that “the goats had set their feet in them.” 264

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Our school is going on nicely; and while we were at Cocanada A— taught one of the Collector’s assistants there how to set up a school, and supplied him with books; and I hope there will soon be a good one at that station also. When we came home I found that all the time I was away the poor old sergeant was busy raising flowers for me. He sent me most beautiful balsams286 and roses. Also the Mooftee sent me a present of a talc fan, in return for which I have sent Mrs. Mooftee some heart pincushions, which I hope she will admire. We hear that the M—s287 are going home overland in January. Everybody is very sorry to lose Sir P—.288 Even those who do not care for religious matters have found the advantage of having an upright and just man over them. Here is a story of the encouragement given to idolatry, which I know to be true; it took place about six weeks ago. A Collector happened to inquire the destination of a sum of money he was required to disburse. He found it was for a grand ceremony, performed by the order and at the expense of Government, in honour of a particular idol. On making further inquiries he found that the natives had requested to be allowed to take a part of the ceremony and the expense upon themselves, but Government said No, they would do it all. Besides this, he learned that some years ago this wicked feast was first established: it was afterwards discontinued for ten years without the slightest murmur or symptom of discontent from the natives; and within the last two or three years it has been revived by the Government, and entirely kept up by them. The Collector represented all this at head-quarters (I saw a copy of his letter), petitioning that the natives might be allowed to conduct their feast without English interference, and showing how utterly gratuitous it was, from the proof that the ceremonies had gone on for ten years without the English having anything to do with the matter; but he was assured that Government thought it would be dangerous and inexpedient to make any alteration, and that the feast must be carried on in behalf of the English, as usual. September 21st.—Have you heard of the Cooly Trade?289 “Emigration of Hill Coolies to the Mauritius”290 it is called, and divers other innocent-sounding names. In case you should ever hear anything said in its favour, this is the real state of the case. It is neither more nor less than an East Indian Slave-Trade—just as wicked as its predecessor, the African Slave-Trade. It is encouraged by Lord G—,291 who ought to have inquired more before he gave his countenance to such horrors. These Coolies are shipped off by thousands from all parts of India to the colonies, instead of Negroes. Twenty-one thousand are said to have been sent from Pondicherry only; for though Pondicherry is a French settlement, the Coolies were shipped for our colonies. Numbers are kidnapped, and all are entrapped and persuaded under false pretences. They are “as ignorant as dirt,” do not even know that they are quitting the Company’s dominions, and meanwhile their families are left to starve. There is now danger of a famine, from the large number of cultivators who have been taken away. They are so ill-treated by their new masters that few even live to come back, and those who do bring with them the marks of the same cruelties and floggings that we used to hear of among the slaves. As the 265

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importation is legal, of course all the throwings overboard and atrocities of the Middle Passage292 cannot take place; but there are great horrors from stowing numbers in too small a space on board ship. Many die, and many more have their health ruined. There is a great deal of verbiage in the Government newspapers about the Coolies “carrying their labour to the best market,” and so on: but the fact is, these poor creatures are far too ignorant and stupid to have any sense or choice in the matter. Some slave-agent tells them they are to go—and they go: they know nothing about it. A Hindoo does not know how to make a choice;—it is an effort of mind quite beyond any but the very highest and most educated among them. Gentlemen’s native servants are very superior in sense to those poor wild Coolies; but once or twice I have, quite innocently, puzzled and distressed some of our servants exceedingly, by giving them their choice about some affair that concerned only themselves: they have gone away and pined and cried for two or three hours, or sometimes days, and then come back and begged that “Missis Honour would please make order, for they did not know what to do.” I long to see my kaleidoscopes and all the school rewards you have sent me. A— has an idea that we might manage to set up a little Europe shop in the Rajahmundry bazaar, to be managed by a native who would be paid by us. He thinks they would be so pleased by books, pictures, and conundrums of various sorts, that one might thereby introduce useful things “di nascosto;”293 but I fear it is impracticable, because they are so silly and so suspicious, that they would fancy we were trading and making money by it. We have the two first classes of our school now every Saturday evening at our own house, as A— finds he can instruct them better by that means. Our schoolmaster has taught them to read and write, but he is not capable of anything more; so now we send a Moonshee three times a-week to teach them some “sense.” They are now busy upon a ‘History of the World,’ which is very good learning for them. September 26th.—It is now a great native holiday for the Dussera,294 a Hindoo feast. Here is a proof of how much they care about their feasts. There is always a holiday in the Courts for a week during the Dussera, and the Pundit, who is the principal Hindoo in the Court, and a Bramin of very high caste, sent to ask whether he might be excused from taking the holiday, because his work was in arrears, and he did not care for the feast. Of course, it would not be fair to let his underlings lose their holiday because he had been lazy and not done his work; but it shows how little stress they really lay upon these feasts, about which the Government makes so much ado. The old postmaster Bramin is now come to make salaam, and inform us of an eclipse that will take place next week—a very frightful circumstance; and the people are preparing their drums, &c., “to frighten the giant, for who knows whether he may not eat up the moon entirely?” A— is trying to explain the matter to him, with the help of oranges and limes for the moon and earth. How charmed he will be to see the astronomical magic lantern! September 29th.—A— thinks there is serious danger of a war.295 The Russians have sent ten thousand men to help the Affghans against us, and we are at war 266

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with the Persians already.296 Sir H. Fane,297 the Commander-in-Chief in Bengal, says that thirty thousand men are necessary to conquer these combined Russians, Persians, and Affghans, and only five thousand are granted. All the Indian politicians declare that nothing but our obtaining a really sensible, energetic man as Governor-General can possibly save India to us—such a one as the Marquis of Wellesley298 again. Since I have been in India, and have seen the traces of his wonderful wisdom, I have learnt to think him one of the first of human geniuses. October 1st.—We have had two visits lately from Mr. S—,299 the clergyman of L—. He is to come to Rajahmundry once a quarter. He is a good man, but has given offencejj by his punctiliousness about minor matters, such as public baptism, &c. We have also been favoured with the company of a Mr. and Mrs. G—;300 she is a bride, and as pretty and silly as any one I ever saw. S—seems to be the principal topic of conversation in this division just now, so Mrs. G—, like everybody else, began to discuss him, and give her piccolissimo parere301 about him. “I think Mr. S— is very uncharitable—very much so. He thinks it wrong for Missionaries to preach to the natives.” “Does he?” said I, somewhat astounded: “why, I understood that he particularly wished the Missionaries to confine their preaching to the natives, instead of employing themselves among the Europeans!” “Ah!” said Mrs. G—, “very likely that’s it: I know he thinks something wrong—he’s very uncharitable.” She discoursed also a good deal on literature and science, chemistry and poetry, in a very innocent way, and I found she was, by way of being “blue.” But, you know, ladies who are very blue are apt to be rather green. October 5th.—Everybody had a holiday on the day of the eclipse; all the Bramins marched into the river to bathe and sing while it lasted; such a clatter they made!—An eclipse is a signal for particular purification. There was an old Bramin here in prison for debt; he would not eat anything for fear of defilement, and was literally starving himself to death. A—found that he could allow him to live in a separate house guarded by Peons, and therefore removed him out of the jail, and now the poor old creature has taken again to his food. The post-office writer came to have a chat about the matter, as he generally does when there is any such trifle of news. I asked him whether he did not think the Dewan302 a very foolish man to have run the risk of killing himself rather than eat in a prison.—“Yes,” he said, “too much foolish; but that man all same one jungle beast—never been in one Government office, never read the regulations!” They look upon employment in a Government office as the height of human dignity, and strut to and from the Court-house like so many turkey-cocks. I hope we shall soon have a respite from uninvited company, and be able to ask young Ch—,303 whom we are both longing to see; but our house is a complete hotel for people we do not care to see, and I know not a greater bore than “Indian hospitality,” as it is called by travellers. Some time ago there was an order given to build a public bungalow304 at this place; but the Government changed their minds, and desired that none should be built at the stations, “as the residents can always receive travellers.” This is mean enough, but all of a piece with the rest of their 267

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proceedings. In order to save money, Lord W. Bentinck reduced the army and sold the stores;305 and now there is a war beginning, and not soldiers enough to carry it on. They are trying to raise regiments in a hurry, and find that all the able-bodied men, who ought to be soldiers, have been shipped off as slaves to the Mauritius. The Commanders-in-chief at the three Presidencies are all going home,306 and the Governors can do nothing without them: India is, in fact, governed by the private secretaries, who are not responsible for the mischief they do, and are often intent only on feathering their own nests and promoting their young relations. Half the experienced men in the service who really understand matters are kept in subordinate situations, and young raw slips placed over their heads, to ride races and try fancies, whilst the country is in the most dangerous condition. October 10th.—Moonshee has been telling me a long story about snakes and giants eating up the moon, to account for the eclipse: upon this he received a lecture about the shadow, and so forth; and he now informs me that he shall “futurely not believe that giant.” When the schoolboys came for their examination last Saturday we found that three or four had learnt very well, and all the others nothing at all, for which Moonshee gave most excellent reasons: but upon a little cunning inquiry we discovered that all those who had learnt gave Moonshee a little extra private pay, and that those who paid him nothing were taught in proportion. The next process was, to reprimand Moonshee, which being done, he informed me that he should “futurely teach all the boys without parturition,” meaning—partiality. Yesterday I had an old Bramin to play the tamboura307 and sing to me. I was in hopes, if I heard a solo performance, I might be able to make out some of their tunes undrowned by their horribly discordant accompaniments. He sang one tolerably pretty Hindostanee song, but was too stupid to sing it over again, therefore I could not catch it. The national airs of this country are remarkably ugly—like Spanish boleros,308 with a profusion of caricature flourishes. October 21st.—To-day I had the delight of receiving your most welcome packet of letters. You may imagine what raptures I am in at hearing that Frank has gained the T—scholarship!309 If I were but strong enough, I think I should dance, just by way of effervescence; as it is, I can only lie on the sofa and grin! I am exceedingly pleased. You are quite right, though, in thinking that you had betrayed his intention of trying for this scholarship. You tried to un-betray it afterwards, and make me think there was nothing in your hints,—but in vain; I was too cunning for you! I always knew he was going up for it, and calculated that this very mail would bring me the result.

268

LETTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

Rajahmundry, October 31st, 1838. EVERYTHING goes wrong—the overland post has been due this fortnight—all our letters are detained at Alexandria310—everybody in a fume—nobody more so than I. The steamers are sent to make war against the Persians311 instead of doing their proper work—all the ships going on to China or Calcutta instead of to London— and when I shall be able to send this letter, chi lo sa?312 The Bishop313,kk is arrived at Bangalore, within two hundred miles of Madras, and is taken ill, so that he is detained there; but they say his illness is not dangerous. Every one who has seen him likes him very much. We are all well here, only in a fury for letters. There is a great deal of distress among the natives, owing to the failure of the Monsoon, and a prospect of great scarcity. Poor creatures! they are so screwed by taxes,314 higher than the land will fairly bear, that they never have a farthing in hand. The natives and some of the European officers want the magistrates to force the sale of grain, and the grain-merchants want to hoard it. Some of the magistrates give way, and sell off all the hoarded grain: the consequence is, that the merchants decamp, there is no seed left for sowing, and what was a scarcity becomes a famine. Other magistrates, A— for one, will not interfere with the sale of the grain, because they have found, by much experience, that that method answers best; and it stands to reason that the merchants will bring the largest supplies wherever they find the freest sale and the best protection. Captain Kelly, the commanding officer here, wants to have the sale forced; A— will not allow it, and talks himself hoarse, all to no purpose, in trying to convince him that it does not answer, and that the merchants have as good a right to have their property in grain protected as in anything else. Kelly always ends with “I cannot see that: I think they ought to sell it;” and Mrs. Kelly puts in her little word in confirmation, “I think they certainly ought to be made to.” She has a great idea of people being “made to.” She is considerably affronted because A— will not fine or imprison the butcher and baker till they give their meat and their bread at the prices she thinks proper. He assures her in vain that he has no power over that class of crimes, and also that in such a small station it is not worth the people’s while to serve us at the same prices as in a large town with a certain sale and plenty of competition. She still persists, “Hem! with all that, I am sure it might be done.” There has been 269

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so much discussion about it all, that I quite dread to hear the subject mentioned, for fear of a quarrel, besides the wearisomeness: so now, when they dine here, I have invented having two large dishes of barley-sugar at dessert, which is the time when the arguing always takes place; and the barley-sugar being something new and very nice, it quite answers my purposes, and sweetens matters beautifully. They eat it all up, and are quite good-humoured. November 6th.—To my greatest joy, the September steamer arrived the day before yesterday, and brought us a packet of letters. I go quite mad when the letters appear, and turn Moonshee out of the house without giving him time to make his salaams. But all the natives seem to understand and sympathise with our love of letters. They have plenty of queer notions about Europe letters, and think they add greatly to our respectability. One day I thought a letter from you had been lost, as it did not appear when I expected it; so I sent for the old post-office writer to ask if he was quite sure there were no more letters, as “Ma’am” wanted another. “Oh!” he said, “too much care arlways I take Ma’am’s letters. Five letters this time come Ma’am!—Very high-caste lady indeed!—No any lady in this district so many Europe letters same as Ma’am!—No any lady such high caste!” I am very glad you know Colonel B—y:315 he was the cleverest man in India when he was here, and has left no one able to supply his place. You ask how I get the pebbles from our river polished. I keep an old Moorman, with a long white beard, cutting and polishing them all day. He is a most lazy old creature, and will do nothing unless he is teazed. Sometimes he does not bring me a stone for days together; then I send a Peon to ask whether he is dead: Peon brings back word, “Not dead, ma’am—that man ’live.” Then I send to know how many more days he means to sleep: then they come back grinning and looking very cunning, with a pebble in their hands. Here is a story for you and the national-school girls,316 if you can make a moral to it. There was a Moorman Hakeem,317 or doctor, at Calcutta, very anxious to cure one of his patients. The Moormans ought to know very well that idolatry is forbidden by their Koran,318 but they are often very ignorant and heathenish. This Hakeem thought it would make matters surer with respect to his patient if he secured the aid of some of the Heathen gods as well as that of Mohammed; so he went to the temple of the idol Punchanund,319 and promised him a large reward if he would help to cure the man, who was very rich, and had engaged to pay the Hakeem a considerable sum on his recovery. The patient died. The Hakeem went again to the temple and told Punchanund that he did not believe he had any power at all, and that, if he was a god, he must get up directly and eat the fruit and smell the flowers which the Hakeem had brought him out of goodnature, notwithstanding his disappointment. Punchanund, of course, sat still: the Hakeem, in a rage, broke off its head, and was found by the police walking about with the idol’s head in his hand. On being asked why he had done it, he said, “What was the use of leaving a head on such a stupid fellow as that, who could not help either himself or me?” November 26th.—The Bishop is well again, and arrived at Madras. The religious people at Madras are going to present an address to Sir P—M— before 270

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his departure, to express their respect for his conduct, and regret at losing him, &c., &c. The country and the Government are in a shocking condition: it seems now to be doubtful whether we shall have a war with Affghanistan or not; plenty of preparations are making, but the Affghans have not decided whether they will attempt to stand against us; I think they would win. The Indian army is in a poor condition, especially the Bengal part of it, which would be sent. The Sepoys say they cannot go into the field without their hookahs.320 I very much fear I shall never see the letters you sent last. A ship was wrecked the other day off Cape l’Aguillas321—all lives saved, but most of the cargo lost: I am afraid two or three of my letters were in it. As is usual in shipwrecks, it was commanded by a young Captain making his first voyage: those young Captains almost always try some clever experiment, and lose their first ship. November 19th, 1838.—Hindered till now by divers fellow-creatures. The other day we had a visit from a very intelligent native, a friend of Rammohun Roy’s:322 he came to ask A— to subscribe to a book he is going to publish. He told us he had three daughters and a son, and that he was determined not to be influenced by the Hindoo prejudices against female education, so he had taught his daughters to read and write their own language, English, and Sanscrit, and that he found they learnt just as well as their brother; but he had met with a great deal of trouble and opposition from his relations on account of his innovation—especially from his wife, who for a long time allowed no peace or quiet in the house. He says the natives much wish to see some of Rammohun Roy’s suggestions adopted by the Government, and think them very useful and well adapted to their end. You could tell Mr. G—323 this: Rammohun Roy’s ideas were laid before Parliament, and Mr. G— will know what they were. There is great distress in our neighbourhood now, owing to the failure of the Monsoon. Whole gangs of robbers are going about, armed with sticks, waylaying the grain-merchants and breaking open the stores. A— is raising a subscription to buy grain and give it to those who will work for it—every man to have enough for himself, and his wife, and two children; and he intends that the workers shall dig a well, or deepen a tank, or do something of that kind which will be a benefit to the people. We have also sent for a quantity of potatoes,324 in hopes of introducing their cultivation: the cultivators are willing to try them now, in this time of scarcity, and I hope they may succeed. I am to give the potatoes, and A— is to give a reward to the man who raises the best crop. Potatoes would be very good to cultivate here, because they require so little water. The tanks are all dried up, and people are beginning to grudge the trouble of drawing water from the wells for their bullocks. One man said to me, “Two pots water, whole family drink quite ’nough; and two pots water one bullock arl own hisself drink up: too much trouble that bullock!” A— is just returned from Samulcottah325 (the Military station), whither he went on occasion of a public dinner. Major C—326 is very much given to drawing, and good-naturedly sent me two portfolios filled with his performances to look at: they are very clever and well done; but, like most amateur drawings, 271

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they have every merit except beauty. I do not know how it is we all contrive to avoid that! I am just now deep in the surface of geology. Mantell327 speaks of fine fossils in India, so I sent hunting about for some. One man brought word that he had found in the bed of the river a number of the “bone-stones” my honour desired: this put me in great glee; but when I came to see the “bone-stones” myself, they were nothing but common white flints, somewhat the colour and shape of bones. Our school goes on but slowly, though we work a great deal at it. It requires time and patience to clear out their heads of nonsense. The old English schoolbooks you have sent will be most valuable. We find the only way to teach these natives is by question and answer: they cannot take in anything of a prose, so we compose dialogues for them on what we want them to learn. The Narsapoor Missionaries go on zealously and sensibly, and I hope do the beginning of a little good. Bowden and his wife are here just now, that she may be under the Doctor’s care during her confinement. January 9th, 1839.—We had lately a long visit from poor Penny-Whistle. He came to tell us all his trouble on the loss of his wife. He said he was going to make a pilgrimage to Tripetty,328 a very holy pagoda some hundred miles off, and to give many hundred rupees to the Swamy. It was an excellent opportunity for giving him a Christian exhortation, so A— discoursed a good deal to him, and he seemed to understand a little, and said they were “words of great wisdom:” but the difficulty of talking to natives is, that, instead of attending, they are all the time on the look-out for any loophole to insinuate some of their absurd provoking compliments, and one can never ascertain whether they really take in what is said to them. I gave him two of the Gospels bound in red satin with yellow flowers, and he seemed pleased, and promised to read them. Among other questions, he asked where our God was, that we could worship Him without making pilgrimages. He complained of being very dull for want of something to do, so A— advised him to set up a school in his town, and look to his estate, and employ people in cultivating the waste lands, which are all utterly neglected for miles around him. We are now writing dialogues for the natives—to be printed in parallel columns of English, Tamul, and Teloogoo—on different subjects, just to give them a soupçon329 of sense. Mr. Binning has made us a very good one on Grammar; A—is doing Ancient History; the Doctor is doing Anatomy; I am to do different ones. The school continues full, but does not advance much: the two first classes come to us every Saturday to read St. Luke’s Gospel and repeat Scripture questions—I mean, questions and answers on Scripture History, which we prepare and they learn by heart. This they seem to like and enter into; but we are only as far as Abraham330 yet. If we really get through the Scripture History we mean to publish it, as we think it might be useful. Baby is very well and very intelligent. Every now and then she learns to pronounce some new word, which she thinks is very clever; but I intend, as much as possible, to prevent her learning the native languages: though it is rather difficult— most English children do learn them, and all sorts of mischief with them, and 272

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grow like little Hindoos. If my child were to stay long in the country, it would be worth while to send for an English nurse; but, as it is, I hope to bring her home before it becomes of any consequence, and meanwhile I keep her as much as possible with me. The native “system” of managing a child is to make it cry for everything. If “Missy,” as they call her, asks for anything, Ayah is too lazy to give it, but argues, and tries to persuade her to do without it: then Missy whines—Ayah does not care for that, she whines too: then Missy roars—then, whether right or wrong, good or bad, Ayah gives her whatever she wants. She has nothing to do but to roar long enough and loud enough, and she is sure to get her own way—anything may be done by means of naughtiness.

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LETTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.

Rajahmundry, January 19th, 1839. THE famine is decreasing now,331 but there has been much distress. A—collected about fifty pounds among the three or four English here, the Court writers, and the Rajahs; and the Government gave him fifty pounds more; with which he has fed daily about two hundred and fifty or three hundred people, giving them grain in payment for their work. The old sergeant gives out the tickets to the labourers, and superintends them, but he is somewhat slow,ll and cannot make them mind him. One day we asked him how he managed: he said, “Pretty well, sir, along with the men—they are pretty quiet; but the women, ma’am!” (turning to me with a very coy look)—“they are dreadful bad to be sure! I can’t get on along with them at all!” Next day A— went himself to see how they got on: there he found the poor sergeant with the tickets tied up in the corner of his pocket-handkerchief, and about fifty able-bodied women, all fighting, pulling, and dragging at him; and as many more shut up in a sort of pen of prickly-pear, fighting, scratching, and tearing each other, till A— thought there would really be some serious mischief done, and some of the babies in arms killed; but the sergeant took it all very quietly:— “Lawk, sir, never mind ’em! they won’t hurt theirselves!” A— goes now every morning to give the tickets away himself, and there is no trouble at all, but all the fighting ladies as quiet as mice. The women help to work as well as the men, but of course they only do a little of the easy part. They are all repairing the tanks and the roads, and the native subscribers are now much pleased with the plan of making the people work for their food. They are beginning to see the sense of it; but at first they tried hard to persuade A— to give it away in a sort of scramble to those that cried the loudest, which is the native way of giving charity. We are just now very busy about a new plan, viz., to set up a native readingroom in the bazaar. A— thinks the people would often be induced to come and sit there and read, instead of spending all the day in gossiping and chewing betel332 in the bazaar. He has consulted one or two of the most sensible of our native visitors, who like the thoughts of it very much, and say it would be sure to succeed. We mean to hire a good room in the middle of the bazaar, have it whitewashed and matted, and ornamented with some of the penny pictures which are coming from you, and which will be great attractions; and keep always there a supply of 274

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all the Gentoo books and tracts that are to be had, all the easy English ones we can muster, a Gentoo and an English newspaper. There is a Gentoo newspaper published at Madras, and A—takes it, in order to please some of the Court servants by lending it to them. It is very quaint: sometimes there are articles translated from the English papers, always the most uninteresting and frivolous that can possibly be selected: for instance, a description of the Queen’s bed, with the very unexpected assertion that she always sleeps on a hard mat, with nothing over her! In the last number there was an account of a ball given by the Governor of Madras, to which many of the natives were invited. They say, “the Nabob entered with a grand suwarree (attendance) of a hundred guards, and a hundred lanterns all in one line, and appeared like a man of penetration. The English danced together pleasantly after their fashion, shaking each other’s hands, and then proceeded to make their supper, when the respectable natives all retired.” Of course, the “respectable natives” of caste could not remain to partake of our Pariah food! They always despise us very much for dancing to amuse ourselves; the proper grand thing would be to sit still, solemn and sleepy, smoking, or chewing betel, and have dancing-girls to dance to us. That poor Mr. B—333 I told you about, who was helping us to concoct dialogues, is going home ill. He had set up a native school at Cocanada with forty boys; it was going on very nicely, but I am afraid nobody will keep it up now. A Rajah who called here the other day promised to take it in hand, and pay the master, and keep it up himself; but I am afraid his promises will not come to much. He was rather a clever, intelligent man, and came to tell us of a book he is writing on revenue and judicial matters. Some of his notions and schemes were very good, and A— thought they really might be useful; but probably the performance will be so queer and rigmarole that nobody will read it. He wanted A— to write a public official letter to Government requesting that attention might be paid to the book: I think Government would be rather surprised. Our Narsapoor Missionaries are now engaged in travelling through the district, preaching as they go along. It is a very good plan for exciting attention, and that is the chief benefit that is to be hoped for at present. These poor natives are a long time before they can even be roused from their apathy: as for their opposition, they are scarcely equal to making any—it is like the opposition of dormice. I believe they could sleep through a battle. March 6th.—The reading-room is established and much approved. The doors are opened before six in the morning, but there are always people waiting outside, ready for the first moment they can get in. Always twenty or thirty at a time sit reading there, and about a hundred come in the course of the day. The wall is hung with divers of your penny pictures, which are much admired, especially that of the Queen on horseback. We have found plenty of suitable books, in English, Hindostanee, Tamul, and Gentoo; and I think it seems to be a very pretty invention, and likely to give great satisfaction. The case of goods by the ‘Argyle’ arrived a little while ago, and we immediately selected a batch of rewards to give to our boys. There are sixty-five now in 275

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the school, but we only gave grand Europe presents to the twenty-four best, not to make them too cheap; and by way of a slight treat to the younger fry, they came to “point” at the presents, and scramble for pice. The penknives were more admired than anything; next the slates. We take a great deal of pains, but they learn very little; however, they just get the beginnings of notions. The other day a Sunnyassee,334 or Hindoo devotee, came to pray in the middle of the river, and, being a wonderful saint, a number of people made a subscription of fifty rupees that he might pray for them—that being the price he set upon his prayers. The Doctor happened to see the crowd in the middle of the river, and asked a boy what they were doing: the boy said they were going to be prayed for by a great saint like Jesus Christ. The Doctor asked where he had heard of Jesus Christ. He said at the Feringhees’335 (Englishmen’s) school, and that he thought Jesus Christ was a great saint, and that His prayers for any one would be granted. Miss L—’s336 idea, which you mention, of translating ‘Watts on Prejudices’337 for the Hindoos, is just a hundred years in advance— they would not understand it. What they want is, ‘des Catéchismes de six sous,’ like Massillon’s little infidel.338 At the Translation Committee at Madras,339 some innocent Missionary sent in a proposal to translate Butler’s ‘Analogy’340 into Tamul. One shrewd old German said, very quietly, “Perhaps he will first give us the Tamul word for Analogy;” and that was all the notice taken of the proposition.mm We lately received a petition, signed by the principal people, chiefly Mussulmans, in several of the surrounding villages, begging us to supply them with books of the same kind as those in our reading-room, mentioning the names of several that they particularly wish to have, and saying that they will thankfully pay for them, if we will only procure them. Therefore we have now a sort of circulating library in the district. We consign a packet of books to the head man in one village, and he passes them on to the rest, and when they are all read, we send out a fresh supply. *

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LETTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.

Samuldavy, March 30th, 1839. HERE we arrived this morning, and are enjoying ourselves, spreading our sails, and cooling delightfully. Rajahmundry was growing very hot, but this place is charming. Last night it was downright cold, and the colder and more uncomfortable it was the better I liked it. The babies and I shall stay here the next four months, and A— will come to us once a-week as before, if the Governor does not find it out; and in May he will have a lawful holiday. I had a little fever before I came away, and Henrietta341 was grown pale and pining; but the sea-breeze has cleared my fever away in this one morning, and I dare say in a few days I shall see a great change in her too. We have built a new room here, which is very comfortable, and we are to pay no rent until we have repaid ourselves the expense of it, after which it is to belong to the landlord. This makes it a good bargain both for him and for us, and it only cost thirty pounds altogether. I believe there is a Missionary coming to Rajahmundry at last—a Dissenter; but if the Church Mission can do nothing for all this immense district, of course we can only be glad that the Dissenters should take it up. He is a Mr. Johnston,342 seemingly a very quiet, humble person; and I wish he may come, but it is not yet quite settled. Before we came away we exhibited the astronomical magic lantern to the schoolboys. We sent for them unexpectedly, on a leisure evening, so all who were not at school were “caught out,” and lost the show. They were enchanted with it, and understood it very prettily, considering they would not have been capable a year ago of understanding any one of the slides. They particularly admired the moon: I heard some whispering, “Oh nulla chendroodoo!”—“Oh good moon!” whenever it appeared. Mr. G. thinks our school is come on very nicely, and is much better than any of the others he has seen since he has been away: this pleases us, for we had been uneasy, thinking they learned nothing. One of the schools at which he has been teaching is an endowed school at Masulipatam, with a committee and a great deal of money; but very little really done, though much trouble taken in the committee-room: they think it necessary to write and ask the Archdeacon (of Madras)343 permission for every book, and he allows of none but the English national-school books, which are quite useless to the natives, so they do 277

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not get on at all. Mr. Hamilton is going to have a Pariah school344 at Rajahmundry, by way of a companion to ours, as we do not admit Pariahs. The “reading-room” also answers very well, and is always full. Mr. H.345 went to see it one morning early, and found people waiting for the doors to open. Here is a story for you, but it did not happen lately.—There was a goddess carried in procession to one of the pagodas, and the Collector, as usual, had to supply the money: after the procession had advanced some way, the Bramins came and told the Collector that it had stopped because the goddess would not travel any farther with only twenty bullocks: the Collector gave ten more, and the Swamy went on another hundred yards; when the Bramins came back again and said she was still discontented and wanted more. This put the Collector in a passion: he said she was a “greedy devil,” and various other little politesses; and if she could not be satisfied with thirty bullocks he would chop her up. So he sent his Peons to fetch her out of her car, and ordered them to chop her up on the spot: the Peons were afraid, and ran away: then he sent for the cook-boy, and made him chop her up before his eyes—and the Bramins just took it all quietly and went home. I believe this is quite true; and the moral of it is—that the people would not be so very ready to raise rebellions as is pretended on any deficiency of attention to the Swamies. The Collector was a very passionate man, but rather a favourite with the natives because he did not oppress them in money matters, which they care for much more than for Swamy. I must add, however, that A— says my story of the Collector chopping up the Swamy happened twenty years ago; and that no Collector in his senses would do such a thing now. Our clerical friend, Mr.—, is always in some scrape about christenings: he refuses to admit any sponsors who are not regular communicants, and consequently many children under his jurisdiction are not christened at all. A little while ago he was absent from his station for three days, and D—, who is Judge there, took the opportunity to christen, himself, all the children Mr.—had refused; so when he returned he found it all done and registered, with the obnoxious godfathers and godmothers. Also, Master D— took upon himself to marry an English soldier to a Heathen woman, together with various other scappate346 of less importance, but very provoking. Poor—felt himself uncommonly hurt, as he often does, and appealed to the Bishop. He showed us the Bishop’s answer, which was really beautiful; condemning all D—’s misdemeanors, and at the same time giving—such good and wise advice about his own vagaries, and yet so kindly and delicately expressed, and the whole tone of the letter so humble and Christianlike, that it was quite a pattern. All the young hands are quite wild about these new ideas concerning baptism. A— asked young B—,347 a slip of eighteen, to stand proxy for one of the godfathers at our baby’s christening: B— said he could not possibly do it, because, if he were a proxy, he should feel called upon to remonstrate with the parents concerning their way of bringing up the child. A— explained that we by no means wished him to be godfather, and asked whether he knew the difference between that and proxy. No, he did not, but still “felt sure it must be wrong.” Fancy a young chap like that thinking he must know best about 278

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education, and that his “remonstrances” would inevitably be wanted! He is a good lad too, only somewhat pragmatical and solemn. H—did not think it wrong to be proxy, but discoursed considerably on a variety of duties of a godfather, which being quite new to me, I ventured to inquire whether he found them in the Bible or the Prayer Book. “Why, neither,” said he, “but I am sure they must be somewhere!” April 16th.—Do you know that Government has abolished the pilgrim-tax?348 It is a very good step towards leaving off their encouragement of idolatry. Mr. Hamilton received a letter from a Missionary who lives at one of the “Holy Shrines,” giving an account of the last festival since the tax; and the compulsory attendance of the natives to drag the cars has been done away with. That part of his letter is so curious that I will copy it for you. “I have just returned from a large Heathen festival held at the famous Beejanuggur.349 It is pleasing to find that the Company have remitted the tax this year to visitors, and I hear they have had nothing to do with the usual expenses of decoration of the car, &c. No military were present as is usual; notwithstanding, the attendance was unprecedentedly small: I do not suppose there were above fifteen thousand persons present, when last year there were seventy thousand; the year before, near one hundred thousand; and when Mr. Hands,350 twenty-five years ago, attended, the usual number was about two hundred thousand. This is a pleasing indication of the decline of idolatry. The scarcity of provisions and water, and the fear of cholera, no doubt kept many away; but the decrease of interest in the superstitions of the country, I hope, a larger number. I do hope that three or four years will shut up the festivities of Beejanuggur for ever. The Anagoondy Rajah351 brought all his people, and used all his influence; but the large car could only be drawn a few yards on the first day, and, on the next day, instead of taking it to the end of the street, from which, had they conveyed it there, they never could have got it back, they brought it home to its place within about three yards, when, being quite exhausted, they left it there.” April 19th.—I have received a message from a Bramin, who sends word that he keeps a school in the village, but has no books, and would be very glad “if Mistress please to give some books to teach the boys.” You see that is a very good thing, because we can introduce Christian books instead of the histories of their gods. The misfortune is, there are not above six or eight books published in Gentoo, and those are religious tracts and disquisitions that children cannot possibly understand. Nobody knows how much elementary books for the natives are wanted. There was once a School-book Society,352 but it has dwindled to nothing; and once there was a sort of Native College at Madras for educating Moonshees, and Government was thinking of establishing schools up the country. Several were established; and though they were not Christian schools, they were much better than nothing; but they are all done away with now: there are neither schools nor college. Still, if every civilian up the country were to have a poor little school like ours, it would do something in time; but numbers of them disapprove, as they say, of everything of the kind. Mr. L—353 set up a school at Cocanada: he had fifty 279

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boys and a capital master, much better than ours; but he was not here when we took ours, and now we do not like to turn ours away, as he does his best. L—’s school was going on very nicely when he was obliged to return to England on sick certificate: he asked the Collector to keep up his school, but the Collector thought the natives were better without education, and refused: so the school is broken up, for which I am very sorry. The boys in our school take the trouble to copy for themselves all the questionand-answer lessons on Scripture History, &c., which we compose for them. A— and I write the English, Moonshee translates it, and the boys learn by heart and transcribe both the English and the Gentoo. A— and I had been lamenting very much the breaking up of Mr. L—’s school, and if ever we leave Rajahmundry very likely our own will share the same fate: it depends entirely upon our successor. While we were thinking so much on the subject, A— made me write a letter to one of the Madras newspapers, with the results of our cogitations and calculations; and I will copy it for you, as I know you like to hear all our schemes and plans. NATIVE EDUCATION.

To the Editor of ‘The Spectator’354 SIR,—Your paper is so well known as a willing medium for the communication of any suggestions tending to the benefit of the native population, that I venture to request the insertion of a few remarks upon a plan for the more general diffusion of native education. At present all attempts for the improvement of the natives of this Presidency are confined to private, I might almost say to individual, exertions, which of course are capable of but very partial success. What is required is national education,355 a boon far exceeding the limited means of a few individuals to bestow. Government only can confer it; but government can, and ought. I doubt not that there exists in the mind of our rulers the wish to improve by education the condition of their native subjects, if it could be accomplished without risk to our dominion, or too heavy an expenditure of public money. The “auld warld” prejudice of “risk to our dominion” is, I suppose, exploded amongst all who are really acquainted with the native character. It still holds its sway among those whose knowledge of India is limited to the Presidency, and whose native acquaintance extends only to a few writers in government offices; but really experienced Europeans, who have been long in the country and up the country—who are conversant with the native languages, customs, habits of thought, wishes, and prejudices—know, beyond the possibility of doubt or mistake, how eager the natives are for education, and how grateful for its being in any way facilitated. A European in the provinces has but to open a school of any description in his district, and it is immediately filled beyond the power of 280

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one master to superintend. Even with regard to the books used, it is altogether a presidency prejudice that the natives are averse to being taught from books of our selecting. They never even consider the matter, but receive, without an idea of hesitating, whatever we may choose to direct. Their difficulties and objections have, I fully believe, been mainly elicited and encouraged by Europeans themselves. I can confidently appeal, for the accuracy of these statements, to any and every European who has himself fairly tried the establishment of native schools, in which truth should be taught, whether on religious subjects or on matters of general information. Among some persons who are favourable in a general way to the establishment of schools, there still prevails the strange fallacy that we may venture to teach the natives truth on subjects of science, history, &c., but that we must use their own religious books in our schools, and, in fact, teach nothing but falsehood on matters connected with religion. Such arguers forget, or do not know, that what is physical science with us is religious doctrine with the Hindoos. We cannot teach them the most common known fact—such, for instance, as that the earth is suspended in space, instead of being perched upon an elephant, or that an eclipse is caused by a shadow instead of a snake—without overturning two or three dozen of their religious tenets: therefore, if we are to teach them nothing that is contrary to their own notions of religion, we must just leave them where they are on all other subjects; which procedure, or rather non-procedure, I believe few persons are quite prepared to advocate. The expense of Government national education is, I conceive, greatly overcalculated, or rather over-estimated, for it is probably not calculated at all. A valuable and comprehensive Government general education might be given at a very moderate outlay, by the following plan. Let there be four schools at Madras, one of which should be considered the central or model school; one at the principal station of every Zillah, and one in every Talook;* all, of course, free, unless it should be thought desirable to establish some payment at the Presidency central school, which might be rendered and considered superior to the rest, and would be chiefly attended by boys of the higher and richer classes. At the Presidency and station schools English should be taught, and a good substantial education given. In the Talook schools English would be unnecessary, but education should be carried on in the native languages to whatever extent the books published in those languages render possible. The Madras schools should be under the superintendence and direction of a Board of Education, and the provincial schools under that of the principal European residents at their respective stations. There should be a certain number of books authorized by government, and a fixed general plan, upon which all the schools should be conducted; but it appears to me expedient not to lay unnecessary restrictions upon the European superintendents’ occasionally * A smaller division of the district.

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introducing additional books or trifling modifications of the system, according to their judgment. If they be too much fettered and restricted, they will naturally take less interest in the work, and their superintendence will be proportionably inefficient. Now, let us calculate the expense. I believe one lac of rupees† per annum would amply cover the whole. There are twenty districts in the Madras Presidency, and altogether about two hundred and forty Talooks. Native teachers up the country may be engaged at from five to ten rupees per month. Houses in the villages may be bought, built, or hired for a few rupees per annum; and certainly the whole cost of the Talook schools, including cadjan, paper, pens, books, and sundries, need never exceed twenty rupees per month. This may even, in most cases, be reduced by the schoolmaster being paid by the grant of a small piece of land, free of taxes; and this land might be considered as an endowment, and always be the property of the schoolmaster for the time being. The expense of the station schools, where English should be taught, would be about fifty rupees per month; of the Madras three minor schools, one hundred and fifty rupees per month; and of the superior one, to which the scholars might contribute, three hundred and fifty rupees per month. Now, let us sum up the whole: – Rupees 240 schools, at 20 rupees per month .......................................................... 4800 40, viz., 2 in each district—one under the collector and one under the Judge, at 50 rupees per month ............................................ 2000 3 at Madras, at 150 rupees per month ...................................................... 450 1 do., at 350 rupees per month ............................................................... 350 Total............................................................ 7600 or ninety-one thousand two hundred rupees per annum; and allowing the overplus for sundries and unforeseen expenses, I think there can be no doubt that education might be diffused over the Madras Presidency for the sum of one hundred thousand rupees per annum, even allowing for all being paid in hard money, which need not be the case if the system were adopted of attaching a piece of land to the situation of schoolmaster. I am, Sir, Yours obediently, MATTER OF FACT. May 7th.—The scarcity is over now. Government gave a great deal of money to spend among the poor. Our Collector gave A— fifty pounds of it, all of which he laid out in grain for the workers, both men and women. They have made several † Ten thousand pounds.

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miles of beautiful high road, deepened tanks, and dug a well—the well is a very great acquisition to this place; you may suppose, in such a climate, how glad the people always are of additional water. A— was so pleased with his well that he sent all the way to it, a mile off, for water to christen our new baby! SAMULDAVY, May 10th.—The Bombay monsoon has just set in, so there will probably be the same delay in the steamers as there was last year; wherefore I intend this letter to go by an old ship. It is very hot now—land-wind all day—very bad. However, I do not suppose it will last many days; and then, whatever seabreeze there is we shall have in full perfection. In your last you ask how our potato plan answered during the famine: we were unable even to try it, for, owing to the difficulties of carriage in India, the potatoes did not arrive at Rajahmundry till the season for planting them was completely over. There were contrary winds, which prevented ships from coming quickly, and there are no roads in our district—nor, indeed, scarcely anywhere to the north of Madras. People say that, if Government would spend money sufficient to make good roads, it would be repaid over and over again in the increased trade and traffic; but there are very few who care about the matter, so it dawdles on.nn Rich people travel four miles an hour on men’s shoulders; poor people walk; and luggage waits for an opportunity by sea. May 14th.—We are going to set up a school at Samuldavy for Gentoo only; we could not manage an English school here. The Missionary Beer came the other day, dined with me, and went to preach in the topes. A Bramin brought the tracts I had given, and asked Beer to explain them, as he said they were very fine, but nobody could understand them. He requested Beer to establish a school here, and said there would be plenty of boys glad to attend. So we are going to set one up, and Beer is to come now and then from Narsapoor to superintend it when we are at Rajahmundry. The head man of the village has offered to build a school-house himself;—you know their houses are only sheds. We have just had a long visit from a young Rajah, whose ambition is to engraft the character of an English dandy on that of a native don; and the result is, a sort of king of twelfth-cake.356 He goes about in an English palanquin with native penny flags by its side; and adds to his national muslin gown, and gold Rajah’s cap, a pair of satin trousers, and a green satin waistcoat, embroidered with pearls. He wanted to show A— some papers, so one of his attendants brought in an English leather writing-desk, and Twelfth-Cake proceeded to twiddle at the lock, turning the key round the wrong way, clicking the bolt, and fumbling and fidgeting for full five minutes before he could get it open. By and by he produced an enormous silver watch, like a prize-turnip, with six chains, and begged to set it by our watches. He made a great fuss with the seal and key, but contrived it at last, and sat down again, looking as proud as an infant schoolboy—and almost as clever. He professed a wish to make his name famous, so A— advised him to educate the people in his Zemindary,357 and especially to be the first to establish a girls’ school. He promised that he would set up both a girls’ and a boys’ school; and looked at spelling-books, asked directions about building a school-house, 283

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and really seemed in earnest. I wish he may keep in the same mind, for he is a person of sufficient consequence to make the innovation, and to carry it through; but I fear it will all end in buying shaving-glasses and penny prints to stick up in his house. Our last papers bring an account of a society in England for protecting the natives of India, with a very clever and true speech from a Mr. Thompson358—who is he? He puts a few tigers and boa constrictors into his speech, just to keep up attention, I suppose; but it is a capital speech; and his accounts of the shameful taxation, &c., &c., are not in the least exaggerated. The troops have been short of food and water, owing to the bad arrangements of the Commissariat, and altogether the war is said to be grievously ill-managed. There is now an opportunity for sending letters viâ Beyrout,359 so I shall despatch this, as there is no ship now in the roads; but ten to one the Arabs or their dromedaries will eat up my letter. “No more news to report, but I beg always to keep much regard upon me;— excuse me.” That is the proper Native manner of ending a letter politely.

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LETTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.

Samuldavy, June 10th, 1839. THE day before yesterday was Etta’s birth day—two years old; so we had a feast in her honour. Feasts are cheap enough among these poor creatures; ours cost a guinea and a half, and fed five hundred people. We gave them rice, which is equivalent to roast beef and plum-pudding in England. They live on a cheaper sort of grain; and many of them cannot even get that, but live on such herbs and roots as they can pick up. One cannot cook their dinners for them, and see them eat it, as one would at an English feast; but each person had a portion given to him enough for two meals, and took it home. They all sat down near the house, in rows; and Master, and servants, and Peons, measured out the rice, while Etta and I sat and looked on; but she soon grew tired of it. I noticed one old squinny man, with a long white beard, who sat a great way off from the rest, very solemn and dignified; a most grand grub, with his old wife at a respectable distance behind him. We found he was a decayed Rajah, who was thankful to come and receive his share of rice with the beggars! They were all very much pleased with their feast, and next morning many of them came back, to pick up, grain by grain, what little had been scattered on the ground in measuring it out. A— has established a school here, at Samuldavy; and the schoolmaster is willing to teach with our books, so he and his boys have begun with St. Matthew.360 They read, transcribe, and learn it by heart, and come once a-week to A— to be examined; the greatest difficulty in schools is, the want of school-books in the native languages. A little while ago two young Parsees were baptized at Bombay,361 and there is every reason to suppose they were real converts: their countrymen were furious, and assembled in crowds around them, as they left the church, using most violent menaces; and there were great apprehensions of a serious uproar, but the two young Christians were rescued. The Government have taken measures to protect them and keep the peace, and all is quiet again. I believe it never was anything more than the bluster of a mob, but the poor boys might have been hurt. *

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There is just a chance of a move for us soon: two appointments are vacant, to either of which A— has the first claim:—Sta a vedere.362 What you say about Governors giving appointments, and people fitting themselves for them afterwards, is very true in England, but it is not the case here. There is a regular rule, established by Act of Parliament, that people of a certain standing are entitled to certain appointments,363 and the Governor has no right to act contrary to it. He may very well choose among those of the requisite standing, and give the appointment to whichever may be his favourite; but he has no right to make “the lag of the school captain.” That is the innovation complained of here: the natives say, “Lord E—364 is fond of doing justice, but does not know how.” MASULIPATAM, July 4th.—“A change came o’er the spirit of my dream!”365 I now look upon Lord E— as a most excellent Governor, and W—E— as an admirable Private Secretary.366 A great many things have happened since I wrote last. A— is appointed “Acting First Judge of Circuit in the Centre Division,” and with every prospect of being confirmed permanently, either as First or Second Judge, at the end of the year; the real holder of the appointment being expected to go home in January. It is not quite certain that we shall remain there, but very probable; and if we do, we can have nothing more to wish. It is a most capital appointment— high rank, high pay, good climate, and pretty country; at all events, we shall never return to Rajahmundry, and are now en route to our new station. The only drawback is, that A— is obliged to go on circuit directly, and to begin by two very hot places, Cuddapah367 and Bellary,368 to which he does not like to take the babies and me. We are therefore to stay at Madras with his brother, till he has finished all the Cuddapah and Bellary business; then we shall join him, and go the rest of the circuit with him, to Chingleput and Cuddalore,369 which are both of them cool and pleasant. The name of the place we are to live at when stationary is Chittoor.370 It is said to be healthy and pretty, with fine gardens and plenty of grapes; hot in summer; but there is a beautiful place, called Palmanair,371 within twenty miles of it, very high and quite cool—a most delightful climate. We shall also be within two hundred miles of the Neilgherries,372 so we can go thither if necessary, and within one hundred and twenty miles of Cuddalore, a good sea-coast. We are both of us exceedingly pleased, and “quite content.” July 6th.—We are now fairly on our road. Besides all our own attendants, in number a hundred and fifty, there are divers “camp followers,” such as Amah’s husband, Ayah’s grub, &c., &c. We proceed, on an average, about twenty-five miles a-night, and rest every day, and on Sunday night, and any other night if we are fatigued. Masulipatam was an ugly place; a swamp, two miles broad, between the town and the sea; nothing to be seen but wide sandy roads, with prickly-pear hedges, enclosing black-looking Palmyratrees,373 and red-tiled houses peeping (no, not peeping, they are not coquette enough for that—staring) out from among them; altogether, a most rapid sort of place. The Twelfth-cake Rajah paid us a visit there, to ask all particulars about our school, as he thinks of keeping it up. We had plenty of curious farewell letters 286

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from the natives at Rajahmundry; one of them says “he depends entirely upon the protection of A—’s sublime feet, and Mistress Mama!” RAMIAHPATAM, July 15th.—We have been halting here for two or three days, and were met by the best of all company, viz., nearly a dozen English letters brought by the two steamers of April and May, which arrived within three days of each other. MADRAS, July 31st.—We arrived here, babies and I, on the 23rd, and A— on the same day at his destination, Cuddapah. He was able to come with us to within two nights’ run of Madras; and we had servants and Peons, and made the rest of our journey without any difficulty. We are living about six or seven miles from Madras, on the very beach, and enjoy the sea-air much: this situation is cooler and drier than Samuldavy. Miss T—374 is very busy now with a school for half-caste young ladies, which seems likely to be very useful. Those half-caste girls are in the depths of ignorance, indolence, and worthlessness, and utterly neglected; they have no ideas but of dress and making love—one girl brought forty gowns to school! Our schoolmaster’s sister at Rajahmundry (who was a half-caste) came very seldom to church; but, when she did, she used to be dressed in white shoes, gold chains, earrings, two or three brooches, and all such rubbish. The poor Female Orphan Asylum375 is as bad as ever: Lady N—,376 the present Commander-in-Chief’s lady, takes an interest in it, and is very sensible in her propositions, such as the teaching them washing, plain work, &c., &c., but the other ladies do not co-operate with her. If I come to live at Madras, I do not think I shall be likely to take a part in it, because A— has a great objection to the institution itself, though he would let me help if I wished to do so. But it is very bad:— professedly for orphans of European soldiers, while scarcely any of them really are orphans; and the half-caste young left-handed ladies look down upon the poor little honestly-born Europeans, and boast of being “gentlemen’s children;” and they go out visiting their relatives without shame or ceremony. There is always something doing in the way of schools, and certainly an increasing desire among the natives for instruction, and an increasing willingness to receive our books. Towards the south they are more bigoted, and their bigotry is greatly encouraged by timid or ungodly Europeans, who really put objections into their heads; but at Rajahmundry, where they had never heard of hesitations and difficulties, we used to receive applications for books from distant villages, and especially for any portions of Scripture; and the people used to sit in our reading-room for hours, copying our books on their own little cadjan-leaves. It is very remarkable that here, at Madras, people are declining to help the schools in which the Bible is taught, under the old pretence of its being “a dangerous interference with Native feelings,” &c.; while, not two streets from the English school, which is dwindling away for want of support, there is a common native Braminee school, in which the Bramin master uses the Bible as a school-book, of his own accord, because he happens to like it; and no idea of difficulty enters his mind or those of his scholars, though they are all Heathens of a high and prejudiced 287

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caste. The Missionaries publish many tracts, of which some are very good, but the greater number are not sufficiently simple, and the natives cannot understand them; and the tracts which come from England are altogether un-Indian, and unfit to translate. We want an Indian Hannah More.377 I wish I could tell you anything satisfactory about the Tanjore Mission;378 there is much talk of pruning and purifying it. The church at Tinnevelly379 will very soon be begun; the plan and site are settled, and all is in progress. You ask what news I can give you of the “caste question.” It is all as undecided as ever. People, even religious people, take such very different views of the matter, that the discussions are never ended. A—, and his brother, and many others, look upon caste as a mixed usage, partly civil and partly religious; and they think it will only be broken down by education, and that many of the native Christians who still adhere to it are among the most satisfactory of the converts; but they think that those who do so should only be employed as schoolmasters or catechists, and not be considered fit for Ordination. The Bishop, however, looks upon caste as entirely a distinction of rank, and has lately ordained a native Christian who will not give it up;—others insist upon its being altogether a religious distinction, and will not even acknowledge as Christians those who do not renounce it. Mr. T—380 was wishing lately to have a series of meetings for freely discussing the subject—the principal native Christians to take part in it, besides the English gentlemen who differ so much in their views. I, in my ignorance, thought it a very pretty plan and likely to be useful; but the wiser heads thought it would do no good, and I believe it is given up. August 9th.—A— is still on duty at Cuddapah, a place noted for fever, which can only be kept off by violent exercise. This he is able to take, so that his health does not suffer: he tells me he is quite well, notwithstanding very hard work. He is employed on criminal trials, most of them for life or death; and he says the incessant falsehood to which he is obliged to listen is most painful and wearing,— witnesses by scores coming forward to swear away the life of another, and often the only motive some petty spite,—and no shame or disgrace felt, even when detected! Certainly, the first characteristic of Heathenism is lying! A— has met with a good painstaking Dissenting Missionary there—a Mr. Howell,381 whom he is helping in his books, schools, &c., &c. Old civilians, like him and J—,382 generally know much more of the people, and the languages and customs, than the Missionaries do, and can be of great use to them. Have you heard yet in England of the horrors that took place at the funeral of that wretched old RUNJEET SINGH?383 Four wives and seven slave-girls were burnt with him; and not a word even of remonstrance from the British Government! J— says there cannot be a doubt that a word of disapprobation from the British Resident would have stopped it at once, for the whole power of the Punjaub depends on our will, and they profess to follow our wishes in everything. Is it not shocking? The four Ranees burnt themselves at their own desire, from pride of family and caste; but the poor slave-girls could have had no such motives, and must have been burnt by the wretches around them. One Grandee man pretended he meant 288

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to burn himself too, and could scarcely be persuaded against it; but I believe his was all sham: he knew very well they would not let him, because he was useful to the country. When poor old Runjeet Singh was dying, he gave away in charities and offerings to the Bramins, in order to propitiate the gods, treasure worth a million sterling. He was enormously rich, having never hesitated to steal anything he could lay his hands on. He wanted to give the immense diamond384 he stole from Shah Soojah, but his courtiers persuaded him not. Here is another disgraceful story of English ungodliness. When Shah Soojah385 arrived at his capital, Candahar,386 he and all his Mussulmans went directly to pay their devotions to a rag of Mohammed’s shirt,387 which is kept there as a precious relic. Of course, all the Mussulmans had a right to do so, and no one would think of preventing them; but think of our Envoy and the British troops and authorities all accompanying him in state on such an errand! I could scarcely believe it, but it is really true. August 14th.—Preparations are making for a Burmese war,388 and the Indian newspapers are full of Colonel Burney’s wisdom,389 and wishing they had followed his advice long ago. There has been a “petite drôlerie”390 in the way of treason, headed by the Nizam’s brother,391 but it was found out and stopped long before it came to anything. The old experienced hands quiz it like the “petits spectacles”392 in Paris, but some of the younger Collectors, who were not accustomed to such matters, were rather frightened, and one Collectress told me very solemnly that she understood it had been distinctly announced in the mosques that all the English ladies were to be seized and made slaves of. If you hear any frightful stories, non pensi,393 for it is all fudge. There is another little Rajah trying at a little rebellion394 fifty miles from the place at which A— now is; and a couple of regiments are sent to settle his mind. J— says as soon as he sees the red-coats395 and Sepoys he will give in; but, poor man! I am rather sorry for him—he has been four or five years collecting arms and ammunition396 and concocting his little rebellion, and of course his property will be confiscated, and his independent kingdom, such as it is, done away—and, after all, we shall only have “conquered a green blight,”397 like Frank when he was a little boy. I am very glad those insects I sent were so curious, and that you gave the new specimens to the British Museum.398 No doubt I shall be able to send you plenty more: I do not at all recollect which they were, but in future I will keep numbered duplicates, that I may learn their names. Pray, ask Mr. Samouelle399 what names were given to the five new species, and let me know. I really believe the Madras ladies spend all their time in writing notes— “chits,”400 as they are called. I do not know ten people now, and yet there never passes a day without my having one or two “chits” to answer:—what with writing them, composing them, finding my penknife, mending my pen, hunting for proper note-paper, which is always hidden in some scribbled foolscap beginnings of tracts, or such-like, all my morning is hindered;—and their chits are generally only to say “how sorry they are they have not been able to call lately, that I must have wondered at it, and thought,” &c., &c. Now, I never think about it,—“les 289

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absens,”401 &c.,oo—and I would always rather they did not call, because I must sit all day with my hair dressed and my best clothes on, waiting for them; and remember the thermometer is at 92°. I am going to-morrow to Mrs. W—E—.402 I have not been able to call on her yet, because we live so far off that I quite dread going out for a morning visit according to this horrid Madras fashion. If I see her I shall say that I cannot come in the morning, and beg her to come to me in the evening; but for the first visit there is no help:—just now the weather is cloudy, so I shall take advantage of it before it clears up.

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LETTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.

Madras, September 24th, 1839. HERE is the steamer going, and almost gone, and my letter for it not begun, though I have a whole steamer-load of things to say, and scarcely know where to begin; but I have been hindered by an attack of Indian fever, and the baby also has been ill, and the doctors talk very seriously of the desirableness of my sending her home. That is the grand Indian sorrow403—the necessity of parting with one’s children. However, she is still so young that we hope change of air may possibly be sufficient for her; and therefore A— will fetch us, and leave us at Bangalore, a cool place in the table-land above the ghauts,404 while he continues his circuit to Bellary, which he thinks too hot for us. September 30th.—I have been paying a round of visits to all my Madras acquaintances: they seem just in the same state in which I left them, with nothing in this world to do. You can scarcely imagine such a life of inanity. A thorough Madras lady, in the course of the day, goes about a good deal to shops and auctions; buys a great many things she does not want, without inquiring the price; has plenty of books, but seldom reads—it is too hot, or she has not time—liking to “have her time her own,” I suppose, like old Lady Q—;405 receives a number of morning visitors; takes up a little worsted work; goes to tiffin with Mrs. C.,406 unless Miss D.407 comes to tiffin408 with her; and writes some dozen of “chits.” Every inquiry after an acquaintance must be made in writing, as the servants can never understand or deliver a message, and would turn every “politesse” into an insult. These incessant chits are an immense trouble and interruption; but the ladies seem to like them, and sit at their desks with more zeal and perseverance than their husbands in their cutcherries. But when it comes to any really interesting occupation, it is pitiable to see the torpor of every faculty—worse than torpor: their minds seem to evaporate under this Indian sun, never to be condensed or concentrated again. The seven-years’ sleep of the Beauty in the fairy-tale409 was nothing to the seven-years’ lethargy of a beauty’s residence in Madras, for the fairy lady awoke to her former energies, which I should think they never can. Chittoor, October 8th.—Here we are on our travels again in our way to Bangalore. This Chittoor is a very pretty place, with beautiful views all around, but the houses and gardens are so choked up with trees, that we can see nothing—I 291

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should like to cut down half of them. Our road lies through the most picturesque country I have yet seen in India, and I enjoy the scenery in the evenings and early mornings when I am not asleep. We are obliged to outrun all the servants, except the ayahs, who travel in palanquins like ourselves; so we manage rather, as Mr. Wilberforce410 used to say, “in the wild-beast way”411 in the daytime, but very comfortably notwithstanding. We have a towel for a table-cloth, plantain-leaves when dishes are not forthcoming, and we put the palanquin-cushions on the floor for sofas. Travelling by night, lying down in a palanquin, is much less fatiguing to me than sitting upright all day in an English carriage. Bangalore, October 12th.—We arrived here yesterday safe and well, after a pretty considerable journey—seven nights travelling, with a rest of two days and nights half-way. We always stop on Sundays, but last Sunday night our rest did not do us much good, for in the middle of the night another travelling lady arrived at the bungalow. We had spread ourselves over all the rooms, thinking nobody else was likely to come at that time, and were very comfortably asleep, when I had to rise and scuffle my things out into the other half of the building, through the verandah, in a heavy rain, which was not at all pleasant; after which, some thieves came and ran away with a bundle of the bearers’ clothes, so they were making an uproar, howling and yelling the whole night. October 16th.—I am charmed with Bangalore, and hope it will do us all a great deal of good. The climate at this time of the year is delightful, equal to any in Europe. For the first two or three days there was a good deal of fog, but it has now cleared away, and all is so cool, clear, and bright, that it is quite a pleasure to feel oneself breathing. The early mornings especially are as pleasant as anything I can imagine: they have all the sweetness and freshness of an English summer. The air smells of hay and flowers, instead of ditches, dust, fried oil, curry, and onions, which are the best of the Madras smells. There are superb dahlias growing in the gardens, and to-day I saw a real staring full-blown hollyhock, which was like meeting an old friend from England, instead of the tuberoses, pomegranates, &c., I have been accustomed to see for the last two years. We have apples, pears, and peaches, and I really should know them one from the other, though it must be confessed there is a considerable family likeness, strongly reminding us of a potato; still they look like English fruit: and the boys bring baskets of raspberries for sale, which are very like blackberries indeed. The English children are quite fat and rosy, and wear shoes and stockings. There are fire-places in most of the houses, and no punkahs in any of them. It is altogether very pleasant, but a queer place—a sort of cross-breed between the watering-places of every country in the world. Ladies going about dressed to every pitch of distraction they can invent, with long curls which the heat would not allow for an hour elsewhere, and warm close bonnets with flowers hanging in and out of them like queens of the May; black niggers, naked or not, as suits their taste; an English church, a Heathen pagoda, botanical garden, public ballrooms, Dissenting meeting-house, circulating library, English shops, and Parsee merchants, all within sight of each other; elephants and horses walking together 292

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in pleasant company over a great green plain in front of our house, where the soldiers exercise; European soldiers and Sepoys meeting at every step; an evening promenade, where people take good brisk walks at an English pace, and chirp like English sparrows, while a band of blackies play “God save the Queen”412 and call it the “General Salute.” There is a fine old fort413 here—Tippoo’s stronghold; a most curious place, adjoining the old native town, surrounded with mud walls to be strong! The Pettah414 it is called. The English ladies told me this Pettah was “a horrid place—quite native!” and advised me never to go into it; so I went next day, of course, and found it most curious—really “quite native.” It is crammed with inhabitants, and they bustle and hum like bees in a beehive. At first I thought my bearers would scarcely be able to make their way through the crowd of men, women, children, and monkeys, which thronged the street. The ground was covered with shops all spread out in the dirt; the monkeys were scrambling about in all directions, jumping, chattering, and climbing all over the roofs of the houses, and up and down the door-posts—hundreds of them; the children quarrelling, screaming, laughing, and rolling in the dust—hundreds of them too—in good imitation of the monkeys; the men smoking, quarrelling, chatting, and bargaining; the women covered with jewels, gossiping at their doors, with screams at each other that set my teeth on edge, and one or two that were very industrious, painting their door-steps instead of sweeping them; and native music to crown the whole. Such confusion was never seen! Landing at Naples415 is nothing to it. As I came out of the gate I met some young Moorish dandies on horseback; one of them was evidently a “crack rider,” and began to show off—as great a fool as Count P—. He reined up his ragged horse, facing me and dancing about till I had passed; then he dashed past me at full gallop, wheeled round and charged my tonjon, bending down to his saddle-bow, and pretending to throw a lance, showing his teeth, and uttering a loud quack! That quack was really too killing. I am busy now making a drawing of a very uncommon pagoda416 inside the fort. It is a mixture of Hindoo and Moorish architecture,417 very grotesque and curious indeed. I perceive there are regular styles and orders in the Hindoo architecture. Wild and confused as it seems, it is as determinate in its way as Grecian or Gothic. A— thinks it is all derived from Jewish or Egyptian traditions, and there is as much of corruption as of invention in their idolatry. Many of the stories in their mythology are most curiously like the Talmud,418 and one sees numbers of idolatrous imitations of the Temple-service in every Indian pagoda. There are outer courts, and a Holy place, an altar of sacrifice, brazen bulls, &c. The Hindoos look upon both snakes and monkeys as sacred, but more like demons than gods; and do not you remember Adam Clarke’s notion419 among the quaint fancies of the world, that Satan tempted Eve in the form of a monkey? In your last you ask whether there is any truth in the account of the conversion of a whole tribe of Hindoos in Bengal. I believe there is truth in it. I asked Mr. T—, and he said he had heard nothing to throw discredit on the story, but I could not learn any more details or particulars than what you seem to have heard already. One grows sadly suspicious here of all such histories. My mind is, as you 293

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say yours is, rather “poisoned;” still I believe it is poison, and must not be allowed to work. I do not think the failures, or even the faults, of the present Missionary system any reason at all for lessening exertion—quite the contrary; the less that has been done, the more remains to be done: but what we want are workmen— schoolmasters especially. I do not see any use in making the collections you mention for the converts—better not, unless it is to pay Missionaries or schoolmasters for them. *

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LETTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.

Bangalore, November 1st, 1839. THIS place is not quite perfect as to climate, I see, pleasant as it is. I went a few days ago to call on some friends who live in a rather lower ground, in a very pretty English-looking house, with the compound sloping down towards a tank, to look like a villa on the banks of the Thames:420 very pretty, but rather deadly— “horribly beautiful!” They walked me round their charming damp garden, and into their sweet shady walks, which all smelt of ague, till my feet were as cold as stones, and I felt myself inhaling fever with every breath I drew. I hurried home as soon as I civilly could, but I had a sharp fit of fever in the night, and was prevented from getting my letter ready for the last steamer. The Europeans here are chiefly military, and the ladies are different from any I have seen yet. The climate does not tempt them to the dawdling kind of idleness, so they ride about in habits made according to the uniform of their husbands’ regiments, and do various spirited things of that sort. Then there is another set—good-natured, housekeeper-like bodies, who talk only of ayahs and amahs, and bad nights and babies, and the advantages of Hodgson’s ale421 while they are nursing, and that sort of thing; seeming, in short, devoted to “suckling fools and chronicling small beer!” However, there are some of a very superior class— almost always the ladies of the colonels or principal officers in the European regiments. These seem never to become Indianized, and have the power of being exceedingly useful. Some of them keep up schools for the English soldiers’ children, girls especially—superintend them, watch over the soldiers’ wives, try to keep and encourage them in good ways, and are quite a blessing to their poor countrywomen. We hear there has been a great deal of fighting at Kurnool.422 Colonel D—423 had the command of our troops, and has taken the country. The Rajah of Kurnool himself was an insignificant creature, but it turns out that he was in the pay of some higher power, supposed to be the Nizam’s brother, who is trying to organize a conspiracy all over the country, but it is always discovered before it comes to anything. The Rajah of Kurnool, being unnoticed and out of the way, was chosen to collect and receive all the arms and ammunition; and when the English took his fort an enormous arsenal was found, and quantities of gunpowder kept in open 295

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chatties, under sheds made of dried leaves, and such queer contrivances, that it is a wonder the fort and the plot were not both blown up together long ago. November 4th.—We have just heard news from Rajahmundry that has vexed us very much. Mr. X—,424 who was appointed as A—’s temporary substitute, has taken the opportunity to turn out, by hook and by crook, under one pretence or another, a number of the native Court servants, writers, &c., just in order to put in his own dependants from another district. It is a shameful proceeding, for the poor people who are thus disgraced and deprived of their livelihood have committed no fault at all, and are among the most respectable and clever servants of the Court. November 5th.—More bad news from poor Rajahmundry. A short time ago a violent storm425—such a storm as only occurs in the tropics—raged all along the coast from Narsapoor to Vizagapatam, and as far inland as Rajahmundry and Samulcottah. It must have been most awful. There was an irruption of the sea which drove all the shipping on shore, some of it four miles inland, and sloops are still fixed in gentlemen’s gardens. It is computed that ten thousand people have been killed. All the little native huts at Samulcottah were blown down; all the European houses except two unroofed; our house at Rajahmundry all unroofed except one room; all X—’s furniturepp destroyed. We cannot be sufficiently thankful to the kind Providence which removed us before it took place, for with our two babiesqq there is no saying what dreadful mischief might have happened. Neither we ourselves nor the children ever occupied the only room that remained safe, and the storm rose so suddenly in the night, that there would not have been time to escape from one part of the house to the other. The destruction of property has been enormous: all the goods in the merchants’ storehouses at Coringa and Ingeram ruined; the crops destroyed; the tanks filled with salt water—till the irruption of the sea subsided, no fresh water was to be procured all along the coast. It has been a most fearful visitation. I am very sorry indeed for the poor people, already so impoverished by two years’ scarcity and constant heavy taxation. The Collectors are chiefly bent upon keeping up the revenue, whatever may happen; and the people suffer terribly when they have any additional drawback. A “crack Collector,” as the phrase goes, is one who makes a point of keeping up the usual revenue in defiance of impossibilities. There may be a famine, a hurricane; half the cultivators may take refuge in another district in despair; there may seem no possible means of obtaining the money: but still the Collector bullies, tyrannizes, starves the people—does what he pleases, in short,—and contrives to send in the usual sum to the Board of Revenue, and is said to be a “crack Collector.” December 12th.—All the fighting at Kurnool is now over. Colonel D— had the command of it. There were some European corps, dragoons and others, in the force. The fort which they went to besiege was given up to them directly, and they found it full of arms and gunpowder. But after they thought the whole affair was over, and that they had settled the matter without a shot, a party of Patans

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seized the Rajah, and our force was obliged to attack them. There was sharp fighting, and many killed; but it is all settled now. Colonel D—’s native regiment behaved so well, that, after the charge, the English dragoons went up and shook hands with them, and said they were as good soldiers as Englishmen, or “words to that effect.” I saw the party of dragoons come home; poor things! they had lost the most men of any. Their band went out to meet them, with a large party of officers and civilians to welcome them home. The band had been practising the “Conquering Hero”426 for a week, and they all marched in in great state and looking very grand. Then there was a break in the procession, and the led horses of the men who had been killed followed; and after that the widows, with their palanquins and bullock-carriages covered with black cloth. I think it was the most melancholy sight I ever saw, from the extreme contrast of all the music and gaiety preceding, and such a mournful change. A few days afterwards we saw Colonel D— come in at the head of his Sepoys, very grand and proud, with all the colours and trophies they had taken. There seems no doubt but that there really has been a combination against us between all the Mohammedans in India; but, now they are put down, I suppose we are stronger than ever. It was remarkable that no Moormen came out to see the show of the regiments’ return. In general they take such excessive delight in any military spectacle, that they will come from far and near to see it. This conspiracy seems like a last rise of the Mohammedan power: it is crumbling away everywhere. The English have now opened Affghanistan, and all that country will be under our orders. The Madras army is preparing for a Chinese war,427 and expecting to be ordered to China very soon. Vellore,428 December 18th.—We are again on our road to Madras, and all our plans changed. This is the last letter you will receive from me, for I hope to be “over the surf” and on my way home to you all in another fortnight. We have been so strongly advised not to keep little Etta any longer in India, that we have at last made up our minds on the subject. A— has applied for leave of absence, and will accompany her and me as far as the Cape, which he can do without losing his appointment; and I am then to proceed to England with her. Our passages are taken, and we expect to sail early next month. THE END.

Editorial notes Abbreviations EIC Hobson-Jobson Price

East India Company H. Yule and A. C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson: The Anglo-Indian Dictionary (Ware: Wordsworth, 1996) Alyson Price (ed.), Julia Maitland: Letters from Madras During the Years 1836–1839 (Otley: Woodstock Books, 2003)

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Notes 1 Bay of Biscay: A gulf in the Atlantic Ocean, along the west coast of France and the north coast of Spain. 2 my brother Frank: A pseudonym for Maitland’s brother, Richard Francis Barrett. 3 Madeira: Now an autonomous Portuguese archipelago, off the north-west coast of Africa, Madeira was first occupied by the Portuguese in 1420. The British briefly took possession at the start of the nineteenth century, but it was returned to Portugal after the Napoleonic Wars. 4 The Captain: Captain Maitland. Not further identified. See Price, p. 8. 5 Mrs M – : Mrs. Mortlock. Not further identified. See Price, p. 10. 6 Major O’Brien: Not identified. 7 Irish maid Freeman: Not identified. 8 Mr. Darke: Not identified. 9 Dr. Lowe: Not identified. 10 Mr. and Mrs. Wilde: Mr. William Wilde was appointed Chief Justice of St Helena (see note 11) after control of the island passed from the EIC to the British Crown in 1833. 11 St. Helena: A tropical island in the south Atlantic Ocean. It was one of Britain’s first colonies, governed by the EIC from 1657. It was also the location of Napoleon Bonaparte’s exile from 1815 to 1821; see note 47. 12 the Cape: The Cape of Good Hope, in what is now South Africa, was a vital stopping point for ships on long voyages to and from India until the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869. 13 the O’Briens: Not identified. 14 Miss Shields: Miss Spiers; a missionary lady who went on to become assistant Governess of the Female Orphan Asylum in Madras. See Price, p. 10. 15 Miss Knight: Miss Craven. Not further identified. See Price, p. 10. 16 promotion: In the 1843 edition of her Letters, Maitland included here a description of a Captain Faulkner, the pseudonym for Captain Maitland. She wrote: Captain Faulkner, very good humoured and civil, and rather original and clever, but the most incessant talker I ever did meet with in all my life: He can talk down the whole ship’s company on every subject: I suspect he teaches the captain to sail. Price, p. 8. 17 Mr. Harvey: Not further identified. 18 Lord Byron: George Gordon Byron (1788–1824) was an English poet who travelled throughout the Mediterranean in his early twenties and who, for many, personified the figure of the Romantic traveller. 19 Mr. Stevens: Mr. Thomas. Not further identified. See Price, p. 10. 20 Funchal: The capital of Madeira. 21 Captain Faulkner: Captain Maitland; see note 16. 22 Lucca: A city in Tuscany, Italy. This is the first of several comparisons to Italy made by Maitland who had previously travelled there with her sister and her mother. Her time there also accounts for the various Italian phrases scattered throughout the text. 23 a convent here: The Santa Clara Covent, founded in Funchal in the sixteenth century. 24 the Tropics: The region surrounding the Equator. 25 Tamul: Tamil: Language spoken by the majority of people in Madras and the south Indian state of Tamil Nadu where Maitland spent the first eight months of her time in India. 26 Melville’s “University Sermons”: Henry Melvill (1798–1871) was an evangelical preacher who published several collections of his sermons, including Sermons Preached before the University of Cambridge, during the Month of February 1836 (Cambridge: Pitt Press, 1836).

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27 the Ancient Mariner: ‘The Rime of The Ancient Mariner’ is a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge originally published in Lyrical Ballads (1798). In the poem, an albatross leads the mariner and his ship out of danger in the Antarctic. The crew applaud the albatross but the mariner shoots the bird and he is punished for this violent act. 28 Coleridge’s: Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834), English Romantic poet and author of ‘The Rime of The Ancient Mariner’; see note 27. 29 Cape de Verd islands: Cape Verde, an archipelago in the Atlantic Ocean and formerly a Portuguese colony. It was used as a depot during the transatlantic slave trade and as a stop for re-supplying ships. 30 a ship going to New South Wales: New South Wales was a British colony on the east coast of Australia. It was originally maintained as a penal colony, but by the 1830s there were growing efforts to encourage British settlers to the region. 31 Mr Kenrick: Not identified. 32 snap-dragon: A popular parlour game that consisted of placing raisins in a shallow bowl of brandy and setting it alight. Players then had to pick the raisins out of the bowl and eat them. 33 “sporting my oak”: Closing the door. 34 Madagascar to Rio: Madagascar is an island off the east coast of Africa. From the 1770s to 1820s, it gained prominence among pirates and European traders, particularly those involved in the transatlantic slave trade. In 1820 Radama I (1793–1828), its sovereign leader, pledged to end the export of slaves but, as seen here, the island continued to supply foreign markets, such as Rio de Janeiro in Brazil. 35 To Her Younger Brother: Maitland’s brother Arthur. 36 the ceremony of shaving on crossing the Line: This ceremony originated as an initiation rite, usually involving some trials and hardships, to commemorate a sailor’s first crossing of the equator. In the nineteenth century the ceremony also took place on passenger ships, largely for entertainment purposes, and it frequently featured King Neptune and his court as described in the following paragraphs. 37 Mamma: Charlotte Maitland, née Francis (1786–1870), a niece of the novelist Frances Burney (1752–1840). 38 Tritons: A race of sea gods and goddesses in Greek mythology. They were often depicted blowing into shells used as horns. 39 Neptune: Neptune was the Roman god of the sea, the equivalent to Poseidon and the father of Triton. 40 à la Guy: ‘to the Guy’ (French). Maitland is referring to the effigies of Guy Fawkes that are placed on the bonfire on 5 November and is perhaps denoting the quality of the costumes here. 41 Young Temple: Not identified. 42 Samson: A Biblical hero who possessed superhuman strength until Delilah cut his long hair. See Judges 13–16. 43 as the monkey did Gulliver: Gulliver is the protagonist of Jonathan Swift’s novel Gulliver’s Travels (1726). While in Brobdingnag, the land of giants, a huge monkey mistakes Gulliver for his son and carries him away. 44 as soon as ever you have taken your degree: Maitland’s younger brother Arthur eventually graduated in 1838. See Price, p. 20. 45 Tristan d’Acunha: Also Tristan da Cunha: a remote island midway between Africa and South America that was uninhabited at the start of the nineteenth century. The first settler was Jonathan Lambert, an American, in 1810. In 1816 the United Kingdom annexed the islands and posted a garrison there. After the British withdrew in 1817, William Glass (see note 49), along with his wife and children, remained there and over time the settlement developed.

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46 Robinson Crusoes: Maitland compares the residents of Tristan da Cunha to the eponymous protagonist of Robinson Crusoe (1719), a novel by Daniel Defoe (c. 1660–1731). Crusoe spent 28 years marooned on a remote island. 47 In Bonaparte’s time: Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821) was a French military leader who built a large empire in Europe through a series of conflicts at the end of the eighteenth and start of the nineteenth century. He was eventually defeated by the British at Waterloo in 1815 and exiled on St Helena where he died in 1821. During his imprisonment, the British feared that French supporters would use the nearby island of Tristan da Cunha to rescue their former leader. 48 Lord Castlereagh: Robert Stewart (1769–1822), 2nd Marquess of Londonderry, and Viscount Castlereagh, was British Foreign Secretary from 1812. In this role, he was central to the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte. He was, therefore, anxious to ensure the French did not rescue the military leader from nearby St Helena. 49 Corporal Glass: William Glass (1786–1853) was part of the garrison that took possession of Tristan da Cunha on behalf of the British. When the British withdrew troops in 1817, he remained on the island with his wife and two children. See note 45. 50 sous: A ‘sou’ was a French coin of little value. 51 “ecco tutto”: ‘That’s all’ (Italian). 52 Blair’s Sermons: Hugh Blair (1718–1800) was a Scottish minister and university professor. He is best known for the five-volume compilation of his sermons; see H. Blair, Sermons (London: W. Strahan & T. Cadell, 1777–1801). 53 Mrs. Glass: The wife of Corporal Glass. See note 49. 54 South Seas: The South Pacific. 55 Cape Town: A city in South Africa first developed by the Dutch East India Company as a supply station for passing ships and then ceded to Britain in 1814. The colonial settlers along with the indigenous people and the earlier importation of slaves from Indonesia and Madagascar created a diverse population. 56 Hottentots: From the late-seventeenth century, white Europeans, especially the Dutch, derogatorily referred to the Khoikhoi people as Hottentots. 57 Malays: The people of Malaysia. 58 Parsees: During the seventh and eighth centuries, Zoroastrians from Persia migrated to India from modern-day Iran to avoid Muslim persecution; they became known as Parsees. 59 If the Lady Geraldine’s eyes . . . Christabel: Maitland refers to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s narrative poem Christabel, in which Lady Geraldine transfixes and transforms the eponymous Christabel with her eyes. See S. T. Coleridge, Christabel: Kubla Khan, a Vision: The Pains of Sleep (London: John Murray, 1816). 60 Methodist chapels: The Methodists are a group of related Protestant Christian denominations that separated from the Established Church of England in 1784 in order to follow the evangelistic teachings of Charles Wesley (1707–1788) and John Wesley (1703–1791). 61 Wesleyans: A Methodist denomination that follows the methods and teachings of Charles and John Wesley. 62 the C—s: The Fieldings. Alyson Price suggests this could refer to Antony Vandyke Copley Fielding (1787–1855), Maitland’s watercolour teacher, and his wife. See Price, p. 26. 63 Achatina: A genus of tropical land snail. Maitland’s purchase of the shell reflects the popularity of conchology in the nineteenth century, particularly with women who took an increasing interest in the various branches of natural history. 64 Instead of Whigs and Tories, they have the Caffre party and the Government party: In Britain, in the first half of the nineteenth century, the political landscape was largely divided between two political parties: the Whigs, who went on to form the basis of the

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65 66

67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80

81 82 83 84 85

86 87

Liberal party, and the Tories, who would eventually evolve into the modern Conservative party. In the Cape Colony at this time there were a number of conflicts between the European colonizers (who presumably Maitland refers to here when she talks of the ‘Government party’) and the Xhosa people (the ‘Caffre party’); these gave rise to the Cape Frontier Wars or Kaffir Wars (1811–1858). Kaffir, or Caffre, was a term used by white Europeans to characterize South Africa’s indigenous peoples. Wilderspin: The Rutherfords. Not further identified. See Price, p. 26. O’Connell: Daniel O’Connell (1775–1847): an Irish nationalist leader, who founded the Catholic Association in 1823 and worked with the Whig party during his campaigns for political reformism, specifically focusing on Catholic emancipation and the repeal of the Act of Union in Ireland. Dissenters: Members of a non-established church, or nonconformists, in Britain. Miss Bazacot: Not idenfitied. the Kloof: A gorge in the greater Durban area of South Africa. Table Mountain: A flat-topped mountain overlooking Cape Town in South Africa. Chine: A deep narrow ravine or river valley. Isle of Wight: Island off the south coast of England. Green Point: Now a suburb of Cape Town. Madras: Now Chennai: the capital city of the state of Tamil Nadu in south India. It developed around the site of the first major English settlement in India, Fort St. George. our cousin Staunton’s house: John and Diana Thomas, Maitland’s brother-in-law and his wife. See Price, p. 33. à la chasse: ‘On the hunt’ (French). Brighton: A seaside resort, now part of the city of Brighton and Hove in East Sussex, England. Masoolah boats: An Indian surfboat with many oars. catamarans: A sea vessel with two parallel equal-sized hulls. The name derives from a Tamil word meaning ‘logs bound together’, although these boats were first developed by the Polynesians. early Indian voyagers’ log books: It has not been possible to identify Maitland’s source here, although numerous subsequent publications used this passage and cited Maitland. See, for example, E. Thurston, Castes and Tribes of Southern India (Madras: Government Press, 1909), vol. 6, pp. 179–80. the witch of Fife’s voyage in her cockle-shell: ‘The Witch of Fife’ is a poem by James Hogg (1770–1835) published in the collection The Queen’s Wake (1813). The eponymous witch sails across the sea in a cockle shell. Maitland then quotes lines 81–88. kind of bagpipes: Probably pungi, a wind instrument made from a gourd and two reedpipes that is often played by snake charmers in India. fangs extracted: Charmers removed the fangs or venal glands from poisonous snakes to ensure they were no longer dangerous. A – : Maitland’s husband, James Thomas Maitland, a judge. There is one man to lay my room, and another to bring in water . . . and others to wait at table: This was a common assessment of how the caste system operated within the Anglo-Indian home. However, while caste undoubtedly dictated the division of household labour, many English men and women misrepresented it and took advantage of the affordability of Indian domestic workers. Moorman: A synonym for Muslim. “John Company’s English”: The EIC was also known as John Company. Over time, employees and their families incorporated and adapted various Indian words into the English language; these words and phrases became known as Anglo-Indian. See Colonel Henry Yule and A. C. Burnell’s comprehensive dictionary, Hobson-Jobson: The Anglo-Indian Dictionary (1886).

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88 the King’s English: Standardized English, complete with good grammar, proper usage of words, and correct pronunciation. 89 Bishop Corrie: Daniel Corrie (1777–1837) arrived as a missionary in India in 1806. He was appointed the first bishop of Madras in 1835. He was also a governor of the Church Missionary Society, founded various churches and schools, and fostered the growth of the Anglican Church in India. It is, therefore, unsurprising that Maitland enjoyed his visit, especially as he died a few weeks later. She records the news of his death in Letter 8. 90 Black Town: Originally the native quarter of Madras, situated just beyond the walls of Fort St. George. The term was also a generic one, used to denote indigenous areas as opposed to those occupied by Europeans in Indian cities. 91 a most delightful preacher: Reverend J. Tucker, secretary of the Church Missionary Society. See Price, p. 38. 92 Caste boys: Boys from the four established castes: Brahmins or the priestly caste; Kshatriya, the warrior caste; Vaisya, the merchant caste; and Sudra, the farmers and craftsmen. 93 Pariahs: Originally the name of the lowest caste in Indian society but the British used it more generally to refer to members of the lowest, or ‘untouchable’, castes in Indian society. These individuals were perceived as outcasts and they performed menial jobs. Maitland reveals here how British class prejudices were easily mapped onto the caste system. 94 Dr. Bell: Andrew Bell (1753–1832) was a priest and educationalist. In 1789, the EIC invited him to superintend the Madras Male Orphan Asylum, an institution for the orphaned, illegitimate and often half-caste sons of European officers. In this role, he focused as much on the development of a child’s character as on their educational attainments and, in Madras, he devised a system of education based on mutual tuition whereby the older or brighter children in the class instructed the younger and less intelligent children. 95 hedge-schools: Small, informal schools. The term comes from the illegal, and therefore secret, Catholic schools that emerged in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Ireland. 96 Moonshee: An indigenous secretary, reader, writer or, as is the case here, an interpreter and language instructor. 97 salams: See Deane, note 86. 98 pagodas: South Indian gold coins that, at this time, operated alongside the rupee. In 1818, a pagoda was worth 42 fanams, or three and a half rupees. 99 Hindoo Literary Society: It is unclear whether Maitland is referring to the Hindu Literary Society established by Lakshmaiah Kavali in 1834, or whether this is another similar society. Kavali modelled his scholarly venture on the Madras Literary Society and the work of Colin Mackenzie (1753–1821). 100 cadjan-leaf: Matted coconut palm leaf used in South India for thatching and as writing material. 101 tiffin-time: See Deane, note 165. 102 Pondicherry: The city of Pondicherry was a French colonial settlement in South India. 103 shaddocks: A citrus fruit, more commonly known as pomelo. It was named after Captain Philip Shaddock who apparently brought it from the east to the West Indies. 104 Anglo-Indians: Until the late nineteenth century, ‘Anglo-Indian’ referred to long-term English residents in India. Now, it more commonly refers to the mixed-race community, previously known as Eurasian. They won a legal battle in 1911 for sole ownership of the term. 105 peons: Foot soldiers, orderlies, or messengers. The term could also refer, more generally, to a low-ranking servant. 106 bronze casts of the Apollo: The Apollo Belvedere is a classical Roman marble sculpture of the god Apollo.

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107 true Fudge style: The Fudge Family in Paris (London: Longman and Co., 1818) by the Irish poet Thomas Moore (1779–1852) is a comedic epistolary verse-novel. Maitland quotes, a little erroneously, from the text. The correct lines are: ‘At the sight of that spot, where our darling Dixhuit / Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet’ (ll. 23–4). 108 Orientalism: Maitland uses ‘Orientalism’ to refer to the scholarly pursuit of Indian languages and cultures. However, her approach to India is more Anglicist than Orientalist, influenced by Utilitarian thinkers who aimed to reform Indian culture and society. 109 twelfth-cake: Decorated cakes to celebrate the Epiphany. 110 Nabob: A corruption of nawab which, in this case refers to a Muslim gentlemen of distinction, an official or governor under the Mogul empire. However, it could also refer to European people who gained great wealth in India. 111 Mussulman: An archaic word for Muslim. 112 vina: Also veena: an Indian stringed instrument. It has seven strings and gourds at both ends. 113 sévignés: A type of brooch in the form of a bow. Named after the Marquise de Sévigné (1626–1696), it was particularly popular in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. 114 the chimney-sweepers’ clatter on May-day: May Day was traditionally a holiday for chimney sweeps. They would parade through the streets banging their cleaning equipment and tools. 115 Mahometans: Another synonym for Muslims. 116 animal magnetism: During the 1830s and 1840s there was a craze for ‘Mesmerism’, a healing practice developed by Franz Anton Mesmer (1734–1815), whereby invisible flows of ‘animal magnetism’ or natural energy forces were supposedly channelled into the patient while they were in a trance-like state. 117 the string: A sacred white thread, sometimes known as the Janeu or Yagyopaveet, is worn by high-caste Hindus. 118 Brahmins: See Deane, note 90. 119 pillaws: Also pilau, pilaf: a rice dish often containing boiled meat or fowl, and spices. 120 Mr. Tracey: Not identified. 121 attar of roses: Usually otta of roses. See Deane, note 133. 122 jessamine: Jasmine flowers, from the genus Jasminum, are widely cultivated in India, partly due to their fragrance. 123 Mrs. C – ’s beautiful Landscape Annual: Alyson Price claims this book belonged to Archdeacon George Owen Cambridge (1756–1841), a friend of the Burney and Barrett families. See Price, p. 53. 124 Swamies: Maitland includes a footnote defining Swamies as ‘inferior gods’, but this reflects her own personal biases. In actual fact, the term refers to a Hindu idol or it can be used as a respectful address or as an honorific title for a Hindu religious teacher. 125 Mr N – : Not identified. 126 death of Bishop Corrie: See note 89. As Maitland writes here, Bishop Corrie had impressed the English in Madras with his piety, devotion, and selflessness. 127 the custom to punish the servants . . . as if they were children: Nineteenth-century domestic advice manuals frequently advised Englishwomen to treat their Indian servants as they would their children. See, for example, F. A. Steel and G. Gardiner, The Complete Indian Housekeeper and Cook . . . By Two Twenty Years’ Residents (London: Heinemann, 1888), p. 2. 128 Coolie tailor: A coolie was a hired or unskilled indigenous labourer in India. 129 I have been trying to entomologize: Entomology was a popular pastime for nineteenth-century middle-class women, and some sent their specimens to scientific establishments, such as Kew or the British Museum.

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130 Mr. Spence: William Spence (c. 1782–1860) was a political economist and entomologist. He co-authored Introduction to Entomology, 4 vols (1815–1826), with William Kirby (1759–1850). 131 Coleoptera: An order of insects that includes beetles and weevils. 132 St. Thomé: Now a suburb in Madras, originally a Portuguese settlement named after Saint Thomas, one of Jesus’s twelve disciples, who is interred on the site of the basilica there. Portuguese explorers built the church in the sixteenth century but it was rebuilt as a Gothic cathedral by the British in 1893. 133 Sepoys: Indigenous soldiers in the British Army. 134 Miss L – : Not identified. 135 Mohurrum: See Deane, note 148. 136 a tatt: Also tatty: see Deane, note 56. 137 during my confinement: Maitland gave birth to her daughter Henrietta on 8 June 1837. 138 Zillah: The name for the administrative districts of British India, each of which had a Collector and a Judge. 139 Rajahmundry: A city in the state of Andhra Pradesh. It was established by the British as an administrative district, or Zillah, in 1823. 140 Gentoo: In Madras, the Telugu-speaking Hindus and their language. 141 Teloogoo: Also Telugu: the primary language of the states of Andhra Pradesh and Telangana. 142 Liverpool: A city in the north-west of England. 143 Calcutta: Now Kolkata: see Deane, note 1. 144 the dancing furniture in Washington Irving’s dream: Washington Irving (1783–1859) was an American writer. In his story ‘The Bold Dragoon or The Adventure of my Grandfather’, from Tales of a Traveller (1824), the furniture in an inn is bewitched and appears to dance. 145 Italian Capuchins: The Orders of Friars Minor Capuchin is an offshoot of the Franciscan Order, established by Francis of Assisi (c. 1181–1226). 146 Coringa: Korangi is a coastal village in Andhra Pradesh. 147 Vizagapatam: Visakhapatnam is a port city in Andhra Pradesh, approximately 175 km north of Korangi. 148 Mr. R., the Assistant Judge: Not identified. 149 palanquins: See Deane, note 9. 150 leopards – or cheetahs as they are called: Leopards and cheetahs are actually two different species: cheetahs have spots and leopards have rosettes. However, there is frequently some confusion about the two animals. 151 the Godavery: The Godavari River is India’s second longest river, running from the state of Maharashtra to the Bay of Bengal. 152 Cashmere shawls: See Deane, note 82. 153 Bramin: See Deane, note 90. 154 Vakeels: Maitland defines Vakeel as a secretary or interpreter, but the term usually denoted an attorney or other authorized representative involved in political negotiations. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 961. 155 muddles: Hobson-Jobson casts doubt upon Maitland’s usage of this term. The authors find no other instances of her definition and believe that it ‘was probably a misapprehension’. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 593. 156 a grand native festival which only takes place once in twelve years: The Godavari Maha Pushkaram, a Hindu festival of spiritual purification that celebrates the river at Rajahmundry, takes place every twelve years, usually beginning in June. 157 A – ’s predecessor: William Dowdeswell preceded and succeeded James Thomas Maitland in his post. 158 Captain Price, the commanding officer: Not further identified.

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159 Dr. Stewart: Mr. Lyell, a relative of Sir Charles Lyell (1797–1875), the geologist. See Price, p. 75. 160 Mr. McDonald: Mr. Binning. Not further identified. See Price, p. 75. 161 maty: Also matee: an under-servant whose specific duties included cleaning crockery and attending to lighting. 162 Thugs: The Thugs were a gang of thieves who especially targeted travellers. They were notorious for their secrecy, their ritualistic strangling of travellers, and their worship of the goddess Kali. See Maitland’s description in Letter 21. They became particularly noteworthy in the 1830s when William Sleeman (1788–1856) began his investigations and prosecutions as part of an extensive campaign to suppress the Thugs through law. This was supported by Governor-General William Bentinck and signalled his shift toward a more reformist policy. 163 Kalee: Kali: Hindu goddess, consort of Shiva. It was widely reported that the Thugs worshipped Kali and sacrificed their victims to her. However, there were some, like Maitland, who doubted the truth of this. 164 Wolff’s last volume of his Journal: Joseph Wolff (1765–1862), a Church of England missionary who travelled extensively. He provided a long account of the Thugs in Researches and Missionary Labours among the Jews, Mahommedans, and Other Sects, where he defined them as ‘a perfectly distinct class of persons who subsist almost entirely upon robbery and murder’. See J. Wolff, Researches and Missionary Labours (London: Nisbet, 1833), p. 438. 165 One has been brought to A— for trial: The British outlawed Thuggee through a series of legislations under the Thuggee and Dacoity Suppression Acts 1836–48. 166 chatties: A south Indian word denoting earthen pots. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 185. 167 Johnny M: This could be another reference to Maitland’s husband. 168 “non sequitur”: A Latin expression, meaning ‘it does not follow’ and usually used to signify a statement that does not seem logically connected to the previous one. 169 an old Englishman: Sergeant John Keeling. See Price, p. 77. 170 the young Queen: Queen Victoria (1819–1901) ascended to the throne in 1837 at the age of 18. 171 Lord Durham: John George Lambton (1792–1840), first Earl of Durham, politician and colonial administrator. He attempted to cultivate favour with the newly crowned Queen Victoria through his long-standing friendship with her uncle, King Leopold I of Belgium (1790–1865). 172 Zemindar: See Deane, note 58. 173 Mr J.: Not identified. 174 godown: A warehouse or outhouse for goods and stores. 175 cobra capello: See Deane, note 85. 176 rack: Arrack, a distilled spirit. 177 physiognomy: The theory that a person’s facial features or expression are an indication of character. 178 “beaucoup de caractere”: ‘A lot of personality’ (French). 179 60l.: 60 lakh: Indian currency. A lakh is the equivalent to 100,000 rupees. 180 altogether twenty-seven: And this is reckoned few: English households in India typically hired numerous servants, frequently blaming the caste system for the excess. However, a middle-class home could function with approximately ten indigenous employees. See É. Agnew, Imperial Women Writers in Victorian India (London: Palgrave, 2017), p. 63. 181 amah: Wet nurse. Although, according to Yule and Burnell, in Madras amah is frequently used instead of ayah; see Hobson-Jobson, p. 17. 182 “pishashi”: In south India, the pishachee are devils or demons worshipped by ancient tribes.

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183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205

bang: See Deane, note 257. à-la-mode: ‘fashionable’ or ‘of the moment’ (French). tipsycake: A cake made with sherry- and brandy-soaked sponge. Mrs. S.: Not identified. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, the new registrar and his wife: Mr. and Mrs. Jellicoe. Not further identified. See Price, p. 83. “up country”: The interior regions of the country. the Presidency: See Deane, note 7. contrary to regulation: The Regulating Act of 1773 prohibited Company employees from receiving gifts, or bribes, from the indigenous people of India. a Jew’s-harp: Also known as the jaw or mouth harp. halberds: The halberd was a weapon that combined a spear and a battle-axe. muslin pelisse: Muslin is a type of cotton; a pelisse was a cloak with armholes or sleeves worn as part of a hussar’s uniform, and also fashionable for English ladies in the early nineteenth century. Penny Whistle Row: Not identified. “moppeing and moweing”: The phrase ‘mopping and mowing’ meant pulling strange faces. our King: William IV (1765–1837), who reigned from 1830 to 1837. the Collector: Not identified. M. d’Arzel: Not identified. “je suis trés aisy”: Mock French for ‘I am very easy’. “Elle ne parle pas, Moseer”: ‘She does not speak, Monsieur’ (French). “Gassor”: Mock French for garçon, the name for a waiter. “Gassor ally vous or”: More mock French: ‘Waiter, have you . . .?’ David Gonsalves: Not identified. Moochy or workman caste: Hobson-Jobson states that members of the Moochy caste work in leather, either as shoemakers or sadlers. However, in south India, they might also be employed in painting, gilding, and upholstering. See Hobson-Jobson, p. 579. Psalm cxv 4–8: This section of the Psalms reads: Their idols are silver and gold, / The work of men’s hands. / They have mouths, but they do not speak; / Eyes they have, but they do not see; / They have ears, but they do not hear; / Noses they have, but they do not smell; / They have hands, but they do not handle; / Feet they have, but they do not walk; / Nor do they mutter through their throat.

206 John Bull: The name of John Arbuthnot’s eighteenth-century personification of England as a stout, middle-aged, country-dwelling gentleman. 207 Dratcharrum: A Shaivite shrine and village. 208 choultry: According to Hobson-Jobson, the word choultry is specific to south India. As Maitland notes here, it is a simple dwelling where travellers can rest. See HobsonJobson, p. 211. 209 Rossini’s most noisy overtures: Gioachino Antonio Rossini (1792–1868) was an Italian composer, known mainly for his operas and widely celebrated for his overtures. 210 Vandyke brown: An oil paint pigment named after Anthony Van Dyke (1599–1641), a Flemish painter who had great success in Italy and England, where he became the court painter. 211 banyan-tree: See Deane, note 383. 212 the pagoda: In this instance, an idol temple. 213 pyramid-like building: The gopuram, a heavily ornamented tower over the entrance of South Indian temples. 214 nautch: As previously stated (see Deane, note 302), the nautch was a staged dance performed by women; however, it could also refer to the girls themselves.

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215 howdah: A travelling carriage, usually positioned on an elephant. 216 betel-nut: Betel nut is the fruit from the areca palm. 217 “moral pocket-handkerchiefs”: As the name suggests, these were handkerchiefs with moral maxims printed upon them and sold or donated to the poor. 218 Mount Vesuvius: A volcano located on the Gulf of Naples. It had recently erupted in 1834. 219 insurrection: The Coorg Rebellion. In 1837 the Gowdas, a hill tribe from the Western Ghats, attacked Mangalore in reaction to tax demands imposed by the Madras ‘ryotwar’ revenue system (see note 314). 220 Mr. M – : Mr. Montague Cholmeley; see Price, p. 109. Not further identified. 221 pice: See Deane, note 353. 222 N – school: Nellore, a town approximately 90 miles from Madras. 223 Bengal: See Deane, note 2. 224 suttees: The widows who joined their husband’s corpse on the funeral pyre, thereby engaging in sati. See Deane, note 158. 225 Juggernaut’s sacrifices: Annually in the town of Puri, Orissa, massive temple chariots, juggernauts, drag images of Jagannatha, a form of Krishna, through the streets. It was often alleged that devotees cast themselves under the wheels so that they might be crushed to death. See also Deane, note 344. 226 “curry-and-rice Christians”: People who convert to Christianity in order to obtain food or other material benefits from the missionaries. 227 Mr. C.: Mr. Cotterill; see Price, p. 109. Not further identified. 228 your vicar: Langdon, one of Maitland’s suitors; see Price, p. 109. 229 Jesuits: Members of the Society of Jesus, a scholarly Catholic organization founded by St. Francis Xavier in 1534 to do missionary work. The Jesuits work primarily in education and other intellectual activities. 230 farouche: ‘shy in company’ (French). 231 “fagots et fagots”: Quotation from Moliere’s play Le Médecin Malgré Lui or The Doctor in Spite of Himself (1666), Act 1, scene 6; its meaning is that all things of the same sort are not equal in quality. 232 Narsapoor: Narsapur is a town in the West Godavari district of Andhra Pradesh, and the site of one of the earliest Christian missions in Andhra Pradesh 233 Mr. Bowden and Mr. Beer: Edwin Skinner Bowden and Charles Henry Beer established an independent mission at Narasapur in 1837. 234 Mr. Grove’s: Henry Grove (1684–1738) a dissenting tutor; see Price, p. 110. 235 congées: Maitland may mean congé, French for ‘permission to leave’. 236 cocoa-nut tope: Coconut grove. 237 Mr. G.: Mr. Gordon; see Price, p. 116. Not further identified. 238 Mr. Lloyd: Not identified. 239 Bishops being in the House of Lords: As senior members of the Church of England, some Bishops are entitled to sit in the House of Lords, the upper house of the British Parliament. 240 Mosheim: Johann Lorenz von Mosheim (1693–1755) was an ecclesiastical historian. 241 “Not forsaking the assembling of yourselves together”: From Hebrews 10:25. 242 Lingum: Also lingam: a symbol representing the Hindu deity Shiva worn by Shaivite devotees, such as the Lingáyats (who were not a caste, as Maitland suggests here, but a Hindu sect). 243 Shore’s “Notes on Indian Affairs”: Frederick John Shore (1799–1837) was a judge in the Civil Court in Furrukhabad, and the author of Notes on Indian Affairs (London: John W. Parker, 1837). The book was critical of British attitudes to, and governance of, the indigenous people of India. 244 new magazine: Maitland is referring to Christian Knowledge, a magazine set up in opposition to Cotterill’s Christian Repository; see Price, p. 116. See also note 227.

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245 light black stone: Snake stone, or viper’s stone, is used in folk medicine to treat snake bites in various parts of the world. 246 General W.: Not identified. 247 eau de luce: A strong solution used in India as an antidote to venomous snake bites and insect stings; the main components are alcohol, ammonia, and oil of amber. 248 comme il faut: ‘As required’ (French). 249 ninth Avatar: In Hinduism, an avatar refers to the alternative forms, manifestations, incarnations, and personae of a deity, especially of Vishnu, who had ten primary avatars, each appearing at moments of conflict or crisis in order to restore order in the world. In his ninth avatar, he appeared as Buddha. 250 tenth Avatar: Vishnu’s tenth and final avatar is Kalki. He appears when chaos prevails and ends the kali yuga cycle, or era, in order to restart the cycle of existence. Each yuga is understood to last for many thousands of years. 251 Vishnoo: The Hindu god Vishnu, the preserver and protector, and one of the Hindu trinity along with Brahma and Shiva. 252 Mrs. Somerville: Mary Somerville (1780–1872), Scottish scientist and astronomer. She wrote a number of highly influential texts, including The Mechanism of the Heavens (1831), and in 1835 the Royal Academy elected her and Caroline Herschel as their first women members. 253 Herschel: Frederick William Herschel (1738–1822) was a British astronomer (although born in Germany) who discovered the planet Uranus and constructed one of the most powerful telescopes of the time. 254 Shasters: Or Shastras or Sutras: the law books, or teaching texts, explicating Hindu scriptures such as the Vedas; see note 255. 255 Vedas: The ancient Hindu scriptures, written in Sanskrit. There are four vedas: the Rigveda, the Yajurveda, the Sameveda, and the Artharvaveda. 256 Devinagree: Devanāgarī is a script used to write many Indian languages such as Hindi, Konkani, Sanskrit, Marathi, and Nepali. 257 Tower of Babel: An origin myth, found in Genesis 11:1–9, to explain why people speak different languages. 258 Syrian Christians: The Saint Thomas Christians are a Christian community in south India that trace their origins back to St. Thomas the Apostle, who travelled to India in the first century AD. They use Eastern Christian traditions that employ the Syriac language in their liturgy. 259 “soft sawder”: A phrase meaning soft-soaping, blarney, or flattery. 260 cheroot: A cigar, especially those that have been cut at both ends, as they are in India. 261 Gazette: The Fort St. George Gazette printed official notices from the Government. 262 “no salutes to idols be discontinued, but that all respect be paid to the native religions as heretofore”: The EIC Court of Directors issued a letter on 18 October 1837 stating: We now desire that no customary salutes, or marks of respect to native festivals be discontinued at any of the presidencies, that no protection hitherto given be withdrawn, and that no change whatever be made in any matter relating to the native religion except under the authority of the Supreme Government. It came in response to a memorial submitted to the Madras Government from 203 members of the Christian community seeking exemption from compulsory attendance at indigenous worship. See Price, p. 151. 263 Trichinopoly: Now Tiruchirappalli: one of the major cities in Tamil Nadu. It was annexed by the British during the Fourth Anglo-Mysore War (1798–1799). 264 Mr. D.: Mr. Dowdeswell. See note 157. 265 a ‘History of the World’: A text produced for the Indian students.

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266 Bangalore: Now the capital city of the state of Karnataka. It was captured by the British during the Fourth Anglo-Mysore War (1799). 267 Masulipatam: Also Masulipatnam: a city in Andhra Pradesh. Since the early seventeenth century, it had been used by various European countries as a trading port, until the British took control in 1759. 268 “first-caste monkeys”: Maitland possibly means the Gray Langur monkey, commonly found throughout the Indian subcontinent. 269 Kistna: Another name for Krishna, usually used in reference to the river Kistna in southern India. It is the fourth-largest river in India. 270 Johnny Gilpin: The Diverting History of John Gilpin (1782) is a well-known comic ballad by William Cowper (1731–1800). In the final line, the speaker declares his wish to bear witness to Gilpin’s future escapades, crying ‘May I be there to see!’ 271 the Rhone: The Rhône is a major European river, running from the Swiss Alps. 272 tatties: See Deane, note 56. 273 the story of Cain: The Biblical story of Cain and Abel appears in Genesis 4: 1–15. In these verses, Cain murders his brother and is punished by God. 274 “If thou doest well, shall it not be accepted”: Maitland refers specifically to Genesis 4:7, which states: ‘If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin lies at the door. And its desire is for you, but you should rule over it’. 275 con rispetto: ‘With all due respect’ (Italian). 276 Governor of Madras: John Elphinstone (1807–1860) was the Governor of Madras 1837–1842. 277 GREEN BUGS: Maitland possibly means the Chrysocoris stollii, a green jewel bug from India that produces a pungent odour when disturbed. 278 some particular goddess: It was widely reported that the Thugs worshipped Kali and sacrificed their victims to her. See note 163. 279 Cocanada: Kakinada, now one of the largest cities in Andhra Pradesh. 280 Amalpoor: Amalpurum, a town in Andhra Pradesh. 281 Nellapilly and Yanam: A Dutch colony until 1720 when the French took control. From then until 1840 it went back and forth between Britain and France, when the latter assumed ownership. It was returned to India in 1954. 282 the L – s: Not identified. 283 punkah: A large cloth fan on a frame suspended from the ceiling, moved back and forth by pulling on a cord. 284 Mr. S – : Not identified. 285 The present commanding officer here . . . Captain and Mrs. C–: Captain Kelly and his wife: Not further identified. 286 baslams: Himalayan basalms, Impatiens, are native to the Himalayas but now grow across much of the northern hemisphere. 287 the M – s: Sir Peregrine Maitland (1777–1854) resigned as Commander-in-Chief in 1838 because the EIC would not enforce the Charter Act of 1833 which stated that Company employees no longer had to attend indigenous religious gatherings. 288 Sir P – : Sir Peregrine Maitland; see note 287. 289 Cooly Trade: For much of the nineteenth century, after the abolition of the slave trade, many low-caste Hindus travelled as indentured labour from south India to Mauritius to work on sugar and rubber plantations. As Maitland goes on to explain in this paragraph, many former slave plantations were in need of cheap and plentiful labour and, because the anti-slave legislation did not extend to the EIC’s possessions, Indians were recruited to work in these colonial outposts. There were regulations and penalties for abuse but reports of the harsh conditions suggest their employment was merely another form of slavery.

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290 “Emigration of the Hill Coolies to the Mauritius”: Indian emigration to Mauritius, an island in the Indian Ocean, started around 1830. There were particularly high numbers of Indians from the poorer rural and hill regions of the subcontinent. 291 Lord G – : Sir John Gladstone (1764–1851), Scottish MP and slave trader. He initially complied with the Abolition Act of 1833, but then imported large numbers of Indian workers to his plantations in Jamaica and Guyana. 292 Middle Passage: The Middle Passage was one stage on the trade route through which Europeans shipped millions of enslaved Africans to the Americas and the West Indies to work on plantations. Conditions on board the ships were notoriously awful and many died during the journey. 293 “di nacosto”: ‘Out of sight’ (Italian). 294 Dussera: Also Vijayadashami: a ten-day Hindu festival in October. It generally celebrates the triumph of good over evil, although the focus of the festivities depends upon the region. 295 A – thinks there is serious danger of a war: James Thomas Maitland was fearful of an outbreak of war between Britain and Russia as both countries attempted to establish control of Afghanistan. His anxiety became more pronounced when Dost Mohammad Khan (1793–1863) reached out to Russia for support against Ranjit Singh. The British prepared to invade Kabul and remove Dost Mohammad Khan from the throne, an act which led to the First Anglo-Afghan War (1839–1842). 296 we are at war with the Persians already: The Persian dynasty, led by Shah Mohammed Miraz, attempted to capture Herat from the Afghans in 1837 with the help of a Russian envoy. They laid the city under siege and, in July 1838, the British retaliated by occupying Iranian territory. Consequently, the Persian Shah gave up his siege of Herat. 297 Sir H. Fane: Sir Henry Fane (1778–1840) was an army officer, and from 1835, he served as Commander-in-Chief in India. He quelled the siege of Herat (see note 296) and subsequently retired. 298 Marquis of Wellesley: Richard, Marquess Wellesley (1760–1842) was Governor-General of India 1798–1805. He greatly expanded British imperial reach during his rule and Maitland’s praise of him here clearly indicates her opposition to the current Governor-General, George Eden (1784–1849), Earl of Auckland, whose actions against Afghanistan led to the First Anglo-Afghan War. Many in Britain viewed the war as unnecessary, rash, and without benefit, and it ultimately damaged Lord Auckland’s reputation. 299 Mr. S – : Reverend Vincent Shortland (1803–1880) was an Anglican Archdeacon in India; see Price, p. 152. 300 Mr. and Mrs. G – : The Butlers; see Price, p. 152. Not further identified. 301 piccolissimo parere: ‘Humble opinion’ (Italian). 302 Dewan: Also diwan: title denoting an indigenous official, or person in charge of an establishment. 303 young Ch – : Not identified. 304 a public bungalow: Usually referred to as a dak or dawk bungalow. These structures were maintained by the EIC, and later the British Government, in order to house travellers as they moved through the country. See Deane, note 163. 305 In order to save money, Lord W. Bentinck reduced the army and sold the stores: Lord William Bentinck (1774–1839) was Governor-General of India 1828–1835. He is remembered for his social, political, and economic reforms. During his reign, the EIC was under financial pressure and he gained a reputation for dramatic cost-cutting in many areas, including the military. 306 The Commanders-in-chief at the three Presidencies are all going home: Sir Peregrine Maitland was the Commander-in-Chief at Madras and, as stated in note 287,

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307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314

315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322

323 324

325 326 327 328 329 330

he retired in 1838. Sir Henry Fane, of the Bengal army, retired in 1839 after the siege of Herat. Lieutenant-General John Keane, Commander-in-Chief of the Bombay Army also departed in 1839. tamboura: Large four-stringed lute used in Indian music. Spanish boleros: A genre of slow-tempo Latin music and the associated dance. Frank has gained the T – scholarship!: Maitland’s brother Richard was named Tyrwhitt Hebrew Scholar at King’s College, Cambridge. Alexandria: A port city in Egypt, on the route to India prior to the Suez Canal. war against the Persians: Another reference to the siege of Herat. See note 296. chi lo sa: ‘Who knows?’ (Italian). The Bishop: In November 1837, following Bishop Corrie’s death, George Trevor Spencer (1799–1866) was consecrated as the second Bishop of Madras. Poor creatures! they are so screwed by taxes: There were two main tax systems in place throughout British India: The ryotwari and the zamindar systems. The former was introduced to the Madras Presidency in 1820 by Sir Thomas Munro, Governor of Madras (1820–7) and Captain Alexander Reed. In this system, the government directly imposed land revenues on individual peasants. According to critics, taxes were routinely set too high. Colonel B – y: Henry Burney (1792–1845), Frances Burney’s nephew, worked for the EIC. See also note 389. national-school girls: The National Society for Promoting Religious Education is an organization that promotes Christian education. In the nineteenth century, they provided funding for so-called National Schools. Hakeem: Also hakim; see Deane, note 429. Idolatry is forbidden by their Koran: In Islam, practicing idolatry or polytheism is forbidden because it deifies something other than the singular God, i.e. Allah. temple of the idol Punchanund: The temple is situated near the Kidderpore Bridge in Calcutta. hookahs: See Deane, note 160. Cape l’Aguillas: Cape Agulhas is the southernmost point of the African continent, and where the African and Indian Oceans clash. It is known for its violent waves and the danger it posed to ships; there were many shipwrecks along this coast. a friend of Rammohun Roy’s: It has not been possible to identify the friend but Rammohun Roy (1772–1833) was an Indian religious, social, and educational reformer. He founded the Brahmo Samaj, a rationalist Hindu movement that challenged aspects of traditional Hindu culture and which sought progress for Indian society under British rule. Mr. G – : Mr. Garrett; see Price, p. 161. Not further identified. a quantity of potatoes: The Portuguese first introduced potatoes to India, and the British continued planting them in the late eighteenth century, in the north of India, as a cheap and durable crop. Later, they tried to introduce them throughout the subcontinent. Samulcottah: Samalkota is a town in Andhra Pradesh. Major C – : Major McCurdy; see Price, p. 161. Not further identified. Mantell: Gideon Mantell (1790–1852) was a geologist and palaeontologist. He wrote a number of books on these subjects and was assisted in his work by his wife Mary Ann Woodhouse. Tripetty: The temple devoted to Lord Venkatesa on the hill of Tirumala in Tripetty, or Tirupathi, is one of the most popular pilgrimage sites in India. soupçon: ‘A hint of’ (French). Abraham: The story of Abraham appears in Genesis 12–25.

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331 ‘The famine is decreasing now’: Under the British Raj, India suffered countless famines. The EIC, through its crushing of the textile industry, had pushed people into agriculture. As a consequence, the economy was much more dependent on the weather and subject to the difficult seasonal issues, such as the monsoon. Furthermore, Britain exported large proportions of crops leaving insubstantial supplies for the indigenous population. In 1837–1838, there was a major famine in the north-west of India; however, there were also many localized instances such as this at Rajahmundry. 332 chewing betel: See Deane, note 273. 333 Mr. B – : Not identified. 334 a Sunnyassee: A Hindu mendicant who resigns or abandons worldly affairs. 335 Feringhees: A feringhee is a foreigner, especially one with white skin. 336 Miss L – ’s: Mary Elliot; see Price, p. 166. Not further identified. 337 “Watts on Prejudices”: Isaac Watts (1674–1748) was a non-conformist writer. In Logic: or, the right use of Reason in the Enquiry after Truth (1724) there was a section entitled, ‘The Springs of False Judgement’ or ‘The Doctrine of Prejudice’. 338 “des Catechismes de six sous” like Massillon’s little infidel: From the sermons of Jean Baptiste Massillon (1663–1742), a Catholic bishop and famous preacher. 339 Translation Committee at Madras: Maitland may be referring to the Oriental Translation Committee, which had recently become attached to the Royal Asiatic Society for the purpose of selecting and superintending the translation and printing of Oriental Works. However, this was mostly concerned with translating works into English. 340 Butler’s “Analogy”: Joseph Butler, bishop of Durham (1692–1752) was a religious and moral philosopher. He wrote The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature (1736), which was greatly respected at this time. 341 Henrietta: Maitland’s daughter. Also referred to as Etta. 342 Mr. Johnston: Not identified. 343 Archdeacon (of Madras): Thomas Robinson (1790–1873) was Archdeacon of Madras from 1826. 344 Pariah school: A school for members of the lowest castes. See note 93. 345 Mr. H.: Mr Hamilton; not further identified. 346 scappate: Possibly ‘runaways’ (in Italian). 347 young B – : Boswell; see Price, p. 178. Not further identified. 348 pilgrim tax: The EIC collected taxes at various temples and religious festivals throughout the country. The tax had been put in place by previous rulers and afforded protection or toleration of religious sites, but it also provided revenue for the Company. Many perceived this as evidence of the Company’s support of indigenous religions. It was abolished in 1839. 349 Beejanuggur: Also Vijayanagara: a city in Karnataka, which was once the capital city of the historic Vijayanagara Empire. The ruins, called Hampi, have now been designated as a UNESCO Word Heritage Site. 350 Mr. Hands: Possibly John Hands, a missionary with the London Missionary Society. He was sent to India in 1810, whereupon he founded a mission station at Bellary and was the first to translate the Bible into Kannada. 351 Anagoondy Rajah: Not identified. 352 School-book Society: The Madras School Book Society was a voluntary organization formed in 1820. 353 Mr. L – : Mr. Binning; see Price, p. 178. Not further identified. 354 “The Spectator”: An English-language newspaper published in Madras 1836–1859. It was the first daily newspaper to be published from the city. 355 national education: In this letter, Maitland sets out her detailed plan for a widespread government-supported education system in the Presidency of Madras.

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356 king of twelfth-cake: Twelfth-cakes were frequently decorated with royal wax figurines or crowns; see also note 109. 357 Zemindary: Office or territory held or administered by a zemindar (see Deane, note 58). 358 Mr. Thompson: George Dunisthorpe Thompson (1804–1878) was an orator, abolitionist, and political reformer. He became involved with Joseph Pease (1772–1846), a Quaker activist and founding member of the British India Society in 1839. 359 Beyrout: Now Beirut, the capital city of Lebanon. 360 St. Matthew: One of Jesus Christ’s twelve apostles and author of one of the four gospels of the New Testament. 361 two young Parsees were baptized ‘at Bombay’: Maitland refers to the controversial case of Dhanjibhai Nauroji, a 16-year-old Parsee convert. In 1839 his uncle, Heerjeebhoy Dadabhoy, filed a case against Dr. John Wilson, an evangelical missionary, citing forced conversion of Dhanjibhai and a friend, and the case went to trial. It was extremely high profile and there were violent scenes reported from the courthouse. See J. S. Palsetia, The Parsis of India: Preservation of Identity in Bombay City (Leiden: Brill, 2001), p. 114. 362 Sta a vedere: ‘You’ll see’ (Italian). 363 Act of Parliament, that people of a certain standing are entitled to certain appointments: Commissioned officers could obtain promotion by buying the next senior rank from an officer who was either himself being promoted, or else leaving the army. See A. Sattin (ed.), An Englishwoman in India: The Memoirs of Harriet Tytler 1828–1858 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), p. 198. 364 Lord E—: Lord Elphinstone, Governor of Madras (1837–1842). See note 276. 365 “A change came o’er the spirit of my dream”: Quotation from Lord Byron’s poem ‘The Dream’ (1816), l. 79. 366 W—E—as an admirable Private Secretary: Walter Elliot (1803–1887) was Private Secretary to his cousin Lord Elphinstone, the Governor of Madras. Maitland’s praise here is surely due to Elliot’s and Elphinstone’s support for educational projects in south India. 367 Cuddapah: Now Kadapa, a city in Andhra Pradesh. It came under British control in 1800 and the London Missionary Society established a mission there in 1822. 368 Bellary: Also Ballari: a city in the state of Karnataka. 369 Chingleput and Cuddalore: Districts in the Madras Presidency. 370 Chittoor: A city in Andhra Pradesh. 371 Palmanair: Also Palmaner: a plateau near Chittoor. 372 Neilgherries: From the 1820s, the Nilgiri hills became an increasingly popular retreat area for the British. 373 Palmyra-trees: The Borassus or Palmyra palm is the official tree of Tamil Nadu. It is highly regarded because all parts of the tree can be used. 374 Miss T – : Miss Tucker; see Price, p. 187. 375 Female Orphan Asylum: The Madras Military Female Orphan Asylum, established in 1787 by Lady Archibald Campbell, catered for the children of British Army soldiers. 376 Lady N –, the present Commander-in-Chief’s lady: Lady Nicolls, wife of Lieutenant General Sir Jasper Nicolls, who became Commander-in-Chief of the Madras Army in 1839. 377 Hannah More: Hannah More (1745–1833) was an English writer and philanthropist. She was particularly concerned with moral and religious subjects and called for increased intellectual, religious, and sentimental education for girls. She wrote a famous tract on the issue, Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education, 2 vols (1799).

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378 the Tanjore Mission: Carl Theophilus Ewald Rhenius (1790–1838) was a Prussian missionary who worked with Church Missionary Society in Tirunelveli (1820–1835) before establishing the German Evangelical Mission due to disagreements with the CMS committee. 379 Tinnevelly: Tirunelveli: a city in the state of Tamil Nadu. 380 Mr. T – : Not identified. 381 Mr. Howell: Not further identified. 382 J – : Maitland’s brother-in-law John Thomas; see Price, p. 187. 383 at the funeral of that wretched old RUNJEET SINGH: It was widely reported that four wives and seven slave girls died on the funeral pyre of Ranjit Singh (see Deane, note 318), despite recent legislation against the practice of sati. 384 the immense diamond: Maitland refers here to the Koh-i-noor diamond, one of the largest cut diamonds in the world, now part of the British crown jewels. Previously, Ranjit Singh had procured it as payment for sheltering Shah Shuja Durrani after he was overthrown (see note 385), and he bequeathed the diamond to the Jagannath Temple, Puri. However, the British later acquired it after the Second Anglo-Sikh War (1848–1849) when they annexed the Kingdom of Punjab and gained control of its assets. 385 Shah Soojah: Shah Shuja Durrani (1785–1842) was the ruler of the Durrani Empire and the self-proclaimed King of Afghanistan 1803–1809. However, he was overthrown by his predecessor and remained in exile until 1838. At this time, with the help of the British and Ranjit Singh, he ousted Dost Mohammad Khan and reclaimed control of Afghanistan. 386 Candahar: See Deane, note 295. 387 to pay their devotions to a rag of Mohammed’s shirt: The Shrine of the Cloak in Kandahar contains a piece of cloth allegedly worn by Muhammad. Shah Shuja apparently visited the shrine when he returned to Kandahar, accompanied by a British escort that included William Hay Macnaghten (1793–1841) and Alexander Burnes (1805–1841). 388 a Burmese war: The First Anglo-Burmese War took place in 1824–1826. It concluded with the Burney, or Yandabo Peace Treaty, brokered by Henry Burney; see note 315. Then in 1837 Prince Tharrawaddy (1787–1846) ousted King Bagyidaw (1784–1846) of Burma, and rejected the terms of the Treaty. Although this renewed tensions between Burma and England, the next outbreak of war did not occur until 1852–1853. 389 Colonel Burney’s wisdom: During the First Anglo-Burmese War, Henry Burney collected much information about Burma and Siam for England. When Prince Thayawaddy assumed the throne and rejected the Peace Treaty, Burney withdrew his residency. 390 “petite drolerie”: ‘Little trickery’ (French). 391 the Nizam’s brother: Prince Mubarez-ud-Daulah was the younger brother of the Nizam of Hyderabad. He opposed British presence in Hyderabad and in 1830 gathered an army to rebel against them but his plans were discovered and he was quickly imprisoned. 392 ‘petits spectacles’: ‘Small shows’ (French). 393 non pensi: ‘Don’t you think?’ (Italian). 394 another little Rajah trying at a rebellion: Rasool Khan, Nawab of Kurnool, also opposed the British and entered into a secret alliance with Prince Mubarez; see note 391. The British soon discovered this plot and prevented the insurrection. 395 the red coats: Military clothing worn by the Presidency armies of the EIC and British India. 396 four or five years collecting arms and ammunition: The Nawab of Kurnool had collected a huge arsenal in preparation for his rebellion against the British. 397 “conquered a green blight”: Not identified.

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398 British Museum: The British Museum in London was established in 1753, largely based on the collections of Sir Hans Sloane (1660–1753). Maitland’s donations are recorded by the Natural History Museum although the specimens are missing; see Price, p. 188. 399 Mr Samouelle: George Samouelle (c. 1790–1846) was a curator in the British Museum with an interest in Lepidoptera. He also wrote A Nomenclature of British Entomology, or a Catalogue of above 4000 Species of the Classes Crustacea, Myriapoda, Spiders, Mites and Insects Intended as Labels for Cabinets of Insects, etc., Alphabetically Arranged (London, 1819). 400 chits: In Anglo-Indian, a letter or note. 401 les absens: ‘Those absent’ (French). 402 Mrs. W – E – : Mrs Walter Elliot: Maria Dorothea Hunter Elliot (c. 1816–1890), the Private Secretary’s wife. 403 That is the grand Indian sorrow – the necessity of parting with one’s children: It was the custom for British children born in India to be sent home around the age of six or seven due to concerns about acquiring poor health and bad habits. 404 the ghauts: Two converging mountain ranges in south-east India, the eastern and western Ghats. 405 Lady Q – : Not identified. 406 Mrs. C.: Not identified. 407 Miss D.: Not identified. 408 tiffin: See Deane, note 165. 409 seven-years’ sleep of the Beauty in the fairy tale: The reference here is surely to Charles Perrault’s ‘Sleeping Beauty in the Forest’, from his collection, Histoires ou contes temps passé (1697). However, in Perrault’s tale, the beauty slept for a hundred years. 410 Mr. Wilberforce: William Wilberforce (1759–1833), English politician and philanthropist, who played a key part in the abolition of the slave trade. 411 “in the wild-beast way”: It has not been possible to identify Wilberforce’s connection to this common phrase. 412 “God save the Queen”: The British national anthem. 413 fine old fort: Bangalore Fort, a stronghold for Tipu Sultan which was captured by the British in 1791 during the Third Mysore War (1790–1792). 414 The Pettah: Bangalore Fort had a fortified town, or pettah, outside it. 415 Naples: Italian city in the region of Campagna. 416 uncommon pagoda: Inside Bangalore Fort there is a temple dedicated to Lord Ganapathy, also known as Ganesha. 417 Moorish architecture: Islamic architecture originating in north Africa and parts of Spain. 418 the Talmud: The book of Jewish law. 419 Adam Clarke’s notion: Adam Clarke (1762–1832) was a British Methodist theologian and Biblical scholar. He is chiefly remembered for writing a commentary on the Bible in which he argued the serpent that tempted Eve was actually an ape-like creature. He believed the error had been caused by mistranslation. See A. Clarke, The Holy Bible: Containing the Old and New Testaments: The Text Carefully Printed from the Most Correct Copies of the Present Authorized Version, Including the Marginal Readings and Parallel Texts: With a Commentary and Critical Notes, 6 vols (1810–1826). 420 Thames: River running through London. 421 Hodgons’s ale: An Indian Pale Ale (IPA), i.e. an ale that is brewed from pale malt. Among the first brewers known to export beer to India was George Hodgson of the Bow Brewery, located near the East India Docks. His beers were popular among the Company traders from the late eighteenth century.

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422 fighting at Kurnool: The British attacked the Kurnool fort in Andhra Pradesh in October 1839, after learning about the conspiracies between Nawab Rasool Khan and Prince Mubarez-ud-Daulah and gleaning knowledge of the vast armoury stored there. They defeated the Nawab after six days of conflict. 423 Colonel D – : Colonel Dyce of the Twenty-Seventh Native Cavalry. 424 Mr. X – : Mr Dowdeswell. See Price, p. 199. Also see note 157. 425 a violent storm: A hurricane occurred along the coast north of Madras in November 1839. As Maitland notes, the death toll neared 10,000. See Price, p. 199. 426 “Conquering Hero”: A reference to the victorious chorus ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’ from Judas Maccabeus (1746), Handel’s tribute to the Duke of Cumberland after he had defeated the Jacobite army of Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. 427 a Chinese war: In the late 1830s, Chinese officials grew increasingly uncomfortable with the misuse of opium in the wider Chinese. In 1839 they destroyed a storehouse and forbid the merchants to trade the product. The British took this as an attack on free trade and sent out troops to reinstate trading. This was the beginning of the Opium War (1839–1842). 428 Vellore: A city in the state of Tamil Nadu. It was the location of a brief but violent mutiny by Indian sepoys against their EIC officers in July 1806.

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TEXTUAL VARIANTS

Three editions of Letters of Madras were published, 1843, 1846, and 1861. There are some small amendments and additions in the second edition (our source text), as detailed below. The second and third editions are identical. a. b. c. d. e. f.

g. h.

i. j. k. l. m. n. o. p.

have lately excited universal interest] have excited such universal interest 1843 first impressions] first impressions such as these 1843 many traits] many graphic traits 1843 the endeavours] the earnest endeavours 1843 mentioned] mentioned in terms not altogether commendatory 1843 promotion] promotion: – Captain Faulkner, very good humoured and civil, and rather original and clever, but the most incessant talker I ever did meet with in all my life: he can talk down the whole ship’s company, and be quite as fresh to begin his rounds again: he is the universal adviser to the whole company on every subject: I suspect he teaches the captain to sail; 1843 ever saw.] Madeira is very lively, very like Lucca: the country, and the heat, and the people, are Italy over again 1843 August 25th.- Madeira is very lively, very like Lucca: the country, and the heat, and the people, are Italy over again. We have just been to visit a convent here.] August 25th.- We have just been to visit a convent here. 1843 a conversation] a chirp 1843 working] waging 1843 Samson] Sampson 1843 and bugs; the last] and bugs, but the bugs 1843 a Dutch boarding house, which Frank would have called the “Hotel de Bugs;”] a Dutch boarding house, where we were eaten up alive 1843 a capital set in their attitudes] a capital set, poor things! in their attitudes 1843 clear, and striking] clear, true, and striking 1843 People complain, and perhaps justly, that] People complain that 1843 317

T E X T U A L VA R I A N T S

q. r. s. t. u. v. w. x. y. z. aa. bb. cc. dd.

ee. ff. gg. hh. ii. jj. kk. ll. mm. nn. oo. pp. qq.

very pretty and antique] very pretty, graceful, and antique 1843 composition.] composition. Is it not absurd? 1843 what a figure] what a Guy 1843 onyxes and agates] onyxes. 1843 This morning . . . cured me of gardening] 1843 omit The snakes have . . . quite makes one shudder] 1843 omit I did the same.] I did the same, and we had a chirp 1843 twopenny “moral pocket-handkerchiefs”] twopenny handkerchiefs 1843 The castes . . . making a little more money] 1843 omit There is great difference . . . these native languages] 1843 omit no village near it] no village even, near it 1843 very much] very much, poor things! 1843 The business . . . rather than helps them] 1843 omit a great many ornaments, and chatter incessantly from the moment they enter the house] a great many ornaments, mauvais ton, chatter incessantly from the moment they enter the house, twist their curls, shake their bustles, and are altogether what you may call “Low Toss.” 1843 manner of reasoning] manner of thinking 1843. A fortnight ago] Accordingly, a fortnight ago 1843 I believe . . . promised they would get “plenty sense”.] 1843 omit get off when examined] when examined, and get off 1843 with a dessert spoon] with a spoon 1843 a good man, but has given offence] a good man, but gives great offence 1843 The Bishop] The poor Bishop 1843 Slow] dunny 1843 At the Translation Committee . . . the proposition.] 1843 this paragraph included as footnote rather than main text it dawdles on] it just dawdles on 1843 “les absens,” &c,] footnote included here 1843, reading: ‘Alluding to the recorded speech of a French lady, who exclaimed, “Je ne sais d’oú cela vient, mais les absens me passent toujours de l’âme!” ’. All X – ’s furniture] all D’s – ’s furniture 1843 our two babies] our two poor babies 1843

318

WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854

WOMEN’S TRAVEL WRITINGS IN INDIA 1777–1854 Edited by Betty Hagglund Volume IV

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund; individual owners retain copyright in their own material. The right of Carl Thompson, Katrina O’Loughlin, Michael Gamer, Éadaoin Agnew and Betty Hagglund to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-20272-6 (Set) eISBN: 978-1-315-47317-8 (Set) ISBN: 978-1-138-20286-3 (Volume IV) eISBN: 978-1-315-47285-0 (Volume IV) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC Publisher’s note References within each chapter are as they appear in the original complete work

CONTENTS

Introduction

1

Mary Sherwood, The Life of Mrs Sherwood (1854)

v

17

INTRODUCTION

Although little-read today, Mary Martha Sherwood (1775–1851) was well known in her own day and the author of more than 400 books for both children and adults, including novels, short stories, astronomy, geography, fable, and religion.1 Little Henry and his Bearer (1814), a children’s book she wrote while in India, went through twenty-two editions within its first decade, was translated into at least eleven languages and was published regularly in India, England, and the United States until the end of the nineteenth century and occasionally through the twentieth; a number of her other works were similarly popular and long-lived. These memoirs, a substantial part of which cover the eleven years she spent in India, span Sherwood’s entire life. Unlike most of the other volumes in this set of women’s travel writings, Sherwood’s memoirs range widely, both geographically (England, Revolutionary and post-Revolutionary France, India, Switzerland) and chronologically. Nonetheless, the Indian section is arguably the most significant.

Life Born in Worcestershire in 1775, Mary Martha Butt was the second child and eldest daughter of the Reverend George Butt (1741–1795) and his wife Martha (née Sherwood; c. 1756–1817), daughter of a London silk merchant. Her brother Marten was born in 1773, her sister Lucy in 1781. She was later to describe her childhood as strict but happy. She was educated at home with her brother and sister, learning Latin, French, Italian, and Greek, and then sent to the Abbey School in Reading for two years. She published her first novel, The Traditions, in 1795 at the age of 20. In 1803, Mary Butt married her cousin Henry Sherwood (1776–1849), a Captain in the 53rd Foot Regiment who had recently returned from military service in the West Indies; he was appointed paymaster the next year. For two years she followed the regiment around England, amassing, as Nancy Cutt writes, ‘a first-hand knowledge of army life and of its effects upon the lives of soldiers’ wives and children which she later used in a number of tracts and stories’.2 Her first child, Mary Henrietta, was born in 1804 at the military base at Morpeth, Northumberland. 1

INTRODUCTION

When Henry Sherwood was ordered to India in 1805, they left the baby with her mother and sister to ‘save her health from the effects of other climes’.3 Pregnant with her second child, she made the four-month perilous journey round the Cape to Madras. The family stayed in India for eleven years. During their time in India, the Sherwood family moved from Calcutta (Kolkata) to Dinapore, Berhampore, Cawnpore (Kanpur), and Meerut. Four daughters and two sons were born in India; her first son, Henry, and second daughter, Lucy, died in infancy. While in India, Sherwood was perpetually busy and lived a life much less leisured than many of her contemporaries. Motivated by her growing Evangelical Christian convictions, she set up schools in each of the postings, took on the task of finding homes for military orphans, ran religious services, and wrote constantly, all of this alongside running a household and raising children, while Henry Sherwood was often absent on military duties for long periods. Many of her most significant books were written during her time in India. Sherwood was 30 years old when she arrived in India and 41 when she left. It was a time of challenge and change for her, not least spiritually as her Evangelical convictions deepened and Christianity came to be the central guiding principle of her life. Six of her eight children were born and spent their early years there, so that on returning to England Sherwood referred to them as her ‘little Indians’ and to herself as part of ‘our Indian family’. It was in India that she confronted death, never fully coming to terms with it but finding some resolution through her religious faith. As well as her two infant children who died there, there were many other deaths. Death rates among the British population were high; of the covenanted civil servants who went out to India between 1762 and 1771, almost half died in India, many leaving young children.4 Army deaths were similarly high. Sherwood’s active involvement with orphans, including the establishment of informal fostering and adoption arrangements and support for the newly founded institutions for orphans, was a constant reminder of the presence of death;5 so too were the number of funerals she attended for children she had known or taught. And it was in India that she met the dedicated and determined missionary Henry Martyn. Becoming almost part of the Sherwood family, Martyn was an essential factor in Sherwood’s spiritual development and helped to shape the way she regarded the local Indian population and understood her place in the world. After Mary Sherwood returned to England in 1816 with her own five children, two adopted orphans, and a motherless girl, she set up a small boarding school and devoted the rest of her life to teaching and writing. Her eighth child, George, was born in 1819 but died in infancy; a few weeks later, one of her adopted daughters died. Two of her other daughters were to die during the 1830s. In 1830 she gave up the school and the family made a tour of the Continent; returning in 1832 she again focused on writing and publishing. Almost to the end of her life she wrote four to five hours a day. Henry Sherwood died in 1849 and Mary Sherwood lived with her youngest daughter, Sophia, the editor of these memoirs, until her own death in 1851.

2

INTRODUCTION

Editions and versions Mary Sherwood wrote three autobiographical works during her lifetime.6 From 1805 she kept a private diary, its entries composed shortly after the events they describe. Referred to by Sherwood as the ‘Indian diary’ or ‘Indian journal’, this diary does not seem to have survived, although Sherwood quotes from it extensively and comments on it in her later autobiographical writings. A second unpublished document, known as the Family Journal, covers her entire life in twenty handwritten volumes.7 According to Sherwood’s explanation in Chapter I, her daughter Emily (1811– 1833) ‘made it one of her last requests that I would write my life’.8 A second motive seems to have come from a desire to represent herself, rather than leaving it to others to represent her. I am tempted to this most singular undertaking, by an observation I have lately been induced to make upon the propensity of the age for writing and recording the lives of every individual who has had the smallest claim to celebrity. Could I be quite sure, that when I am gone, nobody would say anything about me, I should, I think, spare myself the trouble which I now propose to take; but when I consider that it is possible that dear friends . . . may speak too partially of me, or that those who do not understand me may bring forward some of the many errors of my writings to uphold their own opinions.9 Sherwood was very aware of the pressures surrounding celebrity, particularly for women. When at the age of 59 she spent a day with the ‘celebrated Mrs. Fry’,10 the subject of their conversation was ‘the danger of celebrity, for females especially’ and the possibility of being ‘injured by the world’.11 She began the mammoth task of producing an edited version of her diaries for publication but died before completing the task. Her daughter Sophia Kelly, with whom Sherwood had co-authored a number of tracts and books, took over the editing and, as Neil Cocks has shown, ‘engaged in an extensive revision of the Family Journal before publishing it as The Life of Mrs. Sherwood in 1854’.12 In her Preface to the Life, Kelly writes that she originally thought she would only need to copy and publish the original diaries, but on perusal, I perceived that these papers were but too faithful records of past events, and that half-a-dozen pages would comprise a hundred when those parts were expunged which were of too domestic, too sacred a character, to be openly revealed.13 The problems created by interventionist nineteenth-century editors are well known and the issue is exacerbated when the controlling editorial voice is that

3

INTRODUCTION

of a close family member or member of the writer’s religious community who may have strong views about what to include or exclude.14 At the same time, the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries are rich in examples of family members writing lives together and, given their previous collaboration on fictional narratives, it is possible to regard this volume as an example of collaboration, with discussion and co-shaping up to the time of Sherwood’s death.15 Neil Cocks has argued that Sherwood seems to be in sympathy with her daughter on the question of what to exclude in the published account. The danger of disclosing private information is a recurrent theme in her work, addressed at length in stories such as ‘The Old Woman’s Tale’, as well as sections of The Life of Mrs. Sherwood that have been transferred unaltered from the original Family Journal. Thus, on many occasions the narrator of The Life of Mrs. Sherwood refuses to disclose a particularly painful fact of feeling, claiming that ‘where one has suffered much, one cannot linger in discourse, for there are certain feelings that must be avoided and suppressed’.16 Although the majority of the volume is by Mary Sherwood, there are two long sections from Henry Sherwood’s diaries; the first describing his time in Revolutionary France as a young man, the second depicting his involvement in the Nepal War (1814–1816). In 1907, an abridged edition of the 1854 Life, edited by Isabella Gilchrist, was published; a substantial part of it is paraphrase of the original and it contains no new material. In 1910, F. J. H. Darton, a descendent of one of Sherwood’s original publishers, re-edited the original diaries; the result was The Life and Times of Mrs. Sherwood (1775–1851) from the diaries of Captain and Mrs. Sherwood. Darton restored some passages ‘hitherto suppressed on personal grounds’ and also interpolated (chiefly in relation to Sherwood’s early life), ‘some additions from other sources, notably from Captain Sherwood’s unpublished journals’.17 For the current edition, the two versions of the diaries have been compared and the notes include, where appropriate, Darton’s later additions.

Religion When it was founded in the seventeenth century, the East India Company aimed to be both ‘profitable and pious’. The two were seen as mutually interdependent and it was taken for granted that chaplains would accompany its voyages to see to the spiritual welfare of the Company’s employees.18 Nonetheless, the Company originally forbade any attempts to preach to the local population or to attempt to convert them in any way. Although a small number of Protestant missionaries were active in parts of south India during the eighteenth century, the Company

4

INTRODUCTION

strenuously opposed any missionary activity in the Bengal Presidency. As Avril Powell has written, [The Company’s] own interests in Bengal were narrowly commercial, and the minority of its servants who were not indifferent about religious matters tended to an ‘orientalist’ admiration for Indian culture which was very far removed from the evangelical view of Hindu depravity. The notion of ‘non-interference’ with the religions and customs of the indigenous peoples initially reflected the Company’s own convenience, but by the time the Evangelicals became interested in India, ‘non-interference’ had been enshrined as a principle which must be adhered to in order to fulfill a pledge of honour which would guarantee the stability of British rule in India.19 Regulations were issued in 1793, promising the Indian people that the Company would ‘preserve to them the laws of the Shaster and the Koran in matters to which they have invariably been applied, to protect them in the free exercise of their religion’.20 Back in England, however, the Evangelical Movement had taken hold, and that very year William Wilberforce and others raised the question of this ‘noninterference’ policy in Parliament, sparking a major controversy. Despite the Company’s ban on missionary activity, a handful of evangelically minded Company chaplains began cautiously to make contacts among non-Christians and to distribute Gospels. Chief amongst these were three men who were central to Mary Sherwood’s spiritual development, David Brown, Daniel Corrie, and Henry Martyn. As will be seen in the following, all three men were significant. The most important to Sherwood, however, was the unique and talented Henry Martyn, a passionate preacher and a skilled translator. He sailed to India in 1805 and, after arriving in Calcutta, overwhelmed by ‘the thought of the diabolical heathenism’ of the city,21 was welcomed as a guest by David Brown, with whom he stayed five months. He served as Company Chaplain at two military garrisons, Dinapore from 1806–1809 and then Cawnpore from 1809–1810. Described by D. O’Connor as having an ‘often morbidly introspective version of evangelical spirituality, the latter balanced by an attractive sociability’,22 Martyn became a close friend of Mary Sherwood and, at the same time, her spiritual mentor and guide. Aligning herself with his missionary efforts, she moved from the liberal Anglicanism of her upbringing to a much more evangelical position, arguing for the total depravity and innate sinfulness of man, the need for conversion of the sinner through the blood of Jesus Christ and the sanctification of the regenerate soul. However Darton has argued that, after Sherwood’s return to England and the death of her daughter Emily in 1833, she reached, in meditation upon the mysteries of life and death, the view that ‘salvation was wholly unconditional, a free gift of Divine love, that

5

INTRODUCTION

every creature was safe in the hands of his Creator and his Redeemer’: a conclusion much in advance of the religious thought of the time in its breadth and freedom from unyielding dogmatism.23 Martyn’s Journal and Letters (1839) gives a detailed description of his life as a chaplain: preaching to the garrison out of doors; the setting up of schools; translation work; Sunday afternoon Hindustani services, often attended by two hundred or more wives and children of the soldiers; his preaching to the ‘beggars’ at Cawnpore; his debates with Muslim scholars. Sherwood’s Life describes Martyn engaged in many of the same activities but with a difference. She nurses him through illnesses and, as a friend and a mother, she is able to see the ways in which Martyn’s almost feverish activities are exhausting him, leading eventually to his early death in 1812 at the age of 31. While deeply influenced by him, she is also at times critical of his religious positions; see for example Chapter XIX. Many contemporary accounts of Martyn are hagiographic in nature; Sherwood’s depiction provides a much more rounded picture. The Company managed to sustain its anti-missionary position for another twenty years, but in 1813, while Sherwood was still in India, the Company’s charter came up for renewal. Parliament was asked to decide whether or not the acquisition of empire carried with it a bounden duty to promote Christianity . . .[and] what kind of Christianity this should be: that of the Established Church or embracing all Protestant denominations? . . . The unprecedented 908 petitions with over half a million signatures presented in Parliament in 1813, demonstrated the strength and organization of the religious public in Britain, which was determined to have its say in the running of empire.24 Eventually the Charter Renewal Act permitted the granting of residence licences to those wishing to promote ‘the religious and moral improvement’ of the Indian peoples and attempts to convert the people of India to Christianity grew rapidly, an endeavour that Sherwood fully supported, although she remained cognizant of the need for conversion for the expatriate British community as well.

Genre Sherwood’s text belongs to the sub-genre of travel writing that comprises settlement or residence narratives. Still within the genre of travel writing, settlement narratives tell the story of settlement, albeit temporary. While they begin with a movement from one place to another, the story they tell is one of dwelling, not of touring. Fixed in one place, they chart the development and change in the author’s perceptions, as the initially alien becomes familiar, as relationships are formed with those the author encounters and as seasons and events which bring novelty the first time they occur become part of a known annual cycle. Most cultures have 6

INTRODUCTION

an annual pattern of events and changes, whether those changes are governed by seasons and weather or by more urbanized festivals and feasts. During the first year, a traveller will, at least at intervals, meet the new and unexpected. By the second year, however, the traveller experiences a sense of repetition, of familiarity. A local festival, for example, is no longer seen for the first time – the second time it happens, there is an inevitable comparison with what has gone before. This repeated seeing – and often repeated telling – also moves the narrative away from the kinds of comparisons that are initially made with home, the place of origin, to a self-contained comparison with what has gone on in the new temporary ‘home’. While there is mobility in Sherwood’s experiences and account, both in her depiction of the initial journey from England to India and as the family moves from city to city, her narrative describes an extended stay in a small number of places, albeit with a frequently shifting expatriate population. In her work on English travel writing through the centuries Barbara Korte has written: More acutely than any other genre, then, travel writing is defined by the interaction of the human subject with the world. . . . Accounts of travel let us participate in acts of (intercultural) perception and cultural construction, in processes of understanding and misunderstanding. These processes are undergone by the traveller on the journey and later as he or she writes the account; they are also, however, experienced by the reader as he or she is perusing the text.25 It is the space and act of contact – Mary Louise Pratt’s ‘contact zone’26 – that matters, rather than the mobility of the writer. Accounts of settlement and accounts of journeying can potentially equally involve those acts of intercultural perception and cultural construction for their writers and their readers. Even more important is the issue of the gaze, what Alain de Botton refers to as ‘the travelling mindset’. What, then, is a travelling mindset? Receptivity might be said to be its chief characteristic. We approach new places with humility. We carry with us no rigid ideas about what is interesting. We irritate locals because we stand on traffic islands and in narrow streets and admire what they take to be strange small details. We risk getting run over because we are intrigued by the roof of a government building or an inscription on a wall. We find a supermarket or hairdresser’s unusually fascinating. We dwell at length on the layout of a menu or the clothes of the presenters on the evening news. We are alive to the layers of history beneath the present and take notes and photographs. . . . Home, on the other hand, finds us more settled in our expectations. We feel assured that we have discovered everything interesting about a neighbourhood, primarily by virtue of having lived there a long time. It 7

INTRODUCTION

seems inconceivable that there could be anything new to find in a place which we have been living in for a decade or more. We have become habituated and therefore blind.27 So a travelling mindset characterized by receptivity is set against a home mindset described as habituated and without expectations of finding anything new. In Sherwood’s account, as in other books within the settlement sub-genre, there is a constant and self-conscious tension between those two positions. On the one hand, she works hard to present herself as noticing, curious, not losing her fresh eye. At the same time she represents herself as gradually becoming an insider rather than an outsider, an ‘us’ rather than a ‘them’. She uses an increasing number of native words as her account goes on and, when the time comes to leave India is torn between expressions of regret at leaving but simultaneous desires for home – both common tropes within this subgenre. Sherwood’s position is complicated by the wide variety of ‘others’ whom she encounters as she engages with the various communities that make up the world of early nineteenth-century India. Within the expatriate community, she came into contact with well-off ‘ladies’, with middle-class women like herself and with the soldiers and women of the barracks. Many of the soldiers had taken Indian mistresses and their situation and that of their children caused Sherwood much concern. Through her schools and orphan-related activities, she involved herself with both English and Eurasian children and with young soldiers who were sent to her for education. She spent increasing amounts of time with the missionary chaplains and their wives and rejected the gaieties and frivolities of British social life in India. Her relationships with local people were similarly varied and included Muslim and Hindu servants at one end of the social scale, and the wealthy Begum Somru at the other. As an army officer, Henry Sherwood was invited to social events by prominent Bengalis and Mary Sherwood writes of attending nautches and an evening of illuminations hosted by the Nawab of Bengal in his palace at Moorshedabad (Murshidabad). Her grasp of Hindi/Urdu was limited which created a barrier to any real friendship with local people. And with both Europeans and Indians, her inflexible evangelical beliefs and her judgemental attitudes frequently made it difficult for her to empathize with those she encountered. She manages to overcome this, however, in relation to those who have cared for and loved her children. When she meets the Indian nurse who has cared for Henry who has died, she writes: There are moments of intense feeling, in which all distinctions of nations, colours, and castes disappear, and in their place there only remains between two human beings one abiding sense of a common nature. When I saw the beloved nurse of my Henry brought into the boat, and unfeignedly weeping for her boy, I felt in truth that she was a human being like myself.28 Similar instances occur at other points in the narrative. 8

INTRODUCTION

Sherwood’s other Indian writings The Life is not Sherwood’s only writing about India and ideally her autobiography needs to be read together with her Indian novels and children’s books.29 Most of the books she wrote while in India had Indian themes and she continued to draw on her Indian experiences after returning to England; many of her short tracts and tales are thinly disguised (or undisguised) accounts of happenings easily identified in her autobiography. Some were aimed at the audience back home, others were designed to explain Christianity to local converts, still others were designed for use in her schools. She warned of the dangers of India to English young men’s morals in George Desmond (1821), rewrote Pilgrim’s Progress by setting it in an Indian context as The Indian Pilgrim (1818), and told stories designed to teach Christian morality to servants in an Anglo-Indian home in The Ayah and the Lady (1813). Stories Explanatory of the Church Catechism (1823) is a particularly interesting volume. Discovering that the children growing up in the barracks could not make sense of English schoolbooks (see Chapter XXIV), Sherwood wrote a book of stories that linked the teachings of the catechism to common incidents in the life of a child growing up in an Indian Army post. As Cutt has argued, Not until Kipling brought them to life again in the 1880s were the daily happenings in the married quarters depicted with such lively detail. The lack of privacy, the constant temptation to drinking and extravagance, the easy irritability flaring up into bitter quarrels and violence are all here. Idle women with no interest but dress and gossip, and sober ‘methodists’ are glimpsed shopping at the bazar or in the ‘Europe Shop’, sewing and chatting, planning or giving a party, attending church or a funeral. Mrs. Sherwood, who was very well aware that children raised under barracks conditions had nothing to learn about the darker side of human life, made few concessions to sentiment . . . and no attempts whatsoever to gloss over or ignore the sordid aspects of barracks life.30 The readership for Stories Explanatory of the Church Catechism was probably largely restricted to the children in India. Sherwood’s best known book was Little Henry and His Bearer which tells the story of the conversion of a little boy of five or six and his attempts to convert the Indian servant who he loves; he succeeds on his deathbed. The book was a bestseller and is frequently cited as one of the books which shaped British attitudes towards India and missionary work during the first half of the nineteenth century.31

Afterlife Changing attitudes to children and religion at the end of the nineteenth century led to the works of evangelical writers such as Hannah More, Mary Sherwood, and Sarah Trimmer falling out of fashion. As control of education shifted from the 9

INTRODUCTION

churches to the state, books for children became more secular, and even the tract societies, set up to publish short religious works, began to cater more and more to secular interests. By 1851 the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge listed an ancient classical atlas; much biography; and material on Canada and Australia that testified to the current interest in colonization and emigration. . . . By 1860 they were offering the vigorous if stereotyped adventure stories of Kingston and Ballantyne, and accounts of the excavations of Thebes, Ninevah and Tyre.32 With only a handful of exceptions, late twentieth- and twenty-first-century scholarship on Sherwood has tended to focus on one of two areas: post-colonial analyses of the Indian writings (particularly Little Henry) or censure of her evangelical writings for children. Little critical attention has been paid to other aspects of her writing.33 Until recently, writings of conservative eighteenth- and nineteenth-century women writers have been neglected by scholars in favour of those whose social and political views made them more acceptable to modern tastes. As Nicola Thompson wrote in 2002: While we might have expected the canon of Victorian women writers to have expanded due to the feminist literary criticism of the last twenty years, the ideological agendas of many contemporary readers have blocked sympathetic and serious engagement with most Victorian women writers. In their search for admirable female role models, feminist critics have found it difficult to engage with the apparently conservative characters and agendas of so many novels produced by important Victorian women writers. Victorian women writers considered suitable candidates for critical rediscovery are usually those whose ideologies can be viewed as consistent with current feminist ideas or who can be interpreted as subversive in some way.34 While Thompson is speaking of Victorian women writers, the same argument holds true for conservative women writers of earlier periods. More recently, however, there have been moves to reevaluate and revalue these authors and their writings. As a bestselling and celebrated author of her time, whose writings on India influenced attitudes and arguments at home, Sherwood’s works – her life-writing, her novels, and her works for children – surely need to be rediscovered and revalued.

Notes 1 M. N. Cutt, Mrs. Sherwood and Her Books for Children (London: Oxford University Press, 1974) is the best source of bibliographical information for Sherwood’s writings. It also

10

INTRODUCTION

2 3 4 5 6

7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14

15

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

provides useful contextual material, particularly about Sherwood’s publishing history. It does not, however, include any discussion of translations of Sherwood’s works. M. N. Cutt, Mrs. Sherwood, p. 2. M. Sherwood, Life, Chapter XIV, p. 195 in the present volume. C. J. Hawes, Poor Relations: The Making of a Eurasian Community in British India, 1773–1833 (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), p. 21. See D. O’Connor, The Chaplains of the East India Company, 1601–1858 (London: Bloomsbury, 2012), pp. 106–7. See also endnote 603. The best discussion of Sherwood’s various autobiographical writings and their interrelationships will be found in N. Cocks, ‘“Scripture Its Own Interpreter”: Mary Martha Sherwood, the Bible and Female Autobiography’, Nineteenth-Century Gender Studies 7:3 (2011), available at https://tinyurl.com/tdbgnpp. Last accessed July 2019. This diary forms part of the Sherwood Family Papers 1775–1850, UCLA Library Special Collections, Charles E. Young Research Library, collection 1437. The papers also include unpublished correspondence and other materials. The diaries are extensive and, although scholars (notably Neil Cocks and Sumathi Ramaswamy) have drawn on them, the diaries as a whole still await serious scholarly investigation. M. Sherwood, Life, Chapter I. M. Sherwood, Life, Chapter I. M. Sherwood, Life, Chapter XXIX. Elizabeth Fry (1780–1845) was a Quaker prison penal reformer and philanthropist, well known for her philanthropic work. M. Sherwood, Life, Chapter XXIX; F. J. H. Darton (ed.), The Life and Times of Mrs. Sherwood (1775–1858) from the Diaries of Captain and Mrs. Sherwood (Abingdon: Wells Gardner, Darton & Co., 1910), p. 457. N. Cocks, ‘“Scripture Its Own Interpreter”’, section II:7. M. Sherwood, Life, Preface. See, for example, R. Cope, ‘Composing Radical Lives: Women as Autonomous Religious Seekers and Nineteenth-Century Memoirs’, in M. M. Wearn (ed.), NineteenthCentury American Women Write Religion: Lived Theologies and Literature (Abingdon: Routledge, 2016), pp. 45–58; N. Sweet, ‘Renegade Religious: Performativity, Female Identity and the Antebellum Convent-Escape Narrative’, in Wearn (ed.), NineteenthCentury American Women, pp. 15–32; P. Gutacker, ‘Joseph Milner and his Editors: Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Evangelicals and the Christian Past’, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 69:1 (2018), pp. 66–104. See F. James and J. North, ‘Writing Lives Together: Romantic and Victorian Auto/ biography’, Life Writing 14:2 (2017), pp. 133–8; L. M. Linder, ‘Co-Constructed Selves: Nineteenth-Century Collaborative Life Writing’, Forum for Modern Language Studies 52:2 (2016), pp. 121–9; A. Culley and R. Styler (eds), ‘Lives in Relation’, special issue of Life Writing 8:3 (2011), pp. 237–350; L. H. Peterson, ‘Collaborative Life Writing as Ideology: The Auto/biographies of Mary Howitt and Her Family’, Prose Studies 26:1 (2003), pp. 176–95. N. Cocks, ‘“Scripture Its Own Interpreter”’, section II:7. F. J. H. Darton (ed.), Life and Times, p. xiii. D. O’Connor, Chaplains, p. 4. A. A. Powell, Muslims and Missionaries in Pre-Mutiny India (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1993), p. 79. Regulation III of 1793, D. Sutherland, The Regulations of the Bengal Code (Calcutta: Geo. Wyman, n.d.), cited in Powell, Muslims and Missionaries, pp. 79–80. J. Sargent, Life and Letters of the Rev. Henry Martyn (London: Seely Jackson, 1868), cited in D. O’Connor, Chaplains, p. 111. D. O’Connor, Chaplains, p. 111. F. J. H. Darton, Life and Times, pp. xi–xii.

11

INTRODUCTION

24 P. Carson, The East India Company and Religion 1698–1858 (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 2012), p. 3. 25 B. Korte, English Travel Writing from Pilgrimages to Postcolonial Explorations (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2000), pp. 10, 180. 26 A contact zone is a ‘social space where disparate cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in highly asymmetrical relations of domination and subordination – like colonialism, slavery, or their aftermaths as they are lived out across the globe today’. M. L. Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (Abingdon: Routledge, 2008), p. 7. 27 A. de Botton, The Art of Travel (London: Penguin, 2003), pp. 246–7. 28 M. Sherwood, Life, Chapter XVIII. 29 Works with Indian themes or subject matter include Ermina, The History of George Desmond, The Ayah and the Lady, Little Henry and his Bearer, Little Lucy and her Dhaye, Stories Explanatory of the Church Catechism, The Indian Orphans, The Indian Pilgrim, Arzoomund, The Last Days of Boosy, Volumes I, IV, and VI of The Lady of the Manor, and Memoirs of Sergeant Dale, His Daughter and the Orphan. The list is not exhaustive and there are probably many short tracts or stories within stories that have not yet been identified. 30 M. N. Cutt, Mrs. Sherwood, p. 16. 31 See for example, D. R. Regaignon, ‘Intimacy’s Empire: Children, Servants, and Missionaries in Mary Martha Sherwood’s “Little Henry and his Bearer”’, Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 26:2 (2001), pp. 84–95; K. Mascarenhas, ‘Little Henry’s Burdens: Colonization, Civilization, Christianity, and the Child’, Victorian Literature and Culture 42 (2014), pp. 425–38; R. Krishnaswamy, ‘Evangels of Empire’, Race and Class 34:4 (1993), pp. 47–62; K. K. Dyson, A Various Universe (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2006), pp. 357–61. 32 M. N. Cutt, Ministering Angels (Wormley: Five Owls Press, 1979), p. 31. 33 For post-colonial debates about Sherwood’s work, see J. Grossman, ‘Ayahs, Dhayes, and Bearers: Mary Sherwood’s Indian Experience and “Constructions of Subordinated Others”’, South Atlantic Review 66:2 (2001), pp. 14–44. 34 N. D. Thompson, ‘Lost Horizons: Rereading and Reclaiming Victorian Women Writers’, Women’s Studies 31:1 (2002), pp. 67–83 on pp. 68–9.

12

THE

LIFE OF

MRS. S H E R W O O D .

LONDON: DARTON & CO. HOLBORN HILL .

T HE L I FE OF

MRS. SHERWOOD, (CHIEFLY AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL) WITH

EXTRACTS FROM MR. SHERWOOD’S JOURNAL DURING

His Imprisonment in France & Residence in India. EDITED BY HER DAUGHTER,

SOPHIA KELLY,1 AUTHORESS OF THE “DE CLIFFORDS,” “ROBERT AND FREDERIC,” ETC., ETC.

LONDON:

DA RTO N & C O. , HOLB O R N H IL L . MDCCCLIV.

PREFACE 

Too often have I blamed writers, especially those who are first presenting themselves before the public, for the apologetic preface, that has probably been drawn forth from feelings somewhat resembling mine at this moment—a desire to make an excuse for themselves for what they probably fear needs an excuse. In the present case, all I have to do is to relate my situation simply, and circumstances will plead for me. A beloved mother, from whom I had scarcely ever been separated, was removed from me by a heavenly Father’s will, so unexpectedly that it was not till all consciousness had left her, and till she was struggling with the last death agony, that I comprehended what was taking place. Whilst deeply mourning, but, thank God, not rebelliously, over a loss to any child, under any circumstances, inexpressibly heavy, I was called upon to fulfil a task she had herself imposed upon me in happier hours, of preparing the records of her life for publication. I had imagined that my portion of the business would prove a light and easy one; for a journal of great extent, fifteen volumes, kept by herself of her own recollections, was in my possession, and I believed I had but to copy and send it forth to the world. But not so. On perusal, I perceived that these papers were but too faithful records of past events, and that half a dozen pages would comprise a hundred when those parts were expunged which were of too domestic, too sacred, a character to be openly revealed. Then truly began my labour, which commenced and ended in deep sadness of heart—a sadness that could scarcely be imagined without some little explanation. It must be understood, that when first my infant mind began to comprehend the affairs of this life, my mother was a favourite and popular writer, and hence, before I could make out the characters her pen had traced, I knew the high value set upon even the signature of her name. Had I not, then, a reverence for my mother’s handwriting, even beyond that which every affectionate child must feel for the handwriting of a parent who is no more? And it was this writing I had to peruse, this to copy; and, more touching than all to me, it was in this same writing I had to read sentiments of such tender maternal love, especially in later years, that I have often left off my task for days together, from the unspeakable grief of thinking that this beloved one could no more hold communion with me 19

P R E FA C E

on earth—in one word, that I was motherless. But through Him who died for us, and is now risen again, is this glorious hope that The love that seems forsaken When friends in death depart, In heaven again shall waken And repossess the heart.2 To those, then, who are motherless themselves, or who fear to be so, do I address myself for sympathy; and to these also I would add, that respect and love for the living has restrained me in many instances from saying all I could say that would interest the public. Much, very much, has been withheld, and events are told as they occurred in regular order; whilst the later dates are purposely avoided as too sure clews, occasionally, where anything is desirable to be told, but not too largely dilated upon. I gladly, however, take this opportunity of thanking my relative, the Rev. Henry Short,3 of Bleasdale, Co. Lanc., and also my kind friend and near neighbour, F. G. West,4 Esq., Barrister-at-Law, for their very able assistance, without which I could not have presented to the public the records of a relationship to the family of Bacon, with whom my mother’s family have intermarried more than once, and whose daughters she resembled in person, as in the case of Margaret Bacon,5 whose portrait by Holbein I possess. As regards my mother’s sentiments and opinions, I have said little in this work, as her own writings more correctly express them than any other writer can do for her; but I must be allowed to record here the style of her conversation in private to those who were privileged enough to be with her in her domestic hours. “Some have believed of me,” she would say, “that I doubt that my Saviour, my Redeemer, is perfect God as well as perfect man. Oh! those who say so cannot know how, through the Divine blessing of the Holy Spirit, I have been taught to see this Saviour. No created being could suffer what our Lord has suffered for us, his ransomed brethren. Christ’s love for us is eternal—fathomless—Divine. He is the cedar of Lebanon, that forms our spiritual temple;6 the scape-goat7 of the wilderness; the hewn tree that makes the bitter waters of Marah sweet;8 the rock of refuge, sending forth its stream of living waters;9 the foundation stone;10 the sun that sheds soft emanations from above on crystals, drawing forth from them brightness and beauty; the precious spices that embalm the dead, leaving its perfumes on the door—that door the only entrance into life eternal;11 ever the Saviour, but under another figure of love and mercy. Again, he is the noble roe, now hid behind the lattice till the morning breaks forth with joy and gladness.”12 But now that lattice is removed, the veil of separation is torn down, and to her Hope has chang’d to glad fruition, Faith to sight and prayer to praise.13 20

P R E FA C E

My mother—now, even now, thine eyes behold the King, not in his terrors, but in his beauty; but the land to us seems far, very far off. Isa. xxxiv. 13–17.14 Our view is but through a glass, dark and misty;15 but thou knowest what our God has done; thou canst rejoice in acknowledging his might. For in His presence is fulness of joy; at his right hand are pleasures for evermore. Psa. xvi. 11. SOPHIA KELLY.

PINNER, January 27th, 1853.

21

CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I. Reasons for writing my own Life—My Father’s Family—His Friends—My Uncles John Marten and Thomas Simon Butt—My Aunt Salt—The Society at Lichfield—Miss Woodhouse—The Presentation to the Living of Stanford in Worcestershire—My Mother’s Early Life—Samuel Johnson and his Writings—My Parents’ Marriage in 1773—Description of Stanford—My Brother’s Birth, 1774—My Birth, 1775 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 CHAPTER II. Earliest Recollections—Visit to the Palace at Lichfield—Anecdote of Mr. Edgeworth—My Mother’s Canary—Visit to my Grandfather Carey Butt, at Pipe Grange—My Fifth Birth-day—Visit to Lichfield and Donnington— Newchurch, Isle of Wight—Mr. B—y . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42 CHAPTER III. Visit of my Cousins—Mr. Nash, my Father’s Curate—My Brother’s Fall— The Mountain-ash Berries—My Sister’s Birth—My Early Education—My Brother’s Character—Our First Attempts at Writing—Mr. Annesley—Visit to Coventry, to my Grandfather Sherwood’s—Miss Grove—My Father’s Study— Coventry—Dr. L—r’s Family—My Father appointed one of the Chaplains to George III., 1784—The Family of Dr. Butts, Bishop of Ely—Madame Pelevé’s Visit to Stanford . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 CHAPTER IV. Marten went to Dr. Valpy’s School, 1784—My Visit to Ludlow—My Brother’s Address to me—My Father wrote his Versification of Isaiah—Margaret’s Visit to Stanford—The Black Library—My Father presented with the Living of Kidderminster, 1787—Our Removal to Kidderminster—New Acquaintances . . . . 62 23

CONTENTS

CHAPTER V. My Father’s Character—Our Acquaintances at Kidderminster—Our Visit to Mr. Hawkins Browne at Badger—My Cousin Henry Sherwood’s Visit to Kidderminster— A Day at Stanford—The King’s Visit to Hartlebury—My Father’s Sermon at St. James’s—My Visit with my Mother and Sister to Coventry—My Theme on Hocage—My Father’s going to dine at Lord Stamford’s at Enville—The Blind Fiddler— The Dean of Gloucester—The Sisters, Philadelphia and Dorothea Percy . . . 71 CHAPTER VI. Death of my Grandfather Sherwood, 1790—My Uncle Sherwood went to reside in France—Acquaintance with Dr. Kidd—Death of Philadelphia Percy—I accompany my Father to Dr. Valpy’s, at Reading—The Abbey School—Madame St. Q.—Mrs. Latournelle—My First Breakfast—My Three Friends—My Examination by Monsieur St. Q.—Three Anecdotes of my Moral and Religious Opinions—Holidays with Mrs. Valpy—The Pictets—Miss Mitford—Miss Bacon—My Return to Kidderminster—My Father’s Sermons . . . . . . 84 CHAPTER VII. Death of Mrs. S—’s little Honora—Visit to Trentham—Lucy and I go to the Abbey at Reading—The French Revolution—The Breaking-up—My Illness—Visit to London—Death of Louis XVI., 1793—French Anecdotes—The Abbé Beauregard—Our Play and Dr. Valpy’s Visit to Arley—The Princess— The Baronet’s Ball and Robert Chisney . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 CHAPTER VIII. My First Book, 1794—Our Return to Stanford—My Father’s Address to a Friend— My little Dog Bonne—The Family at Stanford Court—Our Library—My Second Book commenced—Lady Winnington’s Death and Funeral—My Visit to Bath and to Clifton—Visit of a Friend to Stanford . . . . . . . . . 106 CHAPTER IX. My Father’s Attack of Palsy at Kidderminster, 1795—His Return to Stanford— The Little Robin—The Baptism—Stanford Bridge—Dr. Darwin called in— My Father’s Death, September 30, 1795—His Funeral—The Funeral Sermon at Kidderminster—My Mother took a House at Bridgenorth—Writing at “Margarita”—Anecdote of my Father—My Second Visit to Bath—An Eclarisement—My Brother’s Gift to me at Oxford—My Visit to Monsieur St. Q.—My renewed Acquaintance with my Cousin Henry Sherwood—Our New Home at Bridgenorth—Our Sunday School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120 24

CONTENTS

CHAPTER X. The Sherwood Family—Our Old Prayer-Book, belonging to the Whittinghams— My Cousin Henry’s History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 CHAPTER XI. Continuation of Mr. Sherwood’s Life—Abbeville, 1793 . . . . . . . . 148 CHAPTER XII. Mrs. Hannah More—“Susan Grey” written and “Estelle”—We left Bridgenorth— Our Lodgings at Bath—Miss Hamilton—Our Residence at Arley Hall—“Susan Grey” sold—Henry Salt—Mr. M—’s Visit to Arley—The Scarlet Fever—Mrs. Bury . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 CHAPTER XIII. My Visit to Peter Hall—My Mother’s Illness—My Return to Bridgenorth— Arrival of Mr. Sherwood—Dr. Salt’s Illness—My Marriage—I join the Regiment at Sunderland—Dr. Paley—We are removed to Brampton, and Carlisle, and Hexham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178 CHAPTER XIV. The Regiment ordered to Morpeth—Death of Dr. Salt—My Sister’s Engagement—Mr. Sherwood becomes Paymaster of the 53rd Regiment—My Baby’s Birth—Tract of “Eliza Cunningham”—My Journey to Blackwall from Shields, in the “Charming Peggy”—Walthamstow—I visit my Mother in Worcestershire—Canterbury—My Sister’s Visit—Mrs. Duncombe—The Regiment ordered to India—The Rev. Gerard Andrews, Rector of St. James—Mrs. Carter— Portsmouth—We sail in the “Devonshire.” . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 CHAPTER XV. We lose sight of England—Our Voyage—“The Immortalité”—The lost Brooch— The King’s Birthday—Admiral Lenois—Our Arrival at Madras—The Surf— Our New Residence—We embark again in “The Devonshire”—The Island of Saugur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200 CHAPTER XVI. Arrival at Diamond Harbour—Fort William—List of Attendants—Death of Maria Parker—The European Butter—Birth of my Eldest Son—His Baptism—The 25

CONTENTS

Church-service at Dinapore—The Sunday Afternoon—Serjeant Clarke—Our Evening Drives—Description of the Natives of Dinapore . . . . . . 212 CHAPTER XVII. Indian Dinners—My School—Voyage to Berhampore—Description of the Natives—Invitation of the Nawaub of Bengal—The Palace at Moorshedabad— The Entertainment and the Nautch—The Fireworks—The Supper—The Brothers of the Nawaub—The Parting Gift—Illness and Death of my Son . . 221 CHAPTER XVIII. Death of Mrs. Childe—Left Berhampore—Our Attendants—Mr. Ramsay’s Invitation—The Dance—Mrs. Sturt’s little Boy—My “Infant Pilgrim’s Progress”—Henry’s Nurse—Mr. Martyn—His Views on the Millenium—Mr. Corrie—Mrs. Parsons and little Mary—Adoption of Annie and Sarah . 237 CHAPTER XIX. Death of little Lucy—My inordinate Grief—Description of Annie—Death of Mrs. Parsons—Threatenings of War—Mr. Jeffreys—Mode of Existence during the Hot Winds—Arrival and Illness of the Rev. Henry Martyn—Anecdotes of Annie and Mr. Martyn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247 CHAPTER XX. Mr. Martyn and the Pious Soldiers—Mr. Martyn’s Salary—His Bungalow— Sabat’s History—Our first Visit to Mr. Martyn—The Padre—The Mutton Patties—The Birth of my Fourth Child—My Daughter’s Christening—The Water-spouts—We leave our Bungalow—Visit to Mr. Martyn . . . . 254 CHAPTER XXI. Our Residence at Mr. Martyn’s Bungalow—Account of his School—Sabat’s Wife—The Lord’s Supper at Mr. Martyn’s—We leave Cawnpore—Rev. Mr. Corrie and little Annie—Mrs. R.—Benares—State of Benares—Arrival at Calcutta—Our Uneasiness—Drs. Scholbred and Russell . . . . . . . . 264 CHAPTER XXII. Our Removal from Calcutta, and anchoring for Two Days—Our New Acquaintances—Visit to Mr. Thomason’s—The Rev. David Browne—The Botanic Garden—Cruden’s Concordance—Our Journey to Cawnpore—Meeting with Mr. R.—Visit to Mr. Corrie at Chunar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274 26

CONTENTS

CHAPTER XXIII. The Civilian’s Family at Mirzapore—Miss Louisa—The old Ayah’s Advice— Our Return to Cawnpore—The Dhaye’s Child—Mr. Martyn and the Fakeers— Abdool Musseeh—The Death of the Dhaye’s Child and little Charles Sunderland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 CHAPTER XXIV. Our Services at the Church Bungalow—Mr. Martyn’s Address to the Mendicants— The “Indian Pilgrim’s Progress”—The Pine-apple Cheese—Mr. Martyn’s Studies—Mr. Martyn leaves for Persia—Our School—Maria Clarke—The Portuguese Half-caste . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288 CHAPTER XXV. Death of Maria Clarke—Sarah Abbot—Birth of my Fifth Child—The War—Taking of Callinger—Little Margaret and John—Mrs. Hawkins’ Arrival—The Fakeers—Our Meeting—Our Removal to Meerut—The Begum—John Strachan—The Nautch Girls—Death of Mr. Martyn . . . . . . . . . . 300 CHAPTER XXVI. The Touffan—Mr. Corrie’s Visit to Cawnpore—Birth of my Son—The Christian Converts and their Baptism by Mr. Corrie—Little Sutkee—The Adoption of Mary Parsons—The War and the Begum Somru’s Guard—The Pious Soldiers— Our Alarm—The taking of Kalunga—The Chuckoor—Arrival of Permunund— The Mohurrum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 310 CHAPTER XXVII. We move to Mr. Parson’s Bungalow—Lord Moira’s Visit to Meerut—Letter from Colonel Mawby—Return of Mr. Sherwood—Little Elizabeth O.—Our Visit to the Begum Somru—Permunund’s Astronomy—Mr. Sherwood goes again to the Field—The End of the War—Our Removal to Berhampore—Our Rainy Journey—Shahjehanpore—Our Arrival at the Ghaut of Ghurmetsir—The Brahmin—Our Visit to Mr. Sherer at Calcutta—Our Removal to Aldeen—The Baptist Missionary Settlement—The Suttee . . . . . . . . . . . . 327 CHAPTER XXVIII. The Orphans and Mr. Edmonds—The Female Orphan Asylum—Our Return to England—The Black Ayah—Our Landing—Visit to Snedshill—Arrival at Worcester—Visit of Mr. Corrie—My Mother’s Illness and Death . . . 342 27

CONTENTS

CHAPTER XXIX. Our Home at Wick—Our Family—Mrs. Butt’s Death—My George’s Birth—My Tract of “The China Manufactory”—Deaths of Elizabeth Parsons and my little George—Our Visit to France—The Barber—Pere la Chaise—Mr. Wilks and his Letter—Our Visit to St. Vallery—Death of little Alfred—Mrs. Fry—Our Visit to Weedon—The Military Band . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355 CHAPTER XXX. Mr. Thomason’s Visit—My Daughter’s Marriage—Mr. Irving—We leave England— Mr. Dickinson—M. Malan—Geneva—Lady Raffles—The Little Morniere—The Riots at Lyons—Nice and the Brigade D’Acquis—Sir Walter Scott. . . . 366 CHAPTER XXXI. Our Return to Wick—Visit my Brother at Bridgenorth—Our Tea Party—Death of my Daughter Emily—Henry and Lucy’s Marriages—My Lucy’s Death— My Youngest Daughter’s Marriage and Return to us—Our Happy Home—The Parcel from America—My State of Mind—Conclusion . . . . . . . 380

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MRS. SHERWOOD CHAPTER I. REASONS FOR WRITING MY OWN LIFE—MY FATHER’S FAMILY—HIS FRIENDS—MY UNCLES JOHN MARTEN AND THOMAS SIMON BUTT—MY AUNT SALT—THE SOCIETY AT LICHFIELD— MISS WOODHOUSE—THE PRESENTATION TO THE LIVING OF STANFORD IN WORCESTERSHIRE—MY MOTHER’S EARLY LIFE—SAMUEL JOHNSON AND HIS WRITINGS—MY PARENTS’ MARRIAGE IN 1773—DESCRIPTION OF STANFORD—MY BROTHER’S BIRTH, 1774—MY BIRTH, 1775. I AM tempted to this most singular undertaking, by an observation I have lately been induced to make upon the propensity of the age for writing and recording the lives of every individual who has had the smallest claim to celebrity. Could I be quite sure, that when I am gone, nobody would say anything about me, I should, I think, spare myself the trouble which I now propose to take; but when I consider that it is possible that dear friends, when mourning for me, may speak too partially of me, or that those who do not understand me may bring forward some of the many errors of my writings to uphold their own opinions, I feel it but justly due to Divine love and mercy to state, how, through a life of many changes, I have been gradually brought to see the truth in a point of view which is luminous indeed, and bright as the day, when compared with the twilight ray that I first discerned. The light of lights, which I now enjoy, is not a deceitful one—an ignis fatuus,16 or feeble emittance of fire, which can possibly lead me astray; and for this reason, that in the same measure as it burns brighter and brighter I discern more and more of the all-sufficiency of God, and of the total insufficiency of man. Thus, to speak in scriptural language, “The city shall have no need of the sun, for the Lamb shall be the light thereof.”17 Although I seem to be forming a plan of bringing myself principally forward as the heroine of my own story, this is far from my design; I trust I desire no such thing. For it is my intention to speak of what I have seen, and to show, if I am permitted, what the Almighty has done for me, and those most dear to me, in leading us on in the way of salvation. And it is my earnest desire that I may be enabled to do this in simplicity and in truth, without considering self in a higher light than that of an observant spectator, unless it may be where certain portions of my experience might serve as warnings to others who are following me in the 29

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journey of life. But wherefore should I deny the motive, which perhaps was the leading one, which induced me no longer to delay this undertaking? A lovely daughter, of whom for many years I was the proud and happy mother,—I say the proud mother, for alas! I was too proud of that beautiful child,—made it one of her last requests that I would write my life. Oh! then, for Emily18 it shall be written; and may grace be given me, that it may be so written that she, with whom all present things are past, may now approve. And what, might we ask, could please a glorified spirit in a work of this kind? Surely it must be, that all glory should be given to God, and that the creature should be humbled. There has been a singular Providence attending me through life, and preparing me in a remarkable manner for that which it was the Divine will I should do. I say singular, more perhaps because I am better acquainted with the steps which have brought me thus far in my progress, than with the histories and experiences of other persons. But far be it from me to suppose that anything I ever received was in any way merited by me. All I have received is a free gift; and the remarkable benefits which have been bestowed upon me, and the very high privileges which I have enjoyed, ought rather to excite wonder and gratitude than self-congratulation. Oh! my God, “what is man that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man that thou visitest him!”19 *

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But to my memoirs.—My father’s name was George Butt,20 his family resided at Lichfield;21 and my grandfather, Carey Butt,22 exercised for many years the medical profession in that place, and was a man of exemplary piety, integrity, and benevolence. The family of Butt, Butts, or De Butts, is of considerable antiquity, and the tradition handed down from one generation to another is, that they first came to England with the Conqueror. The word Butts seems to be derived from archery, the butts being the dead marks at which the archers shot; hence the modern term to “butt at” a person or thing. In the fifth year of the reign of Edward IV.23 an ordinance was made, commanding every Englishman and Irishman dwelling in England to have a long bow of his own height; and the Act directs that “butts” should be made in every township, at which the inhabitants were to shoot, up and down, upon all feast days, under the penalty of one halfpenny for every time they omitted to perform this exercise. This, in the poetical legends, is called “shooting about.” Of our King Henry VII. it is said, “See where he shoteth at the butts; And with hym are lordes three; He weareth a gowne of velvette blacke, And it is coted above the knee.”24 Such a derivation of our name pleases me, as my imagination amuses itself with the question, Did my ancestors get their soubriquet from their humanity 30

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in substituting dead marks for “shooting about;” or were one, or more than one, of themselves the doomed “dead marks,” while still all glowing with life and feeling? Some, I know, say the word is from the German Bott, a guide; and they, in defence of their argument, point at the golden stars on the azure field on our coat of arms; for a star, in the language of heraldry, denotes “the guide.” I do not like not to insert our family pedigree, as we have one, and a good one too; but all I can say is, that should this work be ever published, those that do not care for pedigrees may pass it over, whilst those that do may, perchance, amuse themselves therewithal at the expense of our family pride. On one point, indeed, I think we have a right to be proud, and that is—of our connection with the noble and talented family of Bacon. And we may be proud, too, of the line by which we boast this connection. Sir William De Butts married Margaret Bacon, and his grandchild and sole heiress, Ann Butts, wedded her relative, the son of the Lord Keeper Bacon. Sir William is immortalized by the pen of Shakespear25 and the pencil of Holbein. The former represents him discovering to Henry, in a familiar conversation, the mean malice of Bishop Gardiner against Cranmer; and the latter has left us an excellent portrait of him, in the remarkable picture, so well preserved in Bridewell Hospital, of the Surgeons receiving from Prince Henry their Charter of Incorporation.26 Sir William De Butts was a Reformer. It is recorded, in his praise, that at one time Henry VIII. gave evidence of a somewhat favourable disposition towards even the doctrinal views of the Reformers; for he made the famous Latimer one of his chaplains, on the recommendation, it is said, of Cromwell and of his Physician Dr. Butts! Sir William, or Dr. Butts, had three sons, who, strange to say, married three sisters, co-heiresses of the house of Bures of Acton. Of these three marriages there was only one representative, Mistress Anne Butts, who, as I remarked above, wedded her relative, the eldest son of the Lord Keeper Bacon. The sons of the Butts of that line thus failed in the third generation; hence our line became the eldest male branch, and I reckon in my pedigree five successive Williams, two Leonards, and a Timothy, which brings me to my grandfather Carey, whose son George was my father. Sir John Hawkins, in his Life of Samuel Johnson, says (page 6), “There dwelt at Lichfield a gentleman of the name of (Carey) Butt, the father of the Rev. George Butt, now King’s Chaplain (1787), to whose house on holidays and in school vacations he (young Johnson) was ever welcome. The children in this family, perhaps offended with the rudeness of young Johnson, would frequently call him ‘the great boy,’ which the father (Mr. Butt) overhearing, said, ‘You call him the great boy; but, take my word for it, you will live to call him the great man.’ ”27 Now these children of Mr. Butt were many in number, but four only arrived at maturity; the eldest was my uncle John Marten Butt, M.D., F.R.S., who after a while went out to Jamaica, and resided there; and whilst there, the great Lord Erskine28 was for a short time placed under his care. Lord Erskine, in a letter to his brother, thus writes of my uncle, Dr. Butt:— “KINGSTON, IN JAMAICA, July, 1764. 31

Table of Descent.

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“MY DEAREST CARDROSS,—I wrote to you about ten days ago, giving you some small account of what I had seen here. I am still with Dr. Butt, but shall sail now in about ten days; he is appointed Physician-General to the Militia of the Island of Jamaica, by his Excellency Governor Lyttleton,29 whom I waited upon at Spanish Town, along with the Doctor, some days ago. *

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“I begin now to draw indifferently. I am studying botany with Dr. Butt, so I will bring you home some drawings of all the curious plants, &c., &c.,—of everything that I see. *

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“If you have got anything that you wish to send me, you need only direct it to Dr. Butt, in the same manner you direct letters, and put it into a merchantman bound for the West Indies, and it can’t fail coming safe. Dr. Butt desires his best compliments to you, and he will be obliged to you if you will send him out such a profile of you as you copied from Mr. Hoar’s.”*30 With a genius scarcely inferior to that of my father’s, my uncle John Marten possessed a considerable share of that worldly prudence in which my dear father was so decidedly deficient. His health, however, failing him, he left Jamaica and settled in Bath, where he died in 1769. He was buried in the Abbey Church, where a beautiful inscription to his memory was placed by my father. I have been told that the tablet was taken down on the repairing of the Abbey some few years back, and was never restored. My uncle married the widow of a Mr. (or Dr.) D’warris, from whom is descended the present Sir Fortunatus D’warris;31 but he himself had no child. Next to my uncle John Marten was my father George Butt, of whom more presently, after I have spoken of the youngest boy, my uncle Thomas Simon, who was junior to the rest of the family by many years, being born when my grandmother was fifty-one years old. In his youth a cart had gone over him, inflicting an injury which had stopped his growth and given him a peculiarity of form. He had been intended for an agricultural life; but, not liking the pursuit, my father educated him for the church, a thing not so difficult at that time as it is now. He was ordained in due time, and married. In the course of my memoirs I shall often have to speak of him, and of his son, my cousin Thomas Butt, the only other relatives of our name. Besides these three sons my grandfather had one daughter, who married a Mr. Salt,32 a surgeon, who after a while took my grandfather’s practice and settled in Lichfield. Of his family I shall also have occasion to speak. And now I will return to my father George Butt, the second child of his parents, and eventually the elder line of the house. He was born at Lichfield on the 26th of December, 1741. * See Jesse’s, ‘Life of Beau Brummell,’ vol. 1, p. 296.

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Whilst a boy at school, at Lichfield, it seems he had some boyish struggle with the great Samuel, which the faithful Boswell has recorded amongst the thousand and one events in the life of the immortal Lexicographer. It seems my father33 showed early in life great indications of genius, and it was in consequence decided that he should be educated for holy orders. Dr. Newton,34 afterwards the famed Bishop of Bristol, my grandfather’s intimate friend, was so pleased with the boy’s promising abilities that he took him in his own carriage to London; and, owing to his patronage, got him elected on the Royal Foundation at Westminster School. Here he became Captain of the school, and headed the schoolboy processions at the funeral of George II. and at the coronation of George III. At school he took little part in games and exercises, but preferred reading the English authors at leisure hours, more especially the poets. But he had the highest ideas of friendship; and on one occasion, when some of his young schoolfellows were engaged in battle with a superior number of men, though he had no natural inclination for such scenes, yet for their defence he assumed a force which proved the energy of his mind, and seizing the leader of the hostile mob, he brought him awed and trembling to the college. His dearest friends at Westminster were Isaac Hawkins Browne, Esq., M.P.;35 John Thomas Batt, Esq.;36 Francis Burton, Esq.,37 one of the Welsh Judges; and Dr. Jackson,38 Dean of Christ Church, afterwards Tutor to George IV. My father was distinguished at Westminster for his public speaking; and on one occasion he so bore away the prize, that he was wont to say, “he quite overflowed with money forced upon him by the liberal audience.” From Westminster, in 1760, he was chosen Student of Christ Church College, Oxford, where he continued the same friendships and the same habits which he had formed at school. My grandfather Carey Butt was a specimen of the true Christian gentleman, all heart and benevolence. Well do I remember some of the little courtesies of his manner, and now I recall how it was his custom, on every Sunday morning that the weather allowed, to present each of us who were staying in his house with a small nosegay of his own selection. He had no idea of a false profession, and though wholly incapable of giving “a reason for the hope that was in him,”39 yet was he no doubt divinely guided, and led unerringly in the way of truth and peace. On the marriage of his daughter he left Lichfield, and retired to an estate called Pipe Grange, about a mile from Lichfield, and there taking to building, he impoverished himself in no small degree; but worldly wisdom was no part of his endowment, as it was no part of the inheritance which descended to my father. At this time there was in Lichfield a brilliant knot of choice spirits—choice, I mean to say, as it regarded intellectuals and externals. Amongst these were Dr. Darwin,40 the author of “The Loves of the Plants;” Miss Seward;41 Mr. Edgeworth42 and his celebrated daughter Maria,43 then a mere child; Mr. Hayley44 the poet; and Mr. Day,45 a friend of Mr. Edgeworth’s and the author of “Sandford 35

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and Merton.” David Garrick,46 too, came to visit his brother often in the city, and Samuel Johnson47 was also a native of the place. Among these talented of the earth my father was a welcome addition, possessing as he did immense conversational powers, though he never seemed to have derived aught from this society but what the friends of virtue and religion could have desired. There are some persons so constructed, or rather so protected, by their Almighty Father, that without seeming to have during youth any very strong sense of religion, yet are they led through the most dangerous scenes without appearing to incur that contamination which such scenes are calculated to impart. To compare that which is intellectual with that which is merely physical, some constitutions are not so liable to receive contagion as others are; and those characters who are so formed as to pass through scenes of temptation with the least injury are persons who have naturally much vivacity: hence they skim gaily over the surface of society, letting little of its influence rest on their animal spirits. It is true that there is danger in excessive vivacity; but long experience has instructed me, that lively young people in general are by no means the most corrupt; and that, where youth becomes corrupted, it scarcely ever preserves its vivacity. It is a great mistake, however, to confound vivacity with excitement. The modern arrangements of society excite, without imparting, cheerfulness; on the contrary, they destroy the spring of the mind by overstraining it. I have been led to this reflection by considering how, on many occasions, my father mingled with dangerous society without seeming to be affected by it. The society at that period at Lichfield,48 when we consider the characters of those who formed its basis, must have been particularly dangerous, because it must have been particularly fascinating. Miss Seward was at that period, when my father was a very young man, between twenty and thirty; for I know not her precise age. She had that peculiar sort of beauty which consists in the most brilliant eyes, glowing complexion, and rich dark hair. She was tall and majestic, and was unrivalled in the power of expressing herself. She was at the same time exceedingly greedy of the admiration of the other sex; and though capable of individual attachment, as she manifested in after life much to her cost, yet not very nice as to the person by whom the homage of flattery was rendered at her shrine. She was, in a word, such a woman as we read of in romances; and, had she lived in some dark age of the past, might have been charged with sorcery, for even in advanced life she often bore away the palm of admiration from the young and beautiful, and many even were fascinated who wholly condemned her conduct. My father was attracted into this society by the charms of the lovely Mary Woodhouse,49 whose brother Chappel,50 late Dean of Lichfield, was his pupil and the object of his sincere affection. This favoured pupil became his inseparable companion, and unremitted were his labours to make him the accomplished scholar and the Christian gentleman. I have said that my grandfather was a pious man. It was whilst at college I have that to record of my father, of the nature of his youthful friendships, which shows

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that the instruction of his childhood had been blessed from on high. “When in danger of being beguiled by the enticements of youthful pleasures,” said Mr. Hawkins Browne51 to me, “your father, Miss Butt, restrained me by pointing out the words of Joseph—‘How can I do this great wickedness and sin against God?’ ”52 Oh my beloved father, whenever I recall thee to mind, I cannot but think of the beautiful passage in “Milton’s Paradise Lost;”— “The grave rebuke, Severe in youthful beauty, added grace Invincible. Abash’d he stood, And felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely.”53 When does the grave rebuke of sin come with such force as from the lips of youth—when the temptation sounds strong in the youthful ear—when the bait looks gilded to the youthful eye—and nothing but the restraining influences of Divine Power leads the young heart to desire the purity of perfect holiness? Let not the worldling imagine there is not temptation alike for all; but let him without mockery confess the sanctifying and restraining power of the Holy Spirit on the once fallen but now ransomed race of Adam. In 1765 my father was appointed to the curacy of Leigh in Staffordshire, a living54 in the gift of Sir Walter Bagot,55 with whose sons he was already connected in friendship; and he was ever a welcome guest at the hospitable seat of Sir Walter, on whose public and domestic virtues he would dwell with rapture. But he did not continue long at Leigh, for he was recommended as a private tutor to the only son of Sir Edward Winnington,56 of Stanford Court, in the county of Worcester, and having accepted the offer, he resided for some time with the family in London, and eventually, in the month of October 1767, accompanied his pupil to Christ Church. It was there he associated with many young noblemen and gentlemen commoners, to whom the vivacity of his genius and his wonderful powers of conversation rendered his society highly acceptable. To the late Duke of Leeds, then Lord Carmarthen,57 was he so endeared, that he had an opportunity of becoming his private tutor; but he declined the valuable situation from motives of honour and affection to Mr. Winnington. It was in 1771 my father was presented to the rectory of Stanford, Worcestershire, by Sir Edward Winnington, which preferment he held to his death. The situation of Stanford is delightful, and congenial in the highest degree to the feelings of the poet. And, as it was necessary that a parsonage-house should be built, my father chose a spot within the glebe, of such rare and exquisite beauty that he provided for himself an ever-charming feast for his imagination; and here, no doubt, his genius and his taste would have been indulged, to the serious injury of his family in a worldly point of view, had it not been for the counteracting influences of my beloved mother, who supplied all those deficiencies, which

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were the effects of that improvidence which is too frequently the attendant of superior genius. My mother was the daughter of Henry Sherwood, merchant, of London and Coventry,—of a good old family from Newcastle-on-Tyne. My grandfather Sherwood was a man well versed in business, and rich; hence my mother was selected by my grandfather Butt as a good match for his son, as money was then much needed in my father’s family. My mother had one only brother, at whose birth, in 1754, she lost her mother; and thus, from her earliest infancy, she was brought up at school, only returning in the holidays to her father’s house, either at Coventry or London. She has often told me how her widowed parent at these times, on a Sunday evening, would take her on his knee, and read and explain the Bible to her. That peculiar blessing, which I have often observed shed upon the religious instructions given by a parent to a child, was bestowed upon my mother, for she never forgot some of those Sunday evening lessons, more especially one, which had a reference to the history of Joseph. At the age of fourteen, my mother was taken from school and placed under the charge of Mrs. Woodhouse, a connection of her family. This lady was the widow of a physician residing at Lichfield, the mother of my father’s friend Chappel and the beautiful Mary, to whom he was attached. It was the will of God, however, that this lovely young woman, Mary Woodhouse, should be taken early from this world of trials; and it was whilst still mourning her loss my father consented to his father’s earnest wishes to marry my mother, whose fortune rendered her a desirable match under the pecuniary circumstances of the family. Mary Woodhouse was one of three sisters, all of whom were accounted lovely; whilst my mother, then Miss Martha Sherwood, was a very little woman, having a face too long in proportion, with too decided features. She was marked too with the small pox, and had no personal beauty but in her hands, the like of which I have never seen equalled. She was of a meek and gentle spirit, and it was no doubt oppressive to her to be associated in the house with three of the most lovely women of the time. What, then, must her feelings have been when her father’s commands or wishes were made known to her, that she was to marry one who still mourned the untimely fate of the fair Mary! Often have I thought of this since, and been led to consider that the smallest circumstances of human life are, no doubt, arranged in such a way as to advance our everlasting good, though, through the devices of Satan, we love to “kick against the pricks,”58 wilfully misunderstanding the arrangements of Providence. For the Almighty is teaching individuals, by different experiences, the evil consequences of sin, and the effectual and perfect work of the Saviour’s sacrifice to reconcile the world to God—a glorious exhibition of Divine love, justice, mercy, and holiness, to be manifested in due time. It is probable that the circumstance of my mother’s small personal attractions, when compared with those of her companions, disposed her to withdraw into the back-ground of every scene. Hence the retiredness of manner which pursued her through life. There is no doubt that this very cause, together with the spirit of the society in which she mingled, led her to endeavour to cultivate her mind 38

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by reading; and most eagerly did she peruse the books of her day, of which very few were suitable for young people. Hence her pleasure may be imagined when a new writer, such as Dr. Samuel Johnson, appeared to augment the number. My mother, I remember well, used to tell me, that being out one day, walking with Mrs. Woodhouse under the trees in the Close in Lichfield, they met the celebrated Johnson. My mother happened to have a volume of “The Rambler,” or of “Rasselas,” I forget which, in her hand. Johnson seeing the book, took it from her, looked into it, and, without saying a word, threw it among the graves, from which my mother had to recover it. This was probably done in a fit of awkward vanity by the great Doctor, who, finding a young lady with one of his own volumes in her hand, could neither let the circumstance pass unheeded, as a man of less vanity would have done, nor make some polite speech, which a man with more address would have thought of; but he must needs act the bear and do the rudest thing he could do. Oh, poor human nature, how exceedingly absurd we all are! our very greatness, or imaginary or comparative greatness, makes our absurdities only the more remarkable! There is one thing, however, which I must be permitted to say; that if we know anything of ourselves, we shall be led to see that there is little cause for one human being to despise another on the score of folly. My mother was not much more than of age when she was married, in the year 1773, in the month of April, and came to reside with my father at his living of Stanford,59 where they commenced housekeeping in considerable style—a style which they retained till I was five or six years of age, when they found it necessary to retrench. It would be utterly impossible, through the medium of words, or at least any words which I can select, to give an idea of the lovely country where I was born and reared. Few have travelled farther or perhaps seen more than I have; but yet, in its peculiar way, I have never seen any region of the earth to be compared with Stanford. The parsonage-house commanded four distinct views from the four sides, and so distinct that it could hardly be conceived how these could have been combined in a panorama. On the front of the house, towards the west, a green lawn, with many fair orchards beyond, sloped down to the bed of the Teme, from which arose, on the opposite side of the river, a range of bold heights richly diversified, at a distance so considerable as only to show its most pleasing features, such as copses, farm-houses, fields of corn, villages with their churches, and ancient mansions. The hills of Abberley and Woodbury terminated the view: the one being celebrated for the encampment of Glendower,60 and the other for Abberley Lodge,61 the seat of William Walsh,62 the friend of Addison, and supposed by some to be the place wherein was written the fine old character of Sir Roger de Coverley,63 though this I have heard disputed in later years. On the south, my father’s house looked over Sir Edward Winnington’s park, to form and adorn which a whole village had been sacrificed; whilst Broadway and fair Malvern gave their beauties to the scene, separated from us only by the silver Teme, which near that spot empties itself into the river Severn.64 The hills and lands, on the east, were so richly wooded that the country partook there more of forest scenery than aught else I could name, neither were waterfalls wanting; 39

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whilst, on the north, we had orchards of fruit trees and cultivated fields, presenting altogether such regions of various beauties, that my eyes, as I said before, have never seen the like since. How many times, in wanton childhood, have I inhaled the fresh breezes in those lovely regions; and though many years have passed since last I dwelt there, still to this hour the fragrance of primroses, or the sight of the harebell or wood anemone, brings to my mind those haunts of childhood—those devious haunts which never were fully explored, even by me: for there were certain bounds, which I was not permitted to pass over, in this terrestrial paradise. The genius of my father also gave a character to every room of the house: there was a hall of considerable height with a hanging staircase, in which hung a large coloured cartoon of Raphael’s, representing the martyrdom of St. Stephen and the heavens opening to his gaze.65 My father afterwards gave this painting to the altar-piece of the old church at Kidderminster.66 In every sitting-room were prints or portraits, to each of which was affixed some tale or legend familiar to me in earliest childhood, and repeated to me over and over again by my father; for these works of art afforded him hints for many conversations; and if others failed to seize the images which he endeavoured to convey through their aid, it was not so with me, as I shall take occasion to show in the course of my memoirs. And now I will only add, that had I been born of the noblest or richest family in England I could not have entered life, under any circumstances, in which more of what is elegant and beautiful could have been presented to my young apprehension, and more of what is coarse and inelegant withdrawn from it; for all my early impressions were most beautiful as regarded natural things, and classical as regarded intellectual things. Picture then to yourself, whoever condescends to read these memoirs, the lovely parsonage of Stanford, the elegant home in which I was born—my genius-gifted and benevolent father, tinctured with that romance an early disappointment seldom fails to call forth—and my humble-minded, sensitive mother, a lady of a literary and accomplished mind, whose rare integrity and excellent principles were congenial with my father’s exalted sense of virtue. Picture too, then, my father discharging his duties as a pastor, showing by his conduct the effect of habitual piety, which produced in him, as it ought to do in all, a warmth of feeling towards the Saviour and of love to man, which, being wholly uncongenial to the unchanged heart, can only be attributed to Divine influence. See, also, my mother superintending all the arrangements of her household, with perhaps a too lady-like withdrawal from the coarse every-day affairs of life; yet, with maternal care, the lessons of humility and Christian courtesy, which my father inculcated, were followed out by her with a beautiful earnestness and sincerity, that left no doubt on the minds of her children of their truth; nor will their effect, I trust, ever be erased from their recollection. Owing to my mother’s fortune, and the proceeds of the living of Stanford and that of Clifton-on-Teme, my parents’ circumstances promised to furnish even a luxuriant state of housekeeping, and thus matters seemed prosperous on the birth 40

THE LIFE OF MRS SHERWOOD (1854)

of my only brother. He was born at the house of my father’s friend and pupil, Mr. Woodhouse, at the rectory of Donnington in Shropshire, on the 10th of March 1774. My own appearance in this world of many changes began on the 6th of May 1775, being a little more than one year after that of my only and beloved brother. My brother’s name was John Marten, after his uncle, of whom I have before spoken. Mine is Mary Martha, combining in one the lost but still beloved name of Mary Woodhouse and that also of my mother. But it must be borne in mind that my mother was a near relative and beloved friend of her whose Christian name I bore; hence the choice was alike hers, as my father’s. Years have rolled by since that fair girl was removed from earth, since my mother mourned her friend, and my father the woman he loved. Few, probably, are now remaining to tell that this beautiful and lamented one ever lived. And thus rolls the stream of man’s life, sweeping away in its course all remembrances of the past, with few, very few, exceptions; for of the thousands and tens of thousands, ay, and thousands of thousands, who for a while have strutted and fretted their little hour on the stage of life, the greater part have quickly passed into total oblivion, and are scarcely remembered by their children’s children, unless those children’s children think they can derive some honour to themselves by saying such and such was my father’s father. But although the finite creature, man, is thus oblivious of his forefather, not so the Father of the human race of the creatures he has made, for God is love, and if “not a sparrow falleth unknown to the ground,”67 how much more will he take heed of those with whom he has partaken one common nature, to be sown in corruption, to rise again in incorruption!68

41

CHAPTER II. EARLIEST

RECOLLECTIONS—VISIT TO THE PALACE AT LICHFIELD—ANECDOTE OF MR.

EDGEWORTH—MY MOTHER’S CANARY—VISIT TO MY GRANDFATHER CAREY BUTT, AT

PIPE GRANGE—MY FIFTH BIRTH-DAY—VISIT TO LICHFIELD AND DONNINGTON—NEW-

CHURCH, ISLE OF WIGHT—MR. B*****Y.

THE very first recollection of existence which I have, is being carried down a hanging stone staircase at the parsonage at Stanford, in my mother’s arms, and seeing the half-circular window over the hall door. It seems that I then began first to make observations on my own thoughts, but I must have reflected before that time, otherwise I should not have known where I was, or by whose arms I was supported. It is wonderful to observe the expandings of the human intellect, from the first dawn of infant light, till that far-distant period which prophecy unfolds, beyond all calculation hitherto used by man, even to the end of ages, when the human intellect being no longer darkened by sin, shall have been submitted to the teachings of the Lord the Spirit, through periods of time of which we now can form only very imperfect conceptions. But in writing the history of another, however intimate we may have been with that other, it is impossible to trace the openings of the mind as we can do in taking the review of our own life, that is, if memory is accurate, and power is given for clear discernment. In speaking of myself, I wish to remark that one of the peculiar blessings of my education I consider to have been this, that whilst sufficient nourishment was administered to my mind, and that all I saw was elegant and beautiful, and all I heard was highly intellectual and pure, speaking after the manner of men, no attempt at display or personal vanity was excited in me, at least during the first ten or eleven years of my life. To this special circumstance I attribute the regular development of my intellect. It is not while I live that the world, if I can help it, shall ever see these memoranda. I therefore would wish to consider myself, when writing this, as one with whom all present things are past,—as one, as it were, speaking from the dead,—as one who never more can hear the voice of fame, with whom the praise or blame of man are but as the breezes which passed over the earth in the days before the “hearing ear of man was planted.”69 Ps. xciv. 9. As I said before, I assuredly entered life under the most happy circumstances, being blessed with a remarkably fine constitution, and a frame decidedly healthy. I was a large child, and grew so rapidly that I was at my full height, which is above the standard of women in general, at thirteen years of age. My appearance was so healthy and glowing, that my father, in fond fancy, used to call me Hygeia.70 I had very long hair of a bright auburn, which my mother had great 42

THE LIFE OF MRS SHERWOOD (1854)

pleasure in arranging; and, as I was a very placid child, my appearance indicated nothing of that peculiarity of mind, which, whether good or bad, was soon afterwards made manifest. I have often heard my mother tell a singular story about my brother and myself, when he was three years old, and I scarcely two. Our parents took us to Lichfield, to visit at the palace; Miss Seward was there, and Mr. Lovel Edgeworth, and the elder Dr. Darwin. We were brought into the room to be looked at, and Dr. Darwin took up my brother, as I have since seen a Frenchman do a frog, by one leg, exclaiming at the same time, “What a fine animal! what a noble animal!” My brother was then a beautiful child, and no doubt he made no small resistance, on being treated thus philosophically; but he was hardly rescued when Mr. Edgeworth’s eye fell on me, and having looked at me some time, he patted his own forehead, and having paid some compliments to my father on my well-nurtured animal nature, he added, with no great tenderness to his feelings, “But you may depend upon it, Mr. Butt, you may depend upon it she wants it here,” and the little taps on his own brow were reiterated. This hint made my poor mother for a while very uneasy,—of all this I however remember nothing. My parents, probably owing to the remark of Mr. Edgeworth, had very little opinion of my intellectual abilities till I was six years of age; hence my mind was allowed to develop itself in health, and strength, and consistency; nor was any attempt made to induce efforts beyond the state of my infant faculties, which kind of excitement or mismanagement has often blighted a fine mind before it has hardly blossomed, and by which superiority is either entirely precluded, or if obtained and possessed for a short time, is terminated often and suddenly, either by death or the loss of reason. Much and long experience has taught me to dread, above many things, the system which now prevails so largely, of hurrying the young mind, by which smatterers in knowledge may be made, but never solid, useful characters. I was, from very early infancy, a creature who had a peculiar world of images about me; and the first exercise of my imagination operated upon one set of fancies. My mother used to sit much in her beautiful dressing-room, and there she often played sweetly on her guitar, and sung to it. Her voice sounded through the hall, which was lofty; and I loved to sit on the steps of the stairs and listen to her singing. She had possessed a canary bird when she first married, and it had died, and she had preserved it and put it into a little coffin in an Indian cabinet in her dressing-room. My first idea of death was from this canary bird and this coffin; and as I had no decided idea of time, as regarded its length, I felt that this canary bird had lived, what appeared to me, ages before, when my mother had sung and played on her guitar before my birth; and I had numerous fancies about those remote ages, fancies I could not define nor explain; but they possessed a spell over my mind that had power to keep me quiet many a half-hour as I sat by myself, dreamily pondering on their strange enchantment. I had also some very curious thoughts about an echo, which answered our invocations in various parts of the lovely grounds of Stanford. Echo I fancied to be a beautiful 43

THE LIFE OF MRS SHERWOOD (1854)

winged boy, and I longed to see him, though I knew it was in vain to attempt to pursue him to his haunts; neither was Echo the only unseen being who filled my imagination. There are circumstances which happened just before I entered my fifth year, which enable me to fix the time when I had such and such thoughts, and when I made such and such observations. I was not four, when one day after dinner, a gentleman, who shall be nameless, took me on his knee and said something to me which I did not understand, but which was of a nature which should not have been said to any one, especially a female, and more especially if that female is of tender years. He looked me full in the face when he spoke, and I answered, “I don’t like you, you are naughty.” My parents were astonished; and the gentleman set me down in some alarm. I perfectly remember the whole circumstance. My mother asked me why I called him naughty? “Because,” I answered, “his eyes are wicked.” Thus early I began to notice the expression of the eye; and to this hour does the human eye speak so intelligibly to me, that I am often obliged to restrain myself from pronouncing too severe a judgment on the expressions it reveals. And I hope also, that I am kept humble from a sense of what perhaps might be read in my own countenance by those disposed and enabled to read aright, for the Almighty himself has declared that “the imaginations of man’s heart are evil continually.”71 I have many sweet recollections of parental kindnesses, even before my fourth year. I remember my mother teaching me to read with my brother, in a book where was a picture of a white horse feeding by starlight. My first idea of the quiet beauty of a star-light scene was taken from that print. I remember our mother telling us stories in the dusk of a winter’s evening, one of which I have recorded in my history of “The Fairchild Family.”72 It is the tale of the old lady who invites many children to spend a day with her. I also recollect some walks with my father in the woods, and how he carried me in his arms over difficult places. Where are these beloved parents now? Their mortal remains sleep, indeed, in Stanford Church. They were laid there, and there our natural senses tell us that they still are, though mouldered and fallen into dust; but where are their immortal spirits? None of our natural senses can tell us this; but faith, which is the evidence of things not seen,73 has assured me that they are with Christ, our Lord having obtained their salvation, not because they loved him, but because he loved them and made his love manifest to them,74 whilst yet they were in the flesh. I had my little notions of religion before I was four years old. My brother had a dream and he told it to me. He had seen heaven over the highest trees of Stanford Park; and he had seen hell, such as little children fancy it. We had sundry discussions on the subject; and we determined to seek the one and avoid the other. The cartoon of St. Stephen in the hall no doubt helped forward our ideas; and because our Saviour was painted there in the clouds, we were taught by it to understand that we were to look to him as a friend; and what more was necessary, and what more would be necessary, than such a childlike sincerity and confidence as we then had? Had it pleased God at that time to have taken me and my dear brother, we should, I dare avow, have been in a much 44

THE LIFE OF MRS SHERWOOD (1854)

better state, if we only depended on ourselves, than we were years afterwards. Our blessed Saviour’s words are, “Unless ye be converted and become as little children, ye cannot enter the kingdom of God.”75 But I must now proceed to the first grand event of my life, the journey to see my grandfather Butt, at Pipe Grange, near Lichfield. I must here remark, I had been attacked with a severe illness, called, formerly, Saint Anthony’s fire,76 which had much affected my eyes. When we were in the carriage going to Lichfield, my mother pointed out to my brother the Abberley and Woodbury hills, which formed some of the grandest features of the view from our home; and she told him that we were going over those hills and far away. Had she spoken prophetically of what was to be the future destiny of her little girl, she would have spoken truth; but a little way was far in the imagination of my beloved mother, who lived and died without ever seeing the sea. I was so blind that I could not see the hills; but even then I had my thoughts of hills; and these ideas thus early acquired and strongly impressed, have accompanied me through life. I can hardly recollect the time when the prospect of hills was not connected in my mind with scenes of future glory, even long before I had read and partly understood the various passages of Scripture which show its truth and perfection. Probably this idea was first suggested to me by my brother’s dream, which placed the celestial abode where the sun, setting in brilliant clouds of purple and gold, showed itself at the evening hour behind the grove, around heights of the hills nearest to our dear paternal home; but be this as it may, the association of ideas has ever been so powerful in my mind, strengthened as it has been by good John Bunyan,77 that I have never beheld a mountain without thinking of that far-off world, where the redeemed shall behold the King their Creator and Lord and Father. I have seen the Indian Caucasus hanging as brilliant clouds in the horizon, in the clear atmosphere of a southern sky. I have seen, too, and traversed the many Alpine heights, and contemplated the sullen Apennine, where banditti rest secure in their inaccessible fastnesses. I have passed under the shades of the fir-clad Swartzwald, and beheld the milder Vosques undulating on the horizon; the mountains of the Raje-Mahal, where the tiger and the rhinoceros range at large; the hills of Africa and the Cape of Good Hope, which stand as an eternal bulwark against the waves and tempests of the stormy south; the pyramidical heights of the Cape Verd Islands, and the softer beauties of the green Tyrol—all and each in their turn have passed before me, and have all alike seemed to tell me of the same thing, though differently modified with more or less shade or brilliancy, as affected by my own feelings at the moment. We passed through Kidderminster in our way to Lichfield, and I remember being taken out of the carriage by my host of the Lion Inn. This was a Mr. Hall, who had married the daughter of a cottager at Stanford, of the name of Stephens. Mrs. Hall was a remarkably beautiful woman, of the gipsy cast of countenance, and probably made her fortune by her beauty, for her mother and sister used to weed my father’s garden, wearing blue jackets and flat felt hats,—the sister, Susan Stephens, being the very figure an artist would have chosen as his model 45

THE LIFE OF MRS SHERWOOD (1854)

for a beautiful gipsy. Had I never seen Kidderminster since that time, I should have imagined that the Lion Inn was as large as the Colosseum at Rome, and the street at the end of which it stands as magnificent as the Strada Balbi78 at Genoa. But inasmuch as all human glory is by comparison, there is no reasoning upon what one may think grand and another not so; though this, however, is well known, that all places seen in childhood look much less when beheld again in manhood. In the afternoon of the same day, we came to a wide heath, from whence the towers of Lichfield were pointed out to my brother’s notice. It was nearly dark when we arrived at my grandfather’s house, near Lichfield, called Pipe Grange; and I can recall being lifted out of the carriage, and being carried into the house. I remember well that house, though I have never been there since, and have only seen it at a distance. It was a low house, with two bow windows, and there were two large parlours and a kitchen behind. It had a garden in front, and a small pond, and a woody bank beyond that pond. There was a sort of family gathering at Pipe Grange at that time. My grandfather and grandmother, my aunt Salt, her two daughters, my uncle Thomas Butt, and his little son, a year and a half younger than myself, who had had his leg burnt with a warming-pan, and he used to sit generally on a salt-box in the kitchen window. This poor child had already lost his mother; but if truth must be spoken, however it may sound in print, notwithstanding the burn, my dear cousin was probably never happier and never freer from care, than when he was perched on that salt-box in the kitchen window at Pipe Grange. My memory of the events during that visit are very confused. I remember walking with my brother and nurse in a green lane, and feeding some little birds in a hedge, and coming one day, and finding the nest and birds gone, which was a great grief to me. Whilst at Pipe Grange, I recollect one evening being carried over some lovely commons to an old farm-house, where were many fragrant herbs and many sheep. The irregular walls were covered with ivy, and there was a garden, with yew trees cut in grotesque forms, in front of the house. I was not four years old at this time; but such was the impression made on my mind then by the images of that evening that, years afterwards, being in a cabin of an East Indiaman,79 with no light and little air, being also under the influence of fever occasioned by long protracted sickness, and my imagination being also assisted, no doubt, by the bleatings of the unhappy sheep on board, my sickly and inflamed fancy carried me back to those breezy commons and those unfettered days of infancy. I even imagined that I was there again, bounding with my brother over the little heaps of mould with which those commons are scattered, so extraordinarily powerful were the images that that evening impressed on my memory. I once, about twelve years since, saw that old farmhouse again, and found that I had, through all my wanderings, retained its perfect picture in my mind, even to its irregular windows and shapeless chimneys. But who shall decide how soon these images, or any other images, may be fixed on the memory? Certainly I believe that they are so fixed, often before there is a power imparted of arranging them in their places, or of recalling them in after life with any consistency. 46

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Many persons must have been struck, on suddenly coming into a new scene, by feeling themselves perfectly familiar with that scene, even to its minutest circumstances; but this is not the same thing as what I was saying respecting the period in which a child is first enabled to receive a lasting impression on the sense of sight. Who shall say how soon the infant gaze goes forth to collect images, which are stored up never to be effaced? Who can tell me whether children, for instance, who are brought from beneath the cloudless skies of India,—who in infancy were accustomed to all the paraphernalia of oriental pomp, and all the circumstances of oriental scenery, and yet are removed to Europe, whilst incapable of reasoning upon these early impressions, or even of speaking of what they have seen,—who can tell me, I ask, whether such children, on returning thither in after years, would or would not be sensible of a sort of familiarity with the scenery there, unfelt by absolute strangers? My opinion is, that a child with a lively imagination, who had been removed from any particular and remarkable scene at two years of age, and perhaps under that age, would, on returning to it in after-life, be sensible of a familiarity with the scenery, which one who had never before beheld it would not feel,—supposing the minds of each to be alike. With respect to myself, I have clear and accurate recollections before I was four years of age,—recollections of things which I can now describe; but this I believe, that there has ever been an unusual vivacity in my imagination, the impressions made thereon being stronger than on nine-tenths of the minds of my fellow-creatures. My birth-day occurred whilst I was at Pipe Grange. I was then four years of age; and when I came down on the morning of that day, my grandfather, who was sitting by the fire in the parlour, put up his hand to a high mantel-shelf, and brought from thence a doll with a paper hoop, and wig of real flax. This was my birth-day present, and made a long and deep impression on my heart. Oh! how did that good old man, Mr. Carey Butt, love and care for his children and his children’s children! I have the full and blessed assurance that none of these will ever be lost. And now in this place I feel myself disposed to slip the noose of things present and of things past, and to rush forward into that glorious region of faith, and hope, and full assurance, where I may behold my father and my father’s father, my children and my children’s children, dwelling with the King in his glory,—having cast the slough of flesh and sin,80 and being clad in the spotless robe of their Redeemer’s righteousness.81 Ah! without this hope, who could do as I am doing? Who could trace the records of past life, without a weeping eye and ever-aching heart? When the time of our visit at Pipe Grange was accomplished, we proceeded to Lichfield to visit my father’s sister, Mrs. Salt; but my recollections of Lichfield are very confused. There was some pageantry at Whitsuntide,82 that caused me to wonder; and I remember being taken to the cathedral, and feeling all that amazement which children do at first seeing sights of this kind. We were taken to see Miss Seward, at the palace, and old Mr. Seward repeated some verses to my brother about Cupid; for it seems, that some time before, but not in my memory, the ladies at Stanford Court had dressed Marten, then a most beautiful child of 47

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four years old, in a fanciful costume to represent Cupid, with a little pair of butterfly-like wings, a quiver, and a bow. Ah! brother, dear, where is now that beautiful bloom, that high bearing of the head, and that perfection of feature, which suggested the idea to these ladies? Man is truly as the flower of the field;83 and who has not seen the flowers of many seasons fade? My mother ever preserved the silver quiver, the spangled scarf and wings, and barbless arrows, which had been made on this occasion. From Lichfield we went to Donnington, in Shropshire, where my father’s friend, Mr. Woodhouse, resided; and of this place I have still many recollections, but all connected with rural scenery and rural objects,—drinking new milk with froth upon it, and running about green meadows, where grew daisies and cowslips, and the flowers called by children lords and ladies.84 These things are in consequence always connected in my mind with my happy infant days, and with a certain springing, elastic feeling, which, when enjoyed, gives bliss almost too great for existence in the flesh. We feel it not in age; but when our youth is renewed in ages to come, we shall feel it again, never, never to be taken from us. I remember nothing of our return to Stanford; but this visit to Lichfield was the first era of mine and my brother’s life, and we then began to speak of a time before we had gone to Lichfield, as a period of tender interest incalculably remote: not that we ever used the words tender or interest, but we had words of our own which conveyed to us the same ideas as more appropriate words would have done to older persons. There is in every active and lively human mind, even in the mind of infancy, a sense of dissatisfaction of present things, with an indistinct idea of some happiness, either once enjoyed and now past, or to be enjoyed at some future period, whether in this present state of being, or in that which is to come. In a worldly old age this period is generally referred to the days of childhood, and hence the many deceitful recollections of the happiness of infancy; whereas, as man from birth is a partaker of a sinful nature, so is he, in the-days of childhood, a partaker also of the sorrows and pains attendant upon that nature. It was about this time that my father’s first patron, the Bishop of Bristol, presented him to the small living of Newchurch, in the Isle of Wight (1778), which was tenable with his other preferments. He eventually, in 1783, exchanged this living for Notgrove, in Gloucestershire, as being nearer to his place of residence. I had entered my fifth year, when with my grandfather at Pipe Grange; I remember little of the following summer; but one event in the winter I can recall, connected with a Mr. B*****y, the last representative of an old Worcestershire family, who possessed Abberley Lodge. This Mr. B*****y85 had a town house in the College Yard, Worcester, and he was an old bachelor, remarkable for that sort of ugliness which children hate, being strongly marked with the smallpox, and having a circle like rows of heavy red beads round his eyes; he was also what the world falsely calls a man of pleasure, and his manner of life in private had, no doubt, imparted a sort of coarseness to his expression, which added not a little to 48

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his ugliness; but withal, he was a man of the most polished manners of the old school; and he sometimes came in form to dine with my parents. Being brought in one day after dinner, as I was making my way round the table, he caught me, to my inexpressible horror, and placed me on his knee, asking me if I would be his wife. I looked at my mother, to take a hint from her respecting what I ought to say, and thinking that I must not dare to say no, I replied that I would have him in six years, wondering at the laughter which this my answer produced. Six years I thought would never end; but they did end too soon for my peace; for, on the occasion of my reaching my eleventh birthday, Mr. B*****y came in form to demand me, and it was with some difficulty that I got a respite for a few more years, though I then firmly believed that I must necessarily some time or other fulfil my engagement. This, when I thought of it, or met the old gentleman, was such a subject of dread to me, that I always ran away and hid myself when I saw his carriage coming to the house.

49

CHAPTER III. VISIT

OF MY COUSINS—MR. NASH, MY FATHER’S CURATE—MY BROTHER’S FALL—

THE

MOUNTAIN-ASH

BERRIES—MY

SISTER’S

BIRTH—MY

EARLY

EDUCATION—

MY BROTHER’S CHARACTER—OUR FIRST ATTEMPTS AT WRITING—MR. ANNESLEY— VISIT TO COVENTRY, TO MY GRANDFATHER SHERWOOD’S—MISS GROVE—MY FATHER’S

STUDY—COVENTRY—DR. L—R’S FAMILY—MY FATHER APPOINTED ONE OF THE CHAPLAINS TO GEORGE III.,

1784—THE

PELEVE’S VISIT TO STANFORD.

FAMILY OF DR. BUTTS, BISHOP OF ELY—MADAME

DURING the winter of 1778–1779, our party was increased in our nursery by two,—the motherless children of my uncle Sherwood. I have mentioned that my mother had an only brother, my uncle Henry Sherwood, whose birth caused his mother’s early death. My uncle Henry suffered from this early bereavement all through life; neither did he suffer alone, for his conduct caused all those to whom he was near and dear much trouble and anxiety. He had married early, and, like his father, was left a widower with two children,—my cousins Henry and Margaret, who at this time came to Stanford to be with their aunt. It seems to me now like a very far distant and faint dream, when I think of that nursery and the members which composed our party. And first, there was our nursemaid, called Bond, then there was my brother Marten and myself, and Henry and Margaret, the eldest scarcely six, the youngest only two years old. Poor little Margaret! her mother had died at her birth, and within the year my uncle had married again, and alas! for little Margaret, the lady, though a relative to the child, was a stepmother in deed and in word. It was a very pleasant time when Henry and Margaret were at Stanford, and long talked of in our nursery annals. Henry had a red pencil, and he drew some hieroglyphics on the stone frame of our mantel-piece; and these my brother guarded so carefully from the scrubbing-brush, that they were never effaced during our infant years. My father kept a curate at his living of Clifton-on-Teme, a Mr. Robert Nash, a relative, whom my father, from motives of kindness, had helped into the ministry. Mr. Nash had married a woman old enough to be his mother, of a most unfortunate temper, and one who caused his home occasionally to be anything but a happy one. He used often to escape from his wife, and visit for days together at my father’s house. Oh! it was a happy day when he was seen coming across the park, in his great bushy wig, his shovel hat, his cravat tied like a King William’s bib,86 his great drab coat, and his worsted spatterdashes.87 When this figure rose above our horizon, however remote, my joy, and that of my brother, was excessive; for he was the man of all others to delight children. As soon as it was dusk, 50

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in a winter evening, I took my place on his knee, and calling him Uncle Robert, begged for a story. Again and again I heard the same, but the old tale never tired. He told of dogs which were supposed to have been spirits, and which were always seen in certain rooms when any of the family were about to die, and other marvels of the like description; added to which, he could bark like a dog, grunt like a pig, play tricks with cards like a conjurer, and was very successful in numerous performances of the same kind; but as to his knowledge of religion, I cannot suppose that it was of any depth. But I need say no more of Mr. Nash, inasmuch as he will never be forgotten so long as “Robert and the Owl”88 and “Henry Milner”89 are to be found in the libraries of little children. This Mr. Nash was of the very fine old family of the Nashes of Worcestershire, to whom my father was allied, but in what way I know not. His brother was Rector of Ombersley. And now I must record the first trouble of my infancy. When my brother Marten was five years old, we went out one autumn evening to take a walk with our father and mother, and Cæsar our dog was with us. As we children ran along, tempted by the dog to go forwards and forwards, we came to a five-barred gate, of a good height, which impeded our progress; though Cæsar jumped over it, and tried by many wiles to persuade us to follow him. My brother first attempted to open the gate; but being unable to do so, he began to climb upon it from one bar to another. With some difficulty he got upon the top of the gate, whilst I was talking and patting Cæsar, and there he stood, shouting and spreading out his little arms as if they were wings. Our parents called to him; but the noise he made prevented his hearing their voices, and swinging his arms still more, he lost his balance, and down he fell: his head struck upon a stone with such force that he could neither move nor cry. My poor father was soon on the spot, and he carried my brother home; but it was a long time before he recovered his senses, for his head was severely injured, and I have no doubt my mother had much trouble in nursing him while this illness continued. It was on account of this that he got his way much more than he would otherwise have done, and a system of indulgence was commenced which would to most boys have proved exceedingly injurious; but my brother was gifted naturally with such a very sweet temper, and was so affectionate, that I never suffered from any partiality shown to him by my mother in preference to myself. Still, it was owing to this indulgence that some of our plays were allowed, which I believe would not have been permitted under other circumstances, judging, as I now do, from the quiet character of my mother. Some of his exploits I still remember with amazement. My brother, no doubt, had heard of the unique, but certainly undignified, amusement that was in fashion in my mother’s early days. This fashion consisted of spreading a large strong table-cloth on the upper steps of any wide, old-fashioned staircase, and this being done, all the ladies present, who were disposed for merriment, seated themselves on this table-cloth, in rows upon the steps. Then the gentlemen seized hold of the cloth and pulled it down the stairs, and a struggle would ensue, which usually ended with the tumbling down of the ladies, table-cloth and all, to the bottom of the stairs, to the utter confusion of all order and decorum. 51

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As my brother had no table-cloth at his command, he used to put me into a drawer and kick me down the nursery stairs. He also used to heap chairs and tables one on the other, and set me at the top of them, and then throw them all down. He used to put a bridle round my neck, and drive me about with a whip: but being a very hardy child, and not easily hurt, I suppose I had myself to blame for some of his excesses; for, with all this, he was the kindest of brothers to me, and I loved him very, very much. Many of his thoughts and expressions were singularly sweet; and I remember once, when we had climbed up a high bank among the woods at Stanford, which overlooked the pleasure-grounds, he showed me my mother walking along a path shaded by filbert trees, and he made me look till I almost cried to think how much I loved her. It was wonderful how many of my tenderest feelings were elicited by him in our infancy. But I have forgotten to mention the anecdote of the berries of the mountainash. When my brother was lying ill of the wound in his head, from the fall off the five-barred gate, he did not like the doctor to dress his head, and our father promised him, if he would be a good boy and let it be done, he would get him a bagful of blue beans. Marten had seen some berries on the mountain-ash tree on the day of the accident, and he asked for the berries instead. Our beloved father promised he would get them for him; but it so happened that, being called from home, time passed on, and the birds and winter caused the red berries to pass away also. On our father’s return, my brother reminded him of his promise, and this tender parent at once set off in his search for the berries. Many, many miles did he ride, many, many trees were examined—but they were all stripped of their berries; still he persevered in his search, and at last, after much labour, he found one tree, from which he gathered all the berries, and brought them home to Marten. My brother never forgot the beautiful lesson taught him by our mother, upon the trouble our beloved father had taken to get the berries for his child. “Marten,” she said, “you see that when your dear papa makes a promise, he will take the greatest pains in the world to keep that promise, and this is the reason wherefore he desires it. He is a follower of that perfect Saviour whose ways he dearly loves; and that Saviour never departs from his holy word, but performs everything which he has promised to his redeemed ones.” By my brother’s especial desire, I made a little tale of this fact, called “The Mountain Ash;”90 and it was published by Thomas Melrose, of Berwick-upon-Tweed, and first came out in 1834. It was about this time that arrangements were made, on account of the expenses incurred by building the parsonage house at Stanford, to increase my parent’s income by the admission of a few pupils into the family. Preparatory to this, my father selected a cottage in a lovely dingle,91 at a short distance from the house, surrounded by hills and woods, in which a room was fitted up for a study for himself and his pupils. The cottage was situated on the sloping side of a sunny bank, by which ran a clear stream of the purest water. The study itself was adorned with many curious devices, and the walls hung with old pictures. Here he composed many of his poems and sermons. 52

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It was in this spring that Dr. Hume,92 the Dean of Derry, came to see my father, for they were very dear friends. Dr. Hume was an able artist in oil colours, and a man of vast wit; and it was whilst he was at Stanford my only sister was born. At this period my father became acquainted with Lord Valentia,93 then residing at Arley in Staffordshire. Lord Valentia had married Lucy, the daughter of the good Lord Lyttelton,94 as he is called in contrast with his unfortunate son. Lady Valentia’s mother was the beautiful Lucy, Lady Lyttleton, on whom the celebrated monody was written.95 Lady Valentia came to Stanford whilst my sister was a babe in long clothes. She was a beautiful, delicate woman. She had married for the love of a fine face. Her husband was one of the handsomest men I ever remember. He had been a friend of her unhappy brother’s. He had had the good fortune to save her from being drowned when her life was perilled on some water-party excursion. The loss of six children brought her with sorrow to an early grave. The last two of these six died nearly together; one was a little girl, whose beauty I have heard was of the most rare description. Her Uncle, the younger Lord Lyttelton, had been asked to give her a name, and the name he chose was Honeysuckle. I have still a few threads of silken hair which belonged to her. There is a portrait of Lady Valentia still at Arley, with her eldest son on her lap. This child, Arthur Annesley, died in infancy. Oh! how short-sighted are mothers! how they weep over the graves of their children, refusing to be comforted, when, assuredly, faith should teach them rather to weep more for those who are left long on earth, than for those who are soon removed. How soft and easy is the passage from the cradle to the grave! and yet, how would this world go on, if mothers were more willing to part from their little ones? Thus we are taught that all is well arranged to fill up the designs of Providence. When Lady Valentia came to Stanford, to settle with my father about taking her son George under his tuition, she undertook to be sponsor for my sister, to whom she gave the name of Lucy Lyttelton; and thus the name of Lucy, that beloved name, came into our family, and is likely to continue there, as we have now five Lucys in the third generation. I was in my sixth year when I first began to make stories, but what they were I have not the least idea. I was too young to write them down; but when I had thought of anything belonging to my story, I used to follow my mother with a slate and pencil, and get her to put my ideas down for me. She afterwards, I found, copied these stories with pen and ink, and kept them by her for the love she bore her child. Through the great care of this tender and good mother, I was preserved, during all my childhood, in an ignorance of vice, to a degree I could hardly have believed to have been possible. This ignorance of things as they are, might perhaps have been promoted by the tendency of my mind always to run upon an imaginary world, and, in consequence, to take less note of the ordinary occurrences about me than most persons do in common life. The society in which I mixed as a child was such as to give a decided turn to the thoughts and the tastes. Indeed, as long as I have lived, I have never heard 53

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any persons converse as my father and mother were accustomed to converse. My mother never suffered her children to interrupt conversation. We were compelled to listen, whether willing or not. My father not only conversed in a superior way himself, but he gave the tone to all his visitors and to all his pupils. I can hardly say how young I was when I got ideas of other countries, and other times, and other modes of life, such as, by the modern style of education, could never possibly be obtained; and this through the simple means of listening to my father’s conversation. Whilst this system of improvement was always going forward whenever the family were assembled, there was a private discipline of such undeviating strictness carried on with me by my excellent mother, that it might have appeared that no other person in the world could have been better fitted to bring a mere child of many imaginations under control than was my ever honoured parent. Lady Jane Grey96 speaks of the severities to which she was subjected by her noble parents. I had neither nips, nor bobs, nor pinches; but I experienced what I thought much worse. It was the fashion then for children to wear iron collars round the neck, with a backboard97 strapped over the shoulders: to one of these I was subjected from my sixth to my thirteenth year. It was put on in the morning, and seldom taken off till late in the evening; and I generally did all my lessons standing in stocks, with this stiff collar round my neck. At the same time I had the plainest possible food, such as dry bread and cold milk. I never sat on a chair in my mother’s presence. Yet I was a very happy child; and when relieved from my collar, I not unseldom manifested my delight by starting from our hall door, and taking a run for at least half a mile through the woods which adjoined our pleasure-grounds. It would not be easy to judge of the character of a child so favourably circumstanced as I was; neither can I myself decide whether I had then any ideas of religion beyond what parents may teach—in fact, beyond what may be acquired by the unregenerate mind: the time of trial was then remote, and the evil nature restrained by the gentle, yet firm, hand of a tender and wise mother. It was during my fifth year that George Annesley,98 afterwards Lord Mountnorris, came to reside under our roof, to be under the tuition of my father. Till that period, my chief companion was my brother, and a more innocent or affectionate companion could no child have. My father thus addresses his son, in a sonnet written in 1779:— “Sweet, rosy cherub, on thy wondering eyes Surrounding nature, scenes of new delight Profusely pouring, thro’ the raptur’d sight Matter for Wisdom’s future toil supplies. Thy father would aspire, my lovely child, To make his life-worn heart as pure as thine; For oh! the man alone who can refine His soul by copying childhood’s nature mild, Becomes in heaven the heir of bliss divine— On earth, of half its sorrows is beguil’d.” 54

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Thus our father recorded the bright, animated glances with which the dark blue eyes of my brother used to contemplate the brilliant scenery which surrounded our residence. My brother and I were great readers, though our books were few. “Robinson Crusoe,” two sets of “Fairy Tales,” “The Little Female Academy,”99 and “Æsop’s Fables” formed the whole of our infant library. “Robinson Crusoe” was always in my brother’s hands when he was disposed to read; and his wont was to place himself with me at the foot of the stairs, and to ascend one step every time he turned over a page. Of course, I did as he did. Another curious custom we had was, that on the first day of every month we used to take two sticks with certain notches cut upon them, and hide them in a hollow tree in the wood, as far from the house as we were permitted to go: no person was to see us do this, and no one was to know we did it. How easily in a heathen country might a caprice of this kind grow into a superstition, and how soon might these notched sticks have become objects of veneration! Where we got the idea I do not recollect; but anything at that time which took hold of the imagination was delightful to me, and equally congenial to the mind of my brother. Though educated under the same roof with my brother till he was nine or ten years old, yet we were by no means under the same management. I have described the discipline to which I was subjected, and for which I have many times thanked my God and my beloved mother. A very different process, however, was going on with Marten. All this time, whilst I was with my mother in her dressing-room, he was with my father in his study; and, no authority being used, he made such small progress in his Latin, that it was at last suggested that I should be made to learn Latin with him. My dear mother, in order that, by her regularity, she might make up for the intermitting habits of my father, set herself to learn Latin, and thus she became our tutor. Still, however, as she constantly obliged me to get my lessons, whilst no such authority was exercised over my brother, it proved that I soon got before him. Besides, it is generally observed that, all things being equal, girls learn more rapidly than boys during the years of childhood. With me and my brother, however, all things were not equal. About this time, my father shut me and my brother up, one morning, in his study, that each of us might write a story, with a view to prove our natural talents; for he had begun to suspect that both Marten and Mary would be what he called geniuses. I forget what I produced; but my brother began a story which he called “The Travels of the Lady Viatoria,” and wrote the adventures of one day. During this first trial, we had each made a beginning, and my father shut us up again the next day. I added a little more to whatever I had begun, and my brother carried his lady on another day, carefully providing her with meals at the wonted hours, and a good bed at night. Another and another day we were shut up, and my story came to a conclusion. But the Lady Viatoria’s adventures might have gone on to the length of the tale of “The Suitor of the Princess of Shiraz,”100 so well known in oriental history, if the experiment had not terminated. I never knew to which of his children my father gave the first palm of genius. 55

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When Mr. (or, as we called him, Master) George Annesley came I had another companion, and one whom I loved very, very dearly. He was three or four years older than my brother—a tall, elegant boy, one of the most warm-hearted and affectionate human beings I ever met with. He soon became another brother to me, and no elder brother could ever have conducted himself more kindly or more affectionately through life. I can scarcely distinguish one year from another whilst Mr. Annesley was with us, but I remember many of our pleasures. He and my brother made wooden ships, and gave them fine names. They collected snail shells, and classed them according to their colours. In the summer they made huts in the woods, and often made garlands of flowers, with which they used to adorn me; and we not unfrequently, though our company was small, enacted portions of fairy tales in the wood; one acting dragon, another enchanter, another queen, and so on. All these amusements served to keep my imagination active, and to keep all the common and every-day concerns of life more out of view than is, perhaps, quite convenient for those whose future lot is to live in an every-day world. But that which was laid up in the future for the little wild girl, who was educated in the woods of Stanford, was not an every-day life, and for such, therefore, she was not fitted by an all-wise Providence. In May, 1782, being then seven years old, my mother took me and my sister and brother to see her father at Coventry. This summer was remarkable, from the fact that the sun never appeared except through a fog, rayless and of a dull red. This going to Coventry was the second journey which I remember to have taken; and the impressions then made upon my mind never were effaced, but to this day are as fresh as ever. Some years before, modern taste, or rather the bad taste of that day, had caused the great window of St. Michael’s Church in Coventry101 to be repaired, and for this barbarous purpose certain panes of painted glass, of exceedingly ancient date, had been thrown away as mere rubbish. My father, being in Coventry at the time, procured some pieces of this ancient glass, and brought it to Stanford, where he placed it in the Gothic window of his cottage on the glebe.102 This place had once been a mill, and, being situated on the declivity of a hill, the stream which had once turned the mill ran down the bank by its side. The woods, in which I had spent so many years of my infancy, flung their shades across the stream, making a little Paradise of the upper room of this old house, which my father called his study. He adorned it with busts, and filled the windows with the beautifully-painted panes he had obtained at Coventry. To this place my father often withdrew, to study with his pupils. Any visitors who might be at Stanford, and my mother and us children, used often to go thither to drink tea with him, being waited on by old Stephens and his wife, who occupied the other parts of this cottage, but through whose carelessness it was burnt down, when I was about nine years of age. My recollections, therefore, of this window must have been very early, yet I remember the figure of Lady Godiva103 on horseback, with other mounted figures in gaudy attire, and various quaint devices, in those deep colours which they say 56

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cannot now be imitated. There can be no doubt but my father often used these precious fragments whereon to build historical lessons; for his mode of instruction was never given by formal tasks and impositions, but by his own humorous and eloquent comments on what was before him, and before the eyes of his pupils. My ideas of the feudal mode of life, of feudal habits, and of feudal manners have always been closely connected with these remnants of the ancient window of St. Michael’s, Coventry. Hence it leaves no doubt in my mind, that the association was formed through some explanation given by my father on these windows; and probably these imperfect and broken remnants inspired my father with that most exquisite description ever written, of a window formed of stained glass, which exists in his novel of “The Spanish Daughter.”104 This I think most probable, as he wrote the early part of this novel during the time in which he made the room at the mill-house his study. Beautiful as the passage is, I do not mention it here for any other purpose but as a sample of my father’s mind, and to show his style of making things his own, and his power of describing to others his thoughts; so that when, under his guidance, I saw the city of Coventry, at seven years old, I was taught by him to form associations with the ancient edifices there, which no time could afterwards efface. My grandfather Sherwood’s house stood on the site of the old Cathedral, and is still called “The Priory.” Beneath it to this day are vaults, the extent of which are hardly known; and it commands from the front windows a view of the magnificent church called St. Michael’s, and also the Church called Trinity.105 When the Cathedral occupied a third side of the square, Rome itself could hardly have supplied a finer view of ecclesiastical architecture. The prospect of these magnificent churches—St. Mary’s Hall,106 which is near them—various old houses then existing in Coventry, and certain old images of a nun and a king which stood in my grandfather’s garden, seemed to open quite a new world to me; and, with a little assistance from my father, I formed upon them a very tolerable idea of what this city must have been when encompassed with walls, and when all its convents, hospitals, and churches, were in their original glory. There are many towns still, on the Continent, which retain the character which I had been led to give to Coventry; though, in England, there is hardly one remaining which has not departed far from what it was in the dark ages of papal power. Coventry Park, though somewhat curtailed, still retained some of its ancient appearance: it was then a public walk, where friends and neighbours met and conversed, especially on a Sunday evening. It is now destroyed, and the next generation will hardly know where it was, although it is the scene of the opening of one of Shakspeare’s historical plays. My grandfather had married again, very late in life; and this marriage had by no means added to his comfort. The old lady, however, received us civilly, and I did not understand what grieved my mother much, namely, that her father was losing his cheerfulness under the influence of the constant irritation of his wife’s temper. At this time I became acquainted with a young lady about five or six years older than myself, then residing in Coventry, whence she afterwards went with 57

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her father to Lichfield. The mother of Miss Grove was Miss Lucy Sneyd, the sister of the beautiful Honora,107 whose history is so much mixed up with that of the unfortunate Major André. Mr. Sneyd, the father, was of an old and honourable Staffordshire family. He very much increased his property by speculations in the stocks. About the time my mother resided in Lichfield he was also living there, with two sons and five daughters, three of whom were remarkably beautiful: with two of the daughters my mother formed a friendship, which lasted till her dying day. One of these fair sisters married Mr. Grove, a gentleman of independent fortune, and with the daughter of Mrs. Grove I formed an acquaintance. At this time, Miss Grove might have been about twelve years of age, and, young as I was, I was then struck with her beauty, which afterwards became celebrated. She married a Mr. Lyster, of Armitage, near Lichfield, and her daughter eventually became the wife of Lord John Russell. Miss Grove had a lovely and most delicate little sister called Susan, who, I believe, never married. Coventry Fair108 occurred whilst we were there. The singular pageant by which the memory of Lady Godiva has been, I believe, groundlessly scandalized for ages past in Coventry, was omitted that year. This pageant is a triennial one. And though I did not witness it, I however enjoyed what I thought a vast privilege—I drank tea in the house where the figure of Peeping Tom109 was kept, and had the pleasure of being introduced into the very closet from which the figure obtrudes itself. At this same fair at Coventry I had the pleasure, for the first and last time, of taking a turn in a whirligig,110 being placed in a small chair, whilst my brother was mounted on a wooden horse. My sister’s nurse allowed us this indulgence. My mother’s sense of decorum was much hurt when she was told of it. During this visit in Warwickshire I went with my mother to visit a Dr. L*****r111 at Warwick. We spent a day there, and saw Warwick Castle. My mother, when living with Mrs. Woodhouse at Warwick, had been intimate with the family. By his first wife Dr. L*****r was father of one daughter. This young lady had visited us at Stanford, and her image was mixed up in my memory with the scenes of just awakening consciousness. I remember walking with her in the shrubbery at Stanford, and gathering flowers for her, and confusing her name with that of lavender. I was glad to see her again at Warwick; but I was amazed at the new view of domestic life which there opened to me. When we arrived at the Doctor’s house, we were ushered into a parlour, where Mrs. L*****r received us very cordially; but before the fire—for there were fires all that summer—lay her eldest son Walter, a big boy with rough hair. He was stretched on the carpet, and on his mother admonishing him to get up, he answered, “I won’t;” or, “I shan’t.” She reproved him, and he bade her hold her tongue. From that day this youth became the prototype, in my mind, of all that was vulgar and disobedient; for I had never seen anything like family insubordination, and had hardly conceived the thing to be possible. But I have lived to see this single specimen multiplied beyond calculation. I saw also other specimens in this same family of a thoroughly undisciplined household. Walter had a sister about my age, and she was summoned to do the honours of her playroom to me. She took me up-stairs, and whilst showing me 58

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her dolls she said, “I am glad you came to-day, for you have saved me from a good scolding, my mother is so much out of humour.” And in truth the poor lady, though exceedingly civil and hospitable, was in such a perpetual fume, that her husband, a hearty, old-fashioned sort of man, a physician of the by-gone days, kept constantly saying to her at dinner, “Come, Betty, keep your temper; do, Betty, keep your temper.” We returned from Coventry in company with my mother’s cousin, Miss Ball, who afterwards married Dr. Andrews,112 Dean of Canterbury, and then once again I returned to the old routine of my healthful life at Stanford, and to my former companions, Mr. Annesley and Marten; my sister being still too young to be with us. From that period, nearly two years passed without many reminiscences, except that my father, through the interest of Lord Hertford, was appointed, in 1784, one of the Chaplains in Ordinary to his Majesty George the Third. On account of this appointment he was required every November to be in waiting at St. James’s, where a table was kept for the Chaplain. Here he had the privilege of inviting any friend he wished. This situation afforded him the opportunity of displaying to advantage that talent of pulpit eloquence which he possessed by nature, and which had been so successfully cultivated. During the period of his being in waiting he had to attend the levees, and was present, as I remember, at the christening of the Princess Amelia.113 He had always many anecdotes of the royal and noble to tell us when he returned from London. He brought something of that polish he had acquired in the higher circles into the heart of his own family. There was nothing which he opposed more decidedly in his children than want of courtesy, not of mere common civility, but of any deficiency of cheerfulness and kindness of address, even to the lowest persons. I remember but once his being very angry with me: we were walking, and an old man was before us, bending under the weight of a bundle of sticks; there was a gate to be opened; my father admonished me to run and open it for the old man; I was either wilful or slow—I did not open the gate, and my father bade me turn back and go to bed. I never forgot that lesson. My father died when I was so young that I am not able exactly to define his ideas of religion. I imagine, however, that his religion was more of the heart than the head—more a religion of feeling than of calculation; yet being a religion of enlarged love and charity, and confidence in Divine love as manifested in the Saviour, it assuredly was a religion of that description which is the gift of God. But when I say that it was more of the heart than the head, I do not think that his ideas of doctrine were over clearly defined; neither he nor my mother had any distinct ideas of human depravity: hence neither of them, until the very last, could see all that the Saviour has done in a true point of view. I have reason, however, to believe that they both were enlightened on these subjects before their death. During his yearly visits to London my father was introduced to many of the greatest men of the day; and I have heard him speak of Erskine,114 Potter,115 Warren,116 Townley,117 and Paoli.118 Fuseli,119 the great artist, also much wished to take 59

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his likeness, to preserve, he said, “a countenance which was compounded of the features of Sterne120 and Lavater.”121 It was during this time that a circumstance took place which, in my young fancy, was a matter of great magnitude. When my father was a single man he visited his brother, who was settled as a physician at Bath, and there he became acquainted with the widow of a Dr. Butts, Bishop of Ely. This lady acknowledged the relationship of her husband’s branch of the family to my father, and he and his brother in consequence became very intimate with her. Mrs. Butts lived in Guy-street, and had five fair daughters. She was quite a woman of the world, and her daughters such as herself. Of these, Charlotte, one of the youngest, married Monsieur De Pelevé,122 and went with him to Paris, where she resided many years, precisely at that period when the revolution broke out, and when that metropolis was probably most corrupt. M. De Pelevé had some situation in the household of the Duke d’Orleans, and I fear it was not greatly to the credit of the Bishop’s daughter that she was also one of the family; for her father was considered a religious man. The termination of her career in France was, however, that she separated from her husband. Having, probably, tired out her former associates in England, she wrote to my father as a relation, pleading many misfortunes and much ill usage, and concluding by proposing to make my mother a visit at Stanford. No one could plead, as she pleaded, in vain, to my good parents, that is, if it lay in their power to afford the relief required. Madame Pelevé was therefore assured of a welcome at Stanford, and to Stanford she came. I think it was the summer I was eight years old. Never shall I forget the arrival of Madame de Pelivé at Stanford. She then owned to be forty years of age, and, as her father had been dead forty years, it was impossible for her to plead that she was younger. She arrived in a post-chaise with a maid, a lap-dog, a canary bird, an organ, and boxes heaped upon boxes till it was impossible to see the persons within. I was, of course, at the door to watch her alight. She was a large woman, elaborately dressed, highly rouged, carrying an umbrella, the first I had seen.123 She was dark, I remember, and had most brilliant eyes. The style of dress at that period was perhaps more preposterous and troublesome than any which has prevailed within the memory of those now living. This style had been introduced by the ill-fated Marie Antoinette, and Madame de Pelivé had come straight from the very fountain head of these absurdities. The hair was worn crisped or violently frizzed about the face in the shape of a horse-shoe, long stiff curls, fastened with pins, hung on the neck, and the whole was well pomatumed,124 and powdered with different coloured powders. A high cushion was fastened at the top of the hair, and over that, either, a cap adorned with artificial flowers and feathers to such a height as sometimes rendered it somewhat difficult to preserve its equilibrium, or a balloon hat,125 a fabric of wire and tiffany,126 of immense circumference. The hat would require to be fixed on the head with long pins, and standing, trencherwise, quite flat and unbending in its full proportions. The crown was low, and, like the cap, richly set off with feathers and flowers. The lower part of the dress consisted of a full petticoat generally flounced, short sleeves, and a very long train; but instead of 60

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a hoop, there was a vast pad at the bottom of the waist behind, and a frame of wire in front to throw out the neckerchief, so as much as possible to resemble the craw of a pigeon. Such were the leading articles of this style of dress, and so arranged was the figure, which stepped forth from the chaise at the door of the lovely and simple parsonage of Stanford. My father was ready to hand her out, my mother to welcome her, and what would have alarmed most other persons in her appearance, was set down by them only as the result of a long residence in Paris, where it was well known that people did over-dress, and were almost compelled to wear rouge. The bandboxes were all conveyed into our best bed-room, whilst Madame had her place allotted to her in our drawing-room, where she sat like a queen, and really, by the multitude of anecdotes she had to tell, rendering herself very agreeable. Whilst she was with us she never had concluded her toilet before one or two in the day, and she always appeared either in new dresses or new adjustments. I have often wished that I could recall some of the anecdotes she used to tell of the court of Versailles, but one only can I remember,—it referred to the then popular song of Marlbrook,127 which she used to sing: “When the first dauphin,” she said, “was born, a nurse was procured for him from the country, and there was no song with which she could soothe the babe but Marlbrook, an old ballad sung till then only in the provinces. The poor queen heard the air, admired, and brought it forward, making it the fashion.” This is the only one of Madame de Pelivé’s stories which I remember, although I was very greatly amused by them and could have listened to her for hours together. My admiration was also strongly excited by the splendour and varieties of her dresses, her superb trimmings, her sleeves tied with knots of coloured ribbon, her trains of silk, her beautiful hats, and I could not understand the purpose for which she took so much pains to array herself. Madame de Pelivé was the first specimen I had ever seen of a female wholly given up to vanity, not merely to the love of fine clothes, which I believe to be in some women a simple love of accumulating finery, but of a vanity whose end and object is to gain admiration. But, in measure as the means of gratifying this passion becomes more scanty, it seems, alas! but to increase in power. But I was then too young and my parents too simple to regard these things in their true light. When Madame left Stanford she took lodgings in the neighbouring town of Ludlow.128

61

CHAPTER IV. MARTEN WENT TO DR. VALPY’S SCHOOL,

1784—MY

VISIT TO LUDLOW—MY BROTHER’S

ADDRESS TO ME—MY FATHER WROTE HIS VERSIFICATION OF ISAIAH—MARGARET’S VISIT TO STANFORD—THE BLACK LIBRARY—MY FATHER PRESENTED WITH THE LIVING

OF KIDDERMINSTER

1787—OUR REMOVAL TO KIDDERMINSTER—NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

IN the year 1784, my brother was sent to Dr. Valpy’s school129 at Reading, for my father was wisely persuaded that his education could not go on well at home. The Rev. Cyril Jackson, Dean of Christ Church, whose wisdom and benevolence in private life can be equalled only by the literary pre-eminence and dignity of action which marked his public character, charged himself with the superintendence of his education. For this end Marten was sent to Reading School, till it was necessary to remove him to Westminster in order to qualify him for a studentship in Christ Church. Thus was I separated from my brother; and as my sister’s nurse, a very nice person, who used to be very kind to me, also went just at the same time, I remember being very unhappy, seriously unhappy, probably for the first time of my life. Then it was I first had an idea of that feeling of bereavement which every one who lives to my age must often, often have experienced. But I ought to say, that before these losses occurred I had gone with my father and mother to visit Madame de Pelivé at Ludlow. I have never seen that place since then; but it left so strong an impression on my mind, that I was able full twelve years after to describe it with so much accuracy, in my history of “Susan Grey,”130 that the inhabitants of Ludlow often show the old house where Mrs. Neale is said to have lived. It was early in the autumn that we went to Ludlow, and it was at my return that I felt the sadness I speak of, for, from the time in which my brother went to school, he never could be to me what he was before. The hours of infancy were gone, and with them its thousand delights, known only when the mind is fresh and young. It often happens that something of this freshness is renewed in after life, in parents, when the sympathies with their children lead them to delight again, for their sakes, in the same description of trifles which amused themselves in their infancy. I have by me a very lovely address, which was sent to me by my brother, which relates to our happy infant years. “FROM A BROTHER TO A BELOVED SISTER, ON A FIELD CALLED THE BEE MEADOW, WHERE THEY USED TO PLAY TOGETHER IN INFANCY. “There is a meadow in a halcyon vale, Hid in the bosom of majestic groves 62

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Beneath the mountains’ brow, where bees regale On purple columbines; And harmless doves, Inviolate, tune their loveliest lays: Another Paradise, calm, safe, and fair, Whilst, ’midst the darkling glens unseen by day, From rocks distilling, fountains cool the air, In crystal basins sparkling in the light, With moss embowered and petrifying chill. Not lake of Bebe more enchanted sight Than our Bee Meadow and its lucid rill! Sister, ’twas here our morning star arose, And may in antitype its evening close.” Some time early this year my grandfather and grandmother Sherwood came, and brought with them my little cousin Margaret, whom my mother kept under her care for about a year and a half, and meant to have kept her always, which, alas! she was not permitted to do. Margaret was the little girl whose mother had died at her birth; she was at the time she was brought to Stanford a beautiful child of seven years of age. I do not remember that at that period of my life I attempted to write any stories; indeed, probably I had not time, but I was the most indefatigable narrator of stories. With Margaret and my sister Lucy, for my auditors, I repeated stories,—one story often going on at every possible interval for months together. In company I was remarkably silent and very much at a loss for words; but I do not remember feeling this want when telling my stories to my young companions. I knew nothing then of life as it is, but my mind was familiar with fairies, enchanters, wizards, and all the imagery of heathen gods and goddesses which I could get out of any book in my father’s study. But what I could have made of these heroes of Olympus, without finding out the hateful points in their characters, I cannot now explain. The eighteen months during which Margaret was with us appear to me to have been very long and very happy. At length, in the autumn, her father and step-mother came and took her away. My grief at the loss of Margaret was deep and long, and all that winter I continued to mourn for her. Soon after this I remember that I began to write fairy tales and fables; but I do not think that I made much of them. I grew so rapidly in my childhood, that at thirteen I had attained my full height, which is considered above the usual standard of women. I stooped very much when thus growing. As my mother always dressed me like a child in a pinafore, I must certainly have been a very extraordinary sort of personage, and every one cried out on seeing me as one that was to be a giantess. As my only companion of nearly my own age, Miss Winnington, was small and delicate, I was very often thoroughly abashed at my appearance; and therefore never was I so happy as when I was out of sight of visitors, in my own beloved woods of Stanford. In those sweet woods I had many little embowered corners, which no one knew but myself, and there, when my daily tasks were done, I used to fly with a book and 63

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enjoy myself in places where I could hear the cooing of doves, the note of the blackbird, and the rush of two waterfalls coming from two sides of the valley and meeting within the range where I might stroll undisturbed by any one. It must be noticed, that I never made these excursions without carrying a huge wooden doll with me, which I generally slung with a string round my waist under my pinafore, as I was thought by the neighbours too big to like a doll. My sister, as a child, had not good health, and therefore she could bear neither the exposure nor fatigue I did. Hence the reason wherefore I was so much alone. From this cause, too, she was never submitted to the same discipline that I was; she was never made so familiar with the stocks and iron collar, nor the heavy tasks; for after my brother was gone to school, I still was carried on in my Latin studies, and even before I was twelve I was obliged to translate fifty lines of Virgil every morning, standing in these same stocks with the iron collar pressing on my throat. It only wanted one to tell me that I was hardly used to turn this healthful discipline into poison; but there was no such person to give this hint, and hence the suspicion never, as I remember, arose in my mind that other children were not subjected to the same usage as myself. If my sister was not so, I put it down to her being much younger, and thus I was reconciled to the difference made between us. The drama of the “Aveugle de Spa,”131 which I read in English before Mr. Annesley left us, was the first book which gave me any idea of denying myself to assist others, although this root did not branch forth till many years afterwards. My father had a large and fine edition of the “Tatler,”132 which had been my delight ever since I was eight years of age, and I have reason to think that the account there given me of Miss Bickerstaff133 had a very strong effect upon my mind, for it was about this time that, as I stood alone in the wood at Stanford, I suddenly asked myself: Whether it was necessary that geniuses should be slovenly and odd? My father had always told me that I was to grow up a genius, and of course I believed him, for what child ever doubts the assurance given by an elder, that he or she is, or is to be, something very extraordinary? But even then I felt if it were necessary to be very singular, I would rather not be a genius, nor do I ever remember, either at that time, or at any other time of my life, that the desire of literary fame was remarkably strong in my mind; I mean as remarkably strong as I have generally seen it in authors. I would at any time of my youth rather have been a heroine of romance than a celebrated authoress. When I was eleven years old Madame de Pelivé appeared again at Stanford, and spent some months with us. I was by this time grown to a tall, unformed, awkward girl, with very long hair and very rosy cheeks; just that sort of uncouth thing whom a woman like Madame de Pelivé might be inclined to meddle with. Indeed, without any particular interference of her’s, her very conversation was enough to excite vain thoughts in any young mind. I remember the occasion when first the question arose in mine respecting my own appearance. It was from some conversation of this lady’s at dinner, which was no sooner over than I ran up stairs 64

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to a large mirror, to make the important inquiry; and at this mirror I stood a long time, turning round, and examining myself with no small interest. I forget the exact result, for I was probably too young to understand these things. Children, I believe, generally think more of fine clothes than personal beauty, though in this point Madame de Pelivé left me not untempted, for she made me a gauze cap of a very gay description, yet I had no other ornaments to boast of. My mother had no talent whatever for the art of dress, and no delight in it, nor have I ever taken that pleasure in it that many females do. Thus the poison imparted by this poor woman took small effect with me at that period, whilst the simpler tastes of childhood, through the mercy of God, still retained all their flavour. About this time an event of vast delight and importance occurred; this was the sale of the old library which had belonged to the celebrated Walsh,134 the friend of Addison, who resided at Abberley Lodge;135 and at this house my father always thought Addison had written those papers of the “Spectator” which are dated “Worcestershire.”136 Few attended the sale, for such was the illiterate turn of the age of my youth, in that country, that none cared to bid for the old books; and really, to judge by the externals of these ancient tomes, they were not by any means inviting; yet they had charms for my father, notwithstanding the blackness of their binding; he therefore bid for them, and as many as filled a waggon were knocked down to him for one guinea. My mother, who loved neatness, was by no means well pleased when the waggon was hired or borrowed for the occasion; for my father’s study was already littered enough, and dusty enough, and what an importation was this of moths, dust, and black calfskin! She, however, thought about it, and a low room, of considerable size, over a pantry and store room, was appointed by her for the reception of this accession of literature. This room was accordingly got ready at the same time that the waggon and team were dispatched to bring the purchase home. This little chamber was henceforward called the Black Library; and there my father received his treasures; and there I was permitted to go every day, to help him to turn them over for examination and reading. To direct a mind to the apprehension and enjoyment of spiritual things, all who understand the Scriptures must know to be impossible; but to give the mind a bent of things intellectual and temporal, is often done by parents, and perhaps still oftener by apparent accident. Who knows what effect this Black Library, that was instituted at Stanford at that time, had on my young mind? I could not possibly have a greater indulgence than to be permitted to assist my father in his dusty occupation. I know not whether I could have a more interesting employment now, than to examine such a purchase as this. Amongst these were several romances, viz., Barclay his “Arjenis,”137 “Don Belianis of Greece,”138 and Sir Philip Sidney’s “Arcadia.”139 These I begged, and my ever indulgent father gave them to me immediately. There were a number of folio volumes, too, of the “Fathers,”140 and many of the Classics, of the finest old editions. My father taught me to examine the editions, and I was then as well acquainted with the name of Elzivir,141 and others, as any old connoisseur in scarce editions; but my learning was never 65

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allowed to be displayed beyond the precincts of my father’s book-room. When, after a fashion, we had sorted the Black Library, I got upon a stool and did my utmost to put the study in some order. By this exercise I learnt a number of names of books, and got some idea of their subjects, and the times when their authors had lived. I remember there was a very precious old edition of “The Travels of George Sandys,”142 with many prints; this, also, my father gave me, and I studied it till every scene of it became familiar to me. This book falling in so well as it did with the classical instruction my mother was giving me at that period, my head and ideas were almost as much among the ancients as the moderns, although I had some spare corners in my brain for the romances of which I have spoken, with sundry other conceits. Thus I filled every region of the wild woods of Stanford with imaginary people. Wherever I saw a few ashes in a glade, left by those who burnt sticks to sell the ashes, to assist in the coarse washings in farm houses, I fixed a hoard of gipsies, and made long stories. If I could discern fairy rings, which abounded in those woods, they gave me another set of images; and I had imaginary hermits in every hollow of the rocky sides of the dingle, and imaginary castles on every height, whilst the church and churchyard supplied me with more ghosts and apparitions than I dared to tell of. Those persons who are without imagination can have no idea of the mode of existence of one who has. When just entering my thirteenth year (1788), the very valuable Vicarage of Kidderminster was presented143 by Lord Foley144 to my father, by the highly honourable application of the Archbishop of York, the Marchioness of Stafford, and Sir Edward Winnington, and it was thought necessary that we should remove from Stanford to reside there, placing a curate in the lovely parsonage. This was a bitter trial to my mother, though the idea of change was pleasant to me. All children love change, and children brought up in the country fancy a thousand charms in a town, which fancies time alone destroys. It was a severe trial, as I said to my mother, to exchange the glorious groves of Stanford for a residence in a town, where nothing is seen but dusty houses, and dyed worsted hanging to dry on huge frames in every open space.145 My father, however, liked the bustle of the change, the addition of income, the increase of consequence, and the greater liveliness of the scene, which were all pleasant to him, because they increased his power of manifesting his benevolence. An enlarged charity was the principal feature of his character, and this feeling was cramped in the deep retirement of Stanford; but it blazed out at Kidderminster, and to this day he is remembered there with the deepest affection. My parents seemed to have been peculiarly ill-assorted in some respects; in others, particularly suited to each other. My father was lavish of money, my mother timidly cautious; my father loved the society of his fellow creatures, my mother shrank into solitude; my father was equally easy at Court and in the humblest society, my mother withdrew with horror from anything underbred—a vulgar expression would cause her to shut herself up for ever, if in her power, from the person who used it in her presence. 66

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She could not, as a female, take the lead in society, as my father invariably did, at least whenever I was with him, and thus, as it were, inspiring the very stones of the street with somewhat of his own bright spirit. Where there is this power of taking the lead in society in a manner so agreeable and so benevolent, so brightly and yet so kindly; coarseness, vulgarity, and, above all, bad principle is so forced into the back ground, that society is good wherever that individual goes. My father was as much protected from low or bad life conversation by his own all-prevailing flow of eloquence as my mother was by her habitual withdrawal from such society. Yet still the distinction between the characters was as strongly marked here as in other points. In the same degree as my father, when going to Kidderminster, felt only pleasure in seeing more human beings about him, so my mother was utterly miserable in the idea of being compelled to mix with unpolished persons. Well do I remember, the summer before we left Stanford, how she used to walk in the woods weeping most bitterly, and indulging her grief, till her health gave way. She became nervously alive to the smallest change, or the smallest fatigue. I could not then comprehend her feelings, and did not sympathize with them; some might say I was too young, but, from my experience in life, I should say there are children who can feel a great deal for their elders at an earlier age than mine at that time. These children to whom I allude were, however, decidedly pious, which I certainly was not then. It might appear to some readers that piety only could have produced that harmlessness of conduct, which I have not exaggerated, to the best of my recollection. But the new scenes into which I was introduced on going to Kidderminster, were to prove to me that I was not one item better than those other children would have been, if equally attended to, and equally preserved from contamination. We were some months at Stanford after having obtained the living of Kidderminster, and I recollect some few circumstances only of that time. Madame de Pelivé came to Stanford, accompanied by a gentleman and lady from Ludlow, with their daughter, Mr., Mrs., and Miss Tosa. Miss Tosa was just my age, but by no means so tall and awkward as myself. This young lady had so wonderful a memory, that if any one repeated to her one line of any verse of the Bible, she was able to finish it. My father tried her in my hearing, and she never failed. She was a quiet, unpretending girl. Mrs. Tosa was the sister of Clara Reeve, who wrote “The Old English Baron,”146 and I think one or two more small works of a similar description. “The Old English Baron” is justly celebrated as the most perfect thing of the kind ever written. But all the scenes of infancy, and the neighbours which I had known in infancy, were now to be abandoned; and my dear mother removed me and my sister, with many sighs, regrets, and tears, from lovely Stanford to Kidderminster. I commenced this period, 1788, at Kidderminster, being then in my thirteenth year. We carried with us to Kidderminster the same refined interior, in short, the same minds as had presided at Stanford; but it is scarcely possible to have found a greater contrast in all without than there was between our residences at Stanford 67

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and at Kidderminster. It is now many, many years since we went to Kidderminster, and it is probable that the state of society, as it regards refinement, in that town was very different then to what it may be now; although, from the circumstance of the constant abandonment of the place by such families as have made their fortunes, and the constant rising up of others, to fill their places, from the working classes, it must ever prevent it, whilst it is a trading place, from seeming to improve. Where now there are ten little elegant country houses in the neighbourhood of Kidderminster, fifty years ago there was not one. People lived where their business was, and the master would then have been content with a dwelling which his foreman would now despise. The wife (in those gone by days) of the first manufacturer in Kidderminster wore a coloured apron, and sate in her kitchen, except on high days and holidays, and acted in her family as a sort of upper housemaid. The gayest and most refined family then existing amongst the regular old Kidderminster people, was that of a linendraper147 in the Bull Ring,148 and my father was no sooner known to be appointed the Vicar, than the son and heir of this family rode over to Stanford to request our patronage. I often think what very odd people there are in the world, and how little persons in general are able to appreciate their own importance or non-importance. Amongst the very oddest of these people, none was ever more odd than this linendraper’s son, Mr. Richard, or Mr. Dicky as he was generally called. He was, when I first saw him, about forty years of age, exceedingly plump and round, with small features, and a most minute mind, which had the power of comprehending only small things. Amongst other oddities, he always wore a light chintz dressing-gown in a morning, with a rose-coloured ribbon round his waist. He no doubt thought himself the very pink of elegance. He had three sisters older than himself, who were always seen sitting on as many chairs in the same parlour, near the same window, and never by any accident out of their seniority. The history of the youngest, and most pleasing, of these is a curious one: when very young, a surgeon in the town paid his addresses to her, was accepted, and was admitted to visit her every day. When we went to Kidderminster the affair was an old one; people were tired of talking of it; still he paid his daily visit. After some years the father and mother died, the other sisters married and died, and the brother also lived his term and died; still this youngest sister remained. She had, in advanced age, a white swelling in her knee. The house her father lived in, and in which she had always resided, was to be sold; her faithful lover bought it, and presented it to her for life. When I was past fifty I went to call on her; I found her lame, indeed, but less changed than I could have expected. She told me, that, for—I will not say how many years, but even, I think, ever since my father’s death, she had never once left the two rooms in which she then resided. And during all that period, as I learned from others, her friend, then become a grey-headed old man, had never stopped his evening visits. This family was one of the first which called on us on our arrival at Kidderminster, and we had innumerable other visitors, many of whom were dissenters. 68

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My father had made it appear, as soon as he had taken the living, that he was resolved to be friendly with all parties, and certainly we found that the dissenting portion of the society149 at Kidderminster was the best educated. Still, however, there was a cruel falling off from the society which we had hitherto kept. My poor mother, when she had been subjected to one or two annoyances from an intercourse which at first she knew not well how to avoid, shrunk back in a sort of despair, having in vain endeavoured to struggle cheerfully against that event which had so rudely torn her from her elegant solitude, and thrown her into society so wholly opposed to refinement. Never shall I forget her horror when she heard one of our neighbours assert that his wife was busy at home, and that he had come out of the way because it was “execution day.” At first she could not comprehend the meaning of the expression, and when once made to understand this was a common term for washing day, she gave up the whole family, and hardly ever addressed this man again; and step by step, little by little, she withdrew into herself, associating only with one or two families in the place. During the autumn she had compelled herself to walk a good deal with us, and there was one very pleasant walk on our side of the town, through an avenue of trees, to an old black and white mansion, belonging to a family of the name of Stuart; hither we often went, but after she had received and paid her visits, she retired much into herself, went little out, departed from many of her strictest rules with me, as they regarded stocks, collars, and lessons, and committed my sister very much to my care, or rather to my neglect. Lucy and I slept in a room which looked out into the street. Now a street was a new thing to us, and we spent every moment we could spare in looking out of the windows. We had a closet in our room in which we kept our treasures, a doll’s house, which we had brought from Stanford, and all the books we had hoarded up from childhood; and these, with two white cats, which we had also brought from Stanford, happily afforded us much amusement. I had always loved dolls, and my rage for them was at this time almost at the highest; some wise persons used to say, surely Miss is too tall to play with a doll, but this remark only made me more anxious to hide my dolls. As I still wore a pinafore, it was not uncommon for me even then to sling my doll by a string from my waist under my pinafore. I have no great delight in the recollection of these days at Kidderminster. I was not unhappy there; but I have brought from thence no pleasing recollection as belonging to the place, though I have many of my parents; of my father’s great Christian love and humility, of many pleasant walks with my sister, and many happy hours with my mother when she was not particularly depressed. My sister and I had had, ever since my tenth year to this, my thirteenth, the curious custom of conversing when alone in certain characters, which we never changed all the time. We were both queens, and we were sisters, and were supposed to live near each other, and we pretended we had a great many children. In our narratives we allowed the introduction of fairies; and I used to tell long stories of things, and places, and adventures, which I feigned I had met with in this my character of queen. The moment we two set out to walk, we always began to 69

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converse in these characters. My sister used generally to begin with, Well, sister, how do you do to-day? how are the children? where have you been? and before we were a yard from the house we were deep in conversation. Oh! what wonderful tales was I wont to tell, of things which I pretended I had seen, and how many, many happy hours have I and my sister spent in this way, I being the chief speaker. I can fully understand how our imaginations might have been wrought upon in the wild woods and deep glens of Stanford, so as to have invented tales of fairyland and visions of Paradise; but I cannot so well comprehend how these could have agreed with the dirty environs of Kidderminster, where the very air is tainted with the odour of dyed worsteds; but so it was, and I have no doubt but that these our romances, these harmless imaginations (for harmless they were), saved us from much coarse contamination, for we often walked along those dirty suburbs without paying any attention to what we saw about us. I think that even now, after the lapse of fifty years, if taken over some of those places I have walked with my sister, I could recall adventures, imaginary adventures, which I told her there, so strong even to this day are the associations belonging to them in my mind. But although this habit of living in a little world of our own, which my sister and I had at that time, prevented us from learning much that was amiss in the scenes which were round about us—so far these conversations protected us—yet I fully believe that they hindered us from getting even the common experience of life. It would hardly be any use to dwell upon the subject, though it is a fact, that I acquired experience of life far more slowly than many girls of actually very inferior capacity. I am quite certain, that even to this day, let me be where I will, I live in a sort of world of my own; a world common to no one but myself, the nature of which, though better understood by some persons than others, is to most quite a sealed book. To pursue this reflection a little farther, I believe that all persons have a world of imagery of their own, such being a condition of individuality. Nevertheless, the individual character of some minds are so very different from those of others, that there are persons who can hardly find one point of agreement with another. Hence, certain persons of peculiar minds are doomed to pass through life with comparatively few associates, and to be very often most alone when most surrounded by fellow-creatures. Whilst my sister lived with me, however, I never wanted a sympathizing companion, though during this winter my mother withdrew herself more and more from society. She was very far from well, and still lamented her beloved Stanford, and the friends there of many years standing. She had, however, already formed a decided liking for one family whom we found at Kidderminster: of whom more hereafter.

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CHAPTER V. MY FATHER’S CHARACTER—OUR ACQUAINTANCES AT KIDDERMINSTER—OUR VISIT TO MR. HAWKINS BROWNE AT BADGER—MY COUSIN HENRY SHERWOOD’S VISIT TO KIDDERMINSTER—A DAY AT STANFORD—THE KING’S VISIT TO HARTLEBURY—MY FATHER’S SERMON AT ST. JAMES’S—MY VISIT WITH MY MOTHER AND SISTER TO COVENTRY—MY THEME ON HOC-AGE—MY FATHER’S GOING TO DINE AT LORD STAMFORD’S AT ENVILLE— THE BLIND FIDDLER—THE DEAN OF GLOUCESTER—THE SISTERS, PHILADELPHIA AND DOROTHEA PERCY. I HAVE said, “that my mother did not like the society at Kidderminster;” but my father was so benevolent, so fully conversant with real love and Christian charity, that he was never led to expect perfection from human beings, and never despaired of seeing the work of God’s hand, though defaced by the corruptions of sin, renewed and sanctified by His Spirit. He was cordially attached to the Church of England, and punctiliously anxious to discharge his duty. On one occasion he rode from Reading to Kidderminster, to prevent a failure in the regular service of the day. The populous town of Kidderminster contained a great proportion of dissenters of different denominations, whom he uniformly treated as his flock, equally with the members of his own Church. It was no unfrequent sight to see many of them attend his services on those high festivals which were not observed by their own societies. It was believed, that had he been spared any length of time to dwell amongst them, his courteous manners, affectionate zeal, and dispassionate reasoning, combined with his practice of Christianity, would have brought many within the fold of the Church. It is remembered by one who is still amongst us, that my father, whilst once riding into Kidderminster, passed a crowd where some street-preachers, or ranters as they are called, were addressing those around on the Holy Scriptures. In reverence to their apparent wish of doing good, and to their subject, my father took off his hat, and held it in his hand till he had passed by so far as to hear no more of their discourse,—a courtesy which proceeded from that warmth of Christian charity which ever formed one of the most striking and lovely parts of his character. Providentially my mother’s wise foresight counteracted the extraordinarily benevolent hospitality of my father; but her principles were congenial with his piety. Though at times he might have struggled against her “prudent representations of life,”150 yet in the end she became very dear to him, as may be shown by the following address to her, under the assumed name of Melissa:— “Thine is the fairest form of female worth, The gentlest grace of virtue, which the mind 71

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Of moralizing poet ever drew,— Drew from his fancy, seldom found on earth; But no, on earth he may the model find, Prepare his tints again, and paint from YOU.” But I have said that my mother became acquainted at Kidderminster with one family suited to her taste, and the gentleman was a physician, just settled in the town. He had married a Miss R., from Dronfield, who had been very intimate with Miss Seward, often visiting her in Lichfield, and had seen all that bright phalanx of wit and beauty which my mother had known in her younger days. This Miss R., now Mrs. S., had written a novel, and could also write sonnets. She had a vast flow of language in speaking, and knew where to lay the emphasis in a pathetic harangue, and, withal, was not without much feeling. She came forward eagerly to cultivate my mother’s friendship, and made herself so agreeable, in comparison with our new, homespun acquaintances in Kidderminster, that they soon became very intimate. Neither of my parents suspected at first the deep mischief which lay under the seeming warmth and amusing manners of these people, although the intercourse had not continued long before my father discovered that Dr. S. was an infidel, imbued also with the political spirit of Mr. Day, Mr. Edgeworth, and all that party, only that he was vastly more openly impious than they were. After a while our two families never met; but my father and the Doctor entered upon the contest—my father, all glowing and bright, as he was, through the influence of the indwelling Spirit of Divine love, ever hoping that in time he should prevail against this infidel and scoffing mind, for its own everlasting benefit. Of all this I understood but little at the time, and my sister, of course, still less; but yet sufficiently to show a childish zeal in the cause, though the Christian spirit of brotherly love was sadly wanting in us, as the following anecdote will show. One day the eldest son of Dr. S. said to Lucy, who was about a year older than himself, “that some persons thought that there had once been one Jesus Christ, but that he did not believe it.” “Don’t you?” said my sister, and she struck him with all her little might, rolled him down on the carpet, and beat him with all her strength, at which, I must confess, I did not interfere, as, being older, I ought to have done. Some time this summer Madame de Pelevé came to Kidderminster, from Ludlow, and took lodgings in Church Street, after having resided a few weeks in our house. Unfortunately for my comfort, she took it into her head to dress me, and make me a present of a shepherdess’s hat,151 of pale blue silver tiffany,152 which, when I wore, was fastened on me by large, long corking-pins,153 and was a terrible evil to me. This year, though I hardly know at what time, except that jessamines were in flower, my father took me in his gig, a man-servant riding behind on horseback, to see his old friend Mr. Hawkins Browne, who had just married a Miss Hay, the granddaughter of Lord Kinnoul. 72

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Mr. Browne resided at Badger, near Shiffnall, in Shropshire, at a very beautiful place, where he kept up some state, and drove his coach-and-four. We arrived at Badger in time to dress for dinner. A very large party was expected that day. I was told that I was to put on my very best dress, which was a blue silk slip, with a muslin frock over it, a blue sash, and oh! sad to say, my silver tiffany hat; I did not dare but wear it, as it had been sent with me. Mrs. Browne had commissioned a maid-servant to come and dress me, and great was the pains which she took to fix my shepherdess hat on one side, as it was intended to be worn, and to arrange my hair, which was long, and hanging in curls; but what would I not have given to have got rid of the rustling tiffany! There were a number of great people in the drawing-room when I went down, but no child was of the company. There were several gentlemen, amongst whom was an honourable Mr. Somebody Wenman, I think, who, being himself perhaps thirty-five or forty years of age, fancied it would be some sport to be excessively polite to the awkward little shepherdess. Much to my annoyance he handed me to dinner, and in the evening, when we all walked out in the shrubberies, offered me his arm. I had a very succinct way of settling matters of this kind, and, I fear, not the most polite; so, declining the offer of the honourable hand, I darted up a bank, through the shrubs, and away. My father overlooked many of these indecorums. It was a great disadvantage to me, on many occasions, that my mother seldom went out with me. I was at that time as tall as I ever was, and perchance my wild tricks were not understood by Mr. Wenman, for from that time there was a constant attempt on his part to catch me when we were out of doors, and on my part to get away; but he was not fairly matched with me; he never could come up with me; he always called me “the mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.” I have no doubt I was not polite to him; but he frightened me. I had a vast horror at that time of being played with by gentlemen, which is, I believe, common to some girls of the age I then was, and should not be checked. Whilst we were at Badger, an old friend of my father’s, Dr. Clever, Bishop of Chester, arrived with his lady and several little children. He was the brother of the Bishop of Ferns, but of a very different style of character: mild, unaffected, unpretending, and I liked him very much. He had some quiet jokes with me, in a small way, which suited me exactly. One day we all went to spend the morning in the woods of Appley, the seat of Mr. Whitmore, near Bridgenorth. When we left the coach, everybody had some little basket of refreshment to carry. The Bishop took a small basket of gooseberries, and, calling me to him, he said, “Let us go aside and eat all these gooseberries, and then present our friends with the empty basket.” This was a piece of amusement, simple as it was, that much pleased me, and others beside me also; and even now I cannot but admire the harmless condescension it evinced. When we were to return to Kidderminster, Mr. Browne brought us as far as the Morf,154 then a bare common, opposite Bridgenorth.155 There I was called upon to look at this old and singularly situated town. Oh! how little did I then apprehend that that place was hereafter to be my home for some years. 73

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We parted with our kind friends on the common, and my father and I went on in the gig, with John riding behind us, to a village called Quatford,156 where we stopped. Wherefore are certain apparently unimportant circumstances of life remembered with such peculiar delight as they are, sometimes often after the lapse of many years? More than half a century has passed since I stopped at that humble inn, in this village, with my beloved father. It was an hour, or two perhaps, after noon, and the day was bright and sunshiny. My father, as usual, all benevolence and love, went into the little parlour and called for refreshment; they brought eggs and bacon, and whilst these were preparing I looked about me, and examined the front of every house in the small village, and fully contemplated a hideous print of the woman of Samaria,157 which hung over the chimney-piece. I had at that time such a sense of happiness, that, as I have already said, the impression remains to this hour. What was it, then, that made all things appear so bright to me in that place— that shabby inn, that humble board, and so immediately after I had left a scene of considerable elegance? What was it? Was it not that I was with my father—his beloved companion—and that he smiled upon me, and seemed fully to enjoy all that pleased me? He was himself as a bright beam of sunshine shed on a young rose-bush. Oh! how has a parent’s smile sometimes gladdened my heart, and how, for years after I lost my father, did I miss that paternal beam, which scarcely ever failed to welcome me whenever I entered his presence. If the smiles of a natural father are thus inspiring, what will those of a spiritual Father be, when we shall enjoy them in their brightest glory? It was about the usual hour of tea when we reached Kidderminster, and there we found unexpected friends. During our absence my grandfather and grandmother Sherwood had arrived from Coventry, and brought their eldest grandson, Henry. My uncle Sherwood had by this time so involved his affairs by neglect and by extravagance, that his poor children, especially those by his first wife, needed attention, quite as much as if they had actually been orphans, whilst it was far less possible to serve them than if they had been so. My mother would have been a parent to Margaret, but the inconsiderate father had taken the child away. My grandfather Sherwood, however, had got her again from his son, and had placed her in a school in Coventry. And now he had brought with him my cousin Henry; for my parents had professed themselves anxious to receive him. He was to live with us, and go to the Free School in the Churchyard. My grandfather dearly loved these more than orphan children; they probably brought to his memory his own motherless babes. I have no doubt whatever that the uneasiness given him by his son, and his anxiety for these two little ones particularly, shortened the term of his life. My poor uncle Sherwood had been a cause of sorrow to my mother for many years. As long as I can remember, I used occasionally to hear lamentations over him. In the year 1787 he went over to France. In my cousin Henry’s early memorandums I find these passages:—“I, Henry Sherwood, being eleven years of age, 74

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was at Boulogne, where my father had taken lodgings opposite the market, where is a church with a slated roof. I, Henry Sherwood, watched the soldiers forming the date 1787 on the building, in different coloured slates.” This year was so very near to the commencement of the French Revolution, that, young as Mr. Sherwood then was, he could not help remarking many things, which, although he knew not, portended the coming storm. My uncle had imbibed certain American notions of the government of nations, and often talked of freedom and the liberty of the people, and other republican sentiments. Numberless exaggerated stories were then told of the Bastile, and of its horrors. It was said, “that the French people, in consequence of it, could not speak their minds without danger.”158 It was said, too, that noblemen sat to be shaved with drawn swords in their hands, ready to kill the barber if he drew blood; that peasants were shot like pigeons; and that half France was confined in this same Bastile. Any person who had been across from Dover to Calais was then accounted a distinguished traveller. The powers of steam, which have since set all the world in motion, were then only beginning to be tried by a few very penetrating spirits. Perhaps, fifty years hence, those then living may speak of a journey through the air, with as little astonishment as we now speak of the rapid progress of a steamcarriage. I had seen my cousin Henry when a very little boy at Stanford, and when I was in my fifth year, so I was delighted to see him again, when we came in from our journey. I have his figure exactly before me: he was particularly small of his age, and had fair hair. Our grandfather had caused him to be dressed in a full suit of what used to be called pepper-and-salt cloth.159 He was standing at the tea-table, between his grandmother and aunt, and smiled with apparent great delight when he saw me. He was very soon settled in his place; that is, he was sent as a dayscholar160 to a Mr. Morgan, of Kidderminster; but he was with us between school hours, and was a very quiet little personage, very good-tempered, and very much in awe of his aunt. He was famous with us for making paper boxes one within another. He had a little bed in an attic, and in the next attic was the bed occupied by my brother when at home. There was a shelf of many books in Marten’s room, amongst these, “Plutarch’s Lives,” in English: Henry got these books into his own domain, and read them again and again. He since dates his first extreme love of reading to the pleasure he had in these books. My poor grandfather was breaking fast at this time; but my grandmother neither sympathized in his afflictions, nor felt the approach of her own age. She took me and my sister, one day whilst she was with us, to see Mr. and Mrs. Hoskins, who were living in the beloved parsonage at Stanford. They were dragging the pool which my father had made in the dingle; but my sister and I did not stay to watch the performance. We ran off to Stanford Court to see our former friends; and as I was flying along, the wind took my hat and blew it off, into what was called the North Pool, which lay between the grove of firs on the side of the hill on which the church and the Court stand. Luckily for me, it flew beyond my reach at once, and floated far away, therefore I incurred no risk in endeavouring to recover it. Had I been eighteen, instead of thirteen 75

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years of age, what a misery would it have been to me to have presented myself at Stanford Court without a head-dress of any kind, and all my hair floating on my shoulders, in all the wild disorder which the breeze had occasioned. But I now remember little of any other distress which I felt then, than the anticipated displeasure of my grandmother. Dear Lady Winnington only smiled, and gave orders that some one should be sent to fish out the unfortunate head-dress. In a very little time she had settled that we were to stay there all day. A bonnet of her daughter’s was soon provided for me, and we all, that is, all the former young companions, repaired to a place in the shrubbery, where a swing had lately been put up between two fir trees: and there all trouble was forgotten in each other’s company. But this was to be a day of adventures. My sister, who as a child had a peculiar talent for tumbling, fell out of the swing, and just as she was rising, it returned again and struck her eye. All in terror, we ran back to the house, and Lady Winnington was at first really alarmed at this second accident. However, when it was found that there was nothing worse likely to occur to my poor sister, but a tremendous black eye, she smiled again, and sat down to write a letter of explanation to my mother, which letter had the effect of setting all things right. The history of this day would, however, by no means have been complete without a third adventure; and as the first misfortune had belonged only to me, and the second only to my sister, the third was to prove most annoying to our grandmother. This is the account thereof:—Between Stanford and Kidderminster there is a village called Dunley, at which village in my younger days the high road parted, and joined together again at Stourport; one of these ways being a regular, safe, and proper road for carriages, going a little round about to Stourport Bridge, the other going along over a hill, then across a common, and arriving at the bridge in a more direct way, but in a way by all persons esteemed impracticable for anything but carts. Now it so happened that, in all my travels through Dunley, I had always looked with a longing eye to this same road, which stretched far to unknown lands—the very ill report which it had, enhancing my desire to try it. It was late in the afternoon when my grandmother called at Stanford Court to take us up, and it was getting rather dusk when we reached Dunley, and there, to my vast delight, the coachman, who was a stranger to the country, took the wrong turning, and though I was perfectly aware that he was doing so, I would not for the world have given the slightest caution. If we should be overturned, I thought, what an adventure would this be to tell when we get home! I will not say, for such is the treachery of the human heart, whether I might not have fancied that a comfortable overthrow might not have a good effect in making the destruction of my hat appear to be a matter of very minor importance to my mother. My grandmother was soon made aware that something was wrong, by the violent joltings the carriage sustained, and in the end we were obliged to get out and walk on to the bridge, and it was more than I deserved that I escaped so well as I did; however, I kept my own counsel. No excuse, not even youth, nor folly, can be pleaded for what I did on that occasion. 76

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This was the last visit my dear grandfather paid to my mother. He was then no longer the cheerful old gentleman he had been. He left Henry with us. The next event of this year was our visit to Hartlebury. The history of George the Third will explain the occasion of his journey to Cheltenham. Leaving Cheltenham, his Majesty, the Queen, the elder Princesses, and the Duke of York, visited Bishop Hurd at the Palace of Worcester, and attended the Worcester Music Meeting.161 One day they came to Hartlebury, where they breakfasted. On this occasion of the breakfast all Kidderminster turned out, and every available vehicle was put in requisition. My good father, attended by our old servant John, took us in his gig to Mr. Carver’s, Rector of Hartlebury. We there met some ladies, whose names I need not mention. My father was not apt to notice such things, but he must have been blind indeed, not to have observed the careless contempt with which two of these ladies chose to treat his children; for, as we walked to the castle, they rushed before us, leaving us to make our way as we best could. We, with the respectable part of the company, were taken into the hall, where we waited for the royal party coming out of the breakfast-room. We saw them all come out—the good old King, his Queen, the three fine elder Princesses, and their very handsome brother. They entered the hall, and walked slowly through it, quietly returning the courtesies of the company. But when they came to where we were, they made a full stop and spoke to us, or rather of us,—the Queen using a courtly phrase touching our appearance, and smiling, whilst the King and the Princesses looked at us with encouraging looks. We, of course, blushed, and bridled, and could not imagine how this could be; but they knew my father, and yet were not to know him, according to court etiquette, because he wore not his gown and cassock. The compliment to our beaux yeux162 was simply to express that they knew their chaplain, though restrained by form from addressing him. I had nearly forgotten to say that Madame de Pelevé had taken the trouble to array me, preparatory to this visit to Hartlebury; she came to the Vicarage before we set out, and began her operations by fastening a horse-hair cushion163 at the top of my head, with double black pins. She then rolled my hair in curls, and pinned them in order. Above these she placed a black beaver hat with feathers, attaching this so that it should stand hollow from my head, by steel pins of nearly half a yard in length: to which inflictions I submitted with all the resignation I could muster. But Madame having withdrawn, I very coolly took out every pin, shook down my hair, and tied on my hat in my own style, which was that of a very untidy, tall, awkward girl, fitter to play in a wood than to appear before the great and royal party. Probably, however, I looked at least more consistent in my own fashion. My dear mother being short-sighted saw none of these manœuvres. When the time arrived for my father being in waiting at St. James’s, he went to London, and my mother, my sister, and myself to Coventry, leaving Henry under the care of old Kitty. As this year (1778) was the centenary of the landing of King William,164 the anniversary was kept everywhere through the realm, with feastings, bell-ringing, and orange favours,165 which caused much delight 77

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to us at Coventry. It was at this period that my father preached a sermon at the Chapel Royal, St. James’s, on a Sunday, when the life of the excellent King was despaired of. The discourse, which made a deep and lasting impression, described the critical state of an afflicted nation, and expressed the liveliest sentiments of general loyalty, and was followed by a most pathetic prayer, delivered with peculiar strength of feeling and fervour of devotion. The eyes of a numerous and noble audience were suffused with tears. After the service, my dear father received the general expression of the warmest gratitude. The Secretary of State, Lord Sydney, requested the Marquis of Stafford to introduce him to my father, and then he thanked him aloud with much feeling and sensibility. The newspapers spoke much of this sermon. There was a universal desire expressed that it should be published. As my father had expended a great deal in building the parsonage of Stanford, his friends advised that a subscription should be raised for the publication of all his Court sermons; and a more productive, and a more honourable list of subscribers to any work, was not to be found in the annals of the press. These sermons were eventually printed in 1791, in two octavo volumes, and dedicated to the Archbishop of York, for whom he entertained almost a paternal regard. These sermons were presented to their Majesties, who expressed their admiration of them, and Lord Hertford, in conveying the royal message to my father, emphatically added, “Your line is bold, original, and full of imagination. You must follow that line.” After the sermon respecting the King’s illness, my father’s acquaintance was sought for by many exalted characters in the royal circles, and there is no doubt, if length of life had been spared to him, some substantial proof of approbation would have been bestowed upon him; for his friends were able and willing to promote his interest. In these days plurality of livings are wisely forbidden; but in those days they were allowed. My father was King’s Chaplain, Vicar of Kidderminster, Rector of Stanford and Clifton-on-Teme. He also held the living of Notgrove, in Gloucestershire. Our visit to Coventry was the last which my dear mother ever paid to her beloved father, who still resided in the very house in which she was born, and in which her mother had died. The last days of my grandfather’s life were clouded with many sorrows. His son’s conduct was a cause of continual pain. Oh, how often in a long life have I seen the last days of parents rendered uneasy by the misconduct or misfortunes of their children! Under circumstances of this description, old persons judge and feel like old persons. They tremble and get miserable on account of difficulties and trials, which in the hey-day of youth and health, in their own cases, they would have much less regarded. There is a want of piety in the indulgence of this excessive anxiety,— not that I blame others, for I am a victim to it myself:—it is a part of the frailty of human nature. We did not return to Kidderminster till near Christmas, and there we found my cousin Henry doing well under good Kitty. Soon we were joined by my father and brother, the latter of whom had been then some time at Westminster School. I conclude this year (1788) by saying, that as to my own state of mind and improvement I have very little to add. I was then altogether childish, and very 78

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much, I suppose, like other girls of my age, and certainly in no ways forwarder than my contemporaries. 1789 was a remarkably severe winter. We were, however, several young people together during the Christmas vacation, and did not trouble ourselves about the cold. My dear brother left us after the holidays. During the early spring Henry was also taken back to Coventry, which grieved me; for I had begun to feel much friendship for him. I cannot exactly say wherefore he was removed; but he went from us to Coventry, and thence to school at Warwick. I have a very imperfect recollection of this year: probably there was little in it marked, or worthy of recollection. No doubt, I was growing faster in body than in mind. My dear mother was never able to carry on my education very assiduously, after I arrived in Kidderminster. Though I still read Virgil to her, yet I spent much time in dressing dolls and writing fairy tales, which never came to anything. I was sent by my mother with my sister to an Assembly-room once every fortnight, to practise dancing under a Mr. Burney.166 There I met with a young lady, a Miss Lee, a year older than myself, who had actually learned perfectly “The Cecilia,”167 of Miss Burney (which had not long come out). This young lady amused me most delightfully, whilst the other children were practising their steps, by repeating this interesting story to me. It was the first novel I had ever become acquainted with, although I had dipped into sundry romances. By the recitations of Miss Burney I was inspired with the wish of writing a novel, and began one, the dedication of which was “To Lady Hare-bell;” but I never finished more than the title-page. My next literary effort was a play, and I continued to write in this style for two or three years, though my poor plays never went beyond my father’s parlour. One of the titles of my plays was “The Widow’s Prayer-book;” which was thought very well of by my father. It was not a jest upon religion, I am happy to say, though the name might lead a person to suppose so. Lucy at the same time began to use her young hand, somewhat in imitation of her elder sister: she too wrote some plays. I also tried at poetry, but soon gave it up, and never cultivated that style again. I never was born to be a poet, probably not from a dearth of ideas, but of words; for, as a young person, I had a singular difficulty always in expressing myself. Certainly, as I said before, I could tell long stories to my sister so as to amuse her; but in company I was painfully, nay, even awkwardly silent. I could neither think of anything to say, nor could I have found words to express anything I had thought of, at least so as to make myself understood. This singular want of address was probably at the very worst from thirteen years of age till seventeen; and had not my difficulty of expressing myself been almost as great in writing as in speaking, I should have thought it owing to having been kept so much in the background as I was by my dear mother; but I now believe it to be a natural defect, and only overcome by much mixing with the world, and repeated efforts in composition. My father accustomed me to write a Theme for him every Saturday. I was required to go to him early in the morning on these days for a subject; but one unfortunate day, all the reply which he made when I went to ask for my subject was, 79

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“hoc-age.”168 In vain I asked him to explain what he meant; “No,” he answered, “go and make it out.” I did as he desired, that is, I withdrew, and I went to my own table and took my pen and a sheet of paper, and wrote “hoc-age” at the top in a fair round hand. Then I put the translation of the words, “Do this,” in another line, and there I remained, not being able to add another sentence. And in this dilemma I remained until it was time to produce my exercise; but I had nothing to show but my four words on the top of the paper. “Very well,” said my father, smiling, “you will not forget ‘hoc-age’ again, and let it ever be in your mind as an admonition each day of life, to ascertain and to do that which is most presently necessary.—I wished you, my child,” he added, “to dwell long upon the words, and therefore I did not explain my meaning.” My father was the more anxious to give me this lesson, as he himself had often suffered from want of attention to what the present moment most immediately required of him. I have so imperfect an idea of this year and the next, both of which were principally passed at Kidderminster, that it is totally impossible for me to place many little things which I am disposed to relate in their due order; for example, the anecdote which I am about to tell of my father. It seems that my father on one occasion, about this time, was invited to dine at Lord Stamford’s, at his seat at Enville, not very distant from Kidderminster. It was the custom, when he was to go out, for some competent person to arrange his best cloth suit on a sofa in his study, his linen and stockings being in a wardrobe in the same room. On this day he was very much engaged in writing. However, thinking he would be quite prepared when apprised that John and the horses were ready, he laid down his pen at an early hour, and dressed himself, laying his old black suit, neatly folded, as was his wont, on the sofa, from whence he had taken the best one. This being done, to make the most of his time he sat down to write again, till admonished that the horses were waiting. “Bless me,” he cried, “and I not dressed;” and he hurried himself to put on again fresh linen and another pair of silk stockings, whilst as his old coat and waistcoat, which lay where the new ones ought to have been, came most naturally to hand, they were put on, and a great-coat over all concealed the mischief from John and my mother; and away he drove, reaching Enville but a little time before dinner. My father happened to know Lord Stamford’s butler, an old and valued servant, whom we may just as well call Johnson as any other name, and as he stopped in the hall to take off his great-coat, Mr. Johnson, having looked hard at his attire, said, “My dear sir, you have a large hole in your elbow, and the white linen is visible.” “Indeed!” said my father (it was a tale he always told at full length); “indeed!” said he, “how can that be? let me consider;” and, after some reflection, he made out the truth as it really had happened. “Well,” said Mr. Johnson, not a little amazed with the story, “come to my room and we will see what can be done.” So he took my father, who was in high glee at the joke, which he thought excellent, into his own precincts, and brushed him and inked his elbow, and put him into better order than the case at first seemed possible. When all was complete, he said, “Now, sir, go into the 80

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drawing-room; set a good face on the matter; say not a word on the subject; and, my life for it, not a lady or gentleman will find you out.” My father promised to be vastly prudent, and as he was always equally at home in every company, on the principle of feeling that every man was his brother, he was not in the least disturbed by the consciousness of his old coat and inked elbow. Thus everything went on prosperously till dinner was nearly over. My dear father, having probably, as usual, found the means of putting everybody in good humour about him, and beginning, no doubt, to stroke his chin, and to look like “My Uncle Selby” is described to have looked in Richardson’s “Sir Charles Grandison,”169 when about to incur his lady’s displeasure, he turned towards the butler and said, “Johnson, it must not be lost.” The good man frowned and shook his head, but all in vain. “It is much too good, Johnson,” he added; “though you are ever so angry with me, I must tell it.” And then out came the whole story, to the great delight of the whole noble party present, and to the lasting gratification of my father himself; for he never failed to be highly pleased whenever he told the story, and it was no small addition to the tale to tell of the scolding he got, before he came away, from the honest butler, whose punctilio he had most barbarously wounded. My dear father’s benevolent feeling had a wide play at Kidderminster. There were at that time, and still I believe are, many dissenters in that town. Though our family were decided Church people, yet my father manifested as much kindness to the dissenters as to his own peculiar flock. By his entire exemption from bigotry he was as much loved by one party as by the other, and was on fraternal terms with the two dissenting ministers, often inviting them to his house, and discussing religious subjects with them in the most candid manner. He was also accustomed, when there was a charity sermon at either meeting-house, to attend himself in his gown and cassock, and stand at the door as the people went out, setting me before him to hold the plate, his whole countenance on these occasions beaming with love for all his fellow-creatures. It had been found necessary for many years that my dear mother should keep the purse. My father had never, on account of his generous feeling, been fit to manage pounds, shillings, and pence. He had involved himself in a heavy debt by building the lovely parsonage of Stanford, and much economy had been needful to bring things round. In the progress of this object my father had been in the habit of bringing every guinea he received, and throwing it into my mother’s lap. If he wanted a few shillings he would come very humbly and ask for them. He had the highest possible idea of the honour and generosity of my mother; but he was also a little afraid to ask for a larger sum than usual. He knew that the few shillings would not be inquired after; but such was his strict integrity and carefulness that he did not often venture to trust himself with much money at any time. It was a very frequent custom with him to spend a shilling now and then in fruit for little children. There are people now in Kidderminster who remember having their hats filled with apples and cherries by the Vicar. One day, however, he was put to a hard trial; there was a poor blind fiddler passing through the town, and by some accident he was knocked down, and his violin broken to atoms. My father, not having any cash 81

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about him, could not bear to see this scene of distress unrelieved; he went into his field and caused a tree to be cut down, which he sold, for the value of the violin, for the benefit and the consolation of the poor itinerant musician. This we did not know till after many years. But in speaking of my beloved father, of his thousand kind acts, of his humility, and of his enlarged love for every human being who came under his eye, I must restrain myself, lest I should so far wander as almost to forget my object. One remark, however, I must make before I dismiss this subject, and that is, that we might as readily suppose warmth and light to exist in the sun independently of all Divine power, as to attribute the enlarged charity of my father to the motions of an uninfluenced nature. To sum up his character in a few words: he was as pure in heart, as free from what is wrong, as the present imperfect state of human nature will permit. We kept up an intimacy all that year, and for some years afterwards, with a Mr. Plumptree,170 then Rector of Stone, afterwards Dean of Gloucester. He was a most friendly person, though he was a cruel tormentor of me, because he used to watch whether my shoes were up or down at the heel. I never, through all my childhood, could keep my shoes up, and shoes were then never tied. My foot was constructed for great activity, and such firmness in the tread that I hardly ever fall under any circumstances, not even at sea; but, from this conformation, I cannot keep up any shoe without ligaments round the ankle. The very last chastisement I received was this year, on account of my shoes. I was shut up all day in an attic, and allowed nothing to eat but bread and water. There I reasoned with myself, asking myself, “Why don’t I keep my shoes up, like a good girl?” Well, what could I do, but try to hide my delinquencies, and let my frock down over the heels of my shoes. But Mr. Plumptree would follow me, and spy out the offence; which often escaped the notice of my mother, from the fact of her being short-sighted. How I did dread his voice, saying behind me, “Do, Miss Butt, pull up your shoes;” and yet I liked him very much, and his very reproofs were issued in the kindest voice imaginable. Connected with this family comes the memory of my literary labours, and of my sister’s too. At that time we were engaged in writing plays; we wrote several—I being my sister’s amanuensis; and Mr. Plumptree’s eldest son, (now living at Malvern,) being about a year older than my sister, was engaged in the same way. He had written a play on foolscap paper, in a scrawling, childish hand. One evening, as we were walking between Kidderminster and Stone, the two younger authors being engaged in some deep literary discussion respecting their plays, my sister’s foot slipped, she caught hold of Master Plumptree and dragged him with herself into a dry ditch, from whence I drew them forth, with many a merry peal of laughter. These were not the first nor last authors who have had similar falls, in the midst of triumphant exultations. One day this year, as I was walking with my father and sister in Kidderminster, we saw across the street a lady and gentleman whom we had formerly known, but who had within a few months behaved very unkindly and dishonestly to my father. No matter who they were, but we had known them well formerly. “Go 82

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over to them,” said my father, “and speak kindly to them.” We did so, my father looking smilingly after us. They were so struck at this that they stepped across, and then and there a reconciliation was made which was never after interrupted. A very mysterious and pitiable tale belonged to a family with whom at that period we became acquainted at Kidderminster. This family took one of the handsomest houses in the neighbourhood, and furnished it in a way not often seen in those days, establishing themselves with a full complement of servants and a coach. They also brought an introduction from a highly-respectable gentleman in Devonshire. The new comers, friends of Mrs. Hannah More,171 consisted of an elderly lady of a pleasing appearance, and two young ones. The names of the young ladies were said to be Philadelphia and Dorothea Percy,172 and they were also said to be daughters of a Duke of Northumberland, whose miniature they wore set in brilliants. It was remarkable that the elder lady, Mrs. M*****t,173 strongly resembled the young ladies; and what could any one have thought, had they not been so particularly recommended, and that highly-respectable people from Devonshire came to see them during the summer. I remember, young as I was, being particularly struck with the elder of the two sisters, Philadelphia Percy; she was a tall, fair girl, grave and silent, but singularly elegant and modest. She had a lovely face, though not so glowingly beautiful as some I had seen at Lichfield, but more elegant than is generally to be met with even amongst the rarest beauties. She never for a moment departed from the same calm and dignified reserve which her very peculiar situation seemed so especially to require. Dorothea Percy had neither the beauty nor the dignity of her sister: she looked as if she could have been merry if circumstances had allowed; but never do I remember to have since seen such entire devotion of one sister to another, as that manifested by the younger to the elder. If what was suspected of the history of these fair girls were true, who had they in this life but each other? all other sources of domestic love and confidence were to them contaminated. And if their parents had taken measures to have them educated in purity, they had only increased the distance between themselves and their children. These young ladies were always dressed in simple white; but they possessed splendid jewels, and miniatures set in diamonds, and they wore them as if always accustomed to them. Very few persons in Kidderminster thought of calling on Mrs. M*****t, not having the introduction which we had. My mother admired the younger ladies: they met with her full approbation; but she did not like the elder so well. She saw not that perfection of elegance in the latter which she saw in the former. We were much with this family, dining often in each other’s houses.

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CHAPTER VI. DEATH OF MY GRANDFATHER SHERWOOD, 1790—MY UNCLE SHERWOOD WENT TO RESIDE IN

FRANCE—ACQUAINTANCE WITH DR. KIDD—DEATH OF PHILADELPHIA PERCY—I ACCOM-

PANY MY FATHER TO DR. VALPY’S, AT READING—THE ABBEY SCHOOL—MADAME ST. Q.—MRS. LATOURNELLE—MY FIRST BREAKFAST—MY THREE FRIENDS—MY EXAMINATION BY MONSIEUR ST. Q.—THREE ANECDOTES OF MY MORAL AND RELIGIOUS OPINIONS—HOLIDAYS WITH MRS. VALPY—THE PICTETS—MISS MITFORD—MISS BACON—MY RETURN TO KIDDERMINSTER—MY FATHER’S SERMONS.

IT was on June the 5th, 1790, that my grandfather Sherwood died, aged 75, and the following week he was buried under the same stone with his first wife, my grandmother Martha Ashcroft, and their grave is yet marked by a stone in the north aisle of Trinity Church, Coventry. My dear grandfather’s friends could not deeply lament his death, as his intellectual powers had failed him for months before, and he owed all the comfort of his last years to a faithful and affectionate servant, known to me by the name of Thomas, who was more to him, I grieve to say, than his son had ever been. To my dear mother this summer, marked by the death of the only parent she had ever known, could not have been one of gaiety; but to me it was so. We had many parties at home and abroad, and I was permitted to partake of some of them. In the mean time my uncle Sherwood, on the death of his father, was gone to reside in France. He took all his family with him, except his eldest daughter Margaret, whom he left at school in Coventry. The French Revolution at that time wore a promising aspect, especially to those who had been accustomed to look with a favourable eye on the American Revolution. It is very evident that my poor uncle, always hot and hasty, was completely carried away by the opinions which then prevailed in France. It was this year that my father, after his periodical visit to St. James’s, stayed for a while, as usual, with his friend Dr. Valpy, at Reading, where my brother had been at school. Between my father and Dr. Valpy the foundation of a friendship had been laid which death only dissolved; and to Reading my father paid an annual visit, taking much interest in the school, attending all its public exercises, and assisting at their preparations. To prove the extent that he was beloved by the pupils of the seminary, the school-boys unanimously elected him an honorary member of their society—a mark of respect without precedent and without imitation. On occasion of this visit to Reading, in 1790, my father had been taken by Dr. Valpy to see a sort of exhibition got up by the young ladies of Monsieur and Madame St. Q****’s school, kept in the Old Abbey, at Reading.174 My father was 84

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delighted with all he saw there. “This,” he thought, “is the very place for Mary.” And I believe he was divinely directed in his judgment. As soon as he came home it was arranged that I should be sent for a year to school at Reading, and I was pleased with the thought. It was a change; and then, too, I had often been made painfully to feel my deficiency in some of the ornamental parts of education, for my friends were perhaps annoyed by seeing the manners and address of a child in one who was tall enough to be a woman. I think it must have been this Christmas, for I know not where else to place it, that a friend of my brother’s, Master Kidd, came to spend some time with us. Oh! what a merry boy was this, and how did he disconcert my mother by his restless manner. He had a way, on almost every occasion, of crying out, “Which way does the crow fly?” which I thought singularly witty; but the most amusing part about him was his astonishing appetite. He used to go into the kitchen before every meal, and stuff huge pieces of bread, in order, as he was wont to say, lest he should terrify Mrs. Butt at table, and make her ask, “Which way the crow flew?” And only to think that this same boy is now a grave erudite physician; a man of learning and talent; a man whose standing in society speaks for itself, publicly declaring his merit and worth. He was a most sincere, warm-hearted youth, and never was any one more devoted to a friend than he has been to Marten. It was during these holidays that I last saw Mrs. M*****t and those lovely young sisters who still hold so fair a place in my memory. I shall tell the remainder of their affecting histories, as far as I know it, in this place, before I proceed to open other matters. From the name of the elder of these young ladies, Philadelphia, it is probable that she was born in that city during the American war, her father, if I am rightly informed, having been there some time; for there is little doubt that she was a daughter of a Duke of Northumberland. What or who her mother and the mother of her sister was I cannot decide: there was, however, so striking a resemblance in the Miss Percys to Mrs. M*****t, that it was scarcely possible to imagine that they were not very nearly related to that lady; but if so, the younger ones were probably not informed of the fact, for there was no hanging upon her in a filial way, no apparent strong sympathy, whilst between each other a union seemed to subsist of the strongest, closest nature. They were naturally exceedingly retiring, whilst about Mrs. M*****t there was apparently a great effort to be gay and easy; and though she always spoke of the young ladies with respect, she exhibited towards them no marks of strong affection. When last I saw Miss Philadelphia Percy she looked much as usual, calmly elegant, and, if memory does not deceive me, she had something of that sad and serious air which may often be observed, even in infants who are marked for early death. Almost immediately after this she began to pine and fade away. Before I returned from school she was no more—that lovely one had been laid in an early grave—and before Mrs. M*****t could so settle her affairs as to get away from Kidderminster she had cause to anticipate a second bereavement, for the same disease, consumption, had already manifested itself in the broken-hearted Dorothea. 85

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And this is the sequel of this story. My informant described to me in a most pathetic and affecting manner, the vehement struggles of the unhappy Mrs. M*****t to conceal her anguish. “Oh,” said my friend to me, “if she was the mother of those fair girls, how bitter must her grief have been, when not even the consolation of expressing her feelings was left to her.” Oh, sin! sin! how dreadful are thy wages! Miss Dorothea soon followed her sister to the grave, and what became of Mrs. M*****t I never knew. When it was time for my brother to return to Westminster I left my mother for the first time, and proceeded with my father and brother to Reading, arriving there late in the evening. We drove first to Dr. Valpy’s, and, reaching there about tea-time, were ushered into a study, which the doctor had built at the back of the house, and which ran the whole length of it. Over it was a nursery, in which I afterwards spent many happy hours. The drawing-room was full of company; but the lady of the house was not present, for she had added a son to her family only a few days before, and was still in her chamber. I took leave of my dear father and brother that evening, and was sent across the Forbury to the Abbey. But, before I introduce myself there, I must try to recollect something of the persons to whose care I was then consigned. I shall commence with Madame St. Q****. She was left an orphan in childhood, and was educated by an uncle, an old bachelor, a man of large fortune at Berkhampstead. Madame was reared in ease and gaiety, under the expectation of being the heiress of her indulgent uncle; and in this character she had been a parlour-boarder175 at the Abbey at Reading, then kept by a Mrs. Latournelle and another lady. The Abbey-house has been a school longer by far than any person now living has any record of. If we could but know the histories of the generations of young creatures which have succeeded each other under that venerable roof, how many affecting tales would be brought before us. Madame was in person tall, and largely though majestically formed. She carried her head royally and fearlessly, and if she did not use art, her complexion was bright brown and red carmine, her eyes bright, her nose not bad, and her teeth white. She had fine dark hair, and a beautiful hand and arm. She danced remarkably well, but with too much of the Scotch style, which was then in fashion. She played and sang, and did fine needle-work, and she spoke well and agreeably in English and in French without fear. In short, she was known to be a fine woman, and believed to be a very clever woman, and she was really the most hospitable, generous, and affectionate of human beings. This warmth and generosity had captivated my father, although it did not render her the exact kind of person to whom to entrust the education of a young girl. To go on with her history, however, she was of full age when her uncle died, and instead of making her his heiress he left all he had to a housekeeper. At this crisis she became a partner with Mrs. Latournelle, who was at this time left alone in the school; and the two together carried on the Establishment for a short time with success. At length it was so ordained that Monsieur St. Q**** should arrive at Reading under the patronage of Dr. Valpy. This gentleman was a man of very superior intellect, the son of a nobleman in Alsace. He had been engaged in the diplomatic line, but from 86

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circumstances his affairs had reduced him to so low a state that he was thankful to become a French teacher in Dr. Valpy’s school. I am not aware when or how he became acquainted with the Doctor and his friend Dr. Mitford, the father of the well-known authoress Miss Mitford.176 When established at Reading, Monsieur St. Q**** was recommended to teach French at the Abbey: not long after this he married the younger partner of the school, and very soon so entirely raised the credit of the seminary that, when I went there, there were above sixty girls under her charge. The house, or rather the Abbey itself, was exceedingly interesting; and though I know not its exact history, yet I knew every hole and corner of what remained of the ancient building, which consisted of a gateway with rooms above, and on each side of it a vast staircase, of which the balustrades had originally been gilt. Then, too, there were many little nooks and round closets, and many larger and smaller rooms and passages, which appeared to be rather more modern, whilst the gateway itself stood without the garden walls, upon the Forbury, or open green, which belonged to the town, and where Dr. Valpy’s boys played after school-hours. The best part of the house was encompassed by a beautiful old-fashioned garden, where the young ladies were allowed to wander, under tall trees, in hot summer evenings; whilst around two parts of this garden was an artificial embankment, from the top of which we looked down upon certain magnificent ruins, as I suppose, of the church begun by Henry I., and consecrated by Becket in 1125. If my memory does not greatly deceive me, it was on the Sunday evening that we had reached Reading, and it was at rather a late hour that I was taken over the Forbury from Dr. Valpy’s to the school. The person who received me was Mrs. Latournelle. The school was not yet met, Monsieur and Madame were in London, and I was the first pupil who had yet appeared after the holidays. Mrs. Latournelle was a person of the old school, a stout woman, hardly under seventy, but very active, although she had a cork leg. But how she had lost its predecessor she never told. She was only fit for giving out clothes for the wash and mending them, making tea, ordering dinner, and in fact, doing the work of a housekeeper. Hers was only an every-day, common mind, but a very useful one; for tea must be made, and dinners ordered, and a house would soon tumble to pieces without these very useful every-day kind of people. Mrs. Latournelle never had been seen or known to have changed the fashion of her dress: her white muslin handkerchief was always pinned with the same number of pins, her muslin apron always hung in the same form; she always wore the same short sleeves, cuffs, and ruffles, with a breast bow to answer the bow on her cap, both being flat with two notched ends. She received me in a wainscoted parlour, the wainscot a little tarnished, whilst the room was hung round with chenille pieces representing tombs and weeping willows. A screen in cloth-work stood in a corner, and there were several miniatures over the lofty mantel-piece. I was made aware that I was thought something of by Mrs. Latournelle, and that my coming was a matter of congratulation to the heads of the house. In consequence of this fact, whenever visitors came I was put amongst the foremost girls to be noticed, much at first to my annoyance. But, as I 87

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said, I was cordially received, and made to sit down by a good fire to warm myself before I went to bed. And whilst I sat wondering at the new world into which I had entered, another pupil, who had been spending the holidays somewhere near, came in, dressed in a blue satin cloak, trimmed with fur. Oh, how fine I thought it. She was a pretty girl, too, somewhat older than myself. This young lady was directed to take me up-stairs to my bed-room. We went up a narrow staircase, and along a passage to a large room where were six beds. The centre one on one side was for me. My new friend slept in that between mine and the window. Miss Valpy was her bed-fellow when at school. I was to be a parlour-boarder, and of course took a higher rank than the other boarders. But I had such a strong sense of shyness and awkwardness, that I was grateful to any one who took the trouble to be civil to me. The Abbey-house was expected to fill during the week, and of course good Mrs. Latournelle arose in the morning under the rather pleasing consciousness of having a vast deal to do. It was not light when I was called. We were to breakfast in the parlour, and when I came down I found in addition to Mrs. Latournelle, who was making tea almost by firelight, three teachers, of whose existence I had not even dreamed. I have the scene before me more plainly far than if I had seen it last year. The old lady was, as I said, making tea, and she was seated at a small table, having before her some small cups placed on a small tea-board. She had on a gown which always appeared at packing and unpacking times, a sort of brown or gray stripe, and she was moving quickly, though by no means expediting business. The three teachers sat on three chairs round the fire; each had on what was called in those days a close cap, that is, a large muslin rather blowsy cap, which was to hide black pins, curl-papers, &c., &c., the rest of their dresses being equally indicative of some domestic bustle. To describe these ladies, however, would be no easy matter. Notwithstanding the humility and bashfulness I so lately boasted, I made up my mind on the very first sight of these teachers that I would learn nothing of them. The first was a little simpering English woman, very like a second-rate milliner of those days; she taught spelling and needle-work. The second was a dashing, slovenly, rather handsome French girl, who ran away with some low man a few months afterwards. The third was, I think, a Swiss, and though plain and marked with the small-pox, had some good in her, I apprehend; but I had not the wit then to find it out. There was an ebony cat standing before the fire, supporting a huge plate of toast and butter, and, silly as it may seem, I who had never whilst at home been allowed to eat toast and butter, nor to come near a fire, thought myself supremely happy under this new order of things. And truly, till the very termination of my residence at Reading, I had nothing to complain of, but that time ran away too fast; for the system there was to me, as a parlour-boarder, so excessively incautious that, unless we look to a particular Providence, we cannot bat wonder how it failed utterly to injure my character. As it was, I was led through it, and not materially injured, though certainly not through any discretion of my own, but through the watchful care of my heavenly Father. I was vastly amused during the week at seeing my future companions coming in one after the other. The two 88

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first were sisters, a Miss Mary and Miss Martha Lee, from Maidenhead Thicket, where their father was a person of some consequence. These young ladies were older than myself—twins, and so exactly alike that they could only be known by a mark which one had in the forehead under the hair. There were many other girls of my own standing, but there were none who were parlour-boarders during that quarter. I, however, after changing about a little, fixed my affections chiefly on three: namely, a Miss Poultenam, the daughter of a gentleman in Wiltshire; Amelia, the daughter of the artist Philip Reinagle;177 and Mary Brown, a niece of Mrs. Latournelle. These were my principal friends; but besides these I was much associated with all the girls in the first class, to which I belonged. Monsieur and Madame St. Q**** returned during the week, and I was quite delighted with the lady; but the gentleman’s French manners frightened me. Full well I remember the morning when he called me into his study to feel the pulse of my intellect, as he said, in order that he might know in what class to place me. All the girls whom he particularly instructed were standing by, all of them being superior to me in the knowledge of those things usually taught in schools. Behold me then, in imagination, tall as I am now, standing before my master, and blushing till my blushes made me ashamed to look up. “Eh bien, Mademoiselle,” he said, “have you much knowledge of French?” “No, sir,” I answered. “Are you much acquainted with history?” And he went on from one thing to another, asking me questions and always receiving a negative. At length, smiling, he said, “Tell me, Mademoiselle, then, what you do know.” I stammered “Latin,” “Virgil,” and finished off with a regular flood of tears. At this he laughed outright, and immediately set me down in his class and gave me lessons for every day. His style of teaching was that of the Abbé Gautier’s,178 lively and interesting in the extreme. The person who most commonly took Monsieur St. Q****’s place when he was engaged was a fine young French gentleman, a Monsieur Malrone, who taught us with great dignity and propriety. He was greatly admired by some of the young ladies; but I do not remember that anything improper was ever said or done on these occasions, for we used to go on with our lessons just as usual, as far as I ever saw. I truly believe the larger number of the girls in the highest class at Reading were certainly simple and well-intentioned. Some bad ones there were indeed, and it so happened these were in the room in which I slept. For I had not been at school many weeks when one night, having gone to bed before the supper in the parlour, which I had the privilege of attending, I was kept from sleeping for some time by a conversation in the next bed, attended by repeated laughs. I knew that something bad was going on, though I did not understand all that was said. I called out, “Have done with that nonsense, or I will go down and tell of you.” “That I am sure you will not,” said my neighbour. “I will not,” I answered, “if you will let us hear no more of it.” There were many other girls in the room, but chiefly little ones. “We will not have done,” was the reply I received. After one or two more warnings I got up, dressed myself, and went down into the parlour, where I reported the case. Madame St. Q****, whatever she might have thought or wished, was obliged to take up the affair for the credit of the establishment. The 89

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girls were punished by bread-and-water diet for a day or two. Through the Divine favour I never heard another bad word at school, though I not unseldom observed the breaking-off of a discourse between two girls when I came near. It might be asked, whether it was under the influence of religion that I did this right action, whereby I protected the ears of all the little people in the room as well as my own? Really, I am wholly unable to answer this question, for I do not think that when at Reading I ever gave much attention to religion; though, through the force perhaps of education, I had a high respect for it, accompanied with a somewhat delicate sense of morality. My dear mother had the greatest possible horror of any kind of coarseness, and I can solemnly aver that I never remember hearing one incorrect word proceeding from her lips. Greatly blessed, then, was the dread of coarse and indelicate language which I brought with me to school; though, in all probability, it would certainly have gone off had I allowed my mind to have become gradually familiar with it; but, through that Divine influence by which I was led without hesitation to tell of the first offence of the kind to which I was witness, this danger was removed at once, and no one ever afterwards dared to use bad language before me. Two anecdotes of myself I will record of that time, showing the religious state of our seminary. I had heard my parents speak with horror of certain novels, whose names I will not mention. One evening, in the school-room, I picked up an abridgment of one of these old novels. I saw at once that the title was the same as one which I knew my parents condemn. However, the temptation was strong, and I read a page or two. Suddenly, however, a better thought was inspired, and I laid the book down, at the same time, as I believed, unobserved, I lifted up my eyes, saying, “God forgive me for my disobedience.” A violent burst of laughter, and a cry from the French teacher to this effect, “Mademoiselle Butt is saying her prayers,” suddenly startled me, and I felt more guilty than if I had been detected in stealing, or any other disgraceful act. The other anecdote is as follows:—My mother had packed a Bible, bound in black leather, which she had had at school, in my trunk, and the first Sunday after we had been at church, I brought out this Bible and sat down to read it in the school-room. It was, I now venture to assert, the only Bible I saw that year at the Abbey, though there might be others in some of the trunks. But, oh! what a hue and cry there was when my occupation was discovered. Had the old Benedictines, in whose refectory or library I was then sitting, suddenly all risen from their graves, and seen me reading the volume, interdicted from profane eyes by their Church, they could not have made more clamour than the teachers, and some of the girls in imitation of them made, at the sight of my Bible. It almost might have appeared that some of them had never seen a person reading the Scriptures in a private house before. But it must be taken into consideration that one or two of these teachers were Roman Catholics, as was the Master of the house. Probably there was hardly any period since the Reformation in which England had been more dead and dark, as it regarded religion, than at the time preceding the horrors of the French revolution. After the two anecdotes I have given of myself, 90

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does not the question suggest itself,—Had a change of heart taken place with me then? Was there, or was there not; a new life dwelling within me at that time? Again, I answer, I think not; that is, I have no idea of anything which seemed to be good in me at that time, or anything that was more than the effect of habit and of a careful education. I can recollect no secret working of the Divine Spirit in my heart, convincing me of sin, or rendering me anxious to please my God, above and before all other motives of action. And again, I consider that as the gifts of the Spirit have life in themselves, so they grow and increase under apparently the most unpropitious circumstances, as the results of Divine influence; whilst those respectable qualities which originate in education only, have on the contrary no life in themselves, and are therefore subject to perish for ever. Thus at Reading, though improved no doubt in many respects, I gradually lost some of my simpler and childlike habits, and after a little while my Bible never saw the light. I began to think less of what would please my mother than of what would promote my own pleasure. In speaking of my religious instructions at school, it must be remembered my tutor was a Romanist,179 which rendered him unfit to educate young people of Protestant families. Some time during that year Monsieur St. Q**** had a tremendous fever, and his life was despaired of. Great was the grief of the family, amongst high and low, for he was much beloved. My happiest time at school was when we were going on in a regular way. The liberty which the first class had was so great, that if we attended our tutor in his study for an hour or two every morning; or, in his absence, Monsieur Malrone, or Monsieur somebody else, no human being ever took the trouble to inquire where else we spent the rest of the day, between our meals. Thus, whether we gossiped in one turret or another,—whether we lounged about the garden, or out of the window, above the gateway, no one so much as said, “Where have you been, mademoiselle?” It is true, there was one other hour in which it was required that we should all present ourselves, and this was at morning prayers in the school-room. There were always two chairs placed in the centre of the room, on one knelt Mrs. Latournelle, on the other her niece, Miss Browne; the latter read, and the old lady used often to whisper, “Make haste,” “Make haste.” This whisper was always known to portend the presence of the blanchiseuse180 in another room. It was enough if the great girls were in before the prayers were over. We all breakfasted and dined together in the school-room; but, being a parlour-boarder, I drank tea and supped, if I chose, in the parlour. The supper was a jovial meal, and there was always some French gentleman or another present, and French only spoken. Sometimes politics furnished a topic, sometimes literature, sometimes Parisian and London gossip. Mrs. Latournelle never could speak a word of French; but whenever she had an opportunity of holding forth, she spoke of plays, and play actors, and green-room anecdotes, and the private life of actors. There was, at that time, a certain set of people in and near London, who seemed to think of nothing but the affairs of the theatre; but there are much fewer persons 91

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of this description now, I believe; or, perhaps, as I live in the heart of the country, I am speaking unadvisedly. During the holidays my mother and sister went to Lichfield and Trentham, and, as Dr. Valpy and his eldest daughter went to Jersey, I was invited to be with Mrs. Valpy, and my dear father joined us. And truly we could not have been happier that we were then. Mrs. Valpy always called my father “father,” and he called her “daughter.” He was well known and loved in the elegant circles of Reading, so also was Mrs. Valpy. We had quite a round of visiting in gentlemen’s families. Several of these gentlemen were what were then called “nabobs;” that is, men who had made vast fortunes in the golden times of India. I cannot now remember all the names of the houses in which we visited; but I remember that my father bought me a blond cap, with pink ribbons and a white ostrich feather, which, with a white frock and pink sash, I thought very superior. Kind Mrs. Valpy took care to see everything properly arranged on my person. When I returned to the Abbey after the holidays I found many things changed: several of my former companions were gone, and many new pupils come. At this time, also, the Pictets—father and son—appeared amongst us. The Pictets are an old Geneva family, descendants of Benedict Pictet, a divine and historian, who was born in 1655. He became Professor of Theology in his native city, and died there in 1724. Another of the family also wrote some valuable theological works.181 The Pictets whom I knew were, however, of the new school, and did not trouble themselves much with the concerns of any religious denomination. “Pictet Pere,” as we always called him, had been a secretary to Catharine of Russia:182 I much wish that I could remember more of the tales he used to tell of her. One only of these stories now occurs to me. Pictet Pere, being a very tall man, used to sit in his study with his legs on the chimney-piece. When Monsieur St. Q**** sometimes admonished him for his impropriety in doing this before ladies, he would cry out, “Bah! bah! have I not often seen the Imperatrice in her cabinet, sitting with her Prime Minister, when he had his feet at the top of the stove, higher than his head?” This old gentleman was considerably more than six feet high,—his hair was white as snow; but time had not favoured his exterior. He was very deeply wrinkled and had other unpleasing tokens of age. He was, no doubt, a learned and highly talented man, knowing most of the European languages. He could read and write English, but not having heard it spoken until he was very aged, he never could catch the sound of it so as to understand anything said in that language. He smoked constantly in his own study, and often under the trees in the garden. Nay, he would walk about, smoking. He generally wore a large silk wrapper and slippers, with his collar open. He was full of compliments and fair speeches to the ladies, at least to those who would listen to him, though I do not say that he ever addressed me in any other way than as a father or a tutor should. I found, after the holidays, that this old gentleman was often engaged to give his lessons in classes, and singly. Immense was the pains which he took with me in teaching me to read and write French. And he did more, he instructed me 92

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in subjects which may perhaps be called metaphysical, such as the nature of the human mind, &c., in all which lessons there never was the least reference to revealed religion. Though he did not dispute the existence of a God, I did not then suspect, or see through the nature of many of the lessons thus given to me; but I thought them tiresome and crabbed, and was thoroughly glad always when I had done with him. Still, I respected the old gentleman, and could not fail of admiring his extreme politeness; for when not smoking and not suspending his legs on the mantel-shelf, Pictet Pere was the very pattern-card of an old French courtier. I have said that Dr. Valpy and Dr. Mitford understood the high talents of Monsieur St. Q****, and were his great associates. Dr. Mitford was then a physician in Reading, and I remember once going to a church in the town, which we did not usually attend with Madame St. Q****, and being taken into Mrs. Mitford’s pew, where I saw the young authoress, Miss Mitford, then about four years old. Miss Mitford was standing on the seat, and so full of play that she set me on to laugh in a way which made me thoroughly ashamed. When next we met Miss Mitford had become a middle-aged woman, and I was an old one. After this early meeting, she became a pupil of Madame St. Q****; but not at the Abbey, or during my time. Our establishment at Reading became every-day less and less like a school, though it might be said to contain a school, for there was always a set of little people and of inferior pupils, which belonged to Mrs. Latournelle, and sat with her and the teachers in the school-room. With some of these the more aristocratic party, under Monsieur St. Q**** associated so little, that to several we hardly ever spoke. I suppose there might be some pride in this, but when there are sixty or seventy girls together, there must of course be many sets. When I returned to school after the holidays, and my dear father was gone home, I was put to sleep in a smaller room, where were three beds, in one of which was a new arrival, a Miss T****, a great girl with a red complexion, and supremely vulgar and offensive in her manners and habits. Such young people are always subjected to pretty severe treatment from their school-fellows, unless those school-fellows are equally offensive in their own habits. We were not behind hand in letting this girl, who could not have been much less than twenty, know our opinion of her ways. We worked each other up, no doubt, and let everybody know our disgust, and this went on till the poor girl was taken ill, though not in consequence of our treatment of her. Sad to say, instead on this occasion of becoming kinder, we expressed even more disgust than before. Madame St. Q**** had observed what was going on, and her affectionate spirit was grieved. Well do I remember her behaviour on the occasion. She took me with her to walk in the garden, and there she represented in the mildest and most delicate manner the high offence of which I had been guilty, especially when I had seen the poor girl really ill. I felt the reproof. What she said agreed with what my conscience had already told me. I think that I did endeavour to alter my conduct, but I had no idea that I required assistance from on high to enable me to do well on this trying occasion. But I am reminded in this place of a girl in the school, of a very peculiar character; this was 93

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a Miss Bacon, for I must record her name at full; the only child of an elderly pair, who were rich but modest people, living near Henley. There was nothing about Miss Bacon to attract attention, or admiration of any kind, neither beauty, accomplishments, or elegance; but there was this peculiarity that wherever in the house there was sickness, or affliction of any kind, there did Miss Bacon appear—not intrusively, not impertinently—not in the spirit of a gossip, which leads many to a sick room; but in all gentleness and tenderness, to give what help she could, always retiring when again she felt she was not wanted. When I thought of this little girl, and compared her general conduct with mine in the particular case of Miss T****, I was ashamed of myself, and I trust humbled,—and the more so, because immediately after this I myself had a fever and was very ill, and half delirious for several days. During that illness the kindness of Madame St. Q**** still more deeply impressed the lesson she had given me upon my mind. Yet have I been better for this lesson through life? Alas! what is it that man is able to teach, or man able to learn without the Divine blessing bestowed with it. I lost all my hair during this fever, and it was long before I was strong again. We had a public examination before the Christmas vacation, and my father came to the Abbey on his return from London. There were, as was the annual custom, speeches and play-acting at Dr. Valpy’s, which we all attended. The play was the Aulularia of Plautus,183 for which my father wrote a prologue; the boys were the actors, and some of them were very fine ones. My cousin Thomas Butt acted a young lady, and Madame St. Q**** dressed him in a classical fashion, under the direction of Dr. Valpy. He had golden grasshoppers184 in his hair, and he looked uncommonly well,—farther, I remember not. The time was now coming when I was to leave my friends at Reading, with little hope of ever seeing many of them again; and most bitterly did I weep at our parting, especially with dear Mrs. Valpy. When I got into the chaise at Dr. Valpy’s with my father, we took up my brother who was coming home for the holidays. The year I spent at Reading had been a very happy one, and from the ease and liveliness of the mode of life, had been particularly delightful to me. It was, therefore with a sighing heart that I bade a long adieu to school, for I never supposed that I should return to it. I remember very little of my journey home, which was made in a post-chaise, excepting that it was intensely cold, and there was a deep snow. I remember, too, that we stopped and had tea, and I think slept at Endstone, and that my father was, as usual, all indulgence. We arrived the next day at Kidderminster. Several changes in our circle had taken place during my absence. Dr. S**** had had a daughter whom they had called Anna Honora Seward. Mr. Annesley had married Miss Anne Courteney, and came to reside in a very superior style at Arley-hall. Mrs. M**** and Miss Dorothy Percy were gone, having laid the fair Philadelphia in an early grave. My gentle mother planning for my amusement, had agreed with three or four families to meet during the winter, and have a dance and a simple supper. There was a great kindness in this, because it was very much out of her way. All this kindness soon set things right. I began to feel myself happy at home; and can it be believed that my sister Lucy very soon persuaded me 94

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when we got together again to renew our old personifications, and to converse and relate adventures in the old characters of the Queens of Europe and Asia? I often think that the intimate society of a little sister has a peculiarly beneficial effect in keeping the mind of a young girl fresh and innocent as regards worldly matters. I ought just to mention here that my father’s sermons were published, and in consequence he was much sought after by the great and wise ones of the earth. It must have been this year that in consequence of a loyal sermon which he had preached at Reading, he received one morning at breakfast an anonymous letter, abusive and threatening; but as his custom ever was to turn away anger by a soft answer, or find matter of amusement or innocent gaiety in attacks made upon him, so on this occasion he did not leave the table till he had turned the angry letter into playful and elegant poetry.

CHAPTER VII. DEATH OF MRS. S*****’S LITTLE HONORA—VISIT TO TRENTHAM—LUCY AND I GO TO THE ABBEY AT READING—THE FRENCH REVOLUTION—THE BREAKING UP—MY ILLNESS— VISIT TO LONDON—DEATH OF LOUIS XVI., 1793.—FRENCH ANECDOTES—THE ABBE BEAUREGARD.—OUR PLAY AND DR. VALPY’S VISIT TO ARLEY—THE PRINCESS—THE BARONET’S BALL AND ROBERT CHESNEY. FROM the views which it has pleased Almighty God to give me within the last few years of his dealings as a reconciled God with the sinner man, I am convinced that he is carrying on with his elect people in this present time, a certain system of education to the advancement of which every event contributes. Hence I believe that it was for some special purpose that I was introduced to many very strange scenes during the year of which I am about to write. Our intimacy with Dr. and Mrs. S****185 had been great when first we went to Kidderminster, but gradually as the poor doctor became bolder and more hardened in infidelity, my parents withdrew from his society, though still the two families remained upon such terms, that they sometimes met with their former kindness. My father was a man who could not meet a human being unkindly. Never in the experience of a long life has it been my misfortune to meet with another person so daringly impious as Dr. S****. Though his was not a loud and abusive spirit, yet it was quite as bad, if not worse, for it was a quiet, sneering spirit,—a spirit which was never weary and never ashamed. The whole Christian system was rejected by him as a mass of absurdity; if he did not actually deny the existence of a God, he fairly laughed at the idea of a particular Providence, referring all things to second causes as the operations of nature. He dealt much in “ifs” and “suppositions,” propounding his insidious questions in a sort of simple candid manner, which he well knew how to affect; as, 95

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for instance,—“If we can suppose that a Supreme Being should so far condescend as to take cognisance of all the minute concerns of creatures such as we are, then we may infer,” &c. &c. Some persons were deceived by this manner, and gave him credit for really desiring information upon the subjects on which he pretended to be in doubt. But by people of sense and piety, he was suspected, and therefore did little injury to any other persons except his own wife and children. The poor lady had probably been very imperfectly taught what may be taught in childhood of the history and doctrines of Christianity, and had never worshipped aught in her life but human intellect. Miss Seward had been, and still was her idol. She had, therefore, no preservative against the baneful influences of her husband’s infidel principles. At this period her mind had entirely given way to doubts. She had never understood the precious doctrine of salvation by Christ; she therefore could not doubt upon a point of which she was wholly in ignorance; but she doubted the existence of a particular Providence, and of all hopes and consolations connected therewith. Mrs. S**** was the mother of three sons before she had a daughter; but at last a little girl was added to her family. This child was scarcely more than a year old when I returned from Reading, and though the baby was much like other children, yet the mother believed it to be a perfect paragon, and her very soul was bound up in the life of her little Honora. But the poor babe began to fall away, and the father, who was a physician, used every human method to restore her, and the last resource was to send her with the mother to a farm-house in the country. It was then we went to see Mrs. S****, and found her all joy; the little one seemed to be better,—these hopes however, soon faded away. The Almighty had decreed that this fair child should not live to inhale the poison of infidelity. She was taken in tender infancy, and her death was at last sudden, for the father was not present at the time. When on his arrival Dr. S**** first attempted to console his wife, she sternly forbade him. “My child is gone,” she said, “I know not where—YOU have taken all comfort from me with my religion, and now you never can restore it.” In her rebellion against Providence and unmitigated grief, this unhappy mother refused for several days to part with the remains of her child. She dressed the corpse as the living baby had been dressed, and kept it with her night and day, till the mob threatened to tear down the house, for she had returned with the body into Kidderminster. Most striking and fearful indeed was this fruit of unbelief! My sister in the beginning of this summer was not well; change of air was recommended. My dear uncle, Thomas Butt, invited us to Trentham. We took a female servant with us—even our faithful Kitty—and away we went and spent the whole summer, as far as I can recollect, under the roof of my very dear uncle. If I ever had any thoughts of religion since my very early childhood, I had almost entirely lost them at Reading; but at Trentham however, in my little matted chamber, I at least began to make myself some religious forms, which I observed. I remember every Sunday that I used to write down what I could remember of the sermons which I heard at Church; but I had then no insight whatever into the real nature of the Christian religion. The very forms which I appointed for myself rather tended to make me self-righteous, than to bring me nearer to God. On our 96

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return to Kidderminster we had to prepare for fresh changes. Our parents had resolved to send me and my sister to Reading Abbey for another year, or nearly a year; and it was with great delight that I got ready for this journey. I have wholly forgotten how we travelled, or who went with us. I remember only a day or two before we set out, that my cousin Dr. Salt, came to be with my mother while she was left by us. When arrived at Reading with my sister, I was received by all my old friends with the greatest affection. Here I found great changes; they had opened doors from the old Abbey to a more modern house at the back of it, and thus added many more rooms to the former vast ranges of chambers. In one of these a study had been furnished for Monsieur Pictet, where he might enjoy the consolation of sitting with his feet on the mantel-piece without incurring the danger of being called to account for his attitude by any lady, for those he saw there were under his instruction, and so must subject themselves to his conditions of tutorage. His room was full of books, chiefly, I imagine, of the school of the French philosophers. Here he heard a daily class, consisting of the elder girls, which were all the same, with one or two additions, as those with whom I had been before associated. Two of these young ladies, viz., Miss Rowden and Miss Maria Reinagle, had the privilege of the entré to the study of the philosopher, whenever they pleased; and I had the same. Sometimes during Monsieur Pictet’s absence, we three would sit in his room by the fire. Maria Reinagle on these occasions used often to amuse us by the pains she would take to learn to smoke, the apparatus for which elegant accomplishment being always at hand. There were at that time three Miss Reinagles at school,— Amelia, Maria, and Charlotte;186 Amelia was an uncommonly fine dark girl, and in respect to talent fell short of no girl in the Abbey; but I think I never met with a girl of such universal talents as Maria Reinagle, in dancing, music, drawing, writing, needle-work, speaking,—whether French or English,—in all and every kind of accomplishment taught to girls she excelled, and that without effort or pretension. Such were the powers of her mind that it was impossible to recollect that she was not decidedly handsome. She died in early youth, which is often the case with persons of very superior—I might almost say precocious talents. But amongst her splendid qualities none pleased so much as her delightful companionship. It was impossible to be grave when she chose to make one laugh. Though attempts to smoke made her very sick, she was resolved to overcome the difficulty; for no other reasons, I fancy, than to amuse us, and to show that she had the power of doing anything she chose. Her real talents had made her a principal favourite of M. Pictet, as they would with any man of intellect. When I returned to the Abbey, I found that the horrors which had taken place in diverse parts of France during the last year, had driven multitudes of the French nobility to England. Reading had always been a favourite resort of foreigners. Many old friends of Monsieur St. Q**** had gathered about him, and were living in small houses and obscure lodgings about the Abbey. Such an inroad of ancient friends, with all the painful interests which the state of his King and his country 97

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excited, with the constant interruption of visitors of all sorts, and the consciousness, no doubt, of disorder in his private affairs, were tending more and more to harass Monsieur St. Q****; the consequence of which was that he left the work of instruction almost entirely to M. Pictet. Madame St. Q**** also seemed more uneasy than she had been aforetime, and she appeared to be almost always in tears. At whatever time in the autumn we came to Reading, it seems to me that events crowded in so rapidly before Christmas, that I hardly know how to sort them. There were to be many things done just before the breaking up, and first, a grand ball given by the dancing-master, M. Bigot, in the Town Hall. This was to be concluded by a dance of forty, which they called a quadrille, in which the two tallest girls, myself and another, were to be the leaders; and there was a vast deal of practising for this dance. Then we were to act a play and an entertainment; the play was “La Bonne Mère,” of Madame Genlis;187 and the entertainment something in “L’Ami des Enfans,” by the same Authoress.188 The great dancing-room at the Abbey was fitted up as a regular theatre, with foot-lights and everything else complete, and the character of “Celie” was given to me; “La Bonne Mère,” to Miss Rowden; Emilie, to Maria; and the Marchioness Aurore to Amelia Reinagle. Madame la Fite,189 one of the governesses of the Princess Augusta, had been invited to attend our play, and had accepted the invitation. This lady, if I am not greatly mistaken, was the authoress of that favourite little French work, called “Madame la Bonne.” There was enough, therefore, to occupy our minds and our time before Christmas; there was almost every night either a rehearsal of the ball or of the play; the one in the town hall, and the other in the little private theatre. As our play was in French, we required a great deal of tutorage. I believe it was very difficult to make me act tolerably, for I never, as a girl, had much fluency of speech, and was very apt to be alarmed and lose my presence of mind in large companies; but Dr. Valpy, who was himself very fond of acting, and his brother Edward, took great pains with me. Though I begged hard to be let off, yet out of compliment, I suppose to my father, it was not permitted. I was forced to perform “The Good Aunt,”190 and they dressed me like a respectable elderly lady, though, as I well remember, they did not spare their rouge. The two Miss Reinagle’s, especially “the Marchioness Aurore,” acted splendidly; and when the time came the large room was crowded. Dr. Valpy brought all his young gentlemen, and Madame la Fite came from Windsor, and several brothers of the young ladies also came. Amongst the guests was a Mr. R. Reinagle from London,191 now a celebrated artist; and we had a thorough week of gaiety. The play was exhibited two nights, after which we had grand suppers. The ball occupied one night, and dinners and suppers made out the rest of the week. The ball was, I think, on the last day. I enjoyed the former part of this week immensely, but I hardly knew what to make of myself at the ball; when I was dancing I was very comfortable, but when sitting down the room seemed to whirl round with me. There were hundreds of people present, and a general dance of all the company after the young people had concluded. A strange gentleman came up to me to take me out to dance, as soon 98

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as the quadrille was over. He danced with me the rest of the night: very polite he was, and very much pleased was I on account of the compliments which he paid me. If I did not feel well I attributed it to fatigue. It was late, or rather early in the morning when we came home. I went to bed, but not to sleep. There was a little girl, the only child of her parents, who slept in our room, she had been rather unwell in the morning, she was no dancer, and had been left behind when we went to the ball. She was much worse, very hot and feverish when we came home, and I was soon apparently as ill as she was. My head burned, and the gay scenes of the ball were again presented to me in disturbed dreams; another and another young lady fell ill the next day,—the measles were suspected, and the sick were brought into our room. There were about six of us invalids, amongst whom was my sister. With some of our party the measles broke out kindly; but not so with me,—the ball had been a bad preparation, and might, with a delicate girl, have occasioned death, but that was not to be. They kept us all in bed, and there I well remember we were speedily visited and attended by dear Miss Bacon. I can scarcely account for how it happened, or how it could have been at that time of year that the window should have been opened when there were several persons lying sick of the measles in the room; but so it was, though probably only for a moment, when a bird flew in and flew round the bed of the girl who had been first taken ill, and then out again. We, all the other pupils in the room, and the person who nursed us, looked at each other, and from that moment we accounted the child as one doomed to die. Such was the force of superstition with us, and as we had imagined, so it happened. The measles never came out with this little girl, to the inexpressible grief of her parents, for she was their only one; she died within a few days of her seizure. She was carried out of our room into another, that we might not see her die. Thus was that season, which began in gaiety, terminated by sickness and scenes of death. In the meantime the young people dispersed, and all went home except some whose parents lived in London. My ever kind Madame St. Q****, thinking that it might do me good after my illness to have change of air, as she herself was going to London for a fortnight, wrote to my parents for permission to take me with her, and having procured it, she made me most happy by telling me “that if quite recovered when she set out for town I was to go with her.” Thus terminated the year 1792, for although I do not know whether the year was wholly expired when we went to London, yet I think that I cannot mistake when I say that I spent part of the first month of 1793 in that great capital which all children living in the country are more or less anxious to behold. We filled a coach, and set off in high spirits, and were many hours on the road; we parted with the young ladies somewhere in Piccadilly. I went with Madame St. Q**** to a family who resided at Charing-cross. The lady had been a pupil at Reading when Madame was parlour-boarder there. Although I was a stranger I was most kindly received, and it was proposed that we should go that very evening to see Kemble and Mrs. Siddons192 as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. We went, and I never shall forget the impression made upon me by hearing “God save the King,” sung in the presence of our honoured Sovereign himself. The Queen also was present and the 99

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three eldest princesses. It was an interesting sight, and the feelings I then had can never be forgotten. I then also heard “Rule Britannia” for the first time. I thought much more of the King than I did of the actors; although such an actress as Mrs. Siddons will probably never again be seen. The period I spent in London was almost wholly taken up by seeing sights and visiting school-fellows; for I spent three or four delightful days with the Reinagles, a most agreeable and highly talented family. I visited also my parlour companion at Reading.193 When I went there the first time I found the family in great distress; they had lost a little brother, a child of five years old, and they took us to see the little remains. He was in his coffin, and one knee was drawn up, for it could not be straightened. I had never before seen a corpse, and the impression was deep in reality, though it appeared quite the contrary; for that very same evening I was taken to a ball for young people about my own age, and I recollect that my spirits rose particularly high. During the whole of the time of my being in London we walked all day and danced most nights; and wherever we were it was all the same to us, for the schoolfellows and their brother constantly kept together. I cared little for the suppers, or the style of house I went to; I was at that time intensely fond of dancing, and that I had to my heart’s content. That merry fortnight at length came to an end, the holidays were over, and we were to return to Reading, not exactly as we had come from it, for I had gained many new ideas, though hardly, I think, any increase of wisdom. The very day of my leaving town I saw Mrs. M**** and Miss Dorothy Percy in a coach. I never saw them afterwards: Miss Dorothy looked very sad, but I had no opportunity of speaking to her. She lived but a short time afterwards. It was during this visit to town that a little circumstance between me and Madame St. Q**** gave rise to my story of “A Drive in a Coach through the Streets of London.”194 It was not written for years afterwards. We had only just returned to Reading when the news came of the murder of the ill-fated Louis XVI. He was guillotined on the 21st of January, 1793, and I may truly say that all the civilised world were astounded at the fearful deed. France had dipped her hands in the blood of one of her most amiable, and assuredly one of her mildest and best-intentioned, Kings. If families who had no connection with France truly and deeply lamented the fate of the King, how much more was his fate deplored in the family at the Abbey, half of the members of which were actually French, and the other half so deeply interested in what was going on in Paris that it might have been thought many of us had lost a father. Monsieur and Madame went into deep mourning, as did also many of the elder girls. Multitudes of the French nobility came thronging into Reading, gathering about the Abbey, and some of them half living within its walls. Amongst these were several single and some married men, who were always about the house during the day, and very frequently came to supper in the evening. One of these, whom we the young ladies of the family thought very little of, was M. de Calonne, the Ex-minister.195 We understood not then his importance in history, and in consequence we were better pleased with those nearer our own standing, and more delighted with the gay 100

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sallies of the young Chevalier St. Julien than the deep-toned political orations of the Financier.196 No one in these days can have an idea of the effect which the tragedies wrought by the French at that time had on the minds of the English. But, to return to these emigrants;—there is nothing so difficult to appreciate as another person’s feelings, and nothing on which we form more false estimates. There are in the world a set of whining, lugubrious persons, who are constantly speaking of past afflictions, and, as it were, for ever describing wounds, bruises, and running sores. These persons pass for such as feel deeply, whereas none but those whose feelings are very dead can bear to dwell long on the occasions of their sorrows. Where one has suffered much, one cannot linger in discourse, for there are certain feelings which must be avoided and suppressed. It is a question, whether the French are a deeply feeling nation in general? Be that as it may, there was, I am certain, a very acute and deep sense of sorrow for their King and his family, for their country and their homes, in the minds of the emigrants whom I knew at Reading. Some songs and airs seemed almost at times to work them up to a state of agony. One of our young ladies, one day, very thoughtlessly struck up the air of “Ca Ira”197 on the pianoforte, in the presence of the old sister of the Marquise St. Julien, mother of the Chevalier I named above. The poor lady jumped up from her chair, flew out of the house and into the street, wringing her aged hands and crying aloud like one deranged; and it was with difficulty we could get her back. The song of “Pauvre Jacque”198 is probably well-known to English persons who are at all acquainted with French music. Immediately after the Regicide, they had made an affecting parody of this favourite song, placing the words in the mouth of the departed King. It was to this effect:— “My people, when I was near to thee, Thou knewest not misery; Now that I am far from thee, Thou wantest everything on earth.”199 The original song was a favourite in the Court of Versailles ere its splendour was extinguished. When the affecting parody was sang to the harp, I have seen the whole company of noble emigrants dissolved in tears. Nor could we, the English girls present, refrain from feeling deeply affected. Even now I doubt whether I could hear it without a renewal of the same feelings. From a child I had been accustomed to listen to tales of the Court of Versailles, and of the lovely Queen of France; the one as of a place of unrivalled magnificence, and the other as a lady of unequalled beauty. What a lesson was now in progress of the utter uncertainty of earthly prosperity! But who has not felt the power of music and musical sounds, in awakening feelings which are sleeping, and perhaps have slept long? What English person in a foreign land has not felt all memories of home aroused by some sweet air heard in his younger days? Who has not felt music stealing upon him which seemed to echo voices which he is never to hear more again on earth? 101

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There was at this very time a plot going on which none, I believe, suspected, but those who were particularly concerned in it. This plot was with the Abbé Beauregard,200 and myself and the other parlour-boarder. A more pleasing man than the Abbé I do not remember ever to have seen; all bland, and paternal, and respectful towards us, the two parlour-boarders, in whom he affected to have a particular interest. He commenced his operations thus: having access when he chose to our parlour, he began to show us some specimens of plants, more exquisitely arranged than any I have ever seen since that time. Of course we admired these plants, and then he proposed to teach us botany and the art of drying specimens. And for this purpose he procured leave for us to walk with him. I have a confused idea of several walks with this our dangerous companion, and of one particularly, in a wide path in some wood, by the side of a running stream, but where that was I know not. He made just so much of teaching us botany as served for a blind to his real purposes, which was proselytism to his own religion. I cannot recollect any of his arguments at that time. I had lately thought very little of any kind of religion; but my father was a Clergyman of the Church of England, and it would be very strange for me, I thought, to become a Papist. Popery of course must be wrong, because my parents had said so, and because those people worshipped saints; and God alone, I had been taught, was the fit object of worship. Now sincerely I do not believe that the ignorance in which I then lay, of anything relating to real religion, was the fault of my parents; neither do I now believe what once I not only believed but asserted, that until my mind was partially opened to the truth after my marriage I had actually never heard that truth, either in public or in private. But this I do firmly believe, that I was not capable of receiving the Gospel while in an unregenerate state, for it is only by the enlightening and unerring influences of the Spirit one can receive “the truth as it is in Jesus.”201 From a child I had read the word of God, and that word is truth; but I had not the moral capacity to receive anything more than an historical view of it. I therefore had no arguments to bring against the Abbé Beauregard, and indeed little of any kind to say; for he always spoke in French, and it required more French than I had at command to have entered into argument with him. He was at any rate so far encouraged, either by me or my companion, as to give each of us a little prayer to the Virgin, written on a card in a delicate hand, entreating us to use it continually. I was surprised, when alone again with my friend the first time after he had given us this prayer, to find that he had made so deep an impression on her, that she urged on me the necessity of thoroughly considering what the Abbé was saying to us, and rather advised me to try the prayer, to which I abruptly replied, “I never would;” and thus I was preserved from that danger, though for myself I feared not. In the meantime months passed on, and I and my sister were to leave Reading at the Midsummer holidays. Before leaving we were again to act “La Bonne Mère,”202 and after it “La Rose de Salencie,”203 in which last piece “the Prior” was to be altered to an Abbesse, or some such character, which part was allotted to me. The emigrant ladies kindly undertook to array me in the costume of a Religieuse of high rank. My father was 102

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requested to write a prologue and an epilogue for our play. All the foreigners in Reading, with their friends, were invited to be present; for it was for the benefit of those in distress that this play was got up. There are some beautiful passages in both these pieces, written by my father, and more especially some fine sentiments expressed in the epilogue, which was spoken by Amelia Reinagle in the character of the Marchioness Aurore. Miss Reinagle looked and acted the character to perfection. She was a lovely dark girl, all life and spirit, and not more lively than unoffending. The character of Madame la Prieure suited me better than any which they had before given me, but assuredly my talents never lay in the acting line. I could never sufficiently have forgotten myself as to have acted well. I give myself no credit whatever on this score. They wished me to speak the prologue, as it was written by my father; but I was quite certain that I should not do it justice, and I earnestly pleaded with Monsieur St. Q**** not to compel me to attempt it. He would not give up the point, and so far I obeyed him that I learnt it by heart. When Dr. Valpy came to hear us rehearse I stepped forward into the front of our little theatre, and there I stood reddening and stammering, wholly incapable of uttering a word, fully proving that I never should be able to address a large audience alone from that place; though I felt myself quite capable of carrying on a dialogue in a busy scene with tolerable credit to myself. So there I stood, whilst Monsieur St. Q**** called to me to begin, but called in vain. Next Dr. Valpy spoke to me, urging me to commence, but without success; for I only became more and more embarrassed, and more and more agitated. Being used to instant obedience, Dr. Valpy was not going to put up with this apparent disrespect: he sprung upon the stage and struck me with his cane, forgetting I was a young lady, and not one of his own pupils; but there ended my prologue, his little heat being over, he gave me a paternal hug and let me off. The prologue was then given to some more efficient person, and all that was left to me in the play and after-piece was easy to me. I have many pleasing recollections of those, the few last weeks of our residence at Reading. It was bright summer weather, and whilst the days for our representation approached we lived more and more with the noble emigrants, and entered more and more into their feelings. We talked with the ladies, and danced with the gentlemen under the trees in the Abbey garden to the music of the harp. We were then, as it were, completely carried away with the spirit and feelings of France—of the olden times; and, though nominally at school, were in fact leading what Madame Genlis calls “La Vie de Château.”204 It was not necessary that any of those who were then at the Abbey at Reading should have crossed the channel to have known what France had been under the old régime. We were even then living according to the ancient spirit, and I have often, often marvelled how it was that we, the elder girls of the establishment, were preserved as we were from serious danger, and ever treated with high respect, though too often compared to “roses,” “stars,” and “jewels,” and all that was beautiful and rare in nature. Of course this order of things could not have lasted long, it was too much out of the way of common discretion; but so long as I and my sister remained at the Abbey, no dark cloud rolled over the bright horizon. For years afterwards some particular tunes and airs 103

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reminded me of those happy days—days only the more interesting to my young fancy from the peculiar situation at the time of the affairs of France, and especially of the royal family. War had been already declared, and thus was a colour given to the fate of many who seemed least connected with public affairs. I could add much more to my reminiscences of Reading. When I left it, I parted from many dear friends whom I never saw again, and amongst these Mrs. Valpy, perhaps the dearest of these dear friends. In company with my sister and, I think, my brother, at the beginning of the Midsummer holidays, we returned to Kidderminster—thus, as it were, closing one interesting chapter of our lives. It was the bright season of summer when we arrived at Kidderminster, where we were received with the warmest and tenderest affection by our parents. Well I remember, for we arrived about noon-day, my father taking me up to his study, and showing me the first volume and frontispiece of his “Poems,”205 then in the press, and the frontispiece also of the second volume. My mother, as usual, looked serious; but there was joy in her eye to see her three children again. The last year, and particularly the society I had kept, had made a change in me. I was not the same awkward girl I had been; and this was instantly pronounced by all who saw me. I had been much in high foreign society, and I had gained that something which can only be acquired by high society and can never be given without frequent intercourse with good company, and perhaps I ought to add with a variety of good company. I was also then at an age when young people improve, if ever they do improve, in these respects. I had not been at home a day, when my old friend and brother, Mr. Annesley,206 came to see me, and to invite me with my parents to Arley Hall.207 My mother, with her old and valued friend Mrs. Sarah Severne,208 who had been with her during the greater part of the period of our absence, had been constantly visiting at Arley Hall, where they had seen a great deal of one peculiar sort of high life. There had been at Arley a succession of visitors, and most of these were there still when we went there after our return from Reading. These persons were, first, a Sovereign Princess of Germany, driven from her territories by the distresses which had already spread far from the centre, Paris, over the neighbouring countries. This lady had accepted a refuge at Arley Hall, and had been there all the year with an adopted daughter, whose name was Bonne Dalby or Dalben.209 The Princess was a woman in advanced age; always, when I knew her, attired in black, perfectly courteous, with no pride, bearing her afflictions with meekness, and even with cheerfulness; most grateful for every kindness, and most delightful in conversation. She left Arley soon after our return from Reading. This lady was much pleased with my mother, as was my mother with her. Mademoiselle Bonne Dalby was a very lovely young lady, accomplished in music and drawing, and as highly educated as foreigners often are, with much natural talent in conversation, and accustomed to first-rate society. The Princess seemed to hang upon this child, whom she had reared with the fondest affection. Two of the most beautiful Italian greyhounds I ever beheld were in the suite of the Princess. When she left Arley she presented these greyhounds to her young host and hostess. 104

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It was somewhere about this time that Mr. Annesley’s father, being made Earl of Mountnorris, became Viscount Valentia, and such I shall call him in future. As this year had commenced with gaieties, so was it to end; it was almost the first and the last year of very great vanity in my life. A few more giddy and glittering days, a few more empty triumphs, and that year closed. Then other scenes ensued; and often, in much after solitude, I longed for the recurrence of those scenes, in which I had found but too much food for vanity. When my father’s month for duty at St. James’s arrived I went with my mother and sister to visit Miss Sneyd,210 for the last time, at Lichfield, and there Mrs. Sneyd, that elegant and beautiful woman of whom I have spoken before, took upon herself to arrange my dress and introduce me into company. She took me to balls innumerable, and at these I often danced with a Baronet, a very gay widower, who was more than six feet high, and accounted singularly handsome. This gentleman during that season gave a magnificent entertainment, at which he boasted that he would assemble forty beauties, though he sought all Staffordshire and Derbyshire for them. It was a masked ball, to which he invited his neighbours; every one was to go in fancy dresses, and at a certain hour to take off their masks and dance without them. He caused me to be invited through Mrs. Sneyd, and she dressed me as a shepherdess, and her sister as my companion; we had to go many miles into Derbyshire from Lichfield, and there, in a magnificent suite of rooms, was an immense crowd of persons. Our host was dressed as a Grand Signor, and he handed me out to dance. I did not care one straw for him, but I was very much elated at this distinction, so public, and so entirely owing, as I fancied, to my own merits. I returned to Lichfield not a little raised in my own opinion. I must not omit to say that, when I was at that ball, a young gentleman requested a friend to introduce him to me. This gentleman was Robert Chesney, whom I had never seen since I had ridden on his back at Stanford. He was arrayed like a Cheroquee chief, with his face painted to imitate tattooing. When he, in all politeness, &c., was speaking feelingly of Stanford and his early days spent there, it was a great effort for me so to forget the singularity of his figure and face as to refrain from laughing, and there is no doubt but that he could see that I was highly amused. Immediately after this grand gala we returned to Kidderminster, where my Uncle Butt received us, as I well remember, with the warmest delight. We kept this Christmas all together at Kidderminster, being the last we ever spent in that place.

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CHAPTER VIII. MY FIRST BOOK, 1794—OUR RETURN TO STANFORD—MY FATHER’S ADDRESS TO A FRIEND— MY LITTLE DOG BONNE—THE FAMILY AT STANFORD COURT—OUR LIBRARY—MY SECOND BOOK COMMENCED—LADY WINNINGTON’S DEATH AND FUNERAL—MY VISIT TO BATH AND TO CLIFTON—VISIT OF A FRIEND TO STANFORD. I CANNOT recall exactly how often we visited Arley, the seat of my father’s pupil Lord Valentia, after my return from school; nor do I know when it was, that, being then with my father and none other of my family, I spent much time in writing my first work yclept “The Traditions.”211 I know only that I used to write whenever I could find time, and then to put up the manuscript in one of the cases of the dressing-table. But my father one day, coming into my room somewhat suddenly, found the manuscript, and was so much delighted with it—as the work of his child, and formed much upon the basis of his own instructions, grounded on high and chivalrous feeling, and ignorance of life, as it really is—that he took it from me, and showed it to others. My beloved father, and some of his and my friends, particularly admired the ingenuity of the outline of the story, although there is one, to me now, ridiculous and serious defect in it—the two wives of the hero existing at the same time; but, putting this aside, it is certain that the outline is ingenious and uncommon, and, may I be allowed to say, well written for a girl of seventeen. As to the religion, it is a sort of modification of Popery, and nothing more or less. “The Traditions” are valuable to me, as they present a sort of picture of my mind at that period: not of my character, nor of the qualities of my nature, which, being human, could only be evil continually; but of my principles, my taste, and the mode in which I contemplated life. Very soon after this the family at Arley broke up. Lord Valentia, I believe, went abroad, and Lady Valentia went, with her child, to her sister, Mrs. Gifford, who resided in Shropshire. I never saw her after she called to take leave of my mother, as she passed through Kidderminster, and was in high spirits. I often think of her with tender sorrow. My parents had resolved during the ensuing summer to establish a curate in the house at Kidderminster, and return to live at lovely Stanford,212 and our minds were therefore then anticipating this change, and anticipating it, I think I may say, with pleasure, though sometimes I rather shrunk from the idea of the solitude of the country, knowing that my mother’s spirits were not to be depended upon. Latterly, too, at Kidderminster, we had been a large party, for we had dear friends and relatives near to us. My father had been offered the living of Arley, in Staffordshire, by the Earl of Mountnorris, before Lord Foley had given him Kidderminster, and, instead of accepting it for himself, he obtained it for his 106

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beloved younger brother Thomas Simon Butt. The delightful harmony which always existed in my grandfather’s family was the fruit of that generosity and piety which marked the disposition of each and all of its members. My uncle afterwards became domestic chaplain to the Marquis of Stafford, and generally resided at Trentham, which place he called his home. He was a man of unostentatious but extensive knowledge, and was particularly versed, for his time, in the doctrines of Christianity. As a preacher, he was earnest and forcible; and as a man, he was beloved by all who knew him. But my uncle Thomas had his little chamber on the wall, as we called it, whenever he came to do duty at Arley; and my intellectual and exceedingly pleasing cousin, Dr. Salt, was residing almost with us. And then, too, the daily intercourse with the excellent family of the Symonds’s, whom my mother respected and valued more and more as she knew more of them, were all very necessary to us; and all this must be given up when we left Kidderminster; therefore it was not with quite unmixed pleasure that we prepared to return to Stanford. In the meantime I went on with “The Traditions,” my father encouraging me, and everybody about me leading me to think myself most highly gifted by nature; and yet let it not be supposed that it was in the article of intellect that my vanity was most easily excited. But how shall I state the case, as I conceive it to have really been? Can I possibly do it? Can any one judge of the real state of his own feelings? I will try, however, as far as I can, to explain mine. My father had impressed upon me in very early years that I was to turn out what he called a genius; and, therefore, the idea was so familiar to me, and the conviction that it was so, was a fact so strongly engraven upon my mind, that it never came upon me by surprise. It was a matter of course to me that I was to write, and also a matter of instinct. My head was always busy in inventions, and it was a delight to me to write down these inventions. Fortunately, however, from circumstances, and especially from reading the papers in the “Tatler”213 respecting Miss Jenny Bickerstaff,214 I had a horror of being thought a literary lady; for it was, I fancied, ungraceful, unlike a heroine, and, in short, I did not at all desire to be known as an authoress. I was far less established in the idea of my own good looks than of my talents, and one word in favour of the latter was far more precious than thousands in praise of the former. I cannot but think now, that if my dear father did not entirely deceive himself as to my powers of imagination, he certainly formed a very false estimate respecting them; for the only work of mine he ever saw finished was “The Traditions,” and assuredly that work, when completed for the press, exhibited a mind very, very far from maturity. These volumes were hardly finished, as to their first rough outline, when letters came announcing the total ruin of a dear friend—an event which had for some time been expected. Even now, though years are past, I do not desire to publish the name; suffice it, my readers have seen it mentioned in this diary, and they are very dull of comprehension if they cannot trace it out. But Mr. Smith, as I shall now call him, was in much need of money, and my beloved father proposed that my manuscript should be published by subscription for his 107

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benefit. My heart sunk at the proposition; to be thus forced into public before I was of age, to be set down so soon in that character which I had always dreaded— as a Miss Jenny Bickerstaff. I was very unhappy; but then, again, to disappoint my father in his benevolent scheme, and to withhold a helping hand from the friend I so dearly loved, was impossible. I could not, and I did not, utter a denial; but really and truly I was thoroughly vexed. Many, many tears I shed in private. My cousin, Dr. Salt, undertook to prepare the book for the press. Our distressed friend was apprised of our plan; great exertions were made; and the subscription was such as to enable him to set up a school in a small house in Hans Place, near Chelsea. Nothing, however, could console me, under the mortification which I felt at being thus dragged into public. I am thankful now that my dear father never knew I was pained by the circumstance, for he was so happy in his own benevolent plans, that I would not have disturbed that happiness on any account whatever. My mother, too, my dear mother, and Dr. Salt, who had as little of the world in him as the others, all approved the scheme, and there was only one person who sincerely and most kindly opposed. This person was Dr. S., whom I have mentioned as differing from my father on religious subjects. He came to call on my parents, and, as I well remember, stated to them, with the greatest warmth of affection and earnest desire of prevailing, the vast amount of evil which would be done to me, in the very bloom of my life, in dragging me before the public as a writer; for although my name was never put to “The Traditions,” every one who knew me knew me to be its author. I stood by and heard all he said, and felt its truth, and often and often, too, have I since that time experienced how great the injury to me, in a worldly point of view, was this measure of printing and making public my crude, girlish fancies. But, somehow or another, Dr. S. could not prevail; the work went on, the subscriptions were solicited, and I stood before the public as an authoress before my nineteenth birthday. So that passed, and I wished that I had never known the use of a pen, and tried to resist the longing desire which I had of beginning to write again. I have only imperfect recollections of the remainder of the time we spent at Kidderminster. Dr. Salt was almost constantly with us; he was then about to settle as a physician at Birmingham. My uncle, too, was also with us a good deal, and I was much associated with Miss Symonds, who was about my own age. We had established a man-servant at the house at Stanford called John, lately left by Mr. and Mrs. Hoskins, and one day in the spring my father and mother, and Lucy and I, went early in the morning over to that dear place, where John (see my book, “The Fairchild Family,”)215 had contrived to get us a breakfast. I remember, amongst other dainties he set before us, a quart jug of thick cream, a present from Mr. Taylor, of the Fall. Oh! how very lovely did my native place, with all its surrounding solitudes, appear to us that day! and to my mother, especially, who had accounted every year which she had spent at Kidderminster as a year of banishment. To return to Stanford, and there to spend the last years of life, had been so earnestly desired by my dear father, that only the year before, whilst Lucy and myself were at Reading, he had declined some public situation which had been held out to him by a friend. On that occasion he wrote the following little address, 108

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which, though printed in his collection of poems, so exactly portrayed his feelings and desires, that I cannot refrain from bringing it forward in this place. ADDRESS TO A FRIEND No more, my friend, no more; for though I feel The rare distinction of your partial love Fix’d in my heart, though grateful to your zeal, Its firmness, where it most imports to prove. I was not born to drudge with lucre’s throng, To dare the brunt of proud ambition’s blaze; My powers at best an unproductive song, And wanting wit to thread life’s finer maze. Early I could not, now I will not, deign To trace this peopled labyrinth of pride. Before me—says my God—my path is plain; Nor will I wander from His will aside. Oh, yield me then dear Nature’s scenes repose, Expand anew thine infinite sublime; And o’er the din and damp of vulgar woes Assist my closing act of life to climb. Hence be thy glories ever in my sight; For sure I deem them but the glass that brings A far superior presence into light; And o’er my soul its Maker’s Image flings. Yon hill-side coppice, yon umbrageous glade, The untutored streams that through your alders flow, Which twinkle now and murmur through the shade, Now thunder down the rifted rocks below. Shall I desert these dear delights well known, Nor in their charms my long-past joys renew, Review by me the blooming saplings sown, Paths by my labour won from wilds—review? Now in this rage of Sirius, while mine ear Owns in distress the chittering town’s annoy; Me to my fav’rite oak dear fancy bear, And round me let me think the zephyrs fly. 109

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For there, when I times past would fondly roam, Their wings wont flutter, wont their harps to sound; As from its shade I marked my peaceful home, And sacred temple, which the landscape crown’d. While on the sweep of uplands high above, My fancy mark’d the forest mass of tress; Mark’d by the surface of the boundless grove, The sunbeam sporting as on wavy seas. Ah! my loved Stanford, take thy truant home, And if with taintless honour he returns, Smile when thou seest him through thy Tempe roam, From thee no more a long exile to mourn!216 Such were the feelings with which my father anticipated his return to Stanford, as I particularly remember on that morning, when I sat to take my breakfast in a huge carved oak chair, which had belonged to the Rectors of Stanford for two hundred years, or more. This chair fell into the hands of a Mr. Joseph Harris, and was afterwards, I think, bought by Robert Temple, Esq., of the Nash Kempsey, Worcestershire. We returned to Kidderminster in a day or two, and remained there a few more weeks, being made much of by many persons who had been our neighbours there for the few last years. It was still the early part of the summer when my father finally left, and we took up our abode at Stanford. And here again closes another scene of the acts of my life, and we turn to another, and what was that other? A picture of elegance, of romance, of Fairyland. The very sorrow of its period was of a nature tender, touching, and bringing with its recollection a peculiar sweetness wholly defying description. On our arrival at Stanford I found that Lord Valentia, who was on his travels, had sent me two presents, each equally beautiful in their way. The first, a number of rare exquisite plants, all in high perfection, which John had arranged on the lawn before the house, and which filled the air with their aromatic fragrance; the other, a very young Italian greyhound, the daughter of that elegant pair whose high descent was so highly lauded by Lord Valentia, on the authority of the German princess before mentioned. This beautiful creature, though at her full growth, was not larger than a common cat, perfectly white, and most exquisitely formed. Lord Valentia requested that she should be called “Bonne,” after the young lady adopted by the princess. Our house was soon arranged, we added John as a man servant to our establishment. He was our chief gardener, and kept the gardens and pleasure grounds in admirable order. And again, our former friendly, I may say intimate intercourse with the Winningtons was renewed, and many of the neighbouring gentlemen’s families called upon us. What had we before us, I then thought 110

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and fondly hoped, but the prospect of long prosperity, and many bright and happy days? “When young life’s journey I began, The glittering prospect charm’d my eyes; I saw along the extended plain, Joy after joy successive rise.”217 This passage from Burns, which is a motto to one of my chapters in “The Traditions,” precisely suited my feelings during that bright summer, when, with my beloved parents, and brother and sister, now restored to the place most dear to us all on earth, we explored the lovely environs of Stanford within easy walking distance, being always accompanied by my delicate greyhound, which dear little animal whenever the least fatigued or alarmed, used to run back like a petted child to me, and require to be taken up in my arms. I was then in the very bloom of my youth, and my father delighted in me, and not a little contributed, by his warm and eloquent praise, to increase that self-contentment so natural to young people in health. I did not all that summer, as far as I can remember, once feel any depression of spirits from a sense of solitude, for we met with the Winningtons two or three times a week; we young ones dining there very often, and the young people also dining with us. My brother, too, was much at home at this time, though he must have been entered at Oxford, where he was a student of Christ Church. Miss Symonds also visited us from Kidderminster, and Dr. Salt too stayed at Stanford a long time, and my uncle and his son Thomas, and Mr. and Mrs. Woodhouse and their two daughters all came. We were therefore scarcely ever without a pleasant party in the house, and we had the command of Sir Edward Winnington’s library, one of the largest in the country. We had also my father’s library, which was large, and a third set of books belonging to Lord Valentia; for when he had left Arley for travelling abroad, fearing that some of his possessions might come to an untimely end, he had sent an immense book-case, and a number of most valuable books, to be placed under my father’s care. Now that I am on the subject of books, I am led to speak of rooms where those books are kept. It is said of my beloved father that his study presented a curious view. Old and new books, old and new paintings, were confusedly mingled together, sermons, poems, and letters thrown into promiscuous heaps. On one occasion a letter from a friend was allowed to be about for weeks, which letter pointed out to him the danger arising from a want of economy, and also contained private particulars of money transactions, but it was kept because on it was written a part of an ode. My sister and myself had many quiet resources and pleasures of our own at home. We began a course of letters to each other, assuming French characters, on the plan of “Adele et Theodore.”218 We wrote each a letter every week, and introduced stories and anecdotes. This was hard work, and required much study, as they were in French; and had we gone on for some years, as we began, we should 111

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have written the language as easily as English, for we had been well instructed at Reading, and still sent our letters to be corrected to M. St. Q****. I had always earnestly desired to learn music, which I never did; but at this time I learned enough of the guitar to play certain tunes to please myself. The delight and charm of our society during this summer, when the families of the court and parsonage met, was Lady Winnington. She seemed then, in total absence of selfishness, to lay herself out to make the young people happy. Often when we dined at the Court she would send for the miller, who played the violin, and set us all to dance; and though it is true that the heir-apparent was sometimes forced to dance with me, yet when once we started he would give me a nod or a wink, and, when he could not help it, a smile, and then it was all right, and we danced away very comfortably for that time. My brother was always the partner of the eldest Miss Winnington, and as neither of them could tell one tune from another, or dance a single step, we generally marvelled how they got on at all. The steward, also, a great, big, and, in our opinion, a most supremely ugly man, generally fell to my sister’s lot. Thus we did very well, and enjoyed ourselves in our own way. Sometimes the old Welsh harper came, and then we had a more set dance, and some of the ladies’-maids and one or two of the upper men-servants, and the miller himself, and Mr. Taylor of the Fall, and the miller’s brother Tommy, were asked, and then things were carried on in a superior style. We went into a larger room, and there was more change of partners; but as nothing could have induced the son and heir to ask a stranger, I always had him, whilst Miss Winnington and my sister sometimes fell to the share of the miller and his brother: the miller being himself musical, and footing it to the tune better than his partners. The miller’s brother always seemed to wheel along rather than dance, throwing himself back and looking at his white waistcoat, which was kept for these grand occasions, not unlike a sack of meal, set upright on trucks, and so pushed about the room. I am ready to laugh to this hour when I think of these balls, and I certainly obtained very high celebrity then and there for being something very superior in the dancing line. Why do we remember some apparently very unimportant event of our former life with peculiar tenacity, whilst others, perhaps of greater importance, retain no place in our memory? And why is it that I have a particular recollection of one sweet summer’s day, when our parents were at a formal dinner party at the Court, that my sister and myself, being left by ourselves, walked across the dingle in the parsonage woods, across a field on the side of that high steep bank which faces the north side of the parsonage? There we sat and conversed so long together, that we forgot the hour. Yet I know not what we talked of. Oh, my sister! my Lucy! what sweet counsel have we taken together, and yet how far are we now separated; not in heart, I know, but personally and from circumstances. But it is all right and good that it should be so. Our God be praised, that when we are one in Christ our Lord we shall never part again. It must be observed that all this summer the affair of “The Traditions” had been going on, subscriptions were being gathered by the friends on all sides, and Dr. 112

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Salt was criticising and setting me to write and re-write the little volume over again. It was no doubt a useful exercise, for my head, of course, was often much occupied by it. At the same time I had secretly resolved never to print another book, though I had already planned another, which I began the ensuing autumn, when my critics suffered me to have done with “The Traditions.’ That bright summer at length passed away, and the autumn arrived without bringing any foreboding of the cloud which was so soon to roll over our little circle. I cannot recollect whether my father went that year to St. James’s; but he used to go very often to Kidderminster to preach there and spend several days. The autumn set in finely, though, I remember well, with much frost. Dr. Salt left us to go to be with our uncle, who was just at that time residing at Arley Hall; and my sister and myself began now in a small degree to apprehend the effects of solitude on our mother. She liked to shut herself up from company, sitting much in her dressing-room, requiring us to amuse her. We procured books and read a great deal, and got over every part of the twenty-four hours very well, with the exception of an hour or two at dusk. My dear mother loved this hour, and always put off having lights, and she had an objection to our sitting round near the fire, and in short she made those hours very sad, and, I must honestly say, disagreeable to us. Between dinner and tea, at tea and after tea, we again did very well, because she loved to hear us read aloud; but she always hurried us to bed, and when alone with her we never experienced anything of that little interval of cheerful conversation and freedom from restraint which in most families precedes the moment of separation and retirement for the night. Any stranger coming in would take away something of the weight of this restraint, and therefore the presence of my uncle or of Dr. Salt was a benefit which we hardly could prize too highly. As to my father, he certainly was often induced to go from home to get away from this restraint; and yet our gentle and kind mother was, I am convinced, to her very last moment utterly unconscious of doing anything which could make anybody about her uncomfortable. I am not able exactly to say in what time of the autumn I began my second book, “Margarita;”219 but this I know, that my dear father took great interest in the commencement of it, but he never knew the end. All the frost and winter scenes, however, in the first volume were taken from phenomena and appearances of nature I then observed at Stanford and I was particularly struck, I remember, during that winter, by one appearance of the wood, when every one of the smallest sprays was covered with frost, representing groves of diamonds. This appearance is remarked and described in one of the early chapters of “Margarita.” My father immediately recognised himself in Canon Bernardo, and was much pleased with my attempt to draw his character. Christina, of course, was meant for my mother, and Margarita’s mother for one whom I knew and pitied. When I was writing “Margarita,” the character of Canon Bernardo was thought very like my father, but I could not carry it on after I had lost that beloved parent. The first thing, therefore, which I wrote after my father’s decease was the death of the Canon Bernardo. During that autumn, Mrs. Radcliffe’s “Mysteries of Udolpho” 113

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were read aloud by us, in the evenings, at Stanford, and, excepting the “Romance of the Forest,”220 I had never before known what it was to delight in the same extent in any book. I lived then, certainly, in a romantic world of my own, and, had that life which I then led at Stanford continued, it is hard to say how such an imaginative mind as mine is, might have been affected by it. My little greyhound at that time filled too much of my thoughts, and, as old Mr. Severne used to say to me, caused me to throw away too many kind affections, which would have been far better employed on a poor fellow-creature; but this beautiful little animal suffered so terribly from the cold, and had so many contrivances to warm itself, that it was impossible not to pity and love it. When we walked out it crept into my muff, and there lay with its head only looking out. It often crept into the pocket of my dress, and under my work-basket, and when in the kitchen it always sat on the back of Lion, our great Newfoundland house-dog. I did love my little Bonne so much, that I resolved, after I lost her, never to make a pet of any animal. We had another little favourite, too, at Stanford, a canary bird, which occupied the same cage, and the same place in my mother’s dressing-room, in which the canary had lived and died before my birth. We called this bird Cyx, and a wonderful bird it was. My dear mother, it seems, was endeavouring to bring all things back to those times when her children were little, and she was yet a stranger to the real condition of man on earth; but, alas! how utterly impossible it would be, even were it desirable, to bring back the mind to what it was in the careless days of youth, and to become a child again in thought and feeling. I now proceed to relate the first event which awakened her from this dream of hopes, which she had built on the circumstance of her return to Stanford, after her banishment to Kidderminster. My brother was at Oxford, and my father not at home, when one day in December, one cold, dreary day, I walked down alone to Stanford Court, on some slight occasion, and I passed through the grove of firs, near the church. I remember that I was thinking of the various changes in this life; how I had longed to return to Stanford, and how gladly I would now have exchanged its elegant solitude for the cheerfulness of the last Christmas at Kidderminster. I went on, thinking of these things, when a passage from Mason’s poems occurred to me, and kept ringing in my ears:— “Grow wiser, ye that flutter life away, Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high, Weave the light dance with festive freedom gay, And live your moment, for the next ye die.”221 I went on, as I said, and kept on repeating the passage; I could not get it out of my mind, especially those words, “for the next ye die,” till I arrived at the Court. I went into the drawing-room, where I found Lady Winnington alone. This lady had had twelve or more children; she had nine living, and was near her confinement. She had hitherto almost always treated me as her own child; this day, however, she 114

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spoke quite differently to me, and, complaining that she did not feel well, laid her hand on mine, and said, “Do I not burn? I am always in a fever.” I felt pained, and came back very sad, still repeating the lines of Mason. In a day or two after this, namely, the 10th of December, our servant Kitty burst into my mother’s dressingroom to look for my father, and to tell us that Lady Winnington was dead. She had died immediately after having given birth to a son, and my father had been sent for, in all haste, to go to Sir Edward. The whole of the family left the Court for Winterdyne that very day. I saw the carriages which conveyed them away, and I saw the hatchment lifted up and placed over the door. The unconscious babe was left with the housekeeper, who had been the nurse of the infant’s mother. This year terminated with the funeral of Lady Winnington, all the dismal circumstances of which were distinctly visible from the windows of the Parsonage. It was under auspices most melancholy to those left behind that the new year, 1795, commenced: but still more sad was its conclusion. My father preached Lady Winnington’s funeral sermon, which was afterwards printed. This sermon recalled to all our minds the sermon of Jeremy Taylor, “on the death of Lady Cutts.”222 This sermon I then thought the very model of a funeral sermon, in which opinion I now acknowledge myself to be greatly mistaken; for the very circumstance of the object of our praise being brought under the power of temporal death, should admonish us that no deathless quality could have existed in the nature thus brought low, and that, in consequence, all that we had ever seen admirable in the character of the individual whom we desire to praise, must have been derived and not inherent. We all went into deep mourning, as if we had lost a parent or sister, and my mother grieved as for the dearest of friends. Never, to her dying day, could she speak of Lady Winnington without a renewal of sorrow. A most distressing circumstance happened the first Sunday on which we attended the church after this mournful event. The family vault had been opened to receive the coffin, the entrance lay by the area before the communion rails, and on the Sunday following was not completely closed again. The rubbish still lay about the place of the flat-door in the pavement, which was visible, and a fearful sight to us, and one to which I would not look whilst I walked to our pew. In the middle of the service, the old clerk, whom I had remembered from a child, was seized with a fit, and falling sideways, forced open the door of his desk, and lay the next moment on the rubbish on the pavement. I did not see him fall, but I heard a dead, lumbering sound, with a rattle amid the stones and mortar on the pavement. I believed that the trap-door of the vault had fallen in; in truth, I know not what I feared, but I shall never forget the horror of that moment; and to this day, when my imagination begins to work without the control of reason or religion, as in a dream or fever, I fancy myself again at Stanford Church, in darkness, and among the dead—the venerable and beloved dead, down in the vaults—and seeing them, but not as they were in life. After a few weeks the family returned, in very deep mourning and grief, to Stanford Court, though there was an attempt to make things appear as they had 115

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done before; Miss Winnington took the place of her mother, at the head of the table, but looked distressed and uneasy, and had nothing to say. According to former custom, the little children were brought in to the dessert, and with these the baby, who was laid on the lap of the second daughter, probably by the father’s orders. There was one pretty little girl, about four years old, named Annabella; this little fair girl had been her mother’s darling, and used, when brought in after dinner, to run forwards to her mamma; she now came gravely in, without a smile, and with no elastic spring. We often went to dine with the family, and my father did all he could to inspire cheerfulness, but I can decidedly say, that so long as Sir Edward Winnington lived, happiness never again dwelt under that roof. In reflecting on the death of Lady Winnington, who seemed to have been taken away at the very time when she was most valuable to her family, the spirit of infidelity is very apt to suggest this question, “Why has God done this?” whilst others, whose eyes are open only to a certain degree of the truth, can only say, “Can the Judge of all the earth do wrong?”223 A third sort of persons, who are of that “little flock”224 who have received that first and choicest gift, the assurance of the love of God through Christ, are enabled through faith to adore the wisdom of God in “preparing many sons for glory.”225 They can acknowledge that He may judge it expedient to deal in such way with some of these sons as may cause deep present anguish. Hence, we often see in life, that a pious parent, wife, or sister, is removed before some certain painful exercise is appointed to the friends which are left behind. I have, I fear, expressed myself clumsily, but it is sufficient if I have made myself understood. Very soon after the commencement of this year, a letter was received from my godmother, a lady of some importance, whose name I will not mention, inviting me to spend some weeks with her in Bath. My parents, thinking to give me pleasure, gave their consent, though I was not to leave them till the worst of the cold season was over; so I was to taste a little more of the deep solitude and sadness of Stanford. And, in order that we in that fair valley might be left more completely to ourselves, behold, one frosty night, the old bridge over the Teme came down into the bed of the river, and there was no other passage but by a ferry until another bridge was put up. As I have shown, there was then no amusement to be derived from visiting the Court, as there had been in the early part of the cold weather. There was no possibility of going farther than the river, without crossing a rapid stream in a boat; still we had our books and our writing, and I busied myself with “Margarita,” and drawing the character of Canon Bernardo. I had at that time no apprehension of the near approach of that crisis when the original of the picture was to be removed for ever in this world from my view, an event which, could I then have anticipated, I should have accounted every moment lost which I did not spend in his beloved presence. At length the time came which was fixed for my going to Bath. I was to travel with a Miss Sandford, and was to meet her in Worcester. I had never seen her before, nor do I remember how we learned she was going to Bath. She was visiting a Mr. Griffiths in the College Green: I think he kept a school. This was the last journey I ever took with my own beloved and 116

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kind father. We went on horseback to the ferry, and from thence in the same manner to the Hundred House.226 It rained and snowed so violently that I was quite wet before I got there; but I changed my clothes, got into a chaise with my father, and went on to Worcester. There we were received at Dr. Plumptree’s, whose prebendal227 house opened into the cloisters. We dined there, and the evening being fine I walked with Master Plumptree about the city, I suppose merely to see it. Early the next morning my dear father went with me to breakfast at Mr. Griffiths’, after which he saw me and Miss Sandford, who was much older than myself, into a coach, and off we rolled, six of us within, and I know not how many without. We had a whole long day’s journey before us, during which we stopped for our meals I think three times. Amongst our inside passengers was a Mr. Lockhart Johnstone,228 a gentleman well-known in Worcester, the son of Dr. Johnstone, who attended my father’s family. We were quite good old friends before we reached the capital of King Bladud’s dominions;229 and at the White Hart I found a person from my godmother to receive me. Then and there I was put into a chair and carried to her lodgings, in the old part of Bath. My godmother never lived a year together in one place, and she had a constant succession of intimate friends, who were all that is charming for a few months, more or less. Her present friends were persons not unknown in the world of letters, the family of the celebrated first Walker of Wales.230 The Reverend R. Warner, the father of the family, a very fine old man, had been residing in some town near the New Forest in Hampshire, and had many superior friends, which was an advantage to me. Whilst at Bath, he attended the rooms, particularly the old rooms, and which were far more pleasant than the new ones, because they were more like apartments in an old private house, than public rooms. We went there in plain muslin dresses, and danced for the pleasure of dancing; and at these rooms after a little while I was sure of a partner,—a major in the army, with whom I always figured away. Sad to relate, this gentleman perished soon after in the expedition to Corsica. My godmother was very kind to me; I was new to her then, newer than the Warners, and that was all in all with her; but I ought to say that she was ever kind to me. I had sufficient experience of the gaieties of Bath to find myself tired of them, and when my godmother was disposed to move I regretted nothing but parting with the kind friends with whom I had associated in the house. We then went to the Hot Wells at Clifton,231 where we remained a little while in a public boarding-house on some parade, and the older and lower part of the boardinghouse was full of young French emigrants—all noble, of course. I found the change from Bath to Bristol, from a pleasant family circle to a boarding-house full of gentlemen, rather unpleasant. To add to my discomfort, my godmother was beginning to be tired of my company, and I was getting tired of her’s; for it was fine weather, and I was amazingly struck with the beauty of Clifton and St. Vincent’s Rocks,232 and preferred being out of doors all day to stopping within. Here I had another view of the French emigrant nobility, and by no means so favourable a one as I had had at Reading. One of these gentlemen, however, seemed to be a highly respectable man, and much depressed with his 117

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country’s griefs; another was even more gay and thoughtless a man that my old friend the Chevalier St. Jullien, although his family, as he himself told us, was in most distressing circumstances. He had, it seems, a young wife in France, and she, in order to save him from destruction, had on one occasion pretended that she knew him to be dead, and, in order to try the truth of this assertion, the authorities of the moment had insisted upon her choosing another husband. She had selected the only man she could trust, namely, an old bailiff, or steward, and with him had gone through the ceremony of marriage, and had found him a loyal and faithful protector during the reign of terror. This was the story told by the young nobleman to my godmother, and told with a heart so light that he was ready the next moment to sing, dance, and flirt with me, the only young lady within his circle of acquaintance. His grave friend not unseldom reproved him, reminding him of all he had lost, and of the sufferings of those from whom he was then separated. We went with these gentleman to hear mass in a small obscure chapel in Bristol, for my poor godmother was greatly delighted with them. When my godmother brought me home we travelled in chaises to Worcester, where my brother met us, and came on with us to the water-side at Stanford. There my dear sister Lucy was waiting for us with my mother, and I remember, as if it were but yesterday, the walk up to our beloved home. That pleasant summer evening, I may truly say, “Hope told another flattering tale of joys which were never to be realized.”233 My sister, as we went along, informed me of much which had passed in my absence:—The family at the Court were more cheerful, and our dear parents had paid the last of that heavy debt contracted by the building of the parsonage-house, which had lain upon them ever since they had first set out together in life; and now they might enjoy their whole income, and we were henceforward to have no cares respecting money. Thus we discoursed as we slowly ascended the hill to the Parsonage. I had my stories also to tell, and in this happy mood we reached our home. Before I proceed, however, I must remedy an omission I have made: I should have said that during the past winter we had heard of our relations in France, my Uncle Sherwood and his family, who had made their escape through Switzerland and Germany to England. My godmother stayed with us only a short time after my return to Stanford; and then followed some bright weeks, of which I have no very exact recollection. Whilst I had been out, Lord Valentia had been to Stanford, stayed a few days, and stolen my little Bonne, which was a pain to me; he had buttoned her up in his waistcoat, and thus carried her off unseen. The next circumstance which came in the order of time was a visit from the gentleman whom I have called Mr. Smith, for whom my book had been published, and he told us he had received for it a large sum of money: I mean in proportion to the means used in obtaining it. He had settled himself and his wife in Hansplace, having a considerable number of pupils. Being afloat again, he could not rest without coming to express his gratitude, and when he did come, no one would have supposed that he had ever lived in any other place than in a royal household. 118

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He was undoubtedly a singularly pleasing man, with just so much of the ancient manners of the French Court as to give him perfect ease in any company. He was without doubt an aristocrat, and had in early life been accustomed to very high society, as may be proved by his intimacy with Calonne,234 added to which his intellectual powers had been most highly cultivated. My father had always liked him, and now my mother, seeing him for the first time, was extremely pleased with him. Sir Edward Winnington also took to him immediately, and invited him to his house. Delightful, indeed, was the beginning of his visit; he boasted of being in a terrestial paradise, for he had found Lord Valentia’s library in his bed-room, with fine editions of all the first French writers. The fruit, the legume, and the society he was in, were “the very supremacy,” as he said, “of present enjoyment.” He would bring down with him in the morning some of the finest tragedies of the finest writers, and sitting on a sofa by the open window of our dining-room, he used to read these tragedies aloud with me and my sister, each taking a part, whilst he corrected our pronunciation and pointed out the beauties of the author. I must not omit one circumstance which happened, which was much in his favour. When dining at Stanford Court, a gentleman after dinner, a clergyman I am sorry to say, uttered a sneer against the doctrine of the Trinity, unreproved by Sir Edward Winnington. My father had gone to do duty at Kidderminster, and therefore was not present; but our friend took up the cause, and told the clergyman that he should rather prefer a Mahommedan to a man pretending to be a Christian, and denying the doctrine of Christ.

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CHAPTER IX. MY FATHER’S ATTACK OF PALSY AT KIDDERMINSTER, 1795—HIS RETURN TO STANFORD— THE LITTLE ROBIN—THE BAPTISM—STANFORD BRIDGE—DR. DARWIN CALLED IN—MY FATHER’S DEATH, SEPT. 30, 1795—HIS FUNERAL—THE FUNERAL SERMON AT KIDDERMINSTER—MY MOTHER TOOK A HOUSE AT BRIDGENORTH—WRITING AT “MARGARITA”— ANECDOTE OF MY FATHER—MY SECOND VISIT TO BATH—AN ECLARISISSEMENT—MY BROTHER’S GIFT TO ME AT OXFORD—MY VISIT TO MONSIEUR ST. Q*****—MY RENEWED ACQUAINTANCE WITH MY COUSIN HENRY SHERWOOD—OUR NEW HOME AT BRIDGENORTH— OUR SUNDAY SCHOOL. WHILST our friend whom I have called Mr. Smith was still with us, my father received a letter from a relative and college friend—whom he had not even heard of for years—saying that he was passing our way, and would spend a few days with us, if agreeable. I thought our new visitor an old man, and my father, too, an old man, though he was then only fifty-four; and the two strolled together amid the wild woods of lovely Stanford, and sat in the shade and talked of their boyish associates— “Reviewing days whose joy no more returns, When youth swam buoyant o’er the flood of life, The storms unfelt, and all above was clear. The bottom of life’s deep unvisited, Its monstrous unimagined forms unseen.”235 My father went from Stanford with Dr. Holmes, and, as was his wont on his occasional visits to Kidderminster, he lodged at the Post-office in Church-street. He was there taken ill, and I always understood that he had a stroke of the palsy, for his speech was much affected. Dr. Salt was immediately summoned from Birmingham, and a messenger sent over to Stanford. This messenger was old Stockall, and it so happened that my sister and myself met him as he was coming towards the gate. Strange to say, we were by no means so much alarmed as might have been expected; nor did my mother fear to the degree which every one else did; indeed, she herself said that she never anticipated a fatal end to this illness till the very last, and thus nearly three months of misery were spared her. My dear father tarried, after his first attack, a few days at Kidderminster, and we heard of him every day. Dr. Salt was with him, and he was to bring him in a chaise to Stanford. I remember it was bright and beautiful weather, and after dinner, 120

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on the day they were expected, I went up to my mother’s dressing-room, from one window of which I could clearly discern the high road from Kidderminster, in two distinct places, as it descended from the eminence between the Abberley and Warsgrove hills. The road, when first seen, could hardly have been less than between two or three miles from where I was, but I could distinguish any carriage moving upon it. I had got my guitar with me, and was playing “Henry’s Cottage Maid,”236 and musing on many things, when first I saw something descending the distant hill, and thought that I should then very soon see my father dear, and as I trusted in renewed health. To this very day the air of that song, however played, whenever heard, has power to bring all the feelings of that hour back to my mind, even to a painful degree. But to return. I watched the small dark moving object till it sank out of sight, then again in due time I saw it emerge from a declivity of the hill into nearer view, where the road, like a golden thread in the glare of the sunshine, again became visible, and then I was assured that my father was coming. I went down stairs, and found the family in the dining-room, where the tea was prepared, and in a very little while the carriage was seen ascending the hill, and my dear father was presently brought in leaning on the arm of his nephew, Dr. Salt. He looked pale and thin, but as usual after a short separation he was all joy to see his family, and used his accustomed phrase when receiving our kisses; “Yes, you dears! yes, you dears!” These were the very last terms he used to me. He was led to a couch, and sat down and began to converse; but I could not quite understand him, for he used one word for another, and my sister and myself laughed. “Oh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh,” said the gentleman I have called Mr. Smith, who was still staying at our house; “don’t laugh.” His reproof, with the look he gave us, conveyed the very first idea we had of any injury done to our beloved parent’s mind. I need not say we laughed no more after this, but every mistake he made seemed to pierce us to the very soul. Every one, I have no doubt, but the three present most interested, were aware of the dangerous state of my father’s health at that time, though after his return home he got apparently much better for awhile; at least, I believed so then, though now I recollect his mind never recovered itself again. Several of his old friends came to see him when he was a little better, and he certainly enjoyed their company much. It comforts me now to think that I was much and often with him at that period, constantly walking with him in the woods and dingles; and though it is true his mind was certainly affected, yet only so much as to have brought him back to the simplicity of a little child. He seemed as if he had quite forgotten that there was such a thing as a busy, envious, wicked world, in which men hustled each other, and pushed each other out of the way, and trod down the weak in order to get into their places. The time had certainly been when my father had coveted literary renown, and perchance had felt desirous for even meaner objects of ambition; but it is evident, from many 121

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passages in his poems, that he had earnestly prayed to be set free from these mere earthly feelings, and God in his infinite mercy effected his deliverance so completely before his death, that probably the last three months of his life were the happiest of his whole earthly existence. It was the bright season of summer, his ever-beloved Stanford was in her fairest and gayest dress. His children were about him, my mother never more attentive and kind; for her heart was drawn out by witnessing his infirmities. His mind was right as regarded religion; for he had no fears whatever of his Redeemer’s love and power. Hence he was full of hope and contentment, looking for a glorious resurrection when all pain and sorrow should be no more. “If so lovely,” he would say, “are the works of God when uncontaminated by art in this lower world, how much more lovely will be the scenes of heaven!” A favourite robin, which during the last two winters he had been accustomed to feed from his study window, was moulting, and one day we saw it when its coat looked faded and rough. My father gazed earnestly at it, till I said “that it would look well again when its new feathers came.” “Ah!” he answered, comparing the change to the resurrection, “in the morning, in the morning it will be glorious; and we, and we, we shall be glorious in the morning, too.” My precious father’s mind, when he was able to move about after his first attack, turned very much to the improving of his beloved dingle behind the parsonage. He got a labourer or two about him, and spent hours every day in these beautiful scenes, where in times past he had placed seats, and formed walks and opened views. There are two streams which meet in this dingle forming cascades, and I remember that, being a very little child, my father carried me under his arm over certain slippery stones in the front of one of these cascades. I remember, also, that during the short interval between his last two attacks I walked with him to this very place, and whilst he was directing a labourer to cut away a bough which shaded part of the rock from which the water fell, his foot slipped, and he was very near falling, but I had hold of him and saved him. I cannot say wherefore, but to this day, whenever I think of these little unimportant circumstances, my tears will not be restrained. I suppose that I am thus affected by this incident, from the comparison which it suggests between the parent in full strength and the daughter in infancy; and the parent, again, in much feebleness and the daughter in full strength. I remember, also, that some one brought a sick child to be baptized, and there was no clergyman at hand; but the parents thought that much woe might accrue to the child should it die unbaptized, and my father tried to read the service, whilst our maid, Kitty, held the infant. The whole party had got into the kitchen, and there I found them; my beloved parent too ill to read, whilst Kitty, to whom he had given the book, was almost too unlettered. She had just stammered through a prayer or two when I came in; my father had sprinkled the water, and everybody seemed to be quite satisfied, and so it passed; but I was greatly affected to think that his state was such that he could not read. Yet, even then, I did not anticipate the result. 122

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My dear father had a young footman, who behaved as a son to him through his whole illness. This young man was particularly fond of reading, which greatly tended to raise him, and make him an agreeable companion for an invalid. In the meanwhile Mr. Nash had put up the bridge during the summer, and a most light and elegant thing it was, and we all went down to see it one evening, with the exception of my dear parents, whom we left walking together, and there we met the Winningtons and a party of friends, and we walked backwards and forwards across the bridge in high glee at its restoration; when, lo and behold! the first news we heard in the morning was, that it had come down smash, with its own weight, an hour or two after we had left it, and that a little boy had slidden down with it into the water without being the least injured. But again must I return to my dear father, for I must soon proceed to that event which altered the whole colouring of my early life. As far as I can remember, my father had three attacks of paralysis. After the first, he was able to walk about, and sit at table and enjoy society; after the second, his poor limbs dragged after him, his voice was altered, and he lay much on his couch in his study. But still I could lead him about occasionally. Some friend about this time lent me Mrs. Opie’s “Father and Daughter.”237 I have never read that work since, nor do I know what are its merits or demerits; this only I know, that at the time I felt it deeply, and was scarcely less affected with the first verse of Handel’s pathetic song than was poor Agnes herself. Often and often did I repeat it, though I changed some of the words. “Tears, such as tender fathers shed, Warm from his aged eyes descend For joy, to think, when he is dead, His children shall not want a friend.”238 Still, I had so little idea of my father’s danger, and my mother was under such small alarm herself, that we were planning a visit to Lord Valentia’s, for he had come back to reside a few weeks at Arley Hall previously to going abroad, under the belief that a change might do my father good. Lord Valentia, also, wished us to meet Mr. Chesney,239 who was to be there, and desired to be better acquainted with his former friends at the masquerade. We liked the thoughts of this scheme, and expected all from it which the sanguine mind of Lord Valentia had anticipated and suggested; but it was not to be—Providence had made other arrangements for us. As autumn advanced we had another serious lesson on mortality: Miss Symonds240 and her little twin sisters had been with us, and when they were to return their father fetched them in a gig. He was in his usual health when he came, but died a few days afterwards. A third attack about this time almost wholly overwhelmed my poor father’s faculties, taking away his knowledge of many things which passed even in his presence, though it left all his gentleness and benevolence as before. He still continued 123

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to say, “Yes, you dear!” when I or his other children came before him, and never expressing the slightest impatience. Dr. Salt and Dr. Hall, who was married to Dr. Salt’s sister, were with him most of this time, and surely I must then have begun to anticipate a fatal end to this illness, and yet I almost think that I did not. When the hope of others was almost gone it was proposed that Dr. Erasmus Darwin,241 the celebrated author of “The Loves of the Plants,” should be sent for from Derby, where he then resided. He had known my father from a boy, and he came, but could do nothing. I was in my father’s study, and he was lying on a sofa nearly insensible, when his former pupil, Sir Edward Winnington, came to take a last look of him. He was so deeply affected that he could not bring himself to see him again. Then followed an awful interval between the last attack and the closing scene, during which I was not permitted to see much of him. I remember, that during several evenings of that time, my brother and sister and myself walked up amongst the heights above our lovely home, always taking the same way, and talking constantly of early happy days, when our own beloved father was wont to lead his little Marten, and Mary and Lucy, through these elysian fields. Even then we hoped that he might so far recover as to enjoy again the lovely scenes nearest to the house. I once stole into the room where my father lay, though it was wished I should not; and, ah! how sad is my recollection of that farewell look. It was the room which had been our nursery, and from which he never again came out alive. In “The Reading Speeches”242 there is a short, but very sweet, account of his death, written by my brother. And there is an affecting passage, also, on this subject in the diary of my mother, written in 1796, to which I will now refer. “It was on this day last year (Sept. 29),” writes my then widowed parent, “that I last beheld my dear husband. He was lying in a state of insensibility, but his countenance was composed. He looked as if in a gentle sleep. I kissed him, and thought there was nothing terrible in death if that was all, and wished that my own might be as easy as his; and, blessed be God, it was ordained that he should endure no farther pangs. About twenty-four hours after my last adieu his spirit took its flight, and never did a more benevolent spirit quit this earthly abode to appear in the presence of its Maker. It is gone, I trust, to live with Him who is love itself. But what are the first sensations of the disembodied soul? Vain, though interesting, inquiry. The veil is impenetrable to mortal eyes, nor are any who have experienced the awful change permitted to disclose the mystery.” When my beloved father was no longer able to converse, he fixed his dim eyes on a print of our Saviour bearing his cross, and in a faltering voice he said, “It is that which now gives me comfort.” Shortly after he expired, on the 29th September, 1795. My beloved mother remained in the house at Stanford till the funeral morning; then, being unable to bear it any longer, she went to a friend’s residence near, whom she had known many years, and there spent that miserable day. 124

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Mrs. Whitcomb lived at Orleton, about two miles from Stanford: her house was behind a round fir-crowned hill, on the right hand of the road which goes up the hill by the parsonage. Dr. Hall, who could be of no farther service in the chamber of death, went with us, and after breakfast, leaving my mother with Mrs. Whitcomb, he took me and my sister out to walk. We ascended a little by one of the many woody knolls which, projecting from the range of still higher grounds, makes the crown of the valley, forming the very peculiar beauty of the country about Stanford. This knoll, or promontory, could not have been less than two miles from Stanford Church; for neither the Church nor house were seen from thence. Here we found a seat, and we proposed to rest awhile. Dr. Hall in the meantime endeavoured to beguile the weary and miserable hours by repeating some poems of Burns, which he did uncommonly well. But there we could not rest, for suddenly the deep tone of the funeral bell from Stanford struck upon our ears. We waited not another toll, but ran down into the valley beyond the little height to which we had ascended; but what words can describe what were then our feelings. When we returned that evening to our temporary home we felt that our father was then indeed gone, his place was to know him no more. It must not be forgotten, as a rare instance of affection and respect, that the principal inhabitants of Kidderminster, at the funeral sermon, hung the church with black at their own expense, and attended divine service in mourning; and to this day the elder persons there speak of him as affectionate children speak of a tender parent. “The blest remembrance of the just Smells sweet, and blossoms in the dust.”243 On the death of our father our ever-dear uncle Thomas became a father to us; and as he was then residing at his small parsonage-house at Arley, as soon as we could move he took my mother, myself, and sister there; and in that retired place my mother had time to arrange her future plans. It was not then quite two years since I had seen Arley Hall a scene of the wildest gaiety. It was now deserted, the voice of wild merriment had passed away, and an old servant or two alone resided in it. We had at the same time lost the only two families at Kidderminster with whom we had been intimate, both had gone; and Mr. Sneyd had lately died, so that his household was broken up, and his two remaining single daughters gone to live with the Edgeworths in Ireland. What a change had in a short time taken place! what a blank had spread over our prospects! And, now, where was my mother to look for a home? Sir Edward Winnington strongly recommended Worcester. She had then several friends in the College, especially Dr. Plumptree, and seven or eight years afterwards she did take apartments near the cathedral. She ought to have done so at first, and then she would have kept her daughters amongst their father’s friends, 125

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for we knew well and intimately the Dean of Worcester, who succeeded my father at Kidderminster. My mother, too, had a good income, so much indeed that she saved nearly two thousand pounds during her widowhood of about twenty years. But her shyness and timidity prevailed, and it was no doubt the will of an All-wise Providence that she should throw herself and her daughters as completely in the shade as she did, by taking a house in Bridgenorth, with no other inducement whatever than that of being near my father’s friend, Mr. Hawkins Browne. When my uncle understood her wishes respecting Bridgenorth, he rode over from Arley to look for a house there for her, and saw two which might have been had. One a respectable one, the other an old miserable cold wretched place in the High Churchyard. This latter one my mother took without seeing it, though my uncle told us its real character; but it was the cheapest of the two, and she was under great alarm about her income, lest she should not be able to answer all demands. My poor mother was so timid and nervous that she was wholly unfit for any responsibilities. But we were to keep the house at Stanford till the spring. My uncle did all that lay in his power to make us happy at Arley; and I could have been content to have lived with him there, so much did his presence add to our domestic cheerfulness. I went on with my manuscript of “Margarita” at Arley, and there wrote the death of Canon Bernardo. Our dear kind uncle walked with us every day, and I used to sit alone and play on my guitar, and weep continually; for deep, deep was the depression of our spirits. But we were not to remain at the parsonage at Arley all the winter, for I had another invitation to Bath, and my mother and sister were to spend a few weeks at Stanford Court; so we returned to Stanford at the end of the year. I have often since thought, if I were required to mark down the period of the most deep and hopeless gloom of my whole life, I should select, without question, the few weeks which intervened, in that winter, between my leaving Arley and going a second time to Bath. Before I quite conclude all record of my father, I would relate an anecdote respecting him. In the streets of London he once saw a mob gathered round a murderer, whom they had pursued and were attempting to seize. The man had placed himself in a favourable position, and, brandishing a large knife, threatened to kill the first person who touched him. My father fearlessly went to him, and ordered him to surrender himself at once; guilt makes cowards of us all; and the culprit immediately gave him his weapon and his hand. We still possess my beloved father’s portrait. The painting is by Mr. Kean,244 who succeeded, as far as it was possible, to do justice to that fire of genius and benignity of aspect which characterized his countenance. An engraving is taken from the painting, and is prefixed to the first volume of his poems. It was good for us, no doubt, to be compelled to leave dear Stanford; but though the bidding adieu to my lovely native place was agony to me, yet I most truly rejoiced when the separation was over. It was in the third week in January we all parted; my brother returned to Oxford, my mother and sister went to reside for 126

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the remainder of the winter at Stanford Court, and I travelled to Bath, in company with an old lady who was going there from her house near Stanford. At the end of the month of April my mother and my sister left Stanford, and proceeded to my kind uncle’s at Arley. My widowed parent appears to have been truly unhappy at leaving Stanford. I never witnessed in any other person, though I have often heard of it in the Swiss, such vehement attachment to a place as that ever expressed by my mother for Stanford. Even to the latest month of her life, I believe that her affections still remained fixed on that lovely spot, in which two of her children were born, and in which all spent their happy infant years. But there is scarcely any earthly tie which is not sooner or later a cause for affliction, and that affliction is probably often in proportion to the nature of the hold which the object has on the affections. The sweetest and easiest mode by which a kind Providence ever loosens these ties, is by the revelation to the heart of brighter and purer objects of affection in another world, or of the same objects which have been lost to us, and which will be restored to us there. But my mother’s views of religion, almost to the last hour of her life, were very dark and imperfect, and were permitted so to be for purposes which at present we cannot comprehend; yet what we know not now we shall know hereafter. In the meantime, whilst my mother and sister were at Stanford, and during the first part of their visit at Arley, I was absent from home with my godmother, at Bath, in the same house which she had occupied the year before; but not with the same lively pleasant family, but with another, who were lodging in the same house as herself—the widow and son of a Dr. Comber, who is somewhere recorded as an intimate friend of Bishop Warburton’s. My godmother was at first very intimate with the lady and her son, and, being pleased to see me, she did her best to make me intimate with them also; but, before I had been with my godmother long, she quarrelled with them, and became jealous of me, being offended if any one noticed me. I had no choice but to stay with her, and bear all her treatment of me, which went on from bad to worse, as I do not doubt she was slightly deranged, or to go back to Stanford, which last I had the greatest possible dread of doing. There is no single trait of character which I remember of myself, at that time, which gives me any idea of my being unlike any other young person of ordinary feelings and decent outward semblance. I was certainly placed in a very unfavourable position at Bath; but had I had a proper feeling I ought not to have been there at all. I ought to have remained at Stanford, to console and assist my mother; but I did as most girls would do under the same circumstances—I fled from the present and most dreaded evil, the bitter associations and remembrances always arising before me at Stanford, to a state of more cheerfulness indeed, but of far greater danger at Bath. Parents cannot be too careful of the persons with whom they entrust their children, and there could scarcely have been, on many accounts, a more unfit woman with whom to entrust a girl, among persons accounted decent, than my poor 127

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godmother. I cannot, however, look on myself at that period as being under any other good influence than that of certain honourable, worldly habits, and kindly natural feelings. I thought at that time much, very much, of my beloved father recently dead, and felt how much his absence from our domestic circle would add gloom to that which occasionally I had already felt deeply sad. I used often then to awake in the night, weeping bitterly for my loss. This feeling was no doubt a preservation to me, keeping me up where I had little else to support me. Yet wherefore should I say this? Should I deny that Divine power which so often leads the step of thoughtless and selfish youth in safety through many a dark and dangerous path, in which, otherwise, his hopes must infallibly perish? Of all the unnumbered kindnesses of Providence, none are greater, or more affecting in the recollection, than those which we received ere yet a light from above had shone on our hearts. Why should I scruple to acknowledge, that it was a Divine power which preserved me from any imprudence in this peculiarly unpropitious situation? I was separated at this time, at Bath, from the respectable friends whom I had made the year before, and who would have kept me out of danger: I am referring to the Warners and their associates, all people of distinction. It is true, they were still kind; but my godmother was tired of them. She also was beginning to be heartily tired of me, and I of her; for the incessant quarrels which she carried on with every one, after a short acquaintance, not only weaned me, but made me reckless as it affected my wish to please. I soon discovered that it was all a chance whether what I did met with her approbation or not, and I e’en left it to chance. She might be pleased or otherwise, I did not care; and now I think I must have made myself very unamiable. Being in deep mourning, I never went into public: in all respects, therefore, Bath was an altered place to me to what it had been the year before. I felt especially the change in the letters sent to me from Stanford, once my beloved home and now the grave of my father. My sister, the year before, had sent me in a frank245 a few of the earliest violets from our sweet southern bank, but she had no heart this year to renew this childlike caprice; still the utmost unhappiness which I suffered then at Bath was nothing in my mind in comparison of what I dreaded in returning to Stanford. I was sometimes, at any rate, amused, though provoked, by the singularities of my godmother. She always insisted upon it, whenever she had a quarrel, that she must meet the other party and talk the matter over. She called these discussions “éclarisments;”246 and one day in particular, I remember, she asked me to accompany her in a walk to some of the then new buildings above the Royal Crescent. As she went along, she told me that she was bound on a visit to two old ladies, ancient acquaintances of hers, with whom she had a quarrel years before. They were just come to Bath, and she was resolved to have an “éclarisment.” I told her I thought it might be better to pay the visit without seeking the “éclarisment.” Of course she would not listen to me, and away we trudged; for she was a rapid and indefatigable walker. 128

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We arrived at the house, were introduced, and kindly received; and all would have been well, had not my godmother rubbed up the story, and demanded an explanation. Instantly we were all in a flame; the two old ladies blazed up on one side and my godmother on the other, and, after sundry sharp remarks and severe retorts, we trotted back again. All the comfort which I gave my old lady being quietly to remind her, that I had told her how it would be if she persisted in demanding the “éclarisment” she desired. My time for remaining at Bath at length wore away; but my mother was still unsettled. She had hardly left Stanford, to go to Arley, when my godmother proposed a journey to Oxford and London. At Oxford she was to see my brother, to stay a few days, and visit the colleges, and from thence she was to go to the Metropolis. She proposed my accompanying her in this journey, and the proposal pleased me. Of course, I was well aware, that although the old lady was at times utterly tormenting, yet that there was probably more disease than actual unkindness in her very unpleasant conduct. I also knew so much of her, as to be assured that she would be good-humoured and cheerful so long as we were moving. It was fine weather, I remember, when we left Bath in a post-chaise for Oxford; but we made two days’ journey of it, sleeping at some pretty country inn by the way. My godmother was a pleasant travelling companion in a post-chaise; because, when she once felt herself set in motion, she began to tell stories; which stories, if they had no other merit, were graphic, circumstantial, and sufficiently seasoned with envy, hatred, and malice, to give them a relish to the unregenerate mind. I have no recollection where we went to at Oxford, but we had rooms bespoken at a principal inn, and were received by my dear brother, then a student of Christ Church. He came, all joy, to meet his sister, and before he had been in the room many minutes he presented me with an elegant pocket Testament. I had for many weeks past been associated with a young gentleman who was an avowed infidel, and he had so far prevailed, mixing up his poisonous principles with much flattery, that I had almost begun to hear him, at least, without indignation; but this one simple gift, so kindly and unsuspectingly tendered from my ever-dear Marten, undid at once all the mischief which had been done by the infidel at Bath. Though I have forgotten a thousand circumstances of my visit to Oxford, I can never forget the feelings with which I received that present. Oh, I thought, if that sweet brother could have the slightest suspicion of the conversations which his sister has lately harkened to, of the books which she has lately read, of the utter carelessness of religion, to say the least, in which she has lately lived, what would he think? how would he be pained? and my father, I thought, my beloved father, could he but know how his daughter had fallen, what would he feel? With these divinely-gifted thoughts I retired to my room, and wept most bitterly. I was, however, rather relieved when I left Oxford, and found myself once again in a post-chaise with my godmother. We found M. and Madame St. Q****, my 129

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old tutor at Reading, residing in town, where they had a small boarding-school. They had obtained lodgings for us a few doors distant, but we were to take our meals with them. They received us with the utmost affection, and as M. St. Q**** was a remarkably agreeable man, and as a stranger was always liked by my travelling companion, he became such a prime favourite that she admitted him without hesitation into her confidence, told him all her family affairs, and sought his advice on several occasions. Of course this pleased me well, and I began to feel myself more at home than I had been for some months. I know not how long I was in London at that time; but, judging from events which then took place, it seems as if it must have been a very long time, though it really could not have been more than a month or six weeks. It was at this time that I again saw my cousin Henry Sherwood, after having been parted from him in my 13th year at Kidderminster, of which more in the sequel. But my stay with my godmother having at last arrived at its conclusion, I went to Arley, but remained there only a few days. Thence I proceeded with my mother and sister to our house at Bridgenorth, where were two female servants come from Stanford, and part of our furniture. We had not raised our expectations very high, but we were by no means prepared for the comfortless abode which had been taken by our mother without being seen by her; for had she carefully selected a place which should more decidedly contrast with the far-famed and lovely parsonage of Stanford, I think that she could hardly have succeeded better than she did in choosing this house, the centre one of three standing in the High Churchyard of Bridgenorth. I was, however, so entirely ignorant of my mother’s circumstances, that I took it for granted that ten pounds a year more for a house was a matter of consequence, and that the very strict economy which she adopted as soon as my father died was fully necessary; and my sister, of course, had the same ideas. My grandfather Sherwood had left me sufficient money, the interest of which at five per cent. I had for my own expenditure, so therefore I had no need to ask my mother for money, and my sister had the same allowance. We arrived, I recollect, at our new house on the Saturday, and on the Sunday my dear mother thus writes:—“May 29th, 1796. Yesterday we had a safe journey to this our new abode, but we do not like it better than before we arrived; but let us look up unto Thee for consolation, let us make no hasty, no rash decisions. A year ago, he whom I have lost thought not that death was approaching with hasty strides; if it is so, why then, oh my soul, this vain and eager anxiety for the dwelling-place of a moment? Could he look down from the habitations of those blessed spirits of whose happy number he is now, I trust, one; and were he permitted to advise me, who am caring about such a trifle as to where I am to pass the remaining part of my allotted time, would he not urge me rather to bestow my anxiety upon the manner in which I am to spend this allotted time? Would he not say, ‘My Martha, these are golden hours: on these depend your future rank in the scale of beings;’ the righteous shall shine as the stars in the firmament,247 and the righteous are resigned to the will of their heavenly Father, and repine not at their 130

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lot. Their only aim is to become more virtuous; and if virtue IS TO BE PERFECTED BY

SUFFERING, THEY SUFFER GLADLY.”

Thus my dear mother endeavoured to find consolation in religious thoughts; and though I think she was much mistaken as to what the redeemed spirit of my father would have said to her, had it been consistent with the Divine plan that such intercourse as she imagined should have passed between her and her departed husband, yet, can there be a doubt that the Divine Spirit was with her when she wrote these reflections, though she still dwelt in much and great darkness? I have little or no recollection of what I myself thought, or felt, or said, or did at that time. And is it so, that the vain thoughts of the unregenerate child of Adam pass away from the memory and utterly perish, like the dreams of the night, which fly before the morning, and that the individual only begins really to live when the new and Divine nature is imparted? But it certainly has struck me with force, that in the early parts of my youth, where I have no journal to direct me, though I can recall many, many facts, I cannot remember much of anything of what I thought or how I felt on such and such occasions. Of the first period of my residence at Bridgenorth I have a general recollection of being extremely dissatisfied, of having quite a horror of the house, and feeling excessively depressed by our mode of living. This feeling, however, gradually went off, and I began to see that there were some pretty walks, some pleasant scenes, even in Shropshire. Many kind people called upon us, some of whom I remember with strong feelings of affection after the lapse of many years. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins Browne were among the first of those who came to see us at Bridgenorth, and they sent for us before the end of June, to spend some days with them at Badger, the effects of which visit was to make us all less contented with our home on our return. The kindness of this family continued unchanged to the end. It is, I imagine, not in the course of nature for young unbroken spirits to comprehend the feelings of those who are in troubles, such as were those of my widowed mother. When I look back upon former days I cannot exonerate myself from a degree of very blameable negligence in this respect. We are apt to think, whilst a friend is still living with us, that our conduct towards him is not only blameless, but even praiseworthy; but when that friend is gone, how do we look upon our past conduct? It is then, when too late, that our offences often rise up to memory, to add bitterness to our regrets. These recollections are most salutary, as they tend to the destruction of self-righteous imaginations, and, by their oft-repeated warnings, induce domestic peace. My brother was with us this summer, during the long vacation. His visit made us happy; he walked with us, instructed me in botany, and persuaded me to learn Greek. He taught me the verbs when walking out, and put me at once into Homer, and I continued the study till I had read the first six books. This same summer we had visits from our cousins Thomas Butt and Henry Sherwood. This was the first visit of the latter to his aunt since he had grown up. Mrs. Hawkins Browne also indulgently took me to the races and to the ball 131

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afterwards, probably by way of giving me a sort of introduction to the society of the neighbourhood. Towards the end of September all our young visitors had dropped off. The fine weather had passed away, and we were left to anticipate a mournful winter, and to grieve over the change which one year had wrought in our prospects. I have reason, on reflection, to suppose that we were none of us then in a state to make the family circle cheerful; my dear mother’s temperament was too highwrought, and she kept her daughters in too great awe, even for her own happiness. But my sister and myself were very much drawn together at this time. We became more and more attached to each other, and this attachment continued till we were forced asunder by inevitable circumstances. We were together for hours every day, and had a favourite walk in a retired lane which ran parallel with the Severn. At that period I was busy with “Margarita,” and my head in consequence full of romantic imagery; my sister, too, must write, though I remember not what. We therefore had a little world of ideas of our own, which employed much of our time when we had leisure for conversation. This manner of going on, however, with the very little exercise we gave ourselves of talking on common matters, kept both our minds in a state of great backwardness as to our knowledge of common things. So that, even when I married—and I did not marry very early—I was singularly ignorant of life. Nearly about this time we were engaged by the curate of the Low Church at Bridgenorth to take the charge of his Sunday School. The life we were leading was vastly too inactive for our spirits; our Sundays had been particularly painful to us; and here was a something to be done, a bustle and parade, a change, and an object; and we most gladly undertook the affair. We certainly did it thoroughly, that is, as far as we knew how to do it; and we attended the school so diligently on the Sunday, that the parents brought the children in crowds, and we were obliged to stop short when each of us had about thirty-five girls, and the old schoolmaster as many boys. We made bonnets and tippets248 for our girls; we walked with them to church; we looked them up in the week-days; we were vastly busy; we were first amused and next deeply interested. Providence thus supplied us with a healthful exercise, and we should both be truly ungrateful to our heavenly Father if we do not humbly thank him for making our work not only useful to others, but instrumental in the improvement of our own souls. Sunday Schools then were comparatively new things,249 so that our attentions were more valued then than they would be now-adays. Thus terminated the year 1797.

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CHAPTER X. THE SHERWOOD FAMILY—OUR OLD PRAYER-BOOK, BELONGING TO THE WHITTINGHAMS— MY COUSIN HENRY’S HISTORY. THE journey to visit my godmother was one of many events to me; for, when in London, I again saw my cousin Henry Sherwood, after having been parted from him in my thirteenth year at Kidderminster. Henry came to us at Bridgenorth in the winter of 1797. His history is a most curious one. I will repeat it here, though I have, I think, occasionally spoken of my uncle and his family, as circumstances called forth. My grandfather Henry Sherwood was a merchant of the firm of Sherwood and Reynolds. He married twice, and his second lady, who brought him no family, was a Miss Wedgewood. The first wife, my grandmother, was a Miss Martha Ashcroft; and through her we are descended from the good old family of Whittingham, of Whittingham Hall, Lancashire. One of its members, William Whittingham, in 1550 was obliged to seek refuge abroad in Queen Mary’s time, and there he married the sister of Calvin.250 In the reign of Elizabeth this Whittingham was made Dean of Durham. We always thought a great deal of this Whittingham connexion; and the daughters of the family, out of compliment, I have been taught, to the sister of Calvin, considered it incumbent upon them not to disgrace the relationship. My youngest daughter Sophia now possesses an old prayer-book of 1709, which has belonged to five females of our family before marriage. I myself am the fourth, and it was an harmless fancy of mine to desire that one of my daughters should possess this relic as an incentive for action. This child being the one that has shown most inclination for using her pen, has therefore, though the youngest, been selected by me to hand down the prayer-book to future daughters of our house. It contains the following, in five handwritings:— Mary Whittinghams Book. Martha Ashcroft Ejus Liber. Anno Domini 1745. Martha Sherwood. Febr ye 19th, 1769. 133

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Mary Martha Butt, May 8th, 1803. Sophia Sherwood. May 8th, 1836. In my mother’s writing, in the middle page, are these words:—“This was my grandmother’s book before she married. She came of a family remarkable for the piety of its females, as I have been informed. May God continue this gift to her descendants. “M. Butt.” My grandfather had two children by his first lady, Henry and Martha, the latter my mother. The son married early in life, and his wife died at, or immediately after, the birth of her second child, the little Margaret, who visited us at Stanford. From early youth my uncle Henry was a constant source of anxiety to his family, and on his adopting revolutionary opinions, which, sad to say, he did, I fear, solely from a spirit of opposition to his father, who was a strong supporter of government during the American war,251 the discord between them became so great, that my uncle went over to France to join the revolutionary party there, my grandfather retaining the children in his possession, which he had power to do, as my uncle was dependant upon him for his pecuniary resources. My grandfather Sherwood, however, died in 1790, and my uncle now sent for his son Henry, and placed him at school in a monastery, where the monks could not understand him or he them. My uncle purchased a very large and newly-built Benedictine Abbey, at St. Vallery, on the Somme, near Abbeville, which the family entered before winter, and when my cousin Henry was taken there he was thoroughly left to himself and his own guidance. He was about thirteen, when one day, as he was sawing some wood for firing, most unexpectedly an English gentleman stood beside him. This gentleman was a solicitor, who had been sent by our grandfather’s executor to remonstrate against the neglect of my cousin’s education, and, if possible, to remove him at once to England, as the possessor of a property of some thousands left between him and his sister; as his grandfather, having been displeased with his son’s conduct, had passed him over for the children of the first marriage. My uncle, however, was on this very account only more desirous to keep his son in his own house, charging for his board, &c., and poor little Margaret was unhappily, on account of the same reason, at once removed from school at Coventry, and taken by her father to St. Vallery. Sad to add, the stepmother who had taken upon herself the parent’s duty, and who was also first cousin of their own mother, and a lady of property, was so incensed at the grandfather’s bequests, that she never would admit either of the children again willingly into her presence; she had taken possession of the Prior’s room, and seldom went out of it, and those who wished to see her must see her there. My cousin Henry being now more neglected than before, sought out amusement for himself. He soon found a kind friend in a gardener, who kept a garden for his father about a quarter of a mile from the town; 134

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and soon French became so much his language, that he no longer even thought in English. After a while my uncle bought a share in an old worm-eaten brig252 of 200 tons. I believe he did it to patronize the captain, and my cousin, no doubt, as any active boy of thirteen would do, took to it at once. Then, changing from working in the garden—for he could not be idle—he passed his time in daubing his hands, as he himself termed it, in tar and pitch, and in rowing and sailing about the estuary of the Somme from morning till night. That mode of life continued all the winter and till the spring. On the 22nd of July the brig, with its captain, officers, and men, amongst which set was my cousin, sailed from St. Vallery, and then he first learnt the difference between a ship at anchor and one under weigh.253 Their destined port was Marseilles; but Henry was not permitted to reach it without undergoing some of the mortifications and annoyances all landsmen encounter before they are considered good sailors. For instance, Mount Atlas, on the African coast, was pointed out to him by the captain as the “Mountain of Monkies,” and a looking glass was given him, by which he said he might perchance see one of them. Again, having no money to save himself from being “christened,” as the French sailors call it, Mount Atlas and the Rock of Gibraltar being the sponsors for the occasion, he was placed in a tub, and water was poured down his back, and down each sleeve, with a common funnel. A bucketful was thrown over his head, and thus the christening terminated, the captain becoming responsible for certain payments. And truly Henry was a young philosopher, for he comforted himself with the reflection that he was well content that the ceremony was gone through in August, as he would rather not wait for it till January. On the 22nd of August a pilot, who went on board to take them into Marseilles, informed them of the dreadful massacre at Paris on the 10th,254 and shortly afterwards they passed the fort of St. John’s, where the Duchess of Orleans and two of her sons were then confined. I shall now quote the journal of my cousin, which I got him to write for me on his return to England. HENRY’S JOURNAL, WRITTEN IN

1797.

“The appearance of the city and harbour of Marseilles is very fine, and much pleased me. On returning to our brig on the Sunday, on which day I had been to see the chapel of Nôtre Dame, whilst walking about the streets, at the corner of one of them, I fell in with a mob, dragging with them certain unfortunate persons, whom these wretches were going to murder in the fury of their democratic zeal. “One of these doomed men was so tall that his head appeared clearly above those of the populace; he had no covering on it, and was otherwise dressed like a sportsman, in a short shooting-jacket and spatterdashes.255 He was pale, but looked with contempt on the crowd around. I followed this mob without knowing what they were about. I saw a man let down a lamp which hung from a rope suspended across the street. Having taken down the lamp, they hung their prisoner in cool 135

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blood with the same rope, fastening him to the place from whence they had taken the lamp. It was a dreadful sight; but when I would have fled, the people caught me by the arm and detained me. I was afterwards afraid to attempt to get away. They hung another of their prisoners (whose name I heard was Vasque) by the feet, and afterwards cut him down, opened his body, and dragged it round the city, singing and dancing in their mad and cruel excitement, as they followed the mutilated and mangled form. As soon as I could get away unobserved, I fled to the brig, and in my way saw several bodies hanging to the lamp-cords, the frequent cry on these occasions being, ‘À la lanterne! à la lanterne!’256 It was my intention to return no more to the shore at Marseilles. But soon after this the men made some complaint, it seems, to the authorities on shore; and as the doctrine of equality was now the order of the day, these powers in authority decided against the captain. The sailors making a party matter of it, all deserted and left the brig, none remaining on board with the captain excepting the mate, myself, and another boy. It was whilst we still lay in the harbour we three, without the aid of the captain, who remained on shore, took down all the rigging, tarred it, and put it up again. As this was very hard work, my hands being ingrained with tar, they became dreadfully swelled. However, the work being finished, I was sent on shore to look for the captain. I stayed on shore a few days, and had an opportunity of being at the play every evening. The acting was very good, and the entrance-money very small; indeed, a person might almost go in for nothing. “One day, whilst I was employed in my office of cook, on board the brig—for it must be remembered how few we were on board—I heard a noise in the streets, and recognised the sound of English oaths. I hastened out, and found a drunken English sailor quarrelling with the towns-people. He either could not or would not understand a word spoken by the persons who were trying to pacify him, upon which I addressed him in English; he suddenly turned round upon me and said, ‘Who are you?’ I answered, ‘An English boy.’ ‘What!’ he said, ‘and serving the French? You little renegade, leave these French rascals immediately and return to England.’ “He then left us, and two or three days afterwards I met him again. ‘You are the little English boy,’ he said, ‘who spoke to me the other day. I warn you to leave this city immediately; if you remain a fortnight longer you will see the blood running up to your knees in the streets.’ He told me that he belonged to an English brig bound for Smyrna, then lying in the harbour. He said that the ship was employed to carry valuable goods belonging to people of consequence from the town, and that they had chests of dollars sunk in the mud of the harbour at the ship’s head. I did not believe him, for I could not suppose that such a man would be intrusted with a secret of this kind. I have since had reason to be assured that he told nothing but the truth. “I have omitted to say that the brig in which I had come to Marseilles was called l’Etoile Mignon.257 “Our captain, finding that he could not obtain a freightage at Marseilles, proceeded from thence to Cette, which place lies at the end of the Gulf of Lyons, 136

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thirty leagues from Marseilles, and as he sailed out of the harbour we were aware that the citizens were attacking Fort St. Nicholas,258 which act may be said to be the beginning, or first overt act of rebellion of the revolutionists in that part of France. All the time I was at Marseilles, however, the town was in a dreadful state, and scarcely a day passed in which some person was not put to death by the mob. The sufferers were often tried, and acquitted after execution;—that is, they lost their lives first, and were pardoned afterwards. It was at Marseilles where I first saw the guillotine: it was carried about the streets in procession, whilst the populace sang the Marseillois hymn with enthusiasm:— ‘To arms, Citizens! Form your batallions. With impure blood Let us steep our furrows. Let us fill the gutters with the blood of the Aristocrats.’259 “Such was the substance of the hymn, that was quite new at that time. I have seen the people, who considered it their own national anthem, fall on their knees in the streets, with clasped hands, and with all the semblance of the greatest devotion, crying aloud, ‘Liberté! Liberté chèrie!’260 At the theatre the actors invariably knelt every evening, and affected to address Liberty as a divinity. “On sailing out of the port of Marseilles we were becalmed all night. Towards morning we were set free by a gulf, that is, a sea-breeze, and, going at the rate of ten knots an hour, we reached Cette in nine hours. We had scarcely got into the port before the wind increased to a hurricane, and we were in alarm all night. There is a strong current running through the harbour, which makes it the more dangerous. The waves rushed actually clear over the pier into the harbour. Had we been a few hours later we must have perished, for we could not have lain safe anywhere in this cul de sac261 of a bay, or found our way into the harbour, the pier being hidden by the waves. At eight o’clock in the morning of the next day a curious circumstance occurred. I was coming out of the cabin, and saw a small ship, called a Tartan262 in those seas, just entering the harbour; she came safe in, as if by a miracle, and, when within, such a shout was set up by her crew and the people on shore as made me thrill. A little more than an hour afterwards another vessel appeared, with English colours hoisted, for quarantine. Our captain scarcely had time to exclaim, ‘She is lost!’ before she struck, being so close to us that we could have thrown a stone on board of her. She was without, and we within the harbour, and the waves cast her high on the rock. She fell on her side, but, to our great wonder, there she remained, as if fixed, as was the case, for it seems she had struck on the very point of the rock. And there she was, actually hanging exposed to the incessant beating of the waves, which rolled over and almost covered her. We might almost have reached her bowsprit, under the lea of the rock. An English boat did succeed in getting very near her, and received her crew, but was taken by a heavy sea and swamped. The sailors saved themselves on a rock, in the middle 137

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of the harbour, and there remained till the storm was over, for neither French nor Danes, several of which last were in the harbour, would venture near them, probably on account of the quarantine flag which had been in their ship. The wind and sea, however, calmed towards evening, and before night the gulf was as quiet as a mill-pond. I have heard it said that the Gulf of Lyons is very subject to these sudden storms. “At Cette, in Languedoc, we took in a cargo of brandy and wine, also a Savoyard lad, and replaced one of the sailors left at Marseilles by an Englishman. On the 4th of January, 1793, we had a heavy fall of snow, which was considered very uncommon. It must be recollected that the English were still in high favour, not the slightest appearance of any disagreement between the nations being manifest. But still affairs were on such a delicate footing with all parties, that when I made a mistake in reversing the colours of the ship, at the taking of Mons, our captain was in a most dreadful alarm. “I could clearly see that both he and the mate were not pleased with the present state of affairs. We sailed from Cette on the 9th of January, in company with a brig bound for Dieppe, and it was agreed to keep in company, for the talk was that both vessels were not seaworthy. “It blew hard when we sailed, and during the night and the next morning the brig made signals of distress, and, on our going to inquire, we found she had sprung a leak, and was making water fast. All hands were at the pump, and her captain begged us to remain by her. The vessel made but little way, and could carry but little sail; hence we moved but slowly along the shores of Catalonia, so that we had a fine view from Cape Rosa to Barcelona, which port our companion entered; but we proceeded, though we approached the harbour’s mouth before we left her. The city had a fine appearance from the sea, with a fortified hill on the left. The weather was very warm. On the next day we had a fair wind, and we were in hopes of being at St. Vallery by the Feast of St. Blaise;263 but the wind increasing to a storm, with a high sea, and with little sail set, we were obliged to cross the Gulf of Valentia. The wind, however, becoming fair, we were running nearly ten miles an hour, when, about twelve o’clock at night, it being quite dark, the Savoyard boy screamed out, ‘A sail!’ We had scarcely time to be alarmed before a bowsprit appeared hanging over our poop, and glided by us, only striking our quarter, though it left its jib-boom on board, being caught in some of our rigging. All the ornaments, however, of the stern, on the starboard side, were knocked off, and we sailors took up pieces of the splinters, to preserve as a memorial of the accident, and I kept mine through a great many troubles. “What vessel it was, or what nation it belonged to, we never knew. A shout was raised by both the crews, and she was past in an instant. “Nothing of any note then occurred till we reached Gibraltar, sailing so near to Europa Point that we saw the sentry, and had to pass through a Portuguese fleet cruising against the Algerines. We soon perceived the rough motion of the Atlantic. Our vessel was heavily laden, and very deep in the water, so we could not carry much sail, and were obliged to drift away to the westward. The seams of the 138

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deck being so open, that the water dripped through, and my berth was perfectly wet, I had not a dry change for twenty-one days. The weather was very heavy as we neared the Bay of Biscay, and at length we lay to, whilst all hands made themselves as snug as possible, the hatchways being fastened down. When any one went below, he was obliged to watch an opportunity. It was not till the end of twenty-one days the wind fell, and we entered the Channel. By this time the fête of St. Blaise was past, and we had had our dance. This dance was connected with some Romish festival kept at St. Vallery, but what it was I forget. “I very much suspect that our captain was a very ignorant person, and I believe that the French captains at that time were generally so. About the north of the Bristol Channel we saw a large ship, apparently English. We made signals, and hoisted our colours;264 but so far from noticing us she made all sail possible. The captain was very angry, and said he had never known the English so uncourteous before; but when this vessel had passed out of sight, for some cause the captain was alarmed. All hands were kept on deck throughout the night. It was Shrove Tuesday, and early in the morning we fell in with many fishing-boats, and found ourselves very unexpectedly high up the Channel opposite Fecamp in Normandy. On hailing the first fishing-boat we were told this, and further, that France was at war with all the world. ‘What! with England?’ we asked. ‘Yes, with England,’ was the reply. Nothing was now thought of by us but safety. A bold, high cliff appeared a few miles off: this was above Fecamp, called Point d’Enfer. We steered for the harbour, and soon entered. What a curious scene then ensued, with congratulations of our escape from the enemy! All the town seemed on the quay pulling at the tow-rope to get us into the harbour, as if we had an enemy close at hand. Such a gabble was there that no one could hear himself speak. But the day was fine, and almost a dead calm, so no damage happened, though we did bump against the pier by mere force of the hauling. Scarcely had we been secured to the quay when the sailors jumped on shore; the mate endeavoured to prevent them until all the sails were secured, but the lowest was now the highest in the scuffle. The mate was beaten and covered with blood, and was carried away to prison for daring to show authority. “Our voyage was now over, and that evening I left Fecamp by diligence, and I can only recollect that I had a horse from some place to Rouen, and the next day I went to Dieppe, from that to Eu, and then in a baker’s cart to St. Vallery, where I arrived on the 22nd February, 1793. “My father and family were, to all appearance, as I had left them. The poor people of St. Vallery did not, as yet, show any excitement. They hoped the war would soon be over, and were in a degree kind to us; but the old priest had been changed, and the new vicar had sworn to obey the Nation, the Law, and the King. I was, on my return to St. Vallery, about sixteen years old, and I suppose was rather more observing than youths of my age usually are, probably from the unfortunate circumstance of my situation; for two most heavy troubles soon began to press upon the whole family, and one particularly on myself. The first was the cutting off of all communication with England, and a consequent want of money, which 139

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the rising spirit of political dissension, which had now advanced to our town, rendered alarming; for the war had closed the port, and the sailors were unemployed, or sent to the fleet against their will, for which our country, poor England, was blamed as the cause. The second, which distressed me particularly, was the habits of the family; my father was wholly given up to politics, and my step-mother, probably being in a state of alarm, never left her chamber, once the Prior’s room, and hence was never seen by me, as I never was allowed to visit her there. After a while my father was induced, he said, though I think he was compelled by the authorities, to remove further from the coast. He appeared to go voluntarily, as if he was called to Paris; but he really only went to a little village between Abbeville and Amiens. He did not seem to wish that I should go with him; and as it chanced that a poor old washerwoman called Toinette offered to take me in for a while, in hopes, no doubt, of a remuneration at the peace, I accepted her offer, for I wished to stay at St. Vallery, as its retired situation was such that the enrolling men for the land service had not reached it. Had they done so I must have chosen between that and the sea service; for though I was nominally attached to a gunboat, as the vessel was not built there was no immediate call upon me for duty. But still I thought peace could not be far off, and so I did not much distress myself at the state of affairs. Picture me then, living on cabbage soup, sleeping in an out-house, my clothes worn out and extremely shabby, but still all gay and easy, acting in the character of a National Guard; for I was called one, though I had no uniform, and had no duty, but parading and firing with a company of artillery. I had myself almost forgotten I was English, and thus months passed with no apparent change, excepting in my attire, which became worse from day to day; and now I had to tie on my shoes with pieces of packthread,265 and my only coat, an old black one of my father’s, was pronounced past repair. By-the-by, the tailor’s bill for turning this same was presented to and paid by me somewhere about the year 1820. “I have an indistinct recollection, too, of a red collar to this black coat, as a temporary uniform. “September, however, came, and by this time all the English had become suspected people, so that a decree of the Convention passed, commanding their imprisonment. This decree had probably been some time in operation before it found me out; but about the end of September I was arrested. In those days, if not now, the French were fond of effect; they had solemn fêtes, oath-takings, meetings of all kinds, plantings of trees of liberty, and processions of all sorts; and such an occasion as the taking of us English to prison could not be passed over without a scene. So I was paraded through the town, with a drum beating before me, my arms (I believe as a joke) tied with a hay-band,266 whilst two gens d’armes267 walked one on each side of me, with drawn swords in their hands. As to myself, I was half laughing, half crying, for my old companions treated it as a good joke, and they probably would have done the same if I had been going to be hanged. After me came my young sister, aged fourteen, supported by an old servant of the family; for, beside us two, there were only two young English girls in the town— the nieces of a brewer, who had spent some time in England, and married their 140

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aunt. These young ladies came under the decree of imprisonment, and my sister and myself were marched to their abode; but one must have seen the procession to describe it, for it resembled nothing I can think of so much as the procession at the Fête Dieu.268 These two last young ladies, probably on account of their French connexion, were not made to walk as prisoners, but the officers on duty simply gave them notice that they must prepare to go to prison. “The uncle, however, very naturally remonstrated, and made a speech to the officer in command, to which he returned a courteous answer. I began to think that we should all be released; and most probably we should, only that we were necessary for the procession, and it having been begun it must go on. So, having perambulated the town, singing ‘Ca ira,’269 my sister and myself were taken to the house of the Municipality, which we reached about twelve o’clock in the morning. The Municipality had now so far obeyed the decree of the Convention, that they had arrested us, but it seemed that they knew not what further to do, and so they went to dinner, leaving us in the hall, under the charge of a gens d’arme. Although they were hungry, and were satisfying their appetites, they had no thought of us, but the gens d’arme was kind enough to give Margaret some bread. As there was no proper prison in St. Vallery, but merely a dungeon, or cage, under an old gateway, we were after dinner ordered to Abbeville, the chief town of the district, and a deputation of members of the Municipality, with the Secretary, went to my lodgings and pretended to seal up all my effects, papers, &c. These last merely consisted of a few memorandums and a book on navigation, and some few old clothes, which I might have taken with me, but my friend the gens d’arme persuaded me to leave them in his possession until I returned, which both he and I thought would be immediately. But we were both mistaken. St. Vallery is between ten and twelve miles from Abbeville, and we were ordered to march on foot, which my young sister, then about fourteen, said she was unable to do; she was, however, simply told that she must try. It is true the gens d’arme went out to endeavour to procure a horse, but proved unsuccessful, and we were obliged to set off. “It was past five o’clock before we had reached half way, and we were both exhausted, for I had not eaten anything, and my sister had only the bit of bread which our guard had given her; but providentially, at this point, when Margaret could go no further, M. De Latrè, uncle of the two English ladies, who had been left behind, sent a horse after us, which now overtook us, and on which they placed my sister. It was soon quite dark. I could scarcely crawl on to Abbeville, where we were taken to the office of the district, to the Procureur Syndic, who had some knowledge of me, and upon my telling him that I had no food nor money, he gave an order to the concierge at the Hôtel St. Blimond to provide us with both. He promised also that he would speak to M. Picot about us. This M. Picot had been a tailor; he was a little, upright, active, fidgety man, remarkably like Sir George Prevost in the face. It was said of him that he had formerly been famed for his religious devotion; but now he was a Jacobin,270 enragé,271 an infidel, with great professions of devotion to his country and hatred to Pitt and all tyrants. Our 141

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friend the gens d’arme took us to the Hôtel St. Blimond, an hotel of an emigré, situated in the Place d’Arme, and there delivered us over to the concierge, and we were turned in to walk about the court-yard for some time, till, seeing a light, I opened a door, and there I found several persons sitting before a peat fire, in a kind of shed or kitchen. Amongst these persons were some men on guard, who received a certain sum every day, which was levied from the prisoners, by way of relieving the poor wretches from absolute poverty. These men were more directly before the fire, whilst at a little distance were some Englishmen, occupied with cards, round a butcher’s block, which served for a table. Bricks, piled on each other, were the only seats visible; but there were some old pikes placed rather prominently against the wall, and called the arms of the guard, though their use was chiefly for poking the fire, and these were the only articles of furniture of the guard-room. “One Englishman, whom I afterwards found out to have been a smuggler from Boulogne, by name Johnson, addressed me, asking if I was a countryman, and on my answering that I was, he informed me, in English, that he had been in the house a fortnight already, that no care was taken of him, and that, though the old guard kept the door shut, yet every window in the house was left unguarded. Our rooms, he added, were many, but they had no kind of furniture, not even straw, so that they had to lay on the bare floor. They had little or no food allowed, and no prisoner knew what was to happen to him. “I had got my letter to the concierge, who gave me some food, and continued so to do for some days. All the clothes I could get were on my back, but I had taken the precaution of putting on two shirts. “The letter which I had got from the Procureur Syndic272 was for my sister as well as myself, so, at her own request, she was taken among the females, and, as she wished to pass for French altogether, she kept from the English, and in consequence I saw very little of her, very little indeed, for she seemed completely overpowered with her situation. The other English young women, many of whom had been placed as boarders in convents, associated much together, and, after some time, I was admitted into a kind of countryman’s familiarity with them all. But to go back a while, as I said, I was fed by the concierge, and my food was much the same as old Toinette had given me at St. Vallery, cabbage and sorrel soup, and a thick slice of black bread, with a baked pear, or something of that kind; I did not care, and was not nice,273 and so far I got on tolerably well. But the time for washing arrived, and I made my first essay upon a handkerchief. I borrowed a bowl and began; but, alas! I had no soap, and it would not come clean. I was hard at work, scrubbing and rubbing, but I made no advance, when two young English girls, who had been in a convent (one now a Mrs. Lock, of Birmingham), observed me, and laughed most heartily. We struck up an acquaintance from that moment, and somehow they helped me to some soap, I forget how, and they taught me how to get on better with my washing. The food which I had from the concierge was soon withdrawn; for the other English who were in poverty mentioned my case, and applied for the same indulgence. This brought out a regulation, that each poor 142

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English person should have one pound of mixed bread per diem. This mixed bread was very dark, but whether from the bran, or from a compound of rye, I forget, but it was very sour. In this our house of detention, as it was called, there were about fifty English, and in the upper rooms, where was my sister, one hundred nuns. The property belonged to the Marquis of St. Blimond,274 an emigré nobleman, and, as I before said, fear alone kept us confined there, for there was no obstacle to our getting out, though we had part of a troop of cavalry horses in the stable. It was lucky for us that we could crib the straw and make ourselves beds; and the richer English, although in distress themselves, occasionally gave a little assistance, but it was very little that they could do. It would naturally arise as a question—How was it that fifty English, the greater number of whom were young, active men, and some of them seamen, did not attempt to escape to the seashore and seize a boat? But it is astonishing what a state of terror all France was in; every master of a house was obliged to notify the number of persons that had slept in that house on the night before; and then, bread was so scarce, that none could be procured but through a ticket granted to a householder for the supply allowed. Then, too, there must be a certificate of the number in family; and this absolute want of bread so affected the bodily health, and, in consequence, the mental strength, that there is no doubt it prevented many attempts of escape; and when it is considered that the whole population was in some degree under arms, it made that attempt, when ventured on, almost hopeless so long as the reign of terror lasted; though we shall see that some struggles for freedom were made in the next year. No words can now describe the state of nervous fear in which every one lived, and even those who in their hearts were moderate men accustomed themselves to the dress and language of the most furious democrats, lest otherwise they should become suspected persons. To repeat what we underwent would not be believed, and history itself seems ashamed of recording it. Our prison was old, large, and out of repair. We entered by folding doors into a courtyard, around which the house was built; and within the door, in the yard, a line made with chalk crossed the way, and, a few feet distant, was another line of chalk. Our guards of old men pretended we were not allowed to pass the first line, or to speak to any one nearer than the second; but this was only a make-believe, for all the lower windows opened on the Place d’Arme, and we were like schoolboys in an imaginary bondage, and could jump out whenever we pleased. My clothes began to fail, and I made a pair of trowsers, after a fashion, by unpicking the old pair as a pattern, and, with the assistance of Johnson, the English smuggler, cutting out and making a new pair of some canvass. “One day, while we were all in a small garden behind the house, some one brought to us a goose, and asked an English sailor to kill it after the English fashion. He chopped off its head, and said, ‘Here it is guillotined, and now you may see how we shall all look by-and-by.’ One of the females present on hearing this went into fits, and another fainted. As the winter approached I felt the cold very much, particularly at night. The room in which I slept was a garret over the stable; it was lathed and plastered, but so near to the tiles that the rafters were not 143

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inclosed within the plaster. Most of the poorer English were in the room, viz., two smugglers, one pocket-book maker,275 two servants, and myself. We were fortunate enough to find some boards, and, slipping them between the rafters, we made a kind of weather-board, as a defence from the cold, and with the straw which we purloined from the cavalry horses we made our beds. We possessed a stove in our room; how it came there I know not, but being useless, as it was, we made a trap-door in our room, which led by a gutter to the roof, and whilst exploring the upper part of the building we found some woodwork, which we determined to sacrifice as fuel. I, being the least and youngest in the company, was put through a hole to bring this wood down, and we were enjoying a good fire, and I was in the very act of jumping on a long piece of wood, to break it before burning it, when the door opened, and the wife of the concierge came in. Here was a scene: we all maintained a dead silence, which she did not, for she flew into a violent passion, and threatened us all, till, addressing herself to me, as speaking the patois French, she inquired, ‘What we had to say?’ I, like an impudent lad, answered, ‘that it was our intention, when this wood was gone, to pull the house to pieces and burn it.’ The woman in her rage left us, and brought in M. Picot, whom we called the little tailor, and he ordered four of us to be taken to the gaol, where we remained one day, and were then brought back to our prison, the Hôtel St. Blimond. After this our door in the roof was secured, and we were sadly off on account of the cold; but at length we did get some fire, by a very ingenious contrivance. “Our old guard had a certain number of baskets of turf sent every day for their fire. Now, our plan was for one of us to ring the outer bell violently, as if there was some visitor of consequence, or a patrol coming, and the old men would rush out in a hurry, whilst we helped ourselves to their turf in an instant. Then, again, at other times we pretended to be practising the pike exercise, and, in making a charge, pierced a piece of turf, and threw it over our shoulders to one of our party placed conveniently to receive it, who would toss it on until it reached a secure place, where we could do with it what we would. It must be remembered that our guard was formed of superannuated paupers, who were paid a frank and a half a day, taken from our wealthier fellow-prisoners—for we had some persons in the house who had contrived, I know not how, to procure money at the first outbreak. Amongst these were Admiral Sir Digby Dent276 and a Captain Bowen of the Navy,277 three or four Army officers, called captains, but who were all lieutenants or ensigns, two clergymen, and one or two young men with their tutors, who had been on their travels; also the landlord of the British Hotel, at Boulogne278 (Mr. Parker), and his wife, a Mrs. Knowles279 and her daughter, and a Mrs. Annesley and her daughters,280 one of whom is the present Lady Whitmore, wife of Sir George Whitmore, of the Engineers.281 “I soon became acquainted with an officer of the name of Forster,282 a captain, as he was called, and received many kindnesses from him, as will be seen afterwards. “His lady was a daughter of Admiral Beasley, of Dover.283 She had married without thinking of the consequences; and both being young and thoughtless, it 144

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had become necessary for him to reside in France, whilst his affairs were being arranged at home, and there were others, too, in the same predicament. In the meanwhile my shoes and stockings were gone, and so I was saved their washing. I was, during this time, very happy, and I have observed since, that outward circumstances do not necessarily give or subtract from happiness. I really think that these difficulties in youth rather add to than take off from enjoyment. “We had always one of our guards who could scrape the fiddle tolerably, and we danced away in our guard-room, the young ladies joining us under the pretext of keeping themselves warm. Though it must have been a very trying situation for these young girls, yet I have every reason to believe that they all conducted themselves with the greatest propriety. As for myself, as might be expected, I chose one as my idol, and was, as far as my situation allowed, in love. “But it is true that we had some drawbacks, for our little tailor, M. Picot, sometimes amused himself by alarming us. On one occasion he told us that we were to be sent to Paris—at another time he said that the men were to be sent to one prison and the women to another. At first these threatenings distressed us; but at length we did not care for them. Now and then, too, our old guard took the liberty of insulting us English, calling the nation a nation of beasts, with other opprobrious epithets, and once I was so enraged that I pushed one of them backwards into the fire; but he made no complaint, fearing, as I suppose, lest he should lose his situation, though he threatened very furiously, notwithstanding, that I should feel the vengeance of the ‘great nation.’Another time all our guard fell asleep together, and we blacked their faces with soot and oil, which made them very angry, so that a coolness took place between us. It must be understood, however, that the wealthier English were not concerned in these tricks, but only those who had no money and were obliged to associate together. Our garret window commanded the Place d’Arme, where were all the reviews and parades of troops. There, too, all rejoicings and grand national fêtes took place; and once a whole army passed the night in the square. It had been made prisoner in Conde and Valenciennes, and was on its march to La Vendée. “The French are fond of these spectacles, and they are accustomed to them in their Church ceremonies. In the end of December a grand ceremonial fête was enacted; it was called ‘The Fête de la Raison;’284 and it was celebrated as usual in the Place d’Arme. The intent was to show the superiority that reason had over revelation or religion, called on that occasion superstition. A large platform was erected, and near it an immense pile of wood, on which was placed a monstrous figure called Superstition, together with many pictures, images, crucifixes, and Madonnas, from the churches. An actress of noted bad character represented the goddess of Reason, who, with her torch, was to fire the pile and reduce it to ashes. Yet at this very fête, such was the feeling of the populace and National Guard, that I saw many of the little images, pictures, &c., plucked out of the fire; and some of these were even brought into our prison, and publicly shown to us English, whilst curses were poured out against the Government, by them called the nation, for the desecration of their holy things. Whilst this mockery was going on, I was sent 145

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for, and I found my little tailor disposed to be very kind. He told me that reason declared that I at my age, sixteen, could not be answerable for the crimes of my country, and that Dumont, the Representative of the people, was going to release many prisoners, as an act of grace, and me among the number. “I observed that liberty was of no use to me without bread; but he kindly persuaded me, saying, ‘Take your liberty, at all events, and if nothing better offers, you can return to prison.’ “After the exhibition at the platform in the Place d’Arme, the procession moved on to the principal church, where was another platform erected over what formerly was the altar. On this platform stood André Dumont, wearing a peculiar dress, as a member of the Convention, and in his hand he held a hat or cap having three long ostrich feathers in it. On his right stood the goddess of Reason, and some few attendants placed around them for effect. Dumont was addressing the crowd as I entered; he was talking of the harlequinades285 of the priests; he said, ‘There was neither heaven nor hell, neither resurrection, angel, nor spirit; but that a fate attended us all, he knew not from whence, or how it happened; so that no one could say why Louis XIV. died in his bed and Louis XVI. on the scaffold.’ When he had finished his oration all those detenues286 who were to be released advanced to the platform: I was one in the rank, and we were directed to ascend some steps on the one side of the altar, pass across it, receive the accolade, and descend on the other side. The goddess of Reason, dressed like Minerva, with a spear in her hand, gave us this accolade, which was a touch as we passed, it being supposed that by this touch our fetters were to fall off. The owl was exchanged on her helmet for a cock, and on the point of her spear was the cap of liberty; her train was held by four of the Municipality, and as she moved the persons near fell on their knees, as they do at the passing of the Host in Roman Catholic countries. At the moment that my turn came to receive the accolade the stage cracked and gave symptoms of falling. We all, with the goddess, rushed to the side of the platform to save ourselves. As I was the youngest of our party, I mean of the males, more notice was taken of me than the others, and her goddesship embraced me twice. Dumont asked me if I would serve in a French ship; but he did not press it, which was well for me, for I was at the moment so excited that I began to speak of and defend my country, scarcely knowing what I said. Strange to say, he also praised the English, but regretted that we were governed by a tyrant. “I forget how it happened, but something next arose to this purport, that this tyrant of England, however, had not impriprisoned the French residents; and Dumont said, he ought to have done it. Our conversation was short, and I passed on, and then, not knowing what else to do, I returned to the Hôtel St. Blimond, and told the English detenues what had happened. My companions, that is, the poor among the English, were released, and the smuggler Johnson, the servant Downton, who was brother to Downton the actor,287 the pocket-book maker, and myself set off towards Boulogne, hoping to get to England some how or another. 146

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“My sister, who was freed, went to her old quarters at St. Vallery, and was in no danger of wanting; for she could embroider beautifully, and had plenty to do in embroidering for the officers, a work which was rather above the capacity of the females of St. Vallery. Leaving her safely there, my party and myself set off from Abbeville with our faces towards England, whilst Downton, who had been a servant to an English ensign, residing at Feremontier, on the road to Boulogne, undertook to direct us on our way. This man had been paying his addresses to the daughter of a small farmer at Feremontier, although he could scarcely speak a word of French, nor she of English. “When we came to Feremontier, in the Forest of Cressy, however, he would go no further, for he was alarmed lest we should be seized trying to make our escape; but at the same time he palliated his defection by saying that we could escape more easily by seizing a boat on the coast, near at hand, and we had better each try for ourselves. Thus our party was broken up, and I knew not what to do, and in the end my necessities were so great I voluntarily went back to my prison at Abbeville, having no other refuge. On my return I was allowed my bread-ration as usual. Captain Forster soon after kindly pretended I was in his service, and provided me with food, so I was no longer a prisoner, and could go in and out of the Hôtel St. Blimond as I pleased, and by this means I was left free to escape when any opportunity should offer.”

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CHAPTER XI. CONTINUATION OF MR. SHERWOOD’S LIFE—ABBEVILLE, 1793. “I WAS now,” continues Mr. Sherwood in his diary, “professedly free, sleeping in my old prison of the Hôtel St. Blimond, keeping up my pretended servitude by going on errands for the wealthier English, who all, no doubt, understood my position, and calling myself especially Captain Forster’s attendant. Four or five years after this time this truly kind friend was thrown from a mule in the West Indies and killed on the spot. By little and little the surveillance over the English at Abbeville was much relaxed, and although no alteration was publicly announced, yet medical certificates were very readily granted, so that one by one the prisoners got into lodgings; and this, it was suspected, was chiefly owing to M. Picot consenting to be bribed. Captain Forster was allowed to remove to apartments in the college, now very much reduced as to students, the young men having been forced into the army and navy, whilst the Professors were in prison. “I, too, followed to the college, where the English were called upon for a sum of money to pay some part of the expenses of our detention. Sir Digby Dent, being the greatest amongst us, was the first applied to, and as by this time a kind of intercourse, as we may call it, had been opened through means of the Jews, money was obtained from England, though with great loss. It is true, Sir Digby, for a while, refused to pay; but the threats on one side and promises on the other prevailed. He tendered his quota, and the rest followed his example; but my situation was too apparent: I was not asked for money. Whilst at this college some day-scholars attended, or rather recommenced their studies, a professor or two being set at liberty, and with these I formed acquaintances, and through their kindness I had access to the library, which contained all kinds of works, not only those which had belonged to the college, but also the private libraries of many emigrés. One of the professors, too, was very good to me, and gave me a vacant room to sleep in, and a palliasse and blankets; but I had not food sufficient, though Captain Forster assisted me to the best of his power, and some of the students also now and then. But even these poor enjoyments did not last long; for the college was again cleared, and we were removed to a house in the Place d’Arme, close to the Hôtel St. Blimond. Our new abode was partly unfurnished; but there I got a closet to myself at the head of the first flight of stairs, with a window to it; but the chamber was not above four feet high, so I could not stand upright in it; yet I had there a bedstead, a looking-glass, and some articles of furniture. The house itself was a very good one; but I forget to whom it belonged, or where the furniture came from. There Sir Digby Dent rejoined us, and my friend Miss Knowles; and 148

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I was allowed to appear more as a member of Captain Forster’s family than as an attendant. “I had still the privilege of occasionally getting books from the college, and I remember going there one day, and seeing the insurgents bring in a poor infirm old bishop in a chair, much as the children carry about Guy Faux.288 I knew that he was a republican bishop, and I heard that he had made himself very conspicuous, and that he was not pitied; but I forget his name and his See. “We prisoners were certainly little regarded at Abbeville, and enjoyed in a great measure safety; but we heard the thunder all around. We heard of Lebon at Arras, very near us, of Robespierre at Paris, of massacres at Nantes,289 where we were told that every one of the members of two English families had lost their lives. “Dumont, our governor, was not sanguinary;290 he was one of those who protected his department, and we had no fear from him; but we heard of an army of executioners, and a perambulating guillotine. Many a time have I settled in my own mind how, upon any decided attack made upon my freedom, I would attempt an escape by going down our well, and getting up by the rope into the next house,— for the well-buckets hung over a beam and were used for both houses. I thought that I could then get over the ramparts, and make my way to the Forest of Cressy, and get some support from Downton, who I had learned was married and settled there. It was in the summer when a prisoner who had been detained at Amiens was brought to us, and who gave me an account of the death of my father at Amiens, so circumstantially that I could not disbelieve it. The man also told many anecdotes of my father, and seemed to know his circumstances and his habits, and as I never had heard from him I believed all he said; particularly as I had written several times without receiving any answer. He told me of a man at Amiens who could give me all the information I desired, and by this means I actually received a message from my father himself, saying that he was well, but had never heard from me. On the death of Robespierre291 the detention ceased of its own accord, and we now removed from house to house; but why or wherefore I knew not, but the houses of emigrés were all vacant, and it was easy to remove if we chose. Towards winter a regiment of Hessian prisoners292 arrived, and we soon became intimate with the officers. The winter of 1794–5 was very severe: many of the poor died from cold and famine. Captain Forster contrived, at a very great loss, to get a very small sum of money from England, and this was managed through the Jews. “It was about this time I saw a hamper of wine in the dining-room actually frozen, the bottles broken, and the wine on the ground, a perfect cake of ice. The famine was so great that again it was necessary that every household should be registered, and permissions granted for bread. This permission was given by the Municipality on some particular baker, for a certain quantity of black bread. I have stood at the door of a baker’s shop in the bitterest cold, and as I have seen people at the pit-door of the play-house, so did these poor wretches wait to reach the foremost place, to get their daily miserable pittance. The number of inmates of every house, with their ages and professions, had for two years been registered and affixed over the doors of all houses, and domiciliary visits were of constant 149

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occurrence. The penalties, too, for having a stranger in the house were so severe, that there was scarcely a possibility for any one to be hidden even for one night. The famine of bread was not the only famine: soap, sugar, &c., were under the same regulation, and every person was obliged to send in a statement of what stock he had in his house, and was forbidden under the penalty of death from selling above the market price. This price was called the maximum, and although there were hidden means of getting one hundred paper livres for five, and at last even for three, yet still death was the penalty for making a distinction between paper and silver,293 and it was often put in force. The amount of stock in hand was at any time liable to be examined, and the expenditure checked by the Municipal Power. I am almost afraid to write what I firmly believe to be the case, that one quarter of a pound of black bread, an inch thick, was all that each individual of a family might purchase each day. “I was now in such a state of want, that I began seriously to think of escape by Feremontier, but the spirit within me was broken, and what might have happened I know not, when one day my father suddenly appeared, and informed me he had contrived to get himself released from a state of surveillance at Amiens, and was on his way to St. Vallery. “He was not very communicative, for he was afraid of our conversations being overheard; but I gathered from him that he hoped to borrow some money on the pledge of his estate at St. Vallery, and that he had friends at Paris through whose interest he expected to procure passports for England. We accordingly left Abbeville, for I found no difficulty in getting a passport to St. Vallery, and also eventually to Amiens. At St. Vallery my father happily obtained a little money, so that he gave me sufficient to remunerate, very liberally, the old washerwoman Toinette, and enough also to make a considerable present to the servant of Captain Forster, who had been very good to me. “My father had, on his detention, hired a house at a village near Amiens, which he had slightly furnished. This furniture, with a little exception, we left to its fate; and though it was Sunday, on the 1st of April, the morning after our arrival from St. Vallery, our situation was so imminent that we bought a cart, and laying two feather-beds in the bottom of it, my step-mother and the children were placed in the cart, and we started for Amiens. We had no bread, for none was publicly sold at Amiens, for the town could scarcely provide itself, being full of Hessian and English prisoners of war. The poor children suffered severely, but they had learnt already to complain but little. I do not know the place we first stopped at that night, but it was about thirty miles from Amiens; here we wished to put up at a farm-house, which was at the same time a cabaret;294 but the landlord would not receive us because we had no bread with us: so we had to proceed some distance farther. Happily, our next attempt succeeded, and we were admitted into another farm-house, the inhabitants of which were friends of the emigrés. On the 2nd of April we reached Clermont, where we found the palace and fine park of the Duke of Fitz James much damaged through wanton mischief. On the 3rd we got as far as Chantilly, and on the 4th we entered Paris, by the Port St. Denis. No one 150

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troubled us about our passport; but poor Paris did not appear to advantage, for famine raged there, and the doors of the bakers’ shops as we passed on were surrounded each by its separate mob, waiting for the small allotment of bread granted by certificate to each individual, as at Abbeville. On advancing the payment, we obtained admittance into a small inn, in the Rue St. Denis, but we could get no bread, though, what was singular, brioches, a kind of cake, was to be purchased, though very dear, at the pastry-cook’s; and cheese and meat might also be had. “Paris was not a place to be at ease in during the horrors of the Revolution, and these horrors were by no means over then. My poor father seemed stunned by the responsibility of his situation. My step-mother was helpless from fear and want. My sister Margaret was detained in France by the Republicans, as a possessor of property; hence, she became as a ward of the State, and I must add, eventually was not unkindly used by them. And my step-mother’s children, five in number, were so young, that they were nothing but burthens in our difficulties: thus it fell out that all the real management was left to me, a youth of scarcely eighteen. “At Paris we were told to go to the office of the Committee of Public Safety for passports, and we were shown into a large room with a bench round it, on which sat as many persons as it could hold, waiting to be admitted, and there appeared no chance of our getting heard, for possibly we ought to have had the tact to bribe for this. As, however, we could not succeed, and days passed, and our money was passing too, it was resolved to try to get to Geneva. This was the most feasible plan, because, though Geneva was surrounded by France, yet it was still permitted to have an appearance of independence; and though this independence was in appearance only, still it worked in some way as regarded Switzerland, which pretended to something more. “I remember on one occasion, whilst our plans were unsettled, there was an alarm in Paris; the drums beat, and people said there was a conspiracy discovered, and the name of Merlin was mentioned, but I know no more respecting it. How we in the end managed to leave Paris I can hardly tell, but we got on board a passage-boat on the Seine, going up the river to Auxerre, in Burgundy. The boat was full of peasantry and market people, I believe nearly two hundred in number, for we stood as thick as we could, exposed at one time to a heavy shower of rain, whilst the police were asking for our passports. It was found that many had none, and as all were endeavouring to get under cover, in the bustle and confusion we were passed over, and well was it for us, for we too had no passport. But I shall never forget the indescribably nervous agitation I endured whilst this was going on, and until the vessel got under weigh, for I was on board alone with the children. We were towed up the river, having no food of any kind for our support but a very large Gruyere cheese. How he managed it I cannot say, but an Italian boy contrived to get my father and mother smuggled out of Paris under some bedding in a cart, and they came on board our passage-boat a few miles above the city. No one can express in words the relief to our minds at being out of that dreadful place, Paris, of which we had heard so much; and yet then we had only our Abbeville passports, and I now wonder how we could have even ventured with 151

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such insufficient means. Most probably the French themselves were tired of the Reign of Terror, and were willing to pass over any little matters they could, for it is certain that we met with but little difficulty in our way. It seemed as if everybody willingly believed our story, which at any other time must certainly have appeared a very improbable one. “I have no recollection after this of what passed for two days, except I recall with disgust the disagreeable smell and taste of the cheese. We stopped for a few minutes at a bridge, I believe Montagne; I ran up to a house at the bridge head, and was lucky enough to succeed in procuring four pounds of bread, the luxury of which I can never forget. Two days after this we reached Auxerre, where we left the boat, and hired a cart for Chalons. The cart was not covered, but we spread a sheet over it for my mother and the children. How well can I now recall the face of the driver, a young man, with eyes like a weaver’s shuttle, and dark eyebrows joining across the nose, resembling, in a remarkable manner, a bat with the wings extended. Before we had reached Chalons we struck a bargain with this man to take us to Geneva, but I have no idea how he procured a passport for himself; but perhaps he did without it. We were to give one thousand livres for the hire of the cart, which would have been upwards of forty pounds in English money; but the depreciation of paper was such, that it was scarcely worth a guinea. “My father informed me, that having paid that sum, even if we lived in the most economical way, we should not have half-a-crown on our arrival at Geneva. “I have but a faint idea of Chalons; I think the inn faced the river. We only remained there one night; but I do not know why we went there, for I think it is not the shortest way, and we certainly talked about going through Dijon and Dole. Indeed, I fancy we meant to go by those places, but coming to a fork in the road we took the right hand path, and travelled along it all day. Our Auxerre driver trusted that we should meet with some person on the road who would direct us, but we went miles before we met with such a one, and then we were told that we were on the wrong road; we were also told that we might find some nearer way to the mountains than by retracing our steps. “We stopped at a small cabaret to pass the night, and then, being assured of our mistake, we determined on continuing in the same road, by which we learnt we could pass the mountains of Jura, now very near to us: but advancing next day towards them, we were quite astonished and frightened at their appearance. I can well recall passing that day a small green meadow, with a clear stream of water, and large blocks of stone scattered abroad, and cows lying down, and innumerable large flies buzzing about our heads, and a road winding behind one of these immense blocks. “I had never been on a mountain before, and as we began to ascend, the precipices on our right hand soon appeared very frightful. We walked after our cart, carrying a stone to place under the wheel when the horse stopped, and as we advanced our heads began to become dizzy. I remember, too, seeing here and there small houses, on different heights, seemingly little better than cottages. Our 152

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driver had been obliged to take two extra horses; we therefore made but short journeys. My poor mother was so alarmed, she would have returned if she dared. “It would be useless to enlarge on the troubles and difficulties of our journey; but it was only at Les Rousses that we had any alarm respecting our passports. It was Sunday; the morning service was performing, and we were obliged to sit in our cart till it was over; but after which we were allowed to pass; and well do I now remember the appearance of the Lake of Geneva and the beautiful scenery around the snow-clad Alps, with the cherries in full blossom. When we had reached the bottom of the mountain we found ourselves in a fine road, on which were moving carriages of all sorts, bearing many a gentleman in uniform, with a cockade in his hat, like a Frenchman, though the colour, perchance, was of a different hue. All were merrily moving along, and so were we; for we knew we were in the Canton de Vaud,295 and believed ourselves escaped from France. When, lo! at the turn of the road, we came upon a flag-staff, with the French flag flying gaily in the breeze. This was the village of Versay, built on French ground, which comes down to the lake. Here we had to attend at a French outpost; but we did not find any difficulty in being allowed to pass, though at first they pretended to believe that I was a French soldier, endeavouring to escape from the army; but it was done with civility; indeed, we always found the soldiers more kind than the citizens and civilians. We arrived that night at an hotel, at Secheron, a very little way from the gate of Geneva, and here we discharged our cart and driver, having paid his demand, though I believe we had scarcely a crown left. Considering ourselves safe, we slept well and happily. In the morning we found ourselves close on the shores of the sea-like Lake of Geneva, and I well remember its glorious beauty in the fine days of spring. My father, leaving us, returned to Geneva, but was not very long away, coming back with money in his pocket, and we were all en route again. He had there met a merchant, a M. Mar, but who he was I know not, neither could I afterwards learn what was become of him, although I made many inquiries. This M. Mar attended immediately to my father’s request, and sundry bills were drawn on England, though I believe the amount of each was very small. “M. Mar possessed a small cottage, in a garden, above the banks of the Arve. It was probably a summer retreat, for it was but a poor place; two rooms above, and the stairs outside, as is usual in Swiss cottages, two rooms below, and a little detached out-house, with a strip of a garden reaching the cliff overhanging the Arve, and a summer-house at the extremity, completed the building, and this was kindly lent to us, as the time of year was not arrived when the merchants retired to the country. “Some little furniture was in it, and we had brought our two feather-beds with us, so that comparatively we were living in luxury, though, on looking back, I am aware that our residence there was little better than a gardener’s cottage. Here, then, we remained, and my father informed M. Mar of the Genevese he knew in London. One was a banker in Lombard-street, of the house of Vere Lucardo and Troughton. Mr. Troughton was trustee to some property belonging to my father, and afterwards to myself. This knowledge seemed to make all things comparatively 153

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easy. M. Mar also obtained leave for us to remain one month in Geneva to get our remittances; so that truly we were now at ease. Our abode was about half a mile from the city, through the Porte Neuve; I have tried to find the place since, but it is entirely pulled down, and the ditch of the town, which at that time was made into small gardens, is now so altered with beautiful buildings as not to wear anything of the same appearance. At that period Geneva was not a desirable place to remain in; for the people had almost as much cause to fear as in France itself. All the Protestant churches were closed, some of them destroyed. The spirit of Voltaire and Rousseau reigned triumphant, and all the public monuments were broken in pieces; and it was clear that Geneva would shortly be incorporated in France, as it only enjoyed the name of independence; for France entirely surrounded it, and no provision could be brought in except by permission of France. One night we were alarmed by the ringing of bells, beating of drums, &c. The gates of the city were closed, and we did not learn till noon what had occurred; we were then told that there had been an émeute,296 and that a Jacobin had been killed. The aristocratic party had made their escape, and now every person was obliged to appear republican, and mount a tricoloured cockade.297 Green was the independent colour,298 that is, the colour worn by the persons opposed to the incorporation with France, and those who assumed it wore it as a neckerchief. Twelve young men of the first families of Geneva, who were accused of wearing this green neckerchief, were banished from home. On the 6th of June a remittance arrived very opportunely; it came, I believe, from Mr. Woodhouse, afterwards Dean of Litchfield, my father’s near relative. Our month of permission was now over, and we could not obtain a renewal of leave to stay. From what I heard afterwards, when we had arrived in England, several remittances had been made at the same time—one, indeed, especially for myself, by the executor under my grandfather’s will—but not one of these ever reached us but the one sent by Mr. Woodhouse through M. Mar. At Berne was an English resident, neither ambassador nor consul, but somewhat of a plenipotentiary,299 from whom we received passports. All was now en réglé,300 except the money, which began to run short; but it had been settled by M. Mar that we were to find letters from him at Basle, and there we were to remain till further notice. From Berne to Basle, we passed through a very mountainous country; but I must confess I had too much to think of to admire it, though I do remember being on the top of a very high hill, and seeing a church on the top of another across a valley, when a thunderstorm came on, and the church bells began to ring, which they told me was to disperse the clouds. “When arrived at Basle we found no letters, and, what was worse, we were not allowed to remain in the town, but were driven away across the Rhine into Swabia. Basle, like Geneva, at that time was under the authority of France. The French territories came up to the walls almost at one corner, and the Austrian on the other, the Rhine dividing them, which is here a rapid, fine river. “We had for some time feared that we should find no resting-place in Switzerland, for party spirit ran high, and men of property were frightened by the mob, which was encouraged by the French. Two days only could we obtain permission 154

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to remain to rest. Our money was very low, and we spent the two days in running from one banker to another, but could not succeed in getting money for a bill on England. And this is not to be wondered at when the number of emigrés is considered, and the almost destitution of many. “One banker at last advanced equal to six guineas, saying, ‘If I lose it, it is well.’Another, an Austrian resident, advanced about ten on a bill, and after giving directions for letters to be sent after us, and writing to M. Mar, we proceeded, as advised by the Austrian Ambassador, to Fribourg, in Brisgan, where we were to await our letters from Geneva. “Soon after crossing the Rhine we passed through a camp of Austrians, and afterwards through the army of the Prince of Conde, composed of French royalists, wearing white cockades.301 “To this army there was an English resident attached, a Colonel Crawford, but he was absent when we passed it. At Fribourg the bankers would give us no money on a bill without our waiting a month for its acceptance, so we took a couple of rooms, for we had still kept our feather-beds, and these were almost our only furniture. The very small rent of our apartments we were obliged to pay in advance, which left but very little. A chair or two and a table we borrowed, and I forget how we got cooking utensils, but I suppose we did not want any, for I remember getting acquainted with an old woman who lived underneath us; I think she was either the landlord’s wife or servant, and if we had anything to cook no doubt she must have done it for us. But our little money could only afford bread, and we had no letter from Geneva, and nearly a month to look forwards to before we could hear from England; so we sold every article of our clothes that we could spare, and I remember, amongst other things, two pairs of silver buckles, for shoe and knee ties; and often have I gone to the hill behind the town and gathered ears of unripe corn, and eaten them, to satisfy my cravings, and even unripe grapes. It was hoped that Colonel Crawford might be returned to the army of the French Prince. I was sent over to see, and after having walked twelve miles I found that he was still at Frankfort; but I slept in the French guard’s tent, and was very kindly treated by the men. “It was only a sergeant’s guard, and the men appeared all to have been servants, and the sergeant had been a gamekeeper; they most good-humouredly gave me some of their supper. “On my return to Fribourg I found that there had been something amiss; during my absence an order had reached my father that he must leave the town in twentyfour hours. Oh, how I cried! My father almost helpless, his wife quite so, and five small children, and without money. What could we do? We at length went all together in procession to the Governor, carrying with us our old Abbeville passport. We were admitted into a small room, and soon the Governor appeared, with a very forbidding frown, and having made my father repeat his history (it must be remarked that we spoke French like natives, and the conversation was in French), he, in reply, I believe suspecting that we were French, said, that no person could remain in a fortified town without permission from the Governor. We explained 155

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that these rules were unknown to us; that our passport had been seen at the gate of the town, and no directions given by the guard. My mother now began to shed tears, and addressed the children in English, and they all cried; upon which the Governor patted her on the shoulder, dropped his French, and spoke good English, telling her to fear nothing, giving us his permission to remain. He did more, he lent her ten shillings until our remittances arrived. I have called this gentleman the Governor, but it is very probable that he held some inferior office, though I know no more of it. “I believe the ten shillings were at first only lent, and we offered to return them, and I think he declined receiving them. This gentleman’s wife called to see us, and gave us a louis d’or and a crown; but still we had not enough to buy bread. “I called with my mother on the banker to beg an advance, and he, for once, gave us a louis,302 and seeing my mother’s shoes worn out he sent her a pair. “I must now remark, that, besides the bills my father drew, he desired me to draw a bill in my own name on the executor of my grandfather, which I did, and this money, £22, came to me after a while. “We had now been a month at Fribourg, and had received no letters from Geneva, although we afterwards found that there was money there for us; but we procured five pounds more from the bankers, and with this small sum it was determined to advance. Anyhow, we should be nearer England, and we had been preserved hitherto. We paid six louis for an old landau,303 having springs behind, but none before, and shaped like a slipper-bath.304 Putting our well-used bedding in the bottom of our carriage, we all started off towards Frankfort with a pair of post-horses. Our conveyance was not comfortable: the forepart had no springs, and it was there that I was obliged to sit. “At Offenburg my mother wished to pass the night, but the postmaster would not hear of it, for he wanted to get rid of us, as suspected persons from France; so he put the horses to, and we travelled all night. “It was a fine moonlight night, and although very weary we felt we were advancing nearer to home, and then, too, our expenses were saved for the night, and the young ones slept very well. “In the morning we passed through Rastad, without stopping, but we had a great difficulty in getting on with only two horses, for our weight was too great for them. Our road lay between rows of fruit trees, and a most rich country with broad plains of wheat, waving like a sea. We passed through Heidelberg, where we met many French deserters, on their march to join the Prince of Conde’s army. They said that famine had been very severe, and that they had suffered much, particularly when besieging Mayence. At Bruchal the rain poured down in torrents, and we were obliged to stop, as we had no covering. We found the Bishop of Worms here, and observed the splendour of his servants’ liveries; but alarm was in all faces, for the French were daily expected. The Protestants and Roman Catholics are here much intermixed, yet the separation between the two faiths is as great as if many a mile divided them. At Frankfort we could get no farther, for our money was expended; yet this gave us but comparatively little 156

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uneasiness, for we were so near Hanover, and we thought Hanover would be almost England. “At Frankfort we had some difficulty in getting permission to enter its gates, and I think this difficulty arises generally at what are called free cities; so, at least, says our experience, for it was the same at Geneva, Basle, and now at Frankfort. The innkeeper at Frankfort required twenty florins in advance before he would permit us to enter his house, and that took the last of our money, and to add to our troubles, there were no letters, either from England or Geneva. Now in these days we might have an answer to a letter in little more than a week, but it was not so then; for the Rhine was under the command of France, and so was Holland. The nearest sea-port was Bremen on the Weser, and the road thereto not very good. We waited on every banker, but we could get no information. We starved here for a week, when our host not liking our company, ordered us out of his house. Every day we went to the post-office, but in vain. In the end, the bankers each lent us a louis apiece, and one especially sent his clerk to us with two louis as a present, and advised us not to linger there, but hasten to Hanover. This gentleman’s advice was taken, but no one would advance money on our bills, though they all, as I said, gave us a little. So, after paying up our landlord, we had six guineas left, with our carriage and bedding. We could not expect to be better off; so again we started homewards, and our first stage took one of our golden louis, so that of course we could not get very far with the remaining five. The roads were very bad, and we met numbers of merchants, Jews, &c., going to Frankfort fair. We did not stop till our last farthing was gone, which happened in a small village about thirty miles from Hesse-Cassel. What, then, was to be done? The posthorses305 must be paid for in advance. The postmaster306 did not keep an inn; but fortunately we spoke French well. Under pretence of great fatigue—though indeed it was no pretence, only we were too anxious, to think how tired we were—we asked leave to pass the night in the room appropriated to the use of travellers whilst the horses were preparing. This was granted, and we took out our bedding and lay down on it, without being able to afford any supper. In the morning the horses were put to, and the postilions307 came to be paid. We asked to see the postmaster; and, whether he suspected us or not I cannot tell, but he did not come to us. We could speak but very little German, and the people about, very little French. A scene of excitement ensued: we must pay, or move on on foot. We did neither, but remained, not knowing what to do; my mother became faint and unwell, and the horses were taken out. After some time the postmaster appeared, and we were able to tell in French the circumstances of our situation. The man was sulky, and, not knowing what to do, we offered our old landau and bedding, if he would send us on to HesseCassel. It is true they were not worth much now, and the man not only refused, but told us to leave the travellers’ room, for his house was not an inn. “My father, mother, and the children obeyed; they went out, proceeding along the road, not knowing in their despair where they were going. “I stood by the carriage crying, I believe, though some might think that unmanly. I was there some time, I do not know how long. What could I do? here was the 157

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carriage standing in the road, which I could not leave, and I knew not where my family were gone; but I knew that my mother and the young children could not walk far. “It appears that the postmaster himself was puzzled what to do, so he sent for a man who let out horses, and began to try to make a bargain with him to take us on to Cassel for our carriage. A small group of women and children were collected around us, and, as I said, I was almost, if not quite, crying. “The man (a carrier) did not seem altogether contented; he was making many objections, when in the heat of the bustle two officers came up and inquired what was the matter. “The one was a Prussian, the other a Hessian officer, and the latter addressed me in French. “I told my story, having the tact to begin with my knowledge of the Hessian regiment308 of Colonel Bezenrode,309 which had been detained at Abbeville. I mentioned the names of several officers of the corps, and my new friend told me that he knew them, and that they were actually in garrison at Cassel at present. The two officers immediately interested themselves in my behalf, and they prevailed on the man to undertake to carry us to Cassel. They also gave me two French crowns of six livres each, adding they were only lieutenants, and could but ill spare that. “The horses were soon brought, and even our postmaster was kind at last; and oh, how joyfully did I then go on in our old landau, and, as I expected, soon overtook the family, who were, of course, delighted to see me perched up in triumph in the front of the carriage. The day, however, had slipped away, and towards evening we had a storm, which caught us near a very small public-house, kept by a Jew. Here we stopped to dry ourselves, and having got our bedding out, and turned the dry side upwards, we passed the night, and, thanks to the hard life we had led, none of us caught cold from our wetting. Our Jewish landlord was the cheapest we had ever met with, and we had some good ham for supper, a treat not to be forgotten in those times. Next day we reached Cassel, and our first inquiry was whether there was any English consul, ambassador, or agent residing there. In answer they sent us to a Major Legrand,310 who, I believe, was employed in raising men for some foreign regiment in the English service. This gentleman very naturally said, in the first place, ‘he had no means of assisting us, and that in these times there were so many distressed emigrés that it was impossible to help them all.’ And he hinted that he did not believe our story, for he told me he required some proof of what we really were. I said that I believed that there was a Hessian regiment in garrison which had been with me in prison at Abbeville. My poor father all this time seemed too much overpowered to speak, so that I had to carry on all the conversation. Major Legrand then directed me to go out and find some member of the regiment, and at the foot of the stairs I unexpectedly met a man who had been a servant to one of the officers at Abbeville. Unfortunately, all that this man could say for me was, that we had all been in distress together. Thus were we situated, when at that moment Colonel Bezenrode himself passed the window, and I exclaimed, ‘Colonel Bezenrode,’ and ran out. The strict old 158

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veteran received me most kindly, and told me where to find his house, as he was then going to parade. “I took my leave, and returned to Major Legrand, who had seen out of the window all that had passed. His manner was immediately altered. He told me that he had not been pleased with my father; for he said there was something suspicious about his conduct. This was said probably to justify his past behaviour to us; but to keep it up, he added he would lend me five pounds if I would give him a bill, though I was still under age; but he would not lend my father anything. “It is not for a son to speak against a father; but should these memoirs ever be read by a stranger to our family, they must detect that my unhappy parent brought all these difficulties upon his family by rebellion against his own father, and he was made to suffer severely for his dereliction of duty. On my way to the inn I met the surgeon of the Hessian regiment, whom I had known rather intimately. He was very anxious to hear all our adventures, and came and passed the evening with us. “He brought with him a Hessian captain, who was his friend, and he begged our acceptance of a small sum, as much as he could afford. He proposed mentioning our circumstances to the officers on parade next day, and he said he had no doubt of receiving an order for a free conveyance in the mail-waggon for us to Hanover. But we had now got about six pounds, and my father, feeling hurt at the kindness and attention showed to me, would not receive any more favours, but hired a cart, and left Cassel in the morning, and we arrived at Hanover, having spent all our money. And now we had reached Hanover, the Hanover we had thought, but now found out too late was not, England. I remember toiling about all day in the heat, and getting into a guardroom, among some soldiers, where a Hanoverian major was very kind, and interested himself very much for us, so that he obtained a free passage for the whole family in the mail-waggon to some seaport town, though I forget its name. The driver of the waggon, indeed, acted brutally by us; the free passage for the family displeased him, and at last, on some pretence, he turned us out to walk at Nienberg at twelve o’clock at night, and then drove off his waggon before we knew what he was doing. “It was with great difficulty, and entirely from pity for the children, that the postmaster permitted us to enter the house and lay down on the floor. In the morning a Mr. Duncan,311 who was something of a resident or commissary to the Prince of Orange’s corps, gave us as much as a guinea, and packed us off to Bremen in an open cart. “It rained the whole way, and we were in a sad state, but at any rate we had reached a seaport. On inquiry we learnt that a vessel was shortly going to England, and we might soon be at home. Here we got some food for the children; but I had none, and we wanted money to get our passage to England. We were induced to inquire after the English Consul; but when we got to his house he was from home. His brother told us, ‘that he had no means of assisting us, he was so pressed on every side by emigrés.’ But in course of conversation he mentioned a Lady Irvine,312 who was at Bremen, and who had something to do in connection with the British army, which we heard was at Delmenhurst; and he was kind enough 159

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to point out her house, to which we went. We found some difficulty in gaining admission to Lady Irvine; but my mother at length was permitted to enter, whilst I remained in the street. “My mother having told our story was relieved for the day, and told that many officers of the English (cavalry) would be in Bremen to a ball the next day, and that Lady Irvine would mention our situation to them. When my mother called again, she found that inquiries had been made, and that no ship was likely to sail for England immediately; however, some money was got through Lady Irvine’s kind assistance, and we were then able to look out for a lodging, and we succeeded in getting one room over a stable, which we entered by means of a ladder passing behind the horses’ heels. There was a dunghill reaching up to the very window. The greater part of the day we passed on the ramparts, and I slept on the straw in the loft. “Count Harcourt,313 in the British service, often came to visit Lady Irvine, and he brought us seven guineas. We at last succeeded in getting a passage to Brock, twenty miles below Bremen, where we found rather a superior inn for sailors, but as we certainly looked like gipsies, we were refused admittance. A little boy who spoke English, and seemed to be acquainted with the English holiday sailors, however, volunteered his services to point out a smaller public-house. I was left with the youngest child to take care of our sea stock, which we had got in the boat. The little one soon fell asleep, and I covered him up as well as I could, for it began to rain. At the end of two hours my eldest brother, Thomas, then twelve, came running down along the dike, and said, ‘Henry, we have found a low kind of farm-house and half beer-shop.’ Now we had to awaken the child and collect our stock. By this time it rained very hard, and we loaded ourselves like little asses, and, sliding and slipping along, we at length reached our new abode. The building, I well remember, consisted of a large barn, over which was a hay-loft, and at the farther end two small rooms were divided off from the rest; the one that was let to us had a kind of berth in the wall, with feather beds both above and below. “But I took up my abode in the loft, where was a Danish sailor, who was looking out for a ship. The next day, being Sunday, the crews of the English vessels came ashore, and most shocking was the noise they made, swearing, dancing, and drinking. Our family were most glad to escape for quiet into the fields, if fields they could be called, for there was a high dike forming a road, and one house stuck on a broader part of it, and all the fields much below, so that they were probably flooded in the winter. “My abode in the hay-loft was not the most pleasant, for when I awoke in the night I felt a pricking all over my body, such an irritation as I scarcely could bear; but there was no remedy for it. On Monday we went in search of a ship, and found one likely to sail immediately. The captain asked sixteen guineas to take us over to Hull. This was out of the question, as we had not anything like that sum. My father, therefore, desired me to go to Delmenhurst, and try what assistance I could get from the English officers there. So I got a lame horse and went to Delmenhurst, but I did not succeed; in fact, I was ashamed of my errand. Count 160

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Harcourt was most kind and courteous, though he did not lend me the money; and really, when it is considered how many were suffering as we were, it will be seen he could not help all. I must just add here, that all sums were most faithfully repaid, with thanks, on our arrival in England. But to my journey. On my returning along the dike my horse, having an unequal gait, appeared to go on three legs, or like a ship pitching at sea, whilst I myself presented to the beholders a most extraordinary figure. My head was covered with a bonnet de police,314 very like a foraging cap,315 and I wore an old bluish-black coat with one skirt316 off. I had on a pair of very coarse pantaloons, such as the Catalonians use, and which I had preserved ever since I was at Marseilles; proving that in the first instance they must have been much too large for me, though now they were too short. As habit during the last month had accustomed me to the non-wearing of stockings and neckcloths, so I was without them then, for I possessed none to wear. Picture me, then, riding along the dike, cutting altogether a conspicuous figure, and towards evening looming so prominently in the declining sunlight, as I jogged along, that the people in the fields stood still to stare. “I thought them haymakers, but now I think they must have been cutting some coarser herbage. As I passed along they set up a cry of ‘Schneider! Schneider! Schneider! myn coup!’317 I understood that they were calling me tailor, and I was very angry, for I thought English haymakers would have been more polite. “On my return I found at the principal inn, where we had been refused admittance, an English dragoon, who had been sent down by Sir Robert Lawrey to receive some packages from England. I soon got acquainted with him, for he was from Warwickshire, and he told me that his father kept the Swan, at Birmingham, and that his name was Thornton; but there was, however, no such person there when I inquired. “The transport, it seems, had not arrived that was to bring the packages, and so he was kept at Brock for some days. This man kindly interested himself in our affairs, and being, as he said, from Warwickshire, my father could tell him much about that county. You would have thought we had known each other all our lives. One captain who frequented the inn, through the dragoon’s introduction, got into a kind of intimacy with us, and also a sergeant of the 11th. This last was in charge of some stores for his regiment, which had returned to England; and what with Thornton and the sergeant, we were all taken on board the vessel in which the sergeant was to go to England. I firmly believe the latter made himself answerable for our passage-money when we embarked. “I have no recollection of our voyage to Hull; only I remember the entrance of the river, and a man-of-war that we passed in the Humber. Here we found plenty of money, and here I ought to end my difficulties and travels; but I was still uncertain what was to become of me, so I must continue my narrative a little longer. Money was sent to me at Hull for my private use; for though under age I was the possessor of a good fortune, and I was to go to my guardians at Coventry. Now the force of habit showed itself. I was afraid that the money would not last, so I bought no clothes, but took leave of my family, and, crossing to Barton, proceeded 161

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by coach to Lincoln. My road was through Nottingham, but in those days coaches did not run every day, so I spent one day at Lincoln, but was so very ill and feverish with a sore throat that I could hardly hold up my head. “The landlord of the inn at Lincoln, I believe the White Hart, showed me great kindness, and I passed most of the day in the bar. He tried to persuade me to remain another day, until I was better, but the fear which had haunted me for months past urged me on, and I would travel; but before the coach reached Newark, my throat was so very painful, that I sent to a druggist near to where the horses were changed, and got a gargle. “A shivering fit then came on, and a gentleman in the coach, himself an invalid, going to Buxton, kindly covered me with his great-coat. The gargle, however, relieved me a while; but on coming to Nottingham I was again unfortunate, for there was no coach to Leicester until the second day; but I would not wait, and determined to set off on foot. “I had met with greater difficulties on the Continent than this, but now I was ill with fever. How far I advanced I knew not, for my legs refused to carry me, and I crawled on till I came to the crossing of two roads, the one from Nottingham to Ashby, the other from Derby to Leicester. “Here I found a small inn, and was told that a coach to Leicester would soon pass by. “I have no doubt, although I have no recollection of the circumstance, that I told my story and sufferings to every one, and I met too with much pity. I rested here for some time, and gained strength before the coach came; but when it did come it was full inside, and I was obliged to mount the outside. The weather at the time was fine, but a thunder-storm came on, and I got partially wet. The coachman recommended his own house, a kind of inferior inn, where I slept, and when in the morning as usual I learnt there was no coach to Coventry, I moved on on foot, and contrived to reach Hinkley, though in a most exhausted state. The assizes were at Coventry, and the troops had been moved to Hinkley,318 so that all the publichouses were full. “My appearance was not in my favour, and when I entered a public-house to ask them if they could take me in, some dragoons who were drinking in the kitchen pretended to recognize me as a deserter. Worn out with illness and frightened for my life, I began to tell my whole history, when, as I suppose in a fit of jocularity, one turned upon me and said he was sure I had been a soldier, and if a French one, he must take me up for fighting against my country. Now I must explain that I had just come from a land in which a suspicion of this kind was a most serious thing; French deserters and emigrés were put to death without inquiry. I had heard that any Englishman found in a French ship was certainly hanged at once without a trial. Seized with a panic, I rushed out of the house, scarcely knowing what I was about, and got into the fields, fortunately on the Coventry side. I should suppose I had not gone above a mile, when I found myself in the turnpike road, near to a small public-house, or rather a tea-garden, a kind of place near all towns where people go on Sunday evenings in their best attire. Imagine me, then, dressed like 162

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a beggar, with my foraging cap, my old dusty black coat, minus one skirt, with no stockings nor neckerchief, asking admission on a Sunday evening at a neat teadrinking public-house. It was no wonder they would not receive me. Exhausted and heart-broken, within ten or eleven miles of the end of my journey, having gone through so much, and now so unkindly used near home, I fell fainting at the door. “When, after a while forgetting my sorrows, I came to myself, I found that I had been taken into the house and tenderly treated, but I did not dare tell my history there, for I was afraid, though I repeatedly said that I had no need of money. “I recollect they gave me brandy-and-water, and I passed a quiet night, and in the morning I proceeded on foot. “I had been taught by my father that if I showed myself in Coventry in my worn-out dress, that our family would be disgraced for ever. My business now was to get to a great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister, in such a manner as not to be known hereafter. How foolish we all are! just as if any persons were thinking of me, or troubling their heads to recognize Henry Sherwood in the travel-soiled, wayworn beggar that I then appeared. The skin being changed, the whole animal was changed also in an instant, for I had not the manners of the beggar. But I was very ill, and I often stopped and rested. Once, whilst leaning against a milestone, a postchaise passed,319 in which were two young ladies and a gentleman. The young ladies laughed at me, pointing me out, saying ‘See that drunken lad.’ “I was very much hurt at this remark; but I met these same young ladies at my grandmother’s within the week, and they had no idea I was the same poor wretch leaning against the milestone, and I kept the story to myself. “At Nuneaton I bought a pair of stockings, and smartened myself up as well as I could. I at length entered Coventry; but I had now forgotten the streets, and no wonder, for I had not been there since I was seven years old. The street, indeed, I at last found, but not the house. I knew, indeed, where my trustee lived, for his house was very large; my grandfather had built it, and it was called the Priory, and was sufficiently marked by its iron gates, and its relative situation to St. Michael’s and Trinity Churches; but here I was ashamed to go. “My old great-aunt I remembered well, and I walked along the street, looking in at each window to see her; at length I did see her dear old face, and I knocked very lightly and humbly at the door. It was opened, and there stood Susan—Sukey they always called her—she had been in the family before I was born. She did not know me; but was shutting to the door with ‘Go to the mayor, go.’ ‘I—I—I am Henry Sherwood,’ I said. “Of course I was at once admitted, and at once taken to bed. The surgeon was summoned, and he pronounced my disease the scarlet fever, and I lost all recollection for days. During this time my clothes were destroyed, and unfortunately all the memoranda in my pockets, which I much regretted. And now all my troubles were over, and here follows the ridiculous. My great-aunt knew nothing of young gentlemen’s attire, and I knew little more of what was suitable to my situation; but I was to order new clothes, and to have my own way, with unlimited means. Well, 163

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I would have blue and buff—Fox’s colours320—I had admired it some years before when at Merchant Taylors’ School;321 for I had a recollection of a barge passing under Blackfriars Bridge, with a large party of gentlemen thus dressed, and I thought them very fine: so I would have blue and buff, and nothing else. In those days we were used to buy our cloth at the woollen-drapers and make it up. So the draper was sent for with his pattern-board, and I chose blue, and, as I thought, a buff also. Now this buff turned out a very fine yellow. Next, in ordering my boots, I must have a pair up to my knees. And now all my things were sent home. I myself was restored to health, and I was to make my first appearance in public. An assistant in a ribbon manufactory was to take me under his protection; for my poor old aunt engaged him, on this occasion, half as a companion, half as an attendant. This man himself was an oddity; he wore a crimson coat, with hair fully powdered, a thick club knocker at the back of his neck, and white cotton ribbed stockings, with long-quartered shoes. He carried also an immensely thick, short, club-like stick in his hand, and he wore his hat cocked rather jauntily on one side. So I attired myself in my blue coat, yellow waistcoat, and yellow knee-breeches, which had immense bundles of ribbon at the knees, to which my ill-made boots joined. Away we two strutted into Coventry Park on Sunday—everybody staring at us. However, I was soon told of the out-of-the-way colours of parts of my dress, and they were shortly put aside, whilst I myself remained idling the remainder of the year at Coventry, my grandfather’s executor advancing money for me, but sadly puzzled to know what to do with me. All my education had been acquired before I was twelve years old, and in the intervening years most had been forgotten again. My great-aunt, Mrs. Patterson, was old and blind, and quite incapable of directing me, and thus I was placed in a most dangerous situation, having plenty of money at my own disposal, and no one to direct me how to spend it. I had, however, one steady and efficient friend, the Rev. Gerard Andrews,322 Dean of Canterbury, who had married a Miss Ball, a first cousin of my father’s. This kind relative’s attention and fatherly care of me then was of vital importance. Whilst thus waiting to be decidedly my own master, my cousin Mary came to London, and I was in consequence induced to visit my aunt at Bridgenorth, as soon as I came of age, which happened on the 1st of January, 1798.” *

*

*

*

*

And here concludes Mr. Sherwood’s diary; for, as he said, he visited us at Bridgenorth, where his attention was turned to the army through a friend of ours, a Major Buckland, of the 53rd. He stayed with us whilst arrangements were being made for his commission. He left us in March, when he obtained an ensigncy in the 45th, which in a few days was exchanged for a lieutenancy in the 53rd Foot, then stationed in the island of St. Vincent, in the West Indies.

164

CHAPTER XII. MRS.

HANNAH MORE—“SUSAN GREY” AND

“ESTELLE”

WRITTEN—WE LEFT BRIDGE-

NORTH—OUR LODGINGS AT BATH—MISS HAMILTON—OUR RESIDENCE AT ARLEY

HALL—“SUSAN GREY” SOLD—HENRY SALT—MR. M*****’S VISIT TO ARLEY—THE

SCARLET FEVER—MRS. BURY.

MY last pages I have devoted to the early history of my cousin and husband; for it must be borne in mind that if Mr. Sherwood had not been the Christian he proved himself to be, I, as his wife, could never have been the intimate and hourly associate of such men as Mr. Martyn, Mr. Corrie, and the holy ones of the earth.323 So then, whilst my education, as it were, was going on in quiet England, in outward peace, at least, Henry was being educated in a more trying school, though at the period of which I am writing, many of his troubles were nearly over. About this time I sold my novel of “Margarita”324 for forty pounds,325 and if I gained nothing else by the exercise, I certainly acquired much command of language. I shall ever love that book, because its earliest sheets were written in my father’s study, and because he smiled on the undertaking. Whilst my brother and myself were on a visit to Mrs. King’s,326 at Alveston, near Thornbury, in Gloucestershire, in the year 1799, that kind lady took us both for a day to Bath, where she introduced us to Mrs. Hannah More,327 who was residing with her four sisters in Pulteney-street. Mrs. More was then, perhaps, at the highest pinnacle of her fame, and it was, I think, before the Blagden controversy.328 Now, how shall I record the impression made upon me by this visit and introduction to my great sister authoress. The houses in Pulteney-street, Bath, are large and handsome; a footman opened the door to us. Mrs. King was well known in the house, and we were at once ushered into a large diningroom, and the four sisters came down, viz., Miss More, Miss Kitty, I think Miss Patty, and Miss Sally,—not that I know their steps of precedency. Mrs. Hannah was inquired after by Mrs. King, who said she was very anxious to introduce us, pleading that my brother was a young clergyman, and that it was desirable that Mrs. Hannah should see him. “Humph! yes, very proper,” all the sisters answered; but then “Mrs. Hannah was not well; she was confined to her room—such demands upon her—such a tax—such an object of public attention—the fatigue so great—the fear of giving offence so vast. Lady **** had been refused, and my Lord *** put off, and even Mr. Wilberforce329 and the Bishop of London set aside, &c. &c. &c.” The four old ladies looked unutterable things, but never once uttered their sister’s name. It was always she, and the voice fell to the lowest key when the “she” was uttered. 165

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At length, when our hopes had fallen as low as hopes could fall, a hint was given that at least she should be asked whether she thought she could see us. We were then ushered up-stairs to the drawing-room, which was next the presencechamber. After a little farther delay we were led into a dressing-room, where sat the lady, looking very like the picture which we commonly see of her, though considerably older, and wearing a cap. She sat in an arm-chair in due invalid order, and though a strong featured woman of a dark complexion, she had a magnificent pair of dark eyes. She was very gracious to Mrs. King and to my brother, but took little notice of me, Mrs. King having purposely put my brother forward. She spoke well, those about her gathering up her words carefully, though rather Boswellian-like, if I may so term it. The lesson I hope was beneficial to me when my turn came for exhibition. I ought to add, the words of advice uttered to my brother were not addressed to a deaf ear, though I might have desired more simplicity in our interview, or, perhaps I should say, before our interview with the excellent Mrs. More herself. On my return to Bridgenorth, Lucy and myself devoted much time to our scholars. We were accustomed to mark every absentee on the Sunday, and to call on the family during the week, and this formed an object for our walks, and gave us great amusement. At this time, too, if not before, we began to economise to so great a degree, that we only allowed ourselves common necessaries of dress. We never put out any of our needlework, and even our gowns, &c., we made ourselves, to save money for our pupils; and besides, we worked incessantly for our children also. It was about this time that I was immensely taken with this passage in Burns:— “The monarch may forget his crown, That on his head an hour hath been; The bridegroom may forget his bride, Was made his wedded wife yestreen; The mother may forget her child, That smiles so sweetly on her knee; But I’ll remember thee, Glencairn, And all that thou hast done for me.”330 This passage struck me as exquisite, but I had no suspicion that the leading thought was from Isaiah,331 till some one pointed it out to me, and then, without being in the least touched by finding that these expressions of all-exceeding love were used by the Almighty for His people, I immediately adopted Burns’ words for my own, and often repeated the lines to myself, with only this change— “But I’ll remember thee, my God, And all that Thou hast done for me.” 166

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Thus, even in my most serious thoughts, did I cling to self, fancying that my heart was first to rise to God, and that His love would assuredly then descend on me. Not months, but years passed over before I saw this error. The winter of 1801 was very severe,332 and my mother thought it right to limit each individual of the family to a quartern loaf333 of brown bread every week; but my sister and myself never found our allowance sufficient. Where there is a real scarcity this ought to be done, no doubt, and when the poor were suffering as they then did, who could have dared to complain of small bereavements? We, I think, felt it was a Christian duty to fast on this occasion, and my sister even carried her self-denial so far that she studied to render what food she ate disagreeable to the palate. Thus we were rapidly adopting the idea of self-infliction, and were just in the state to have entered into a nunnery, had it been as easy to have done so then as it is now. On Wednesday, the 6th of January, I finished “Susan Grey,”334 which was printed in its first form by Mr. Hazard, of Bath, in 1802. This little volume is remarkable in the annals of literature from its having been the first of its kind, that is, the first narrative allowing of anything like correct writing, or refined sentiments, expressed without vulgarisms, ever prepared for the poor, and having religion for its object. “Susan Grey” was, in its time, so great a favourite, that it was pirated in every shape and form, and it would be impossible to calculate the editions through which it passed before the year 1816, when the copyright was returned to me. In that year I altered and sold it again. “Susan Grey,” though an affecting story, is evidently the work of a young writer, and touches on points which a female author knowing more of the world than I then did would probably rather choose to avoid. It was originally written for the elder girls in our Sunday-school, and read to them chapter by chapter, and naturally turned upon the especial circumstances of the times, when every town was filled with military men, who were there to-day and gone to-morrow, little heeding the many distressed and aching hearts they left behind them. I have reason to think that these lessons of morality, given at that time, were blessed to many of the girls who formed our school. It is well known that only one of them has been led aside from the way of honour; but this is Thy work, not ours, O Lord. There was evidently all this time a very strong contest going on in my mind, between the love of the world and a sense of the sin and vanity of that love. There is a period in the lives of all young girls in which they are flattered. The peculiar trial of our youth was, that my mother seldom if ever went out with us, to be our guard, and after a while she only permitted us to go out separately. There are memorandums in my old journal, from which I am taking this history, of one of these flatteries, followed by this prayer:—“Oh! my God! others may love the world, but I will follow Thee; others may follow the pleasures of this life, but I will be contented to take up my cross and follow Thee, and I will be numbered among the holy men and prophets and apostles of old.” 167

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Then follows, the next day, a thanksgiving for having been enabled to do my duty to my God, and for having been patient, submissive, and cheerful. Here we find a double deception; first, in the resolutions formed of doing all things well, and, secondly, in the persuasion, which seems to have been entertained the next day, that all things had been so done, as far as occasion had served. The lesson, therefore, which in due time must be learnt by all, that man is nothing, and that God is all in all, was still to be acquired by me from its very commencement. That winter continued to be very hard; many efforts were made in the town for clothing the poor, and also for feeding them, and my sister and I were very busy on these occasions. We worked at the clothing in the morning, and in the evening we went among the poor, always going to one house each day, and carrying supplies of bread, butter, tea, and sugar for one meal. These articles we bought, with our own savings, at the shops as we passed along. Thus wore away the winter, and part of the spring, during which time I wrote two tracts, one entitled “The Potatoes,”335 in which I well remember describing the day of judgment, invested with all its horrors. The motto of this story was, “This night thy soul shall be required of thee.”336 The other tract was called, “The Baker’s Dream,”337 of which I forget any particulars. My beloved mother entered with much pleasure into the making and selling of the clothes for the poor. The work finished off by a public sale of these clothes in the room over the gateway. In April my dear sister went to London, to visit our relative, the Rev. G. Andrews, Rector of St. James’s. The departure of Lucy was a great trial to me, for most solitary indeed I felt when deprived of her. As soon as she was gone, I wrote a set of rules to be kept in her absence. 1. To rise as early as I can awake. 2. To spend my time in prayer till my mother is up. 3. To devote certain hours to my mother. 4. To read my Bible after breakfast. 5. Never to walk in the streets but when sent by my mother, or when any poor people require. 6. To go to church every Wednesday or Friday. 7. Never to indulge a worldly thought. All these rules were very well meant, and some of them perfectly right, but all were built upon a false estimation of my own powers, and a false apprehension of the Divine plans with man. As a matter of course, the account of the few next days, in which I was left alone with my mother, was only a record of the breaking sometimes of one, sometimes of another, and sometimes of all these resolutions. My dear sister had left me in April: it was now May. During that time I had found three motherless girls in a cottage, and made arrangements for their being placed in a decent school. The way in which I became acquainted with them was curious. I was walking in Bridgenorth slowly and alone, when I met a pretty little girl in shabby mourning. She made me a low courtesy, and said, “Lady, mammy is dead.” I stopped and asked her some questions, and she took me to her miserable dwelling, where two 168

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pretty sisters, younger than herself, claimed my pity. They were not so very poor, as that they wanted attention. I soon managed that they should be sent to a small school at the end of the town, near the High Rock. They were very handsome, and one of them, I have heard, turned out very unfortunately. I know not the fate of the others. At this period I ran myself into great danger by visiting some of the children who were dreadfully ill of the small-pox; but I had no fear. My mind at that time was undoubtedly much engaged by religious subjects, although in total darkness as it regarded Christian doctrines, not one of which did I then comprehend. What at first had given me alarm respecting what might be the end of a life of mere self-pleasing, I cannot remember; but hitherto I had not yet gone one step beyond the desire of establishing my own righteousness. It was soon after my sister’s return that I began to write “The Beautiful Estelle,”338 a story which, in an altered and I trust improved form, is found in the sixth volume of the “Lady of the Manor.”339 This story, even as it is published, partakes of the gloom of the period in which it was first thought of; namely, the period of the absence of my sister. Being wholly under the covenant of works, and being condemned either to much solitude or to very gay companions—for the town was full of officers, who had introductions to our family—when I walked out I felt with great force the peculiar trials of youth, and had more than ever needed the protection of a mother, not within the house only, but out of doors. The history of “Estelle,” as I before said, took its impression from my own mind at the time described,—what I then supposed were the inevitable consequences of yielding to vanity and the love of pleasure; and with the ideas I had then of these things, I made my beautiful heroine, not only deeply miserable in this life, but also consigned her to endless misery in the next. After many years, when I read this little history again, I was perfectly amazed, and, I may say, shocked, at the fearful gloom cast over the whole composition. A total absence of religious principles always must deduct from the interest of a narrative; but such views of religion as were given in the first “Estelle” must render every story terrible. It seems that at that time I had not an idea of the nature of the work of redemption by our blessed Lord. What, then, was my religion? Whence came those reproaches of conscience when I had done wrong, and those strong, yet intermitting, efforts to do well? Whence came those dark cries for help which are recorded in many places of my journal? Whilst writing “Estelle,” I made another little scheme for keeping my mind in what I thought a proper state. I made a kind of scale, with many degrees, by which to measure my animal spirits, which, when right, were always to rise to the centre degree, which I marked self-approbation. At the very top of my scale was high and vicious prosperity, I ought to have called it excitement; at the bottom despair; and there were as many ascending as descending grades; but the desirable point, the happy medium, was this same selfapprobation. Then follows a record of many days in which this same agreeable illusion was enjoyed by me without a sensible rise or fall. 169

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But to return to what then chiefly occupied our thoughts and attention—our school. Sunday-schools were then new things; there were none of the places then existing of training intellectual beings, as it were, by mere machinery; neither were the times then such as rendered the affectionate intercourse between different ranks in society almost, if not altogether, impracticable, as it now would be. The spirit of insubordination had not then forced the higher ranks to shrink from kindly intercourse with the lower; hence the influence which we were enabled to use over our children was not that of mere form, but of the heart; and such was their affection for us, that, for two or three years after we were taken from them, many of them used to meet on a fine Sunday evening, behind a round hill or tumulus, supposed to have been raised up against the Castle Hill at Bridgenorth during the Civil Wars, to pray for us, and to pray also for a future happy meeting. And that meeting will be allowed in glory everlasting. It seems that my mother began to be dissatisfied with her residence at Bridgenorth, and in the summer of 1801, she began to talk of going to Bath, and leaving Bridgenorth altogether. In a prayer written about the period when this move was first in contemplation there seems to be more light and warmth than in any which occurs before. “Oh, holy and beloved Maker and Redeemer, I will now without ceasing call upon Thee. I will delight to think of Thee. Make me to feed with thy holy and milk-white flock. Be thou my Shepherd in this perilous wilderness, and lead me hereafter to thy heavenly and immortal pastures,” &c. After this prayer follows a string of good resolutions, all of which were of course immediately broken. It is evident from my journal that I was striving hard in my own strength to be very good and very religious, whilst at the same time the gay young people with whom I was associated used their influence to dissipate my severer thoughts. I was by no means happy, nor is it possible for any person to enjoy anything like happiness until their minds are fixed upon the Redeemer. But the natural mind is morally incapable of comprehending Christ as the Redeemer, although it may struggle vehemently to deliver itself from the consequences of its own evil motions and actings, and to quiet its conscience by its own efforts to propitiate a justly offended God. I have said that whilst at Arley my mother declared her intention of going to Bath; she had taken a dislike to Bridgenorth. She would go there no more, she said. When she told us her plans, my sister and myself were much affected by the idea of leaving our scholars. And, were not our feelings on this occasion recorded in my journal, I could hardly have believed they had been so strong. The passage is this:—“My mother opened to us this day her intention of going to Bath, and perhaps never returning to Bridgenorth; we were not happy, and could not bring our mind to part with our flock—our little flock. Oh! my God! my gracious God and heavenly Father, take pity on these lambs, and provide them, Oh! Lord, in thine infinite bounty and mercy, with a tender shepherd 170

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who will lead them beside clear streams, and where refreshing waters flow.” The following stanzas from Cowley are then added, altered, I believe, to suit my own feelings:— “Whilome I used, as thou right well dost know, My little flock on western downs to keep, Not far from where Sabrina’s stream doth flow, And flowery banks with silver liquor steep; Nought cared I then for worldly change or chance, For all my joys were on my gentle sheep, And to my pipe to carol or to dance. My little flock, whom erst I loved so well, And wont to feed with finest grass that grew, Feed ye henceforth on bitter Asphodell.”340 The first clear expression of confidence in God I have yet found in my journal is contained in the next passage:—“To thee, my glorious God, I leave my little flock, without guilty anxiety; for will not the gracious God have pity upon it?” There is scarcely anything more remarkable in the mind of man than restlessness, which can only be overcome by the new nature acting with power upon the old one, giving to the renewed creature such assurances of a future happiness, to be enjoyed in a union with the Redeemer, as in comparison throw all objects of present enjoyment into the back-ground. My sister and myself were not pleased with the idea of a visit to Bath, in which we anticipated only what we found, much mortification; but probably going back to Bridgenorth might not have pleased us better; for I, at least, was conscious of a spirit of dissatisfaction, and I thought that I might perchance lose it by tightening the cord of my duties. So at this time I endeavoured to adopt certain rules of conduct which I found in an old book, I think of Bishop Burnet, one of which was, “Always, when lying down in your bed, try to think it is your coffin.”341 Is it not wonderful that so many well-meaning persons should think that they honour Him who has brought life and immortality to light, by delighting to dwell among the potsherds of the earth,342 rather than in the assurance which is given to all believers, that they shall arise with the wings of the dove?343 But so it is, and always has been. And, where there is more zeal than knowledge, it is always thought meritorious to die every day in the contemplation of the grave, the coffin, and the charnel-house. From Arley I went by myself to Bridgenorth, to make arrangements for our leaving, and on my return, which I did by water, though I have no recollection with whom, many of my beloved scholars took leave of me on the banks of the river. My farewell to Bridgenorth on this occasion is thus expressed:—“Farewell, Bridgenorth; God be praised for the many happy hours I have spent in this place; for the many melancholy hours there passed, I also praise God; for the sacred and 171

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solemn lessons, too, I have here learned; and Oh! I ask thee, my Lord, that, should I ever return to this place, I may return more holy, pure, and pious.” By my mother’s dictation, I had written from Bristol to a friend, to ask her to take us a lodging, and, with her accustomed timidity, the poor lady had desired that her lodgings should be humble and cheap. Our friend had taken her to the very letter. She had written to say that lodgings were procured, and had directed us whither to drive. It so happened we arrived in the evening, and although I was never particularly fastidious in these matters, I was never more shocked; for we were destined to inhabit a dark old house in one of the worst streets in the town. I remember that the window of my sister’s and my room opened at the head of the bed, and that it rained in upon the bed. My mother had a ridiculous dread of expenditure, and my sister and myself, not knowing what her income was, really believed her to be very poor; we therefore hardly knew what to say, or what to propose. When our friend called upon us the next day to ask us how we liked our lodgings, we scarcely ventured to hint that we thought them too bad. She, however, appealed to the letter, and said that she had supposed we really could afford no better. The lodgings had been hired for a week, but our removal was effected before the week was out, in consequence of a circumstance which terrified my mother as much as if she had found herself in a robber’s cave. One evening, just before retiring to rest, a carriage stopped at the door; thundering knocks ensued. The door was opened, and many loud, merry voices filled the passage, and the rooms above us presently resounded with many steps; then there were calls for supper and lights. Next ensued scraps of songs, laughter, and shouts. My poor mother was all alarm, and at length we called the slave of allwork344 to inquire the cause of all this tintamara.345 “It is Mr. Cook,”346 she said, “and some gentlemen from London.” This Mr. Cook was a celebrated comedian of that day, and the other gentlemen were his friends. The next morning we removed to very pleasant lodgings, nearly opposite the door of the principal pump-room, and found ourselves the more comfortable from the comparison with what we had left. And now being settled in our new lodgings, I made myself new rules, and formed new resolutions, and begun what was really good: that was, reading the Bible, and committing some portion of it to memory. Whilst we were at Bath I formed several acquaintances worthy of recollection, and one was with a Miss Galton,347 from Birmingham, a young lady of about my own age, who had come to Bath for her health, and resided with the celebrated Miss Hamilton.348 Miss Galton’s family was attended by my cousin, Dr. Salt, when he resided in Birmingham, and through him she was induced to call on us. Miss Hamilton came with her, and invited me to her house, my mother not accepting any invitation. Miss Hamilton was then in her highest celebrity as an authoress, having not long before published her “Modern Philosophers.”349 She was, in fact, at that period at the head of the bas bleus350 of Bath. She had a literary party, a belle 172

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assemblée,351 one evening every week at her house, and, although then unknown as an authoress, I was honoured with an invitation. I have given a description of that evening, under feigned names, in a chapter of a work of mine, entitled “Caroline Mordaunt:”352 I will not, therefore, say more of it in this place. Miss Hamilton, notwithstanding her tincture of blue, appeared to me to be naturally as unpresuming and as good-natured a woman as I ever met with; she was small in person, her face was plain, and her age then what I accounted old,—at least elderly. The only persons I remember in that party besides, were the “Child of Nature,”353 who appeared to me to be playing a part, and a Colonel Barry,354 a perfect literary dandy, who afterwards called upon us, and took a great fancy to my sister. It was not for years and years afterwards that I recognized my former acquaintance, Miss Galton, in the celebrated Mrs. Skimmelpennick, the authoress of the “History of Port-Royal.”355 All I can now recollect of her was, that she was a simple, agreeable person, without the smallest display. My mother’s health continuing far from well, we were recommended to consult a medical gentleman of the name of Creser, and a friend brought him to our lodgings, when his advice proved so serviceable, that in a very short time our beloved parent lost the worst symptoms. With the blessing of God, though much weakened by the remedies to which she had been subjected, she again became all that she had been in her happiest and best days, before our dear father’s death. Early in February we left Bath. My mother accepted an invitation from her nephew, Mr. Thomas Butt, to reside with him for the present at Arley Hall, where he was living alone. How agreeable this plan was to us cannot be told; and, truly, the wide old Hall, with its lovely gardens, seemed to me a perfect paradise after the dark chambers in the South Parade. I have forgotten to say, that just before we had undertaken our Bath journey, I had sold the manuscript of “Susan Grey”356 to Mr. Hazard for ten pounds,357 without my name. We found, when we got to Bath, that the book was being published. As I asked leave to correct the press, Mr. Hazard soon guessed that I was the authoress, and very soon after it was out I got a very complimentary letter from the chaplain of some female orphan asylum in London, thanking me for my valuable work, though not knowing my name. Mr. Hazard gave me this letter, and I was not a little pleased with myself on the occasion. Some smiling weeks followed after we were settled at Arley Hall. My dear mother was better, and her kindness and gentleness, and the affection she showed to us, and delight in our company, now that she was well, made her character shine forth with a purity which I have scarcely ever seen equalled. During the whole time of my intercourse with this excellent parent, I never heard one light word from her lips, nor one word which conveyed an idea that she held sin in any other light than with unmixed abhorrence. Without being prosy or sententious, every word she spoke was with wisdom, and every principle which she uttered was worthy of being written in letters of gold. 173

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She had a fine taste in works of imagination, though she probably had little imagination herself. In every action she referred to the pleasure of God, and was long and deeply sensible of error when she had done wrong. It was, therefore, in comparison with what had gone before, a very happy spring that we spent at Arley Hall. We commonly occupied the library, over the fire-place of which was the portrait of Thomas, the second Lord Lyttelton, in his parliamentary robes; the spirit, which was said to have admonished him of his death, having been introduced in the back-ground after the demise of the young nobleman. Lord Valentia had not yet commenced his voyage,358 being then in London, and with him my cousin, Henry Salt, who was afterwards Consul in Egypt. Lord Valentia’s exquisite gardens and noble collection of exotics were kept in the nicest order. My beloved mother speaks in her journal of the delight she had in walking in these beautiful grounds; and, writing on the 23rd of February, she says, “The wonderful improvement which has taken place in my health, and the consequent comfort which I have enjoyed since I came here, requires the grateful return of praise to God, from whom I derive these and all the innumerable comforts of my life; and I do most sincerely desire to offer up to him every possible tribute of gratitude which I can bring.” At this period there was a Mr. Wright from Kidderminster359 residing at the Hall, and occupied in painting certain of the most rare and beautiful specimens in the hot-house. I had remembered him at Kidderminster, and the whole of his family had been accounted pious persons. My kind and most affectionate cousin, Mr. Butt, being obliged to go from the Hall for one or two weeks, this Mr. Wright came to me and my sister, and asked us if we would venture to uphold him in establishing a Sunday-school whilst Mr. Butt, the curate, was absent, running the risk, perhaps, of offending him by this independent step. Lucy and myself being full of zeal, warmly met Mr. Wright’s views. We selected the servants’ hall as our school-room, and Mr. Wright undertook to muster the children; and so busy we were, that, when our cousin returned, there was his Sunday-school established: and so far from being displeased, he was delighted. He had been planning something of this kind, but the popular voice was then far from being in favour of these things; for many persons anticipated gloomily what might result from educating the populace, not considering that the impulse having been given, probably at first by the invention of printing, it must certainly proceed with increased force until the last experiment shall be fully tried. And this experiment I believe is a trial to show the utmost effect of human knowledge upon society. We shall then be taught its incapacity for producing true happiness; but, as usual, we shall be slow at learning this lesson. About this time Lucy and myself paid a visit to Bridgenorth. One day, being alone in the parlour, my sister having walked out, a gentleman was ushered in, bringing a letter from my mother, and introducing himself as Colonel Cockburn. This gentleman was dressed in black, and carried his arm in a scarf sling. I supposed that the gallant officer had been injured in battle, and of course I was very polite to him; but, had he not brought a letter from my mother, I should very soon 174

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have set him down as one of the most free-and-easy gentlemen I had ever seen, and should have thought that I had admitted some one who ought not to have been there. His seeming impertinence, however, chiefly consisted in a very curious expression of countenance, and a half smile, which I could not account for. In my heart I was excessively angry with my mother and cousin, Mr. Butt, for sending such a visitor to us. He had been with me some time, and I had not the least suspicion of any trick being played upon me, until he suddenly asked me some questions about a family portrait hanging on the wall. This question betrayed him, and the truth flashing on my mind, I congratulated myself on the pleasure of being in company with my cousin, Henry Salt. Thus the pretended Colonel Cockburn stood unmasked, and then the real Henry Salt told me, that he was come to spend two days with us, to make our acquaintance before we parted, probably never to meet again on earth. Of course I made my cousin most welcome; but hearing my sister’s voice in the hall, we agreed in an instant that he was to be Colonel Cockburn again. Lucy came in and found me sitting all prim with the colonel, my mother’s note was handed to her, and the colonel introduced in due form. Having one now to assist him, Henry topped his part to such perfection, and I probably looked so merry, that my sister became perfectly distressed, looking from one to another, and in her heart, as she afterwards told me, being excessively angry, not only with me for my imprudence with a stranger, but with our mother and cousin, Mr. Butt, for sending this stranger to us. At length, however, when we saw she was getting quite serious upon the occasion, we told her who our visitor was, and soon she brightened up, and all was right. He was come just at the lucky time. We expected several of the young ladies from Dudmaston to dine with us, and there was some happy scheme for the evening, though I cannot say that I remember what it was. But we were all to go out together, and some kind old lady was going with us as a chaperon. What an addition then to our party was our young cousin, Henry Salt! The future Consul of Egypt was a remarkably pleasing young man, highly intellectual, as the records of him at the British Museum will show, and full of innocent merriment, as had appeared from the mode in which he had contrived to have himself introduced to us, choosing the name, from the circumstance of its actual owner being then at Arley Hall. The Miss Whitmores360 were to stay with us till the following evening, and a merry time we had. After breakfast the next day we had a mock sale of pictures, selling all the portraits in the house, Henry Salt sitting in a chair placed on the dining-table, and acting auctioneer. He left us the following morning, and from that time we never saw him more, though within a very few years afterwards I visited many places in the East, where he was well remembered. How truly does the poet say, in reference to this world, “Oh! blindness to the future, kindly given.”361 Could the lively young people who then met in that strange old house at Bridgenorth have anticipated their various fates, and the various sorrows through which they were appointed to travel,—could they in that case have laughed away the hours as they then did? 175

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One of the fairest of the party there was Elizabeth, or Lizzy Whitmore, as she was called by her sisters; she had a particularly fresh and innocent face; she married very soon after this, and became the mother of ten children. Her story is a sad one. She has lived to bury her husband and nine of those children; whilst the life of Henry Salt was cut short in its prime by the plague in Egypt. The rest still live, and all, no doubt, have had their share of trial, though none, not one, has received a blow too many; for there is no other view in which the believer can possibly see any present trial but in that of a concealed blessing, bestowed upon us through the redemption of our Saviour. I must now proceed to refer to a circumstance which happened to me at Bath. Being one day in company with my friend Miss Warner, she showed me a letter from a Mr. William M****,362 asking her to take charge of a little half-coloured child of six years old from India. She could not undertake this charge herself; but it struck me that a little child might amuse my mother, and break a little of the tedium of our winter’s evenings. I therefore, having obtained my mother’s permission, made, through my friend, the offer of taking this child myself. The little girl was brought to me by Mr. M**** in a chaise and four on the last Sunday evening in March. It was evident that if we were surprised at a chaise and four rattling through the bottom of the valley, seen through the windows of the library, Mr. M**** was not less so to find us living, as we then were, at Arley Hall. He expressed his surprise, and asked me what motive I could have in wishing the trouble of a pupil. I told him my real reason,—a want of something to make our home interesting. He seemed to be greatly pleased with my mother, as well he might, and not less so I think with me; for, meeting him as he was going away, on the wide old staircase, I asked him if he had any particular wish to express respecting the little girl. “Only, madam,” he answered, most gallantly bowing, “that you will make her like yourself, and my utmost wishes will be satisfied.” How this was to be done I could not well understand, though I was marvellously pleased with the compliment. As I had anticipated, my mother immediately took to the child, who was only six years old, particularly small, very quiet, and helpless from delicate health, and therefore more fit to go about with one thinking herself an invalid. Her habits were still completely East Indian, and her complexion so also; and she was so small and light that I carried her in my arms, and was altogether as much pleased at possessing her as I should have been years before with the possession of a new doll. It had been agreed, some time before, that about the beginning of October I should accompany my cousin, Mr. Butt, on a visit to his aunt, Mrs. Congreve,363 at Peter Hall; but, on the Sunday previous, I called with my sister on a family the children of which were ill with the scarlet fever. On the Monday my cousin and myself proceeded by coach to Coventry, where we were to meet Miss Congreve, and to sleep at a lady’s house of the name of Bury.364 This journey proved to be very full of events to me; for it appeared that I had taken the infection of the scarlet fever when paying my morning visit at Arley. In twenty-four hours from 176

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that period I was so ill as scarcely to be able to sit up in the coach at Birmingham; hence I was compelled to lie down instead of dining, and when in a chaise, which we took from thence to Coventry, I could hardly keep up my head, and was cruelly mortified at a turnpike in the way, where, asking for water, I could only procure some boiling from the tea-kettle. My cousin seemed much perplexed, and great indeed was his kindness; and, to endeavour to amuse me, he repeated hundreds of lines of Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” of which I particularly noted the glorious description of the angels praising God, as described in the second book, throwing their crowns of immortal amaranth on the golden pavement, and magnifying the Lord with their harps—harps ever tuned. The infernal regions, with all the circumstances of horror which the poet has there assembled, were not allowed to pass from my feverish mind, as my dear cousin gave utterance to them with much force and elegance. As these were the last ideas conveyed to my imagination before I was entirely overpowered by fever, they failed not to present themselves again in aggravated and exaggerated forms, the fearful images, no doubt, resulting from delirium. When arrived at the turnpike at the entrance of Coventry, we met Miss Congreve, who came into the chaise, and was our guide to Mr. Bury’s, whose house was so near St. Michael’s Church as to command a fine view of the unrivalled spire and tower. It is not necessary to enter into the minutiæ of the dreadful illness which laid me up so completely that the next day I could not be removed. None of the medical men, it seems, knew what was the matter with me, as the eruption did not appear. I was, however, almost suffocated with a sore throat, and quite wild with delirium. The kindness I met with from the family, who were all strangers to me, from Miss Congreve, and Mr. T. Butt, was such as ought never to be forgotten; but unluckily the fiends of Milton had taken such hold of me that, in my delirium, I actually fancied myself in hell, and I thought I was surrounded by men and women of the most distorted and horrid features, expressive of the most diabolical passions. It is of little use to dwell longer on these scenes of fever. I was only to have slept one night at Mrs. Bury’s; but I remained many there, and Mrs. Bury herself sat up with me most of these nights, and bore not only with fatigue and great alarm, but ran the risk of fearful infection. She was then a happy wife and mother of ten children, all then at home, and some very young; but she incurred all the risk of fearful infection for me, a total stranger, and the infection, I am sorry to say, spread. The two servants who nursed me, and two of the children, took it; but they had this advantage: the physician knew what the disease was, which he did not in my case. Hence they were sooner than myself out of danger. A happier couple, a happier family than that of Mr. and Mrs. Bury’s was at that time, I never met with. The children were then all, as I said, at home, and never did I meet with people who enjoyed domestic happiness as they did. Whilst these children were little, everything with them was a domestic gala, because they all worked together at the daily task, whatever it might have been; whether it was reading a choice volume, or gathering fruit for preserves, all were present, all enjoyed the same ideas, and assisted in the same tasks. 177

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A very few years after this, sorrows came thick and in various forms upon them, and many of the ten, all of whom had been spared in infancy, were laid to rest in their graves long before their beloved mother, who was, alas! a widow many years. The kindness of Miss Congreve at that time I must ever remember, and her attention to me then, as will be seen, had great influence on her after life. But in the excess of my illness, whilst hanging between life and death, no kindness could ever have surpassed that of my cousin’s, Mr. Butt. He was the only one of my own family with me, and the only one who could induce me to attempt to swallow medicines, when almost suffocated with the quinsey365 in my throat. But since that period I have seen little of him. Our journey through life has led us into far distant paths; and now that, after many wanderings, I am again settled in England, I and the few remaining friends with whom I spent my early youth are so widely separated by domestic calls, that now we scarcely live to each other more than in memory—precious, precious memory.

CHAPTER XIII. MY

VISIT TO PETER HALL—MY MOTHER’S ILLNESS—MY RETURN TO BRIDGENORTH—

ARRIVAL OF MR. SHERWOOD—DR. SALT’S ILLNESS—MY MARRIAGE—I JOIN THE

REGIMENT AT SUNDERLAND—DR. PALEY—WE ARE REMOVED TO BRAMPTON, AND

CARLISLE, AND HEXHAM.

I CANNOT say how long I remained at Coventry: probably about a fortnight; but at the end of the time which had been fixed for my cousin’s return to Arley, he came to take leave of me at Mrs. Bury’s, and the same day I was removed to Peter Hall with Miss Congreve. Mr. Bury kindly went with us. Peter Hall is an ancient, many-gabled house, situated on the very edge of Combe Park, the seat of Lord Craven. Notwithstanding the general flatness of Warwickshire, the county has a peculiar character of beauty of its own; a green elegance, with many fine trees, laid out in woods. The Congreves of Peter Hall had then intermarried three times within record with my father’s family; hence, I was received, when brought from Coventry in a most feeble state of health, precisely as if I had been a beloved child of the family—laid on a couch in the parlour, and permitted to make one amongst the rest, everything going on precisely as if I had not been present. The first night I spent at Peter Hall I slept sweetly. Soon I was able to go on regularly with my usual occupations, and then I gradually gained strength and health; and as I recovered the power and vigour of my mind, never did more pleasant thoughts enter my head. 178

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It was then I thus wrote in my journal:—“I have remembered all thy goodness to me, oh, Lord! thy mercy in my illness, and how thou didst then render pain tolerable and weakness delightful to me. Oh, death! where is thy sting? Oh, grave! where is thy victory? for the sting of death is sin.366 “What refreshing thoughts have from time to time entered my mind since I came to this place, and what pleasure have I taken in the most simple and innocent things! “When I first walked in the gardens here, and saw the sheep feeding in the adjoining pastures—when I saw the lovely woods in one of the rich and manytinted months of autumn—when I saw the bright sky, the radiant stars, and the fresh green fields, how did I praise my God; and when left alone, how did I, in holy hymns and sacred songs, exalt my voice to Thee. “Oh, my God! my God! preserve in me this serious yet most delightful frame of mind, this holy innocence. May I do all which is in my poor power, and do Thou, oh, Spirit of God! assist me. “Wash me with thy blood, oh, blessed Jesus! and though my ‘sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.’ ”367 With the exception of the last quotation from Scripture, I do not see more light in these passages, written immediately after my arrival at Peter Hall, than in others which have gone before. Though they contain the evidence of a more cheerful state of mind—the consequence of renewed health—yet when I could fancy myself to be holy or innocent, I must still have been in midnight darkness as to my spiritual nature. Whilst I was at Peter Hall, the family had a visit from a clergyman of the name of Barns, who told the following anecdote of Bishop Hough,368 as related to him by his uncle, who was a young curate in the time of that bishop. The young curate, it seems, being called upon to say grace, said it in a very low voice, as if under the influence of shame. Bishop Hough said, “Young man, are you ashamed?” The curate coloured, on which the Bishop told this anecdote:—“When I was a young man,” he said, “I was chaplain to the King. When at the chaplain’s table, I thought that it became me to say grace in an audible voice. An old courtier at the table, who was rather deaf, said, ‘This, Sir, is the first time I have heard grace said for many years.’ ” I remained at Peter Hall till the 8th of January, 1803. During that time I received two letters, on one of which depended many important events of my future life; and this was from my cousin, Henry Sherwood. This letter was dated from Hilsea Barracks, where for the present he was stationed with his regiment, the 53rd. He had just arrived from the West Indies, where he had been for five years. He had twice been near death from the yellow fever. The other letter was from my sister, saying that my mother had been ill of some feverish attack, but was better, and did not wish me to return just yet, as, having so lately had one fever, she supposed that I was more likely to take another. A second letter afterwards informed me that my mother was getting better. 179

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The truly motherly and compassionate friend to whom I had been so much indebted during my illness, Mrs. Bury, was patroness of some charity in Coventry, for the benefit of which she, with some other ladies, were to have an assembly at the Drapers’ Hall, and as she urged that her niece, Miss Congreve, and myself should be present, I could not think of refusing her kind invitation, after all she had done for me; and it was therefore planned that Miss Congreve and myself should leave Peter Hall, and go to an aunt of hers, a Mrs. Clay, who lived in Park-street, Coventry, to be there during the assembly. The aunt had also arranged a little ball for young people, to take place the evening before the public meeting. I certainly did not look forward with much pleasure to these gaieties, neither did Miss Congreve; but we were neither of us, I trust, ungrateful for the kindness intended for us. The children’s ball at Mrs. Clay’s took place the night we expected. We sat up late, and when I came down in the morning many of the party had breakfasted. It so happened that I sat opposite Mr. Thomas Congreve, my friend’s brother, and observed that he looked at me once or twice with an expression of deep concern, which I could not understand. After breakfast this was explained to me. A letter had been received that morning directed to Miss Congreve from my sister, on the outside of which had been written, “With all speed.” It had fallen into his hands, and he had kindly kept it till we had breakfasted,—and then he produced it. It was to say that my mother’s fever had turned out to be typhus, that she was in the most imminent danger, and that I was to return immediately. On the receipt of this letter, Miss Congreve instantly, without any reference to her parents, who were six miles distant, though under the sanction of her aunt and brother, determined to accompany me home. In the shortest time possible we were on our way to Birmingham, though we could not get on to Bridgenorth till the next morning. I found my mother in a most dangerous state, and my sister worn out with watching. Mary Bailis, a young servant who had been some years with my mother, and was excessively attached to her, was so overcome with joy when she saw me, and remembered the late fears for my life, that she ran up to me and kissed me in her ecstasy. I was surprised, of course, at this salutation; but I should not easily have forgiven myself had I repulsed her. The disease which had attacked my mother was a low, putrid fever,369 and so infectious that on the morning after our arrival the little child (Harriet) was taken ill, and the next day the cook. The Sunday following my sister sickened, and one week afterwards poor Mary Bailis. Our house then became a place of alarm to all the town; and had it not been for some of the grateful and affectionate parents of our Sunday-scholars, we might have been left without attendance. Whilst my mother’s state was most threatening in one room of our old house, my sister and Harriet were, we thought, dying in another; and poor Mary Bailis did actually die. My dear Miss Congreve underwent extreme fatigue for us, whilst all the town avoided us. Persons spoke to us, and inquired after us through the closed street-door, no one for some time 180

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venturing to come in from a distance to abide with us but my dear brother, who was with us every other week. When my cousin Henry Sherwood arrived in the town, having got permission to recruit in Bridgenorth, (his regiment having been marched to Shrewsbury, where, in fact, it had been raised,) we were almost afraid of receiving him, lest he, too, should take the infection. Thus in a peculiar manner were I and my young friend associated with the two persons with whom we were to terminate our lives. And this I firmly believe, that more marriages are made in scenes of affliction, such as we then were in, than in the most brilliant periods of life. On the 7th of March poor Mary Bailis died. Six young women, in white gowns and white hoods, carried her to her grave in the High Churchyard. She died, we all believe, in a decidedly pious state. My mother had always loved her, and a more faithful, affectionate servant never lived. When my mother had gone to Bath she would not take her, lest she should be corrupted; but she had been with us all the time we were at Arley Hall. After a while it was settled that my sister and Harriet should go to Coventry, by slow journeys, with Miss Congreve, first stopping at Arley, where our kind cousin was to receive them. Accordingly we all set out; Miss Congreve, my sister, the little Indian,370 and Mr. Sherwood going with us. Miss Congreve and I, however, returned the same evening to my mother, leaving the invalids at Arley. On the Thursday following, the 53rd came from Shrewsbury to Bridgenorth, and Mr. Sherwood became alarmed lest he should be sent to some other place. This alarm, however, passed off shortly, which was well for us, for the few next days were full of decisive events to us. In that period both Miss Congreve and myself engaged ourselves: I to follow the camp wheresover the fortune of war, or rather Divine Providence, might call me; and she to settle down with my brother as the wife of a clergyman. I had no thought, however, when I engaged myself, that I should leave my mother till her plans were settled, and my sister’s health was restored; for I supposed that Mr. Sherwood would remain some years in England with his regiment, and so, in fancy, I put off the day of separation. My mother, when asked, gave her sanction to our marriage, but would not enter into the subject of any plans. She still continued to be in a very delicate state, and, being very nervous, she seemed afraid to discuss any matters of business, and was certainly better with any other person than a member of her own family. Her good old nurse, Mrs. Gumm, who had attended her during the fever, and her little daughter, about twelve years old, were therefore always with her, and the child particularly could amuse her when nobody else had the power to do so. Mr. Hawkins Browne kindly invited her to inhabit apartments for a while in his beautiful house at Badger, though he himself could not be at home. On the 18th of April I took her to Badger, and left her with the nurse and child, after remaining with her a week. I had to return from Badger to receive my cousin Dr. Salt, who arrived the next day, when my brother and Mr. Sherwood also came. 181

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The history of Dr. Salt is one of peculiar interest to all those who love to trace those special arrangements of a merciful Providence, by which a wandering soul is gradually brought into the fold of the Redeemer. We had last parted with Dr. Salt at Worcester, in our way to Bath. He was then going with his sister into Devonshire on account of his health. He remained with her from that period, gradually getting worse and worse, till at length it was ascertained that he had some inward disease, which was certain in a short time to cause death. He was too well aware, as a medical man, that he was dying. His heart yearned after the companions of his early youth, in those days, ever remembered, when he lived under the care of my father at Stanford. Although he could not then see or associate with my mother, he was bent upon coming to see me and my brother; and his motive was, undoubtedly, in order that he might converse with us, to obtain more light on the subject of religion, although, God knows, we could be then only as the blind leading the blind. Still, however, both my brother and myself thought religion a matter of some importance. This was better for the poor dying man than the society of mere worldly persons, such as he had been in the habit of seeing about him. It was one of his caprices, that during all his illness he would not suffer a man servant to wait upon him; he came, therefore, with a rough sort of female servant, who would do anything for him, but she was such a disagreeable person that she set our servants into a state of regular rebellion. Such was the confusion of our household at Bridgenorth, such the delicate state of my mother at Badger, and my sister at Coventry, that it seemed as if a total change in all our family arrangements must very soon necessarily take place. This was to me a time of much perplexity, for, added to those named, was the following trouble:—The principal part of our family property was then on an estate, held by three lives, viz., my mother’s, my brother’s, and Dr. Salt’s.371 Dr. Salt one day said to me, “Are you aware of what would happen should two of these lives go at once?” He advised me to take steps to exchange my mother’s life for a younger and better one. On consulting my brother, we two determined on a renewal, but resolved not to exchange the name of my mother, but that of Dr. Salt’s for mine, and we actually effected the exchange without his discovering whose name had really been removed. Some one, however, let it out before him, and then my poor cousin said, with a deep sigh, “You have judged rightly: mine is the worst life.” I have never felt more pain from any speech than I did from this. It is possible, nay, I am assured, that sometimes persons in the very blossom of earthly hopes and earthly prospects, when all around them smile most sweetly, are able to look forward, through faith bestowed from the fullness of Christ, even cheerfully to death, and the bright anticipation of the glories beyond the grave. But such was not then the state of my cousin Dr. Salt. When residing as a little boy at Stanford, my father and my mother had carefully instructed him in all their own views of religion: my father’s especially being all bright and glowing, as was his own mind. But these instructions, it seems, had remained without fruit; and 182

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though retained, with other remembrances of that happy period of his early days, yet for a time they seemed to have no effect. After leaving Stanford, the elegance of his manners, the vast superiority of his mind, as manifested particularly in conversation, had first recommended him to the most refined society in Lichfield; next, to the most talented in Edinburgh; and, lastly, to the most intellectual in Birmingham. But in these three circles the simple Christian was not to be met with. My father had, from the time of his nephew’s return from Edinburgh, detected the tendency in his mind to infidelity, though that infidelity was neither daring nor profligate, but quite enough to annihilate all peace and rest in God. My father, I well remember, used to say, “John, you are altogether wrong; I wish you had never gone to Edinburgh. They have infected you there; they have tainted you with their abominable philosophy.” On these occasions my cousin would endeavour to defend himself; but he never for one moment lost his love or deference for his uncle. After my father died, my poor mother had never met with this her favourite nephew without urging upon him the vast importance of religion, though hitherto with little apparent success. Now, in his dying state, however, he had returned to the family whom he had loved from infancy, and, as I find from a passage in my journal, was devoting himself most earnestly to know the truth as it is in Jesus. When once that desire is given, can we doubt that our Lord, the Sanctifier, would leave His work unperfected? No; for consolation, I was informed, was imparted to him during the last struggle, which was then approaching, as far as was requisite to support him through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.372 One circumstance alone need now be mentioned as belonging to this time. The servant whom Dr. Salt had brought with him soon contrived to render the house too hot to hold her, and even made her poor master tremble under the scourge of her tongue. I soon delivered him from this thraldom, and established in her place one of my favourite pupils, the eldest daughter of my mother’s nurse. Rebecca, then about sixteen or seventeen years old, was a gentle, quiet, old-fashioned looking girl, in a white apron and round-eared cap; one who could read well, and sing softly and sweetly many simple hymns. The poor invalid was delighted with the change, and Rebecca never left him till he died, but soothed his many weary, sleepless nights by frequently singing to him, or by reading the Scriptures to him when unable to read himself. Then the pride of intellect, consciousness of superior skill and talent, the desire of shining in conversation, were all, all gone, and before he died he became mild and tractable as a little child. In the meanwhile the 53rd regiment was ordered suddenly from Bridgenorth to Ipswich. The men were to commence their march on the 19th of May. The regiment had been originally raised by a Whittemore, and Mr. Whittemore, of Dudmaston, thought it a proper compliment to give the officers a ball, which was fixed for the 19th of May; and, in order that it should be carried into effect, the officers, having marched the men, to Wolverhampton, returned themselves to Dudmaston. At this ball I saw many of those gentlemen with whom I afterwards became well acquainted in other lands. 183

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The evening was externally gay, though inwardly, no doubt, sad to many. The war373 had broken out again after the short peace, and all the feelings which the English ladies had experienced before that short peace were, in increased force, revived. These feelings consisted in the close connection between gaiety and death; in the fearful apprehension that the blooming young man, in his gold-laced coat and emplumed cap, who last month, perchance, was the gayest member of the circle of the little county town, might, perchance, in the next month’s Gazette be reported as a breathless corpse. It is hardly possible to bring these feelings, in all their bearings, before the minds of the young people of the present day. Perhaps it may now hardly be believed, that I have seen a whole room, at a public assembly at Bridgenorth, thrown into tears by the song of “Here’s a health to those far away.” Mr. Sherwood was absent with his regiment till nearly the end of June, and during that time my sister returned to us in renewed health. We settled many affairs, and, as my mother could not stay much longer at Badger, we looked out for lodgings for her at a place called Oldbury, a little way out of Bridgenorth, but she was not removed there till the 28th of July. On the last day of June I was married, Mr. Sherwood having come to Bridgenorth only a few days before. He remained with us till the 19th of July, and then returned to his regiment without me, as our plans still remained unfixed, it being quite uncertain whither the 53rd might next be ordered. From this period till about the 4th of October I remained at Bridgenorth, often visiting my dear mother in her lodgings at Oldbury. During that time I saw Mr. Sherwood once only for a few days, he having been ordered upon some regimental business to the north, and then he came round one hundred and eighty miles to see me. As soon as the bustle of our marriage was passed, it appears that I set to work again to form to myself new rules of conduct. My journal contains in this place, first, a prayer, then a confession of sins, then another prayer, and then sixteen rules of conduct; of all these I shall quote only one passage, as a sort of index to the state of my mind at that time, “As man’s weakness is such that he cannot always fulfil his duties of prayer and praise with equal holiness, equal heavenly-mindedness, equal self-possession; as his time is not always at his command, his health never, it behoveth him to set down to himself certain rules, which must be observed, whether he feels himself disposed to the observance of them or otherwise.” Oh! the depths of the ignorance and self-presumption of this equal holiness, equal heavenly-mindedness, equal self-possession; the holiness and heavenlymindedness of an unregenerate child of Adam! It was in the month of October that I left my mother for Sunderland,374 where the 53rd were quartered, as was supposed, for the winter, and where Mr. Sherwood had taken lodgings, the regiment being in barracks. Travelling was not then like what it is now. I left Lichfield about two in the afternoon of one day, and did not arrive at Sunderland till midnight the second day afterwards, though I went on, without stopping, one whole day, a night, half the next day, and till twelve the next night. 184

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Sunderland, the place in which I commenced my military life, is situated in the north-east of the county of Durham. It is a town of comparatively modern construction, and almost owes its existence to its port; but it is so closely connected with Bishop Wearmouth that they both seem to form one town. There is one long street, as far as I can recollect, from the barracks, which are close to the pier, to the eminence south of the Wear, on which are the most ancient edifices of Bishop Wearmouth. The rector of Bishop Wearmouth for the time being is lord of the manor, and holds his courts. When the 53rd were at Sunderland this rector was the celebrated Dr. William Paley,375 Archdeacon of Carlisle, author of the “Natural Theology,” and on whom I had a double claim for notice: first, from a letter of introduction from Mr. Hawkins Browne; and, secondly, on the plea of a distant relationship through the Sherwood family. I found, on arriving at Sunderland some hours after midnight, that Mr. Sherwood was on guard; but I was set down at the lodgings which had been taken for me by my husband. These were in the house of a Mr. Rutherford, who kept a shop in the principal street. They consisted of two handsome rooms; the sitting-room looking to the street, and having two or three windows. I was received by Mr. Sherwood’s servant, Luke Parker, a private soldier, and the very sort of person who would have served for a companion to Corporal Trim.376 This man had attended Mr. Sherwood in every capacity of servant nearly as long as he had been in the regiment, and during the whole of that period he had probably never uttered ten words consecutively to his master. Poor Luke was singularly hard-featured, passing for a middle-aged man when hardly twentyfive, most generally well-conducted, and invariably honest when not under the temptation of strong liquors. This last, unhappily, was his weak point; neither was his case a singular one. Of course, it had been a great trouble, as it is to all bachelors’ servants, when his master had married. However, he received me with much respect, and I can still fancy I can see him as he then stood before me, in the attitude in which he had been accustomed to salute his officer. One of the singularities of poor Luke was, that in arranging a table, a room, or whatever else it might be, he seemed always to have a reference to military precision. He was a perfect Martinet377 as regarded the combs and brushes on his master’s toilet table, and when he had set the dishes at meals he would make a retreat for a few paces to observe that all was placed in due precision, often stepping, now forwards, now backwards, to judge correctly whether the lines of plates, dishes, spoons, and cruets were in perfect exactness. I have endeavoured to describe this man in my fourth volume of “Henry Milner,”378 in the character of the major’s servant; but I have only there done half justice to his various qualifications. I had expected that my life at Sunderland would have been a very lively one; but I was much mistaken, for I spent more hours of solitude than I have since done. The 53rd at that time consisted of two battalions, both of which were located in Sunderland Barracks, and there were five or six married ladies in the regiment, only two of whom had been in the West Indies. The rest had lately joined; and 185

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whilst the two ladies who had come from the West Indies were of course well known to Mr. Sherwood, the others were altogether strangers. There was a great deal of regimental duty to be done, constant drillings were going forward, and Mr. Sherwood was obliged to be absent many hours each day at the barracks. Sometimes he returned in time to walk with me; but I have very little recollection of the environs of Sunderland beyond thick fogs, a stormy beach, stunted trees, and dull brick-houses. I have often wondered wherefore I did not attempt to beguile the long hours in which I was left alone by writing; but I have no memorandum of having written any thing there, except a little portion of a tale called “Mary Marsh,”379 a story which I had told my dear Sunday-scholars on a holiday. I never finished this book. I mentioned that Mr. Browne had given us a letter of introduction to Dr. and Mrs. Paley, who called and invited us to visit them in their parsonage-house at Wearmouth. I was at that time by no means aware that Dr. Paley would be so much thought of in after years as it has proved that he has been, otherwise I should have carefully noted down all he said to me. All I knew of him then was, that we were connected with his family, and that he had published a book on the Evidences of Christianity, which had been given to me in very early youth. I thought him a most pleasing man, with a heavenly benevolence of countenance. He did not survive above a year and a half after this. My religious duties I chose to make very laborious at Sunderland. Here I had comparatively few interruptions, and much time for observing my rules. There are twenty-one daily tasks self-appointed in my journal. Six of these are forms of prayer, three are Bible readings, and the other eleven are more secular. At this place I began to study the Bible in a regular way, though in much darkness. I had then very few books, which was a great blessing to me. I began the Scriptures there, and continued to read them in other places, till I read them to the end, beginning again when I came to the conclusion. This constant reading a certain portion every day I carried on for years; but I was not content with reading to myself, I must force Mr. Sherwood to do the same. He must read also, and he was by no means disposed to do so. It was then, for the first time, whilst still at Sunderland, he very quietly and calmly let me know that he was not quite convinced that the whole of the Bible was true, although he thought parts of it might be so. It was on a Sunday evening, I well remember, that he made this startling observation, on which I became excessively angry, and asked him, if such were his opinions, wherefore he had not told them to me before we were married; for during the days of our courtship, which had not been long, he had made no objections whatever to hearing the Bible read, or to any religious observances whatever. He replied that he did not mean to interfere with me, and that I might do just what I pleased, in reading the Bible, going to church, or anything else in a religious way. I do not pretend exactly to remember his words, but I have given the sense of what he said. As may be imagined, I cried most bitterly at this, and probably made my religion anything but inviting by so doing; however, it will after appear 186

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that even in this scene, in which I certainly did not behave well, some good was effected through the infinite mercy of God. In the beginning of December the sea was dreadfully rough, the waves dashed over the pier and tossed the ships about in a fearful manner. The impression which I have of that coast, and of the barracks, is dreary in the extreme. These barracks are situated near the sea, on a low, sandy beach. They are of wood, two stories high, and are calculated to contain 1500 men. They were, perhaps, never fuller than they were at that time. It was a severe winter; and what with a deep snow, violent winds at sea, and almost constant fogs, the place appeared to be particularly melancholy and disagreeable to me without doors; though within I was not unhappy, yet very much alone. On Monday, 21st of December, we moved from our lodgings in the principal street to one near the barracks; but we were destined to remain only a very few days in our new habitation, for at twelve o’clock at night on the 23rd an order arrived for the regiment to march to Carlisle to embark for Ireland. The march was to commence at eight o’clock next morning, which accordingly took place, although the whole regiment did not move at once, two companies only proceeding on the 24th, and the rest were to set out on Sunday, the 25th, Christmas-day having fallen that year on the Sunday. The detachment to which Mr. Sherwood belonged was not, however, to move till Monday, which gave me more time for preparation. We carried with us a little furniture, which I was permitted to send by the baggage-waggon. At eight o’clock on Monday morning I began my first journey with the regiment. Mr. Sherwood marched with his company, and a more miserable march he could not have, through half-melted snow and fog. I followed, or rather went before, in a post-chaise380 with our surgeon’s lady. We reached Newcastle381 at twelve o’clock, where we dined, I remember, with our husbands, on one of those monstrous Yorkshire pies,382 which we seldom see in the south. It was a gay and pleasing sight to observe from the windows of our inn the general excitement caused in the street by the arrival of the military. A violently rainy evening soon, however, spoiled my amusement, though by this time almost the whole road from Newcastle to Brampton in Cumberland was covered with scattered parties of the 53rd. These parties also consisted of the women belonging to the regiment, and the officers’ ladies, either in public or private carriages; had the season been fine, and had we not apprehended bloody work in Ireland,383 I should have greatly enjoyed the scene. When arrived at Brampton we met with an unexpected order, directing us to halt where we were. I believe that each detachment was stopped in like manner wherever the order met it. We were at an inn when this command reached us. This house happened to be the property of Mr. Sherwood’s godfather, though I know not now how we arrived at the knowledge of this fact; yet, when we understood that we must stay, we knew not how long, where we were, we made use of this bit of information to obtain such small attentions as money cannot always command. 187

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We succeeded so well that mine hostess gave us the very best room in her house. The winter was very severe, and the violent contrast between the climates of Northumberland and Cumberland, and that of the West Indies, at length so much affected Mr. Sherwood that he became quite ill, and continued so even till our removal on the 3rd of January to Carlisle. On the 2nd of February orders were received at Carlisle for separating the battalions. The directions for this separation were, that all the men who had enlisted under the Act384 for embodying the army of reserve, and who refused to extend their services, should be embodied in the 2nd battalion; whilst all the disposable men were appointed to the 1st. The officers, at the same time, were requested to use all their influence to persuade the men to volunteer for general service. In consequence of these directions all kinds of rioting and drunkenness were allowed, nay, even encouraged; but without success, for most of our army of reserve were Yorkshiremen, and canny Yorkshire was too much for the cunning of the heads of the regiment. The man partook of the drink allowed, and retained his liberty; for not more than twenty men on the whole volunteered, and these probably would have done so without any farther inducement. The state of our men at that time in Carlisle was a disgrace to the army, and made such an impression upon me that I founded the history of “Charles Lorraine”385 on what I then saw. On the 9th of February we were ordered to hold ourselves in readiness to re-tread our steps to Hexham. On the 10th, General Gray arrived in Carlisle, and gave directions for putting in force the order respecting the final separation of generalservice men and limited-service men. There was only one day given for all the necessary arrangements: for accoutrements386 to be examined, and accounts to be made up. It was impossible for Mr. Sherwood, who paid a company, to finish all his affairs till the 13th: we therefore remained behind at Carlisle till the Monday, and I have still a lively recollection of the last Sunday I spent there. Our journey led us over the old border country, and it took us in our post-chaise two days to reach Hexham, where lodgings had been taken for us. The next day General Gray inspected the regiment, and as Mr. Sherwood was obliged to be present, though far from well, he suffered so severely that he was laid up afterwards some weeks from indisposition; and it was in consequence of this he was first persuaded by a brother officer to think of trying for the pay-mastership of the regiment, a situation which would give him more liberty for doing as he liked.

188

CHAPTER XIV. THE

REGIMENT ORDERED TO MORPETH—DEATH OF DR. SALT—MY SISTER’S ENGAGEMENT—

MR. SHERWOOD BECOMES PAYMASTER OF THE

53RD

REGIMENT—MY BABY’S BIRTH—

TRACT OF “ELIZA CUNNINGHAM”—MY JOURNEY TO BLACKWALL FROM SHIELDS, IN THE

“CHARMING

PEGGY”—WALTHAMSTOW—I VISIT MY MOTHER IN WORCESTERSHIRE—

CANTERBURY—MY SISTER’S VISIT—MRS. DUNCOMBE—THE REGIMENT ORDERED TO

INDIA—THE REV. GERARD ANDREWS, RECTOR OF ST. JAMES—MRS. CARTER—PORTSMOUTH—WE SAIL IN THE “DEVONSHIRE.”

BEFORE Mr. Sherwood was sufficiently well to travel, the regiment was ordered to Morpeth, and we were allowed to remain a few days after it for him to recruit his strength. On our arrival at Morpeth we received an account of the death of poor Dr. Salt. My sister thus writes respecting him:—“You will not, I think, be surprised to hear that our dear cousin, Dr. Salt, is free from all his distresses; he is no more. We have the greatest reason to trust he is gone to the land of everlasting rest. We, who knew his sufferings, cannot but rejoice at his release. Thank God, that to the society of our family we may, under Providence, attribute the serenity of mind and hope of better things with which he met his dissolution—hopes which nothing but the belief of a crucified Saviour can reasonably give to wretched sinners. He died on the 29th of last month, and provided handsomely for his little servant Rebecca.” My sister, also, in the same letter, informed me of her engagement to the Rev. Charles Cameron, a son of Dr. Cameron, of Worcester. I was made very happy at Morpeth by a small box, which my beloved mother sent me, containing many little contributions of baby’s clothes, with many long letters and some books. With what delight did I arrange these presents, and prepare for my baby. About this time Mr. Sherwood had to go to London respecting the paymastership of the 53rd regiment; for the then paymaster wished to retire. This situation he eventually obtained; and it was on the morning after his return that my God gave to my arms my eldest child, whom we named Mary Henrietta, after her father and myself. My journal contains a prayer for this child, which immediately follows the account of her birth. He who inspired such wishes as this prayer contains will, I know, grant them to the very utmost. “Oh! my God, most earnestly I pray Thee to make this sweet child thine own. I ask not riches, nor grandeur, nor beauty, nor fame, nor worldly happiness for this my babe; but I ask of Thee most earnestly, oh Lord! that she may hereafter dwell among thy saints. Oh! my God, hear the prayer of thy poor servant, for my Saviour’s sake.” After the birth of my babe, it is affecting to recall, that, on the joy of her bestowal 189

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to us, her father, who had up to that time disregarded all thoughts of a future state, came to me, and doubled my happiness and gratitude to God, by saying, in the moment of his thankfulness, that he would read the Bible to me every day. And from thenceforward this promise was kept: the sacred book has since then ever been our daily study together. We first began it on the Sunday when our little one was five days old. When my old nurse left me I hired the daughter of the clerk of Morpeth to attend my baby, and she used to sing many border ditties387 to the child. I wish I could remember some of the words of these ballads; but they were chiefly Jacobite388 songs, and had all of them some reference to “Bonnie Prince Charlie.”389 Soon after this Mr. Sherwood began his duties as paymaster. He had now obtained the rank of captain, with an increase of pay and of consequence in the regiment. He was released from drill, had a sergeant especially devoted to him, kept his gig; but, to balance this, his responsibility was greatly increased. The time for our leaving Morpeth was at hand, and the arrangements were such that several of our officers were to part from us there, and to proceed to the second battalion in Dublin Barracks. Our destination was Shields.390 Whilst at Shields I first saw that singular conceit that I was told is common amongst seafaring men. This is the perching up of a small wooden cabin in a tree, making the approach by a ladder, in which the old retired sea-captain may sit and be rocked in windy weather, that he may thus please himself with the fancy of being still on his favourite element. It was at Shields I went on a little with the history of “Lucy Clare,”391 which I had begun two years before at Bridgenorth. Mr. Sherwood found the unfinished manuscript in a cupboard, and expressed a stronger liking for it than he ever did before or since for anything I have written; but I was then far too busy with my baby to attend to writing books. In June there came an order for the regiment to embark, in two transports, to Ramsgate;392 and it was settled that I, too, should go to London by sea, in company with another officer’s lady; but, as in those days there were no steampackets,393 we were obliged to be content with such accommodation as a collier394 could afford. Anything was preferable for ladies than a transport filled with officers and soldiers. On the Sunday after the order had been received, the regiment embarked, although they did not sail till the Tuesday. It is remarkable that one of the vessels, the “Crown,” was the ship which had brought Mr. Sherwood from the West Indies. What a scene did those transports present, crowded as they were with men and women, young and handsome women, who were then for the first time, perhaps, leaving their homes. They looked, however, all gay and blithe, for little did they anticipate what the future might bring forth. How often have I thought of the old song: “Little thinks the townsman’s wife, Whilst at home she tarries, What must be the lassie’s life Who a soldier marries.”395 190

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When we visited “The Charming Peggy,” which was to take me to London, we found that they were loading it with coal, and certainly Cinderella would have suited her better for a cognomen than the one she had; nevertheless, we were assured that when laden she would be made perfectly clean, and, after all, we considered that coal dust was not the worst of many sorts of dusts, and if it had been so we had no remedy, for, as I said before, a berth in a transport would have been more disagreeable. It was not till the Friday after the regiment left us that we, the ladies, with our servants, embarked; nor did we by any means find our accommodations so bad as we might have expected. “The Charming Peggy” had undoubtedly gone through a certain process of cleaning, for there was no coal dust afloat, and the principal coating of black had been taken off the cabin. It was a room of considerable size, with a window and lockers in the stern. There was a table fixed in the centre, and at the inner end was what they called a state cabin, with beds placed on each side the door, one for me and the other for my companion. The only inmates besides ourselves were the wife and daughter of the captain. The former was a neat, unpresuming person, and the latter a girl in her teens, who was to go this voyage with her father as a superlative treat. We had a prosperous but very slow voyage. We left Shields on Friday, and on the Saturday week we landed at Blackwall.396 I proceeded in a coach to Hackney,397 having made an eight days business of the voyage. In crossing the bar from Shields,398 all the females, except a veteran sergeant’s wife, had been ill; very soon, however, all were quite well but myself, though when I lay still I was sufficiently easy to be able to read with pleasure the new page of life which was then opened to me. The sergeant’s wife, Mrs. Sergeant Strachan, as I called her—for I cannot pronounce nor spell her name—was the first person of her kind with whom I had then ever had the honour of conversing. Undoubtedly she was quite a superior, and, I may say, a perfect pattern in her peculiar line. I do not suppose that the woman was more than thirty-five, but she might have been any age between thirty and fifty. Her hair was what is termed carroty, her complexion not sunburnt, but red and freckly to an extreme. She had been with the regiment in the West Indies. She had the most decided and most fearful cast in one eye I almost ever saw, and her person was broad and clumsy in the extreme. As to her dress, I remember nothing but a cap with many bows, and an enormous pair of gilt drops399 which hung from her ears; but, such as she was, we should have been lost without her. She not only nursed the child, and waited on me, but on every female in the cabin; and she not only nursed me, but she amused me with her inexhaustible fund of anecdotes. She was at that time married to her second husband, having buried her first in the West Indies. She gave us a full and detailed account of six offers which she had had before her deceased husband had been laid in the ground. Of course we at first believed that she was inventing these stories, as women will sometimes do, in order to enhance the merit of their charms; but I now believe, from further information, that she only told us the truth. When she brought me my tea the first 191

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morning I thought it tasted very strangely, and I asked her what she had put into it. “Only a sup of brandy,” she answered, “and it is what will do you more good than all the tea in the world without it.” And as she dosed me, so also did she dose the other officer’s lady and the nurse. I am told that the passage from the north of England to London is as dangerous a one as any in the wide ocean. All I can say of it is, that our voyage was very uneasy; we had much rolling and pitching, and baffling winds, and our progress was exceedingly slow. We had also some uncomforable thoughts respecting French privateers. It being war time,400 I have since fancied that it was not the wisest of ventures to undertake such a voyage as this without any protection whatever; but, strange as it may seem, however, when we planned this voyage we had not taken the chances of war into our consideration. I cannot say exactly where it was, though probably at the mouth of the river, for it was before we got into fresh water, whilst I was lying on my bed, that we heard some sort of noise overhead, and at the same moment one of the common sailors rushed into our little cabin and crept under my bed-place, where he was concealed by the valance. I was made to understand immediately, by the captain’s wife, that the poor fellow was hiding himself from a press-gang,401 who were coming on board; and I was requested not to be offended at what the man had done. I scarcely understood what all this was about before the outer cabin was filled by the press-gang, who peered into the stateroom. But seeing a lady lying upon the bed, though they looked keenly round, they did not enter. I lay quite still without speaking, and they walked out again, and made off, and we all gloried in having saved the poor fellow. In the fresh water my sickness left me, and I was enabled to sit on the wide locker before the window, and enjoy the passing objects. How beautiful did the green hills and fields on each side the river then appear to me. I really thought that our northern lasses, the captain’s daughter and my servant, would have gone wild when they first saw St. Paul’s in the distance. Whilst Mr. Sherwood was to be in camp on Barham Downs, I was to pay my beloved mother a visit in Worcestershire; but I stayed a short time with a relative of my husband’s at Grove Place, Hackney. On the Sunday before I left for the country we had an excursion to Epping Forest, to visit a family who resided there in their country house. We passed through Walthamstow, where Mr. Sherwood’s mother was buried, of whom I must relate the following pathetic anecdote. Henry, as a boy, had never heard where his mother’s remains had been laid, though no poor child suffered more from the loss of a mother than he did. His father had a country seat in the neighbourhood of Walthamstow, where the boy was left to follow his own devices. It happened one day, when about eight or nine years old, that he saw a number of people of the lower classes running in one direction to see some sight. He too must follow, and he kept on running till he reached Walthamstow churchyard. There, being tired, he turned in, and threw himself on a tomb, to rest himself and to take breath, and at last fell asleep upon it. On waking and looking round him on his strange bed, his eye rested on the inscription, and he read 192

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these words, “Sacred to the memory of Margaret Sherwood, &c.” The child had actually been sleeping upon his mother’s grave. Such a tale needs no comment. I took the mail coach to Worcester at eight o’clock in the evening. So slow was travelling at that time that I did not reach my own beloved native valley until after dinner on the next day; and then I did not (though expected) dare to present myself and my baby before my dear mother that evening. I was received in the lovely parsonage with the utmost affection, and I was told that my mother was not to know that I had arrived till the morning following, lest she should be agitated, and have a bad night. Her habit was, after her tea, to sit for a while in an old-fashioned arbour in her garden, which partly faced the road. I might very safely venture to look at her on the other side of the fence; for her sight was getting dim, and so she would not see me. Even this was a gratification, and Mrs. Hoskins, my kind hostess, being my guide, she led me to a spot in a field where I could see the front of the old-fashioned house in which my mother then resided, the stiff garden which lay before it, and the arbour in which the beloved lady was sitting, little imagining how near her daughter was. I watched her till she arose and walked into the house to take her cup of milk before retiring to bed, which she usually did as early as eight o’clock; I then returned to the parsonage. When my dear mother had retired to her room, my sister came, all joy and delight, to me at the parsonage, and I and my baby were smuggled into my mother’s house, unknown to her. The dear lady was too much of an invalid, and she had allowed herself to assume too early the prerogatives of old age. It is disgusting in a moral sense to see the aged affecting youth, but I am not quite certain whether it is not quite as injurious, though in a perfectly opposite degree, to an individual to fancy himself old, as my mother did. In consequence of this, much was the happiness of which she was deprived. She was told in the morning of my arrival; but as I had been up the whole night before, the baby and myself slept till noon, so the dear lady crept into the room to see us, but could not get a view of the infant’s face. And now followed many happy days. I was restored for a short time to the scenes of my early youth, and the place of my father’s ministry was visible from my window, with all the glorious woods and uplands of my beautiful Stanford. My mother had a Bathchair,402 and in this she travelled, taking the baby on her lap, my sister and myself walking near her with little Harriet and the nurse. In this way we made several excursions, and amongst these was one or two visits to Stanford Court. Neither shall I easily forget the triumphant air of my mother, when first wheeled through the village of Stanford with her granddaughter on her knee. She called to one and to another of her old neighbours, inviting them to see what she had got. Whilst we were at Stanford a letter came from Dr. Valpy, requesting my brother, my sister, and myself to communicate to him in writing all that we could recollect of our father. How singularly was this request fitted to the opportunity: a few weeks sooner or later we should have been separated, and we could not have compared recollections, or examined papers together. The short life of my father, 193

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printed in the Reading speeches,403 is taken from the papers written by his three children at that time at Stockton. On the last day of September a chaise from the Hundred House took me to Worcester; my mother and sister going so far with me, which somewhat broke the pain of separation. When I got into the coach in the yard of the inn, and took the baby on my knee, my dear mother said, “How wonderfully you, Mary, encounter all the difficulties of life.” I have often smiled since at the dear lady’s ideas of difficulty—a journey to London in a stage coach with an infant on the lap. (It must be understood that there was a nurse also.) Mr. Sherwood had taken lodgings for us at Canterbury, in the principal street opposite the great inn; and very soon, when settled there, I had a large acquaintance, having brought with me two letters, by which I was at once introduced into two completely distinct circles, which, with our military friends, formed three. We spent our time at Canterbury in much peace and contentment. As I had more to do than previously, I had less time to devote to those many small forms by which I perplexed myself, and at the same time built up and strengthened my good opinion of self. Neither had I so much solitude, for I had many visitors, and saw much of several kinds of life. An introduction which I brought with me from Mr. Hawkins Browne to a Mrs. Duncomb404 proved a very interesting one to me. This lady lived in one of the old prebendal houses, and had a private door from her house into the cathedral. The late Mr. Duncomb’s mother, or stepmother, I forget which, was the sister of Hughes, the poet.405 Her own father was Mr. Highmore,406 an artist and an author, and the most intimate friend of Richardson, the celebrated author of “Sir Charles Grandison.”407 Mrs. Duncomb, who was a very old lady, had sat in conclave to hear Richardson himself read his manuscripts, and to decide on any points on which his own mind had not been made up. In possession of her family was a small painting, which I saw, representing an old-fashioned parlour, where the author was placed at a table, reading a manuscript, with many figures, all sitting erect in high-backed chairs, forming a circle round the room. All the faces were portraits, and consisting chiefly of Highmores. The whole scene was not very unlike what Richardson himself describes of a family meeting of the Harlowes, though we may suppose that the excitement was not the same amid this circle of critics as in the family circle of the cruel and cold-hearted kindred of Clarissa.408 On one occasion I was taken over Mrs. Duncomb’s whole house, and into a long gallery, at the end of which was a full-length picture, by Mr. Highmore, of Richardson’s “Clementina,”409 as large as life, dressed in white, and fixed so low upon the wall as to seem to be almost treading out of the canvass on to the floor. There was a constant dread at that time hanging over my mind that we should soon be ordered abroad, and that I must then part with my baby. I remember that I used often to watch her as she lay in her cradle, and weep most bitterly at the thought. Still, however, I had resolved, should such an event occur as our being 194

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sent from England, that I would leave this little one with my mother and sister, and so save her health from the effects of other climes. Whilst my sister was with me she collected a few children from the barracks, and instructed them every day, for a few hours, in a garret, which had been used only for lumber, at the top of the house. Amongst these children came a pretty, blooming boy in a pinafore,410 the son of a sergeant who had married a young woman from Kidderminster, which young woman had known my father as the vicar, and therefore always looked up to me as a very superior person. When Mrs. A. heard that Miss Butt was inquiring for a few children to instruct, she, of course, was the first to send her child, and that child was the pretty boy mentioned above. Sergeant A., the father of this boy, was of a good family in Lancashire, and had been with the regiment in the West Indies, where the boy was born. It was on the first Sunday in March that my sister and myself, returning home after morning service in the Cathedral, were met with these appalling words as we entered the house, “The order is come to march to Tenterden.”411 All then was hurry and confusion, and my dear sister had a new view of military proceedings; for she saw from her window, the next morning and the morning after, the regiment marching by from the barracks, with the band playing, on its way to Ashford. With it went the gentlemen, but we, the ladies, remained to conclude affairs in Canterbury, and during that short period we spent two days with Miss Highmore. My sister had brought with her, from Mr. Hawkins Browne, in London, the manuscript of “Felicia,”412 my father’s novel, which I had finished; we were to read it over together. Miss Highmore heard of this, and begged we would spend two whole days with her, and read it before her. This we did, and in those two days we were so domesticated with her and her lovely niece, that, as long as life shall last with any of us, the memory of each other will be reciprocally dear. On our way from Canterbury we stopped for an hour at Ashford, where Mr. Sherwood had been at school. The story of little Marten, in “The Fairchild Family,”413 is built in some degree on what I then heard at Ashford. I saw an old house in the churchyard, which I fixed upon for that of Marten’s venerable friend. All the scenery of the churchyard and school-house remained a long time accurately traced on my memory; it is now become confused and misty, warning me that the time cannot be far off when I shall lead a new life, and when all old things must pass away.414 We proceeded the same day to Tenterden, where very nice lodgings were already provided for us. Our landlady in these lodgings was a most civil sort of person, and she amused me very much by the name of endearment which she used to her husband, who was, like herself, well stricken in years: she always called him “Sugar.” It was some time before I quite understood her, when she referred every question I put to her, with all due humility, to this same “Sugar.” Nothing, 195

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indeed, could be done without reference to “Sugar,” and Sugar was to be consulted on every occasion, and the good soul never dreamt that the old man was not as well known to me by the name of Sugar as he was to herself. On the Tuesday I was sitting with my sister, who had just finished preparing our text books, when we saw Mr. Sherwood, who had gone but a little while before on horseback to the barracks, returning in haste. He had met some of the officers coming into Tenterden, who informed him that an order was come for the immediate march of the regiment to Portsmouth, there to embark for foreign service. The first detachment was to move the next day. We saw at once by Mr. Sherwood’s countenance, as he looked up to the window, that something had happened. I said in haste, “We are going to the East Indies.” But even then we were still uncertain respecting our own destination; but we made up our minds to go at once to London, and from thence, if necessary, to proceed to Portsmouth. Dr. Andrews, rector of St. James’s, my husband’s near relative, being informed of our plans, most kindly invited us to his house, and from that time it was all bustle till we left Tenterden, the whole regiment and every person connected with it being in a ferment. The first detachment marched for Portsmouth on the 21st, the second on the 22nd, the third on the 23rd. We spent one more Sunday at Tenterden, the next day bidding it adieu with much sorrow, as a place where we had anticipated some weeks, at least, of happiness together. Mr. Sherwood hired the whole inside of a coach for us, and we travelled as far as Maidstone the first night, proceeding the next day to London. We were most warmly received at the Rectory House, St. James’s. Whilst staying with our relative, Dr. Andrews, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins Browne came up to town, and insisted upon my sister and myself paying them a visit in South Audley Street. Here we met Mrs. Barton,415 the lady of the Irish judge, who had been an especial friend of my father’s, and also the celebrated Mrs. Carter.416 This last venerable lady was then in her seventy-seventh year, and when I saw her she was quite feeble and oppressed with age; but she laid her withered hands upon the head of my baby, and blessed her. On our return to St. James’s rectory, we were decidedly informed that our regiment was ordered to the East Indies, and this being known we could fix our plans with more certainty; so we wrote to our friends, and received many sweet letters in reply. My residence in London, for the short time I staid there before I went to Portsmouth, seemed almost like a dream to me, and a dream full of pain. Our reception from Dr. and Mrs. Andrews was most kind, but Mr. Sherwood could only stay with us two days, and he was then obliged to take leave of his baby and my dear sister, and proceed to Portsmouth. I slept the last night with my dear sister, who suddenly aroused me, sobbing bitterly: she had dreamed that the 53rd regiment had all been lost at sea, and she awoke only to anticipate the possibility of this disaster. But parting from my 196

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mother, my brother and sister, and baby, filled up my whole thoughts. My mind had not any room for fears of the dangers of the deep, and it is contrary to the esprit de corps of military persons to expatiate on these sort of alarms. I much wish that missionaries and other pious men, when writing their experience, would refrain from expressions of fear which an officer’s wife would be ashamed to utter; for I have heard these expressions much ridiculed, and the inquiry made, “What is that religion which cannot give the courage which a mere man of the world might be ashamed of wanting?” On the 8th of April I received a letter from Mr. Sherwood, fixing the next day for my proceeding to Portsmouth. On the 9th I therefore took leave of my beloved sister and of my precious baby. “The last time I saw my Mary,” I find written in my journal, “she was sitting on her nurse’s lap. She was eleven months and eighteen days old. Oh, my baby! my little baby! She could then walk a few paces alone. She could call mamma, and tell me what the lambs said. Oh, this state of bereavement—this parting—this life in which we are as dead to each other. My mother, my sister, you who have taken my infant under your care, you will feel for her and be tender with her. My babe will be brought up amongst lambs and flowers, among sweet woods and hills, near where her mother, who will then be far away, was brought up. She will be educated in the fear of God, if she lives; if not, she will be taken to her Heavenly Father’s bosom. My beloved baby—oh, my God! bless my baby.” I can well recal the wretchedness of my feelings as we drove out of London in the coach. I particularly remember passing the Magdalen,417 and hearing the clock strike. The coach in which I was travelling was so large within, that it contained five gentlemen and myself. As we passed through Guildford,418 I thought of my beloved mother, who had been at school there; but, being night, it was useless to look out for any place which might answer to her description of the house. I believe that every person thinks of the time in which their parents were children, as immeasurably distant from their own times, and so I felt. I fancied that the house must be quite in the Elizabethan style, although it was not then forty years since my mother had left school. Mr. Sherwood met me before entering the town of Portsmouth, and took me to lodgings prepared for my reception. This was Wednesday; two days after was Good Friday, and I find in my diary a lamentation on account of not being able to keep it as I desired to do; for I had, it seems, no Bible unpacked, nor could I get at one. We walked to Portsmouth, and went to the service at the Hospital Chapel, and afterwards dined at a Mr. Park’s on salt fish,419 this last being a matter at that time of some importance to my mind; indeed, so much so, that I find the following expression of thankfulness, written on occasion of this dinner on fish, duly written in my diary:—“Oh, my God! I thank thee; for, in this wandering life, I find it so difficult to do what is right.” On the 20th the regiment embarked, and as it fell out that the major (who only arrived that day at Portsmouth, and who was one of my oldest friends) had the 197

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privilege of choosing the officer’s lady who should sail in the same ship with himself and family, that choice naturally fell upon me, and as none had doubted that compliment would be paid to me, I alone, of all the ladies, could not make a selection of any cabin, not knowing exactly in what ship of the fleet I should sail. By the major’s late arrival at Portsmouth, the compliment became an undesirable one, for it scarcely left me time to make any arrangement before we were obliged to be on board. By that time every cabin in “The Devonshire” was taken, and it was only by a handsome bribe we could persuade the carpenter to part with his to us. In this cabin was a great gun, the mouth of which faced the port hole; and our hammock was slung over this gun, and was so near the top of the cabin, that one could hardly sit up in bed. When the pumps were at work the bilge-water420 ran through this miserable place, this worse than dog-kennel, and to finish the horrors of it, it was only separated by a canvass partition from the place where the soldiers sat and, I believe, slept and dressed; so that it was absolutely necessary for me in all weathers to go down to this shocking place before any of the men were turned down for the night. Yet, wretched as this place was, I was not to have it till I could be truly thankful for it, as will be soon seen; for, according to some rule which I do not understand, the carpenter did not dare to let us have the use of it until the pilot had left the ship. I was, of course, very, very sad during all the time we were at Portsmouth, though we met with every possible kindness from our relatives, Mr. and Mrs. Park; and I was much amused with the dockyard and the fortifications. Still, still that terrible sea and the shipping were before me, and my heart sunk at the contemplation of them. On Sunday I heard an excellent sermon at Portsmouth church from this text, “He that is born of God overcometh the world.”421 On this occasion my diary thus speaks:—“This is, perhaps, the last discourse I may hear in my native country, and it contained an awful warning to me from God, to withstand the temptations, the pleasures, the ridicule and contempt, the avarice and persecutions of the world, all of which must be encountered by all those who show themselves to be servants of God. This sermon also contained an injunction to cheerfulness, and even to rejoicing; for ‘why should those who are beloved of God be less cheerful than the sons of the world?’ ”422 The next day was the last day which I spent in England, for on Tuesday, before it was light, some one knocked violently at the door to say that the fleet would sail in a few hours. I remember the thought which occurred as I started from my sleep that miserable morning. I thought that, perhaps for years and years, I should sleep no more in England. That very day my mother and brother and Mr. Cameron came to meet my sister and little Mary at Worcester, to take her home with them. We did not get under weigh that day, notwithstanding that we had been roused before it was light; but as the pilot was on board, and we were under observation of the authorities from shore, I could not have the cabin till late at night. I therefore had no refuge amid all the confusion on deck, and I spent much of the day sitting on a gun-carriage; sometimes getting up and looking from the gangway 198

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on the shores of my native land—that land which contained my mother and my child. Had I had one lady of the regiment to associate with, I should have had some consolation; but I was utterly miserable, and once hearing the clock of the Portsmouth Dockyard striking, I gave way in utter sadness to the wretchedness of my situation. Towards the afternoon it began to rain, though not violently, still I had no place in which I could find refuge. My friend, the major, was considerably pained by seeing me in such a situation, and brought his boat cloak and laid it over my shoulders; but unhappy as I was, I could not but be aware that there were others more wretched than myself. Each company were allowed to take out ten women, and I had the privilege of choosing one who was to be my servant on the voyage, and of course I could do no other than choose our man-servant’s (Luke Parker’s) wife, Betty. By this, Betty Parker was assured of her passage as my servant; but when the rest of the women came to be mustered in “The Devonshire,” there was one too many, and lots were drawn on deck to determine which was to be sent home. I saw this process—I saw the agony of the poor woman that was to be carried back to shore. I saw her wring her hands, and heard her cries, and I saw her put in a boat and sent back to Portsmouth, and I felt, whatever my hardships might be, my trials were nothing to hers. During the whole of that day our fellow passengers were coming in, and shortly we had on board eleven officers, nineteen cadets, and several gentlemen of the civil service for Madras. There were also in the two state cabins two families of colonels and their ladies. In the cabins below were our officers on one side, and on the other three daughters of a late Dean of Bristol, Dr. Layard.423 I saw all these passengers come in as I sat on the gun-carriage; and thus that miserable day wore out, and at night we got our cabin, though, as I said above, not before I was thoroughly thankful for it. After a wretched night I awoke, as it were, to renewed misery in the morning. The Blenheim, of seventy-four guns, made the signal to get under weigh,424 and we sailed for the Needles425 with a strong wind from the east, the first motion of our vessel being the commencement to me of that dreadful sickness which I suffered through the greatest portion of the voyage. We anchored at seven o’clock in the evening opposite Yarmouth, in the Isle of Wight. We had not expected to sail so soon, and were in all respects unprepared. Our cabin was as far forward as the main-mast, the entrance being before the pump-handles. It was just the width of one gun, with a little space beside for a small table and a single chair. Our cot was slung crossways over the gun; but it could not swing, there not being height sufficient for it. On entering the cabin, which was formed only of canvass, we were forced to stoop under the cot, there not being one foot from the head or the foot of the cot to the partition; the water, too, from the pump ran through this delectable cabin. Those who have not been at sea can never conceive a hundreth part of the horrors of a long voyage to a female in a sailing-packet. When we rested the first evening opposite Yarmouth, I went up to look at the Isle of Wight. I have the recollection of a sort of bird’s-eye view 199

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of flowery fields, green lanes, ancient towers, lovely cottages, and small, elegant houses. Who can say how earnestly I longed for one of those cottages wherein to live with my husband and my smiling baby. The next day we had a fine easterly breeze, and Mr. Sherwood persuaded me to go up on the forecastle, ill as I was, to see the Needles and the coast of Cornwall. The weather was fine, and the sight of a large fleet at sail, such as ours, was truly grand; but it would have been doubly so to me if we had been returning home instead of going from England. Our fleet did not, however, escape these dangerous rocks without injury, for the Blenheim struck the ground in going out, but soon got off again. Every one who understood these matters thought that she then received a severe shock, and this suspicion was confirmed when it was afterwards known that she foundered at sea in 1806, it was supposed near the Cape, and everybody on board perished.

CHAPTER XV. WE LOSE SIGHT OF ENGLAND—OUR VOYAGE—“THE IMMORTALITE”—THE LOST BROACH— THE KING’S BIRTHDAY—ADMIRAL LENOIS—OUR ARRIVAL AT MADRAS—THE SURF—OUR NEW RESIDENCE—WE EMBARK AGAIN IN “THE DEVONSHIRE”—THE ISLAND OF SAUGUR. THE Bill of Portland was the last we saw of England—beloved England—and well is it for most travellers that the maladie de mer426 is mercifully sent to take away the bitter, bitter anguish all must to a certain extent experience in saying farewell to one’s native shores. Ah, who would not rather suffer bodily than mentally; but, praised be God, a time shall come when there is to be “no more pain, for the former things shall then be passed away.”—Rev. xxi. 4. Eight days after we had been on board, the admiral made a signal for an enemy in sight at the southwest, and he also spoke a sloop of war, by which, as we supposed, the report of the French fleet was confirmed. Two days after, we had a very fine breeze, which carried us smoothly six miles an hour, and gave me some relief from sickness. At twelve o’clock we spoke “The Cumberland,” and saw several of our officers in good health. On the Sunday we had divine service on board; but the wind rose in the evening, and at twelve at night the gale was so strong that we lost our topmast and main-top-gallant-mast. This accident so disabled us that at day-light the fleet was nearly out of sight. “The Greyhound” frigate, however, missed us, and came back to our assistance, and sent six men on board; but the sea was so rough, and the ship rolled so much, that nothing could be done except clearing away the broken masts. Thus we lay helpless till near one o’clock, when a strange sail appeared, which was soon discovered to be a ship of war, and much larger than “The Greyhound.” Of course this was not pleasant, more especially as “The 200

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Greyhound” sent for her six men back; but when the frigate drew near, we found with pleasure that she was “The Immortalité,” Captain Owen, on a cruise, and intending to proceed immediately for England. Captain Owen most kindly offered to stay by us until we could repair our damages, so that “The Greyhound” went after the fleet. We sent letters to England by “The Immortalité,” and being in good order again we soon found our fleet, which was lying to for us. Now once again, all being right, we had leisure to look about us, and to find our cabin just what we considered it the first day of our occupation of it, with this additional circumstance to its disadvantage: that our side of the ship, called by sailors the starboard, has, since our sailing, been the leeward side, and is likely to continue so all the voyage, from which we find we are in constant darkness. Again, we have much putrid water on board, which is pumped up every four hours by our cabin door, so that we are occasionally floated by it. Hence our cabin was altogether intolerable in the day, and not over agreeable at night. So I used to leave it as early as I could, and go upon deck and sit under the awning by the wheel, at the door of the dining-room. When my sickness left me, as we were in the tropics it was very pleasant to be out of doors; and my servant, Mrs. Parker, with her baby, were my usual companions. Luke Parker waited on me at breakfast, and foraged for me; but poor, miserable foraging it was. Yet he never failed, but always contrived to bring me something, and bad as our breakfasts were in the dining room, they were exquisite to what the soldiers got; and thus with a little management there was always a breakfast at my table for his little Maria, then about half a year old. And, as if the babe knew how I used to supply her, whenever she saw me she would quiver from head to foot, and look at me till her soft eyes watered with a love which she had no means of otherwise expressing. There was a soldier’s boy, too, on board, of about ten years of age, a poor ignorant little fellow, and it occurred to me that I might as well take this occasion to teach him to read, and he was therefore told to come to me every day after breakfast. Thus, with sewing, reading, or being read to, and teaching this boy, the time passed pleasantly, till it was necessary to dress for dinner, which was done as regularly with us as in a gentleman’s house at home. Some of our lady passengers, too, who had had as many months perhaps to prepare for their voyage as I had had days, really came out in the afternoons elegantly and richly adorned, to walk the deck, or sit down to the captain’s table. After dinner I was generally invited into Mrs. Colonel Carr’s cabin, whilst the rest of the ladies went and took their tea on deck. Not unfrequently we finished the day with a dance, for there were several musicians of our band on board. The mirth of the dance used to amuse me sometimes, for I was the only lady who did not dance; but oftener the constant repetition of the same notes used to make me sad, particularly when I considered the dangerous situations of those who were dancing, being exposed to the mercy of every gale. The evenings are short within the tropics, and there is no twilight in those latitudes; but the party often used to dance till the sun was set, and the moon and stars visible. The aspect of the heavens, however, was now rapidly changing, and the southern constellations rising 201

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to our view, whilst those of the northern hemisphere appeared every night lower and still lower towards the horizon. The hours given to dancing were the times in which I reflected most; and yet I could hardly say what were the tendencies of any reflections which I made at sea. I rather imagine that all my thoughts were then so fully occupied by the vast changes which had lately occurred in my mode of life, the anticipation of still greater changes to come, and the continual pressure of external annoyances, that abstract subjects found no place in my reflections. It was necessary for me to go down to my miserable cabin long before other people retired, in order that I might be shut up before my neighbours, on the other side the canvass partition, came down. Mr. Sherwood generally came down with me, and this was his hour for reading the Bible to me. I have still a copy of the New Testament marked by him as he read it each day in “The Devonshire.” I have also a collection of pathetic little poems which he read to me there, and I have some very, very sweet recollections of hours which were particularly blessed to us, in that dark corner where no light ever visited, and where no pure breath of heaven could blow. A most curious circumstance occurred during this voyage. A lady passenger had a brooch of a peculiar form, which contained hair of some decided colour, fastened down with the two letters “E. L.” in pearls. It happened that the lady mislaid the brooch, and supposed that she had lost it on deck. Some days afterwards she saw a ship’s officer with this very brooch, as she thought, in his bosom. Her sister saw it, and fancied she recognized it also. The young ladies called my attention to the thing, and as far as I remembered the lost brooch, I thought I saw it again in the possession of the young man. Still I pleaded that it was not likely that he should thus publicly wear what did not belong to him; but it was with some difficulty the loser of the brooch was restrained from a public declaration of her suspicions. Soon afterwards the young gentleman was perfectly cleared from all her doubts by the discovery of the hiding-place of her own brooch. This little circumstance has often occurred to my recollection, as a warning not to trust to appearances. On the 20th of May we had a favourable breeze, which died away at eight o’clock in the evening, and the sailors asserted that this was owing to the dancing on deck. Whatever it was caused by, I cannot say, but a dead calm succeeded, with very heavy showers of rain, and occasional squalls, which state of things remained for eight days. The heat during this time was excessive, and the temperature of our cabin almost intolerable. I can recollect many of these nights, in which I could only keep myself from fainting by constantly fanning myself, what air we had being saturated with the horrible effluvia of bilge water. Many of my dreams and thoughts at those times were of home and certain scenes of infancy, which recurred to my fancy as if they had happened but the day before. When we crossed the line427 the captain put off the usual ceremonies428 till the next day, as it was the king’s birthday, in order that there might not be two idle days together. On this day, the 4th of June, the crew got plum pudding and an 202

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additional allowance of grog, and old Neptune and his wife paid us a visit, coming on deck from the side of the ship, and the passengers gave them a present in lieu of being baptized with sea-water. The gentlemen embraced Mrs. Neptune, and Mr. Neptune was half offended because he was not permitted to salute the ladies; but upon the whole the thing passed off very quietly and pleasantly. It was on the sixth of August—we had then been at sea more than three months—when, soon after dinner, and before we had left the dining-room, the morning having been cloudy and rainy, an alarm was given that three strange ships were approaching towards us, coming as if from the direction of India. By reason of the haze these were close to us before they were perceived. This alarm was immediately followed by a signal from the admiral to announce that these strange ships were suspicious. I hastened with Mrs. Carr to the window of her cabin, whence we could see the vessels coming down upon us. What happened next I have little recollection of: all seemed from that time, for hours, one scene of confusion. I shall first give Mr. Sherwood’s account of this affair, and next, my own history of it. “In a very short time after the enemy had been seen,” writes Mr. Sherwood, “one of the strangers lay to, whilst the other two vessels came down, and passing close to our rear, hoisted French colours almost before we had time to form our conjectures of what they were. The colours were no sooner up than they began to fire, and at the same moment all hands were engaged on board our ship to clear for action. Every cabin which had been erected between the last gun and the fore part of the ship was torn down—ours of course amongst the rest, and everything we possessed thrown in heaps into the hold, or trampled under foot. All the women, without respect to persons, were placed after the furniture of the cabin into the same dismal hole at the very bottom of the ship. The guns were prepared in the shortest possible time to return the compliments which the enemy had already paid us. One of the enemy’s ships was a seventy-four or eighty gun, the other a large frigate. These were commanded by the Admiral Lenois. At the commencement of the contest “The Devonshire” was one of those nearest the enemy, and three shots passed through our rigging; but, as we advanced, the seventy-four fell back, and the battle became unequal. One of the Indiamen singled out the frigate, and would have fought her; but, after some broadsides, the French showed a disposition to withdraw. It seemed to us that they had been quite as much surprised at meeting us as we had been at seeing them. It was said that Lenois did not show his usual spirit at this time; but it was quite dark when the contest ceased.” Such was Mr. Sherwood’s account; as for myself, I cannot say that I remember much of what happened, when we were all driven down into the hold. It was a dismal place, and there was no light but what came from above. There were six ladies and nine soldiers’ wives, besides a negro female servant of Mrs. Carr’s, one or two Madras Ayahs,429 two children, the boy whom I taught to read, and little Maria Parker. The first thing which happened to me when I got down was to have little Maria popped into my arms, whilst her mother tried to collect our possessions, which had been scattered in the hold; and much as my mind was 203

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occupied with fears of what was going on, I could not help wondering how the woman, at such a time, could possibly think of such matters. However, I had reason to thank her afterwards for her care. We were then considerably under water mark, in darkness, and quite certain that had anything happened to the ship, nothing could save us; for they had taken away the ladders, probably to keep us in our places below. Our husbands and all our late companions were above, and we heard the roar of the guns, but had no means of learning what was going on. We were warned not to approach the grating from whence we got our little gleam of light, lest a ball might roll in upon us. There we were for some hours, in total ignorance of what was to be our fate, or the fate of those above us. There was, however, no fainting, no screaming, nor folly amongst us; for it is not on occasions of real trial that women in general behave weakly. As to myself, I can hardly say that I felt anything more than a sort of dull, dreary insensibility; a kind of feeling which I have often experienced on very alarming occasions. It was quite dark, though I know not the hour, when notice was given us that all was over, and no mischief really done to “The Devonshire.” Then ensued a strange ceremony; for the men began to hoist up the women, instead of providing the ladders, which probably could not be immediately found. So the females were lifted from one man to another, as if they had been so many bales of goods. There were larger and smaller women amongst us than myself, but the men made no difference with any of us. When on deck the ladies all repaired to Colonel Carr’s cabin, where we congratulated each other on the happy termination of the alarm, and much enjoyed some negus430 and biscuits. Miss Layards most kindly invited me to share their cabin, and Miss Louisa, who was all joy at our escape, kept us laughing almost all the remainder of the night with her amusing comments upon the affair. The morning report, however, somewhat depressed our spirits again; several of the gentlemen, amongst whom was Mr. Sherwood, had had very uncomfortable nights. Being deprived of their cabins, they had, therefore, opportunity and leisure more closely to watch the enemies’ lights. At a little distance, and about midnight, they saw them sail ahead and cross our track, getting to windward of us. At daylight they appeared to be preparing to renew the action; but it was suspected, however, that the frigate had met with some damage, and that she was repairing her masts. The third ship, which was a merchant ship, was no longer in their company. Several times the two vessels bore down as if to attack; but always stopped out of reach of our guns. Our admiral, followed by some Indiamen,431 made a show of pursuing them, but did not go far. Had we had the ships with us with which we had lately parted, we should not have let them off as we did. On the 8th, at daylight, the Frenchmen were no longer to be seen, and our captain sent on board the different ships of the fleet to ascertain what damage had been done. The riggings of “The Hope” and “Cumberland” had been much cut. A Mr. Cook, on board “The Blenheim,” was killed; a private of the 67th had lost his life on board “The Ganges;” and a sergeant of our regiment had lost both his legs on board “The Dorsetshire.” 204

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An ode to Brahma, written by our Captain Fraser, was brought to us from on board “The Dorsetshire,” the last verse of which is worth recording: “Yet what, O Brahma, what art thou? Thou canst not hear our prayer: In Hindostan to God we’ll bow, The Christian’s God is there.” From that time we saw no more of the French, but we afterwards ascertained that we had made Lenois suffer so severely that he was glad to get away from us; that the man-of-war was “The Marengo,” of eighty guns, and the frigate “La Belle Poule,” of forty. I was now again so completely humbled as to be truly thankful to have my miserable little cabin restored to me, and to find myself once again in possession of all my little comforts. After this alarm of the French, I began to anticipate the end of our voyage with delight. Some one very kindly lent me the “Arabian Nights’ Entertainments,”432 and I cannot describe the pleasure they gave me then, as connected with the sort of life I expected to find in the East. These stories undoubtedly are the very best description of Eastern manners and Eastern modes of thinking which were then in existence. Yet, perhaps, I ought not to recommend them to the study of young people, for they certainly are very far from correct. On the 19th of August we fancied we saw Ceylon in the remote and hazy distance. On the 21st we saw the continent of India. At daylight, on the 22nd, we were off Pondicherry,433 at the distance of about six miles. The town of Pondicherry looked beautiful, like a fairy scene of delicate tracery, and we were fortunate in continuing all the day to coast along with a light breeze, in view of a low and woody shore. We could not sufficiently admire the palm trees, and the small clusters of cottages scattered about. Only those who have been some months on the sea can have any idea of the delight of beholding land again. I had the enjoyment, too, this day, whilst packing and preparing to land, of having my cabin window, or rather its pretence of a window, open, and feeling the soft sea breeze, which, in the climate in which we then were, was particularly agreeable. On the 22nd of August we were all restless with expectation; calculating the distance from Madras434—inquiring of the mariners whether it was possible for us to get in that night—watching the sails to see if they filled with the breeze, and wearying each other with our impatience to gain the shore. We observed many country boats anchored about two miles from Madras, and were much offended because the people seemed to take no notice of us. We sat down to dinner, indeed, but could not eat, because some one or other of the party was every moment jumping up and running out to see how we were getting on. This day we observed many sharks, and some water snakes, and were visited by some beautiful butterflies from the shore. On the 23rd, at daylight, we found ourselves close to Madras, for we could see the masts of the ships in the bay, and as we proceeded, one new object after 205

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another presented itself to our view. Not a cloud was seen on the deep yet brilliant azure of the sky. The sun poured its dazzling rays unbroken on the long line of shore, which appeared to be richly scattered with palaces standing amongst groves of such trees as are seen only in tropical countries. With the aid of glasses we could discern the natives moving about amid these scenes, and actually distinguished a set of bearers carrying a palanquin.435 It seemed now, as I looked upon these scenes, that all the visions of Oriental pomp and luxury in which I had often indulged in fancy during my voyage would now be realized. The new and elegant beauties of that dazzling shore filled me with delight. Oh! how ardently did I long to be there. How little did I then anticipate the thousand drawbacks from comfort which I was doomed to find in this new world in which I was arrived. As we approached nearer to Madras we observed several black men sitting in the sea, on small logs of wood, more than a mile from the shore. Here was a new cause of amazement to us; for although we had been associated for the last four months with persons who had come from Madras, and had probably spent most of their lives there, yet they never volunteered the slightest information, and scarcely answered any question but by some grossly absurd assertion; as, for instance, that tigers were so common in Madras, that they often made their way into the Fort, and ran away with the children. We, then, who were strangers, were very ignorant of what we were to expect when arrived in India, and quite unprepared for seeing the natives riding on their logs from the shore. These logs are called catamarans, and it is certainly marvellous to observe how fearlessly the natives use them. There will be probably few persons who read these memorandums who may need to be told that Madras is otherwise called Fort St. George,436 and often spoken of in writing under that name. It is one of the three Presidencies of the British Empire in India. It contains nearly fourteen millions of inhabitants, being under the immediate government of the Governor and Consul of Madras. This capital is situated on the Coromandel Coast, in the Bay of Bengal, and is in an open roadstead,437 but very dangerous for any one desiring to land, on account of the fearful surf which dashes on the shore with ceaseless fury. I shall soon have occasion to speak of the manner in which this surf is passed. Fort St. George itself is close on the margin of the sea, from which it has a magnificent appearance. The houses, all of which are detached, are covered with a white stucco,438 called chunam,439 which bears almost as fine a polish as marble. These houses are built with long colonnades440 and open porticos;441 the roofs are flat, and encompassed with balustrades442 to prevent accidents to those walking upon them. The change of scenery, of manners, of buildings, and of costume must ever be progressive to one travelling by land. But to persons coming direct from England, as we had done, there is hardly any change of objects except in the aspect of the heavens and among the constellations. Hence we were not prepared for the wonderful effect produced on the mind by the first appearance of Fort St. George on the Coromandel coast. Madras, as seen from the sea, is compared, by some traveller, to a Grecian city in the age of the Macedonian hero,443 when the arts of architecture were at 206

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the highest, and when the magnificence of the public buildings had reached their ultimatum. We came to anchor, about ten o’clock, in full view of the fort and magnificent custom-house. We were then little more than a mile from the shore, and saw about us a quantity of shipping,444 both European and native. We lay very near “The Arley Castle,” an East Indiaman, and we seemed to be hardly stationed in water, for it was smooth and calm as a mirror. But now the natives began to come along side of us, riding on their catamarans, having no attire whatever but a piece of cloth about the waist; yet, from their slender and even delicate forms, and black complexions, looking better in their light clothing than could be imagined. Some of these brought letters from land, well secured from the sea-water in the conical caps of the bearer; for, as we found afterwards, the surf is so violent that these catamarian people are forced to dive under the three first waves after leaving the shore. We were immensely amused with the sight of these people, and the ladies all watched them from the window of the state-cabin. They made supplications to us for bottles, empty bottles, which we threw out to them, till the captain sent a request to us not to do so any longer, as we should get swarms of them about the ship, which would prove very troublesome. We could not understand any other words they said, except their entreaty for bottles. We had hardly been an hour at anchor when many boats came off from the shore. These brought natives dressed in muslin, looking, at a distance, like an assembly of ladies. This illusion led all the lady passengers to go out upon deck to receive these visitors, who were ascending the side of the vessel; not that we then understood what sort of persons they were, or why they were come. Could we have doubted before that we were in a new world, we could not have doubted it any longer, for these were a description of persons hitherto represented to one’s fancy only in the Arabian and Persian tales. These men were arrayed in long muslin dresses, bound about the waist with ample bands of muslin. They wore large turbans and gold ear-rings and chains, their beards being trimmed and cut with great nicety, and their faces in many instances were marked with yellow or white streaks or spots. Whilst we, the griffins445 (a name given to any European just arrived in India), were doubting respecting the grade in society of these our elegant but extraordinary visitors, they soon settled our opinions by the profound salutations which they bestowed three times upon the ship’s officers and other gentlemen, by bending their bodies so low that they touched the deck with the back of their hands and with their foreheads. These persons were, in fact, nothing more than stewards, or head servants,—persons in Calcutta called Circars, or Khaunsaumans, and at Madras, Debashes. These men undertake to do and provide for every European who comes to India. They generally speak a little English; and though they are known to be great rogues, yet it is impossible to do without one of them, for a little while at least. Cheat a stranger they will; but it is found better to submit to one bloodsucker than to be at the mercy of all who come near the unfortunate newlyarrived. These fine personages were therefore come to get situations amongst the 207

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passengers, and in a very short time more boats arrived, until the deck was covered with men of this description. There were also boats about us which brought fruit, vegetables, fresh meat, and fresh bread and butter, with various flowers, and fans formed of palm-leaves, all of which were vastly delightful to persons who had not seen a green leaf for four weary months. The natives jabbered incessantly, not only on deck, but in the boats without, but not one word of what they said, of course, could I understand; but I was wonderfully amused by watching them. In this part of the Peninsula the natives are most delicately formed, the hands even of the men are very small. Their manners are mild, calm, and naturally polite, though they use a good deal of action in speaking. I was much amused by a meeting between an old Madras Ayah on board our ship, and a respectable looking man who had come to us in a boat with the Debashes. “Eh! Ram Cookoo! Ram Cookoo!” was her cry, the moment she saw him, whilst her eyes kindled with joy at the unexpected meeting. Long, and probably very interesting, was the conversation which followed, though I could catch no other sounds than “Oh! Ram Cookoo! Eh! Ram Cookoo,” spoken in the half affected, drawling manner which young ladies in Europe, too, can assume. Mr. Sherwood went on shore this day, leaving me on board ship, being no longer under the necessity of remaining in my miserable little cabin. Though why should I call it miserable? for I spent many a happy hour by candle-light there with my husband. Whilst I sewed, he read the Bible to me. Thus, when God gives peace, he gives it in total independence of all external and adventitious446 circumstances; and again, his gifts are even wholly independent of the merits or demerits of the receiver. Mr. Sherwood’s account of his first going on shore at Madras is as follows:— “I had heard a bad account of the surf at Madras; but seeing the ships around me anchored in such calm water, I had began to fancy the old Indians in “The Devonshire” had been laughing at our expense; yet the make of the boat I had hired in which I was to land seemed to me to be something suspicious. It was formed without a keel, flat bottomed, with the sides raised high, and the boards of which it was composed were sewed loosely together with the fibres of the cocoa-nut tree, caulked with the same material, and we had two catamarans to attend it, no doubt in case of danger. As we approached the shore, I began to perceive that there was need, indeed, for all these preparations. The roaring of the waves became tremendous, and before we entered the surf the boatmen stopped, as if to prepare themselves, and having taken breath, they began to howl and shriek, or rather to keep time to the oars by a horrid sound, whilst they pulled very short. At the same instant we rose as if on a mountain, the boat standing almost perpendicular, with her fore part downwards, and thus we were hurried along upon the wave, the situation of the boat being suddenly reversed, after which we were left to lie in the trough of the sea till another wave met us; this was repeated three times, and on the third time we struck on the top of the wave on the shore with such a tremendous shock, that had we not been on our guard we should all inevitably have been dashed out. Now we had reached the 208

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shore, about one hundred persons seized the boat, and by main strength pulled her up into safe mooring; but not until another wave had come and given us a most copious sprinkling. Being landed, I went to a tavern for breakfast, and then hired a palanquin to take me to the Fort. I got into this carriage, but could not balance myself; I therefore sat uneasily, being afraid of falling out on the one side or on the other, and I would much rather have walked had not the heat been so great; and then, too, there was the honour of the thing. I had landed close to the Custom House, which is situated in the suburb called the Black Town;447 and the bearers carried me to the Fort at about the rate of five miles an hour. The distance appeared more than a mile. I first went to the paymaster’s office, and learned that the regiment was to land immediately. After having gone into a coffee-house in the Fort, which looked like a public exchange, I returned to the ship, and found the surf even worse than when I had landed; and for this reason, that on going on shore, the boat has the advantage of running before or with the breakers, but in going off it has in a certain degree to contend with them. The noise alone when going off is enough to appal any one not used to it, and the blows given by the waves cause the boat to quiver and tremble in every part of it, being able to keep together only by the looseness of its construction.” Such was Mr. Sherwood’s account. Never shall I forget the horrors of the roaring surf, or the furious yelling of the boatmen when preparing to meet the dreaded beating of a wave; but the wild howlings of the men and the agitation of the whole fabric of the boat was so overpowering, that there was not time to analyse a single feeling; for all appeared to me one wild scene of terror and confusion until I felt the shock of the vessel against terra firma, and heard the cry of the multitude whose business it was to seize hold of her, and haul her by main force upon the shore. I was instantly assisted to get out, and at length I found myself standing on solid ground, thousands and thousands of miles removed from my native home. Were it in my power to recal even to my own mind the feelings of that moment, I should still find it impossible to describe them to any other person. For there was not in this new world one object of a description familiar to me. Multitudes of equipages and palanquins were waiting on the shore to receive the Europeans who were landing this day from the fleet. I had scarcely looked round me, Mr. Sherwood being busy in seeing some of our property carried from the boat, when an English looking close carriage with a pair of horses, a black coachman, and several native attendants, who had been sent to the beach for some white lady, came up to me; the men insisting upon taking possession of me, gathering round me and jabbering most vehemently to me. I could neither understand them, nor they me; but they would not give me up until a Debash, whom Mr. Sherwood had hired I believe the day before, came to my relief with a palanquin, and ran by my side to the Fort. I was still in too great amazement during my transit from the beach to the Fort to have any clear recollection of what I then saw; for, as an infant opening its eyes on a new world is unable to distinguish one thing from another, or to comprehend any object it 209

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sees, so, in some degree, my first views of India seem strangely confused in my recollections. Mr. Sherwood, indeed, in the West Indies, had been accustomed for years to a tropical climate, tropical scenery, and the sight of half savage people; he, therefore, knew much better what he was about than I did. I have but an imperfect idea of the Fort St. George. I remember large square courts, surrounded with buildings, with rows of trees in front of them; and I have an accurate recollection of two immense ground-floor apartments, which were appointed for our use. We had no security of remaining a week at Madras, therefore it was not worth our while to procure furniture. We therefore made the best of what we had—a camp-table,448 a few chairs, a canteen, a sea-cot,449 and a great many trunks and chests. I have seen many country churches less than either of our rooms; indeed, they were exactly like churches, without pews or galleries, the beams of the roof being visible, with many immense windows which closed with jalousies.450 Our Debash, who managed everything for us, had provided himself with such inferior servants as might be required. He had a kitchen and offices behind our apartments. He served us up a supper on our camp-table, and a dinner every day afterwards, consisting of many dishes which were then quite new to me; but I thought these dishes very pleasant; amongst them I particularly remember soup made of a glutinous vegetable,451 and the egg-plant452 roasted before the fire and garnished with crumbs of bread. For camp living, or for making a temporary residence comfortable, there are no servants equal to the East Indians; but I had no female servant. Mrs. Parker had gone with her husband and child to the soldiers’ quarters, and I was left for the first night to render our sea-cot as comfortable as it could be. So it was placed at one end of our vast sleeping-room, and our many trunks collected around it. We had neither table nor chair in the room, but we had no longer the smell of the ship. We were not swung over a gun, and it was quite sufficient luxury to us that night to feel the stability of the floor on which our cot was set. Thus, though in some respects our situation was gloomy enough, yet I enjoyed myself very much in the change of position. We went very early to bed, really from not having taken the precaution to supply ourselves with lights; but we were by no means prepared for the multitude of companions with whom we were to spend the night. These, however, soon made us aware of their presence in a variety of ways. One would have thought that the whole room was filled with all sorts of living creatures of the insect tribe, by the variety of noises which were kept up. In the first place, there was a sound like the whirr of a spinning-wheel; then a click click, as of a clock; an occasional squeak, which conveyed the unpleasant idea of a rat; then a buzz, as of a fly; and the small, hollow, and tormenting note of the musquitto’s horn; all these giving indications of the presence of such myriads of living creatures as was by no means agreeable, especially as we did not know if some of them might not be noxious;453 however, we recollected that many other persons had slept in that same room before ourselves; nor do I remember that our sleep was much disturbed by 210

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our apprehensions. Ours is a family who, when awake, are awake; but we sleep when we can, without being over fastidious about our lodgings. When we awoke in the morning the light was streaming through the jalousies, and several little elegant black and white squirrels (creatures I was afterwards taught to call gillaries)454 were sporting up and down the wood-work. The Debash and his adjutants had arranged our breakfast in the outer apartment to more advantage than it might be thought circumstances would admit. Every place seemed to be delightful to me after the ship. We had hardly breakfasted on the day after our arrival at Madras, before we were informed that we must hold ourselves in readiness to proceed to Bengal.455 We, with many others of the regiment, were to make this voyage in our old ship, “The Devonshire.” There was no use, therefore, in endeavouring to make our abode more comfortable at Madras; but the little time we had we used in getting some of our clothes washed. If gentlemen do not sympathise with me, ladies will, when I say that I was delighted beyond measure when the linen, which had been stained and iron-moulded456 in the most wretched manner in our ill-conditioned cabin, came back whiter than the driven snow itself. Oh! the luxury of fresh water and a profusion of clean linen after a long sea voyage. After ten days on shore, we again embarked in “The Devonshire,” and proceeded up the bay, very soon losing sight of Madras. Still proceeding, we passed the island of Saugar,457 of which so much has been said. The land is very low and covered with brushwood. Our pilot told us that it abounded with tigers; he said, “It is noted as a place where the Hindoos assemble at certain seasons of the year to bathe, and where many, as acts of devotion, cast themselves and their little ones into the sea to be devoured by the sharks.”458 He added, too, that he had known thirty of these poor wretches carried away in one day by these sea monsters. These infatuated heathens, moreover, as he told us, made it a point never to guard themselves against the tigers, accounting it to be even a greater mark of favour from Heaven to be devoured by a tiger than by a shark. They also often make vows, when at home in their own houses, that, if one of their special gods will grant them so many children, they will sacrifice one at a certain age to the sharks at Saugur, or to their idol, Juggurnaut.459 Our pilot told us also, that some years ago, having heard that a very fine native boy was to be sacrificed to the sharks, he attempted to save him by lying in wait in a boat near the place, thinking that he might carry him away at the moment he was thrown into the water; but that, although he waited there the whole day, the people were so careful, that, when the boy was cast into the sea, he could not catch him in time. The poor lad, he said, had shrunk from his fate, and wept most bitterly, imploring pity; but he could not succeed. The child was doomed from his birth, as being the seventh son of a seventh son, by a woman who had been barren some years. In this island of Saugar a Mr. Munroe, some years ago, was seized by a tiger. The pilot’s version of this well-known history is as follows:—“Mr. Munroe was on shore, sitting with another gentleman, with guns in their hands, when a tiger sprang upon him, and seized him by the head, and was carrying him off as a fox carries his prey. Mr. Munroe’s friend fired at the tiger, which instantly let its 211

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victim fall; but the poor young man died almost immediately from the effects of the fright and injury.” The tide carried us on till twelve at noon, when it turned, and we anchored close to a low, woody point of the island, called Mud Point. It was with great interest that I contemplated, with the aid of a glass, this island from the ship. I marked a glade, or open pasture ground, encompassed with trees, where were many deer feeding; but it was fearful to think of the enemies which surrounded these gentle creatures, and of the many horrible monsters which filled those woods and haunted those shores. Whilst we were lying at this point the natives came down the river, and lay about us in their boats, bringing fruit, fowls, eggs, and ducks to sell. We thought six fat ducks very cheap for a rupee, but some years afterwards we bought twenty for the same money, and were, no doubt, even cheated at that time. These ducks are exactly like our tame duck, and live in the swamps and marshes at the mouths of the Ganges. We were then in one of these mouths of that mighty river, the thousand mouths, as they are called, of the Ganges, and this branch is called the Hoogley. On the 11th, at eight o’clock in the morning, we weighed anchor, and then proceeded upward with the tide, and succeeded in reaching Diamond Harbour460 before the tide left us. Large vessels seldom go higher than this, at least there are many which never do; and, in that case, an individual whose voyage does not extend beyond this place can have no more idea of Bengal than if he had never left the British Channel.

CHAPTER XVI. ARRIVAL

AT DIAMOND HARBOUR—FORT WILLIAM—LIST OF ATTENDANTS—DEATH OF

MARIA PARKER—THE EUROPEAN BUTTER—BIRTH OF MY ELDEST SON—HIS BAPTISM— THE CHURCH-SERVICE AT DINAPORE—THE SUNDAY AFTERNOON—SERGEANT CLARKE— OUR EVENING DRIVES—DESCRIPTION OF THE NATIVES OF DINAPORE.

WE anchored in Diamond Harbour, as I said, and found the shore low and swampy, so that it can hardly be doubted but that all the country in the south of Bengal has been formed, in comparatively modern times, by the depositions of mud brought down by the river, since the land at the mouths of the Ganges is annually gaining upon the sea. We remained on board all the next day, in expectation of an order for the regiment to land; but we found that it would require four or five days for a sufficient number of boats to be sent down from Calcutta to bring it up. It is not only unpleasant, but unhealthy, for a crowded ship to lie in a river full of mud, amid low, swampy banks, and without the possibility of getting on shore for the deep mud and the thick, tangled brushwood. 212

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Mr. Sherwood asked leave to go on to Calcutta; and, having obtained permission, he hired one of the many boats which were plying for passengers to take us to Calcutta immediately. The distance by water from Diamond Harbour to Calcutta is fifty miles. The boatmen stopped at a landing-place in a line with Fort William, and began to jabber and talk to Mr. Sherwood, and he made equally strenuous efforts to understand and be understood by them, in which efforts both parties completely failed. After a while he himself pushed the boat from the shore, and pointed to the town, repeating the name, “Calcutta.” Still they did not appear to know what he wanted, and we lay in the middle of the stream, under the pelting rays of the noon-day sun. A boat approaching with a white man on board, Mr. Sherwood called to him, to entreat him to be his interpreter. Through him he learned, that all that the boatmen wanted was to know where to land us. This being made known to the boatmen, Mr. Sherwood followed the goods to the custom-house, whilst I was delivered over to the care of a black servant, who was waiting for a job on the landing-place, to conduct me to a tavern at a small distance. I remember following the black guide with that sort of confused feeling which I can only compare to a dream; but happily I had not far to walk to a tavern, called the Crown and Anchor. My attendant held a vast umbrella over my head, and most grateful was I for the quiet I obtained on entering the tavern. On the day following, immediately after breakfast, Mr. Sherwood left me at the tavern and went to Fort William,461 and got apartments for us in the Fort, consisting of two immense rooms. A native broker provided us with all the furniture which persons who had been accustomed to be on board ship so long as we had could really want for a temporary residence; so that before night I was comfortably settled in Fort William, with all my possessions about me. Our apartments consisted of an outer room and a vast inner or sleeping room, which commanded, from the large windows, a view of the whole square. These rooms were immensely lofty, with double doors, which could be closed with jalousies. I found already arranged in the inner room all our packages from Europe, one or two of which had never been opened since leaving England. When arrived in Fort William we found it was necessary that our establishment should be such as I shall describe. Mr. Sherwood, being paymaster,462 or the person who kept the key of the strong box, was of some little importance; he was therefore obliged to have a black Circar,463 or steward, Ram Harry by name, a Brahmin,464 and a very decent man, and through him the rest of our servants were already provided when I arrived at the Fort. These were, as enumerated by Mr. Sherwood in his diary, as follows:—1st. A Kitmutghaur; this functionary goes to market, overlooks the cook, and waits at table, but he will not carry home what he purchases in the market. 2nd. A Mussalchee; his business is to wash dishes, carry a lanthorn, and, in fact, wait upon the Kitmutghaur. 3rd. A Behishtee; his name signifies “the heavenly;” he carries water in a skin upon his shoulders, and we may understand wherefore, in such a climate as India, he may have got his name. 4th. A Matranee; the only female 213

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servant we had in Fort William; she swept our rooms, and appeared several times a-day to receive my orders. She wore a full chintz or silk petticoat, a white muslin jacket and veil, and a quantity of silver ornaments. 5th. A Sirdar Bearer, or Prince of the Bearers. 6th. His mate. And eventually, when we had provided ourselves with a palanquin, we had to provide six bearers in addition. The Sirdar and his people attend to the gentleman’s clothes, clean the shoes, take care of the candles, which are wax, dust the wall shades, clean the tables, and take their part in carrying the palanquin. 7th. A washerwoman, or Dobi. 8th. A cook. 9th. The Circar, or banker; making altogether, with the six palanquin bearers, fifteen attendants; though we had not then, it was considered, commenced housekeeping. Mr. Sherwood calculated that these servants would cost him £10 17s. 3d.465 per month; but he remarked, at the same time, that more attendants would in the end be absolutely necessary. Still, as they were all on board wages,466 the expenses of a kitchen-table for three or four servants in England would very soon much exceed the sum above mentioned, as their expectations were very moderate. In agreement with what were then my ideas of the necessity of works for salvation, instead of taking the rest in Fort William which my health and situation required, I began, after a few days, to instruct William Durham, the same little boy whom I had taught to read in “The Devonshire.” I soon added another pupil, the still dearly beloved child of a friend of my husband and myself, George, the eldest son of Captain and Mrs. Whetstone, of our corps. Mr. Sherwood had found himself overloaded with work, which had accumulated during the period of the voyage, for he had fifteen times to furnish three muster-rolls467 of the regiment, and his assistant, Sergeant Clarke, was ill. In the hope of other aid, he hired a black clerk, by way of trial; but the man made so many blunders, that Mr. Sherwood did not dare to trust him. He was, therefore, obliged to do the work himself, and, in consequence, hardly stirred out for days, except early in the morning. It was necessary that I should keep myself as much out of the way of this business as I could; I therefore spent my time in a morning in the inner room, which, as it regarded the Great Square, was, in fact, the outer room. The sun was most powerful for many hours on this room, but we had means of excluding it. I thought that the temperature was hardly bearable. What with the bites of musquittos, and the prickly heat of a slight eruption which breaks out generally on a new comer to India, I was in a state of great bodily irritation. However, there was a vast deal to amuse my mind when I looked forth from our windows, and when we went out still more entertainment. During the second week of our arrival Mr. Sherwood had an opportunity of seeing a great Hindoo festival,468 held at a house near the Fort. The poor heathen had raised a frame, on which they placed the representation of a woman, with a spear in her hand, treading on a kind of figure of some diabolical black monster. A number of naked boys howled and shouted before this image, 214

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uttering a kind of adulatory song, as loud as their voices would allow; to which was added the beatings of tum-tums, or drums, and the fearful jarring shrieks of horns, trumpets, and other wind instruments. Our hopes for staying at Calcutta were suddenly dashed to the ground by our officers receiving the information that we were to go up the country to Dinapore,469 and what added to my trouble was, that my little pupil, William Durham, was at that time very ill. The regiment left on the Saturday, thus having made out four weeks since our arrival at Calcutta. Had poor Luke Parker been forced to go on board with his company, he must have left his baby, my little Maria, dying; but we made interest for him, and he was left behind two days. The sweet infant died on the second morning; and the poor man and his wife were compelled to commit the body to the grave within an hour, or perhaps a little more, of the departure of the spirit to a glorious reunion with Him who made it. This sad duty done, the sorrowing parents joined us, who most truly sorrowed with them, by the water’s side, where we waited only for them to embark. When our boats were anchored for the night, we generally walked out in the evenings, and sometimes drank tea with some friends in their boat, and thus I saw much of the country. The natives, wherever we went, followed us by hundreds, though I have heard it remarked, by persons who have lately visited these places by the river’s side, that there is not the wonder now expressed at the sight of a white face as my experience would warrant at the time to which I refer. The heat soon became excessive, but the country was very pleasant, the mango groves covering large spaces of ground. We find great difficulty in making ourselves understood, even through our Kitmutghaur, who professes to be our interpreter; for when we ask a question which he does not comprehend he always says, “Yes,” and his mode of replying to our inquiries is most curious and quaint: thus, when we asked him, “How far it was to Plassy?” he answered, “Cutwa Plassy,” meaning to say, “One day to Cutwa, the next to Plassy.” At Plassy we saw many fine trees and Hindoo temples. This village will be ever memorable for Lord Clive’s victory over Surage Dowlah,470 the Nawaub of Bengal, from which we may date the real commencement of the English power in India. Certain it is, however, that the victory of that day put the English in possession of Bengal. One hundred years have not elapsed since the thunder of the English artillery roared amongst the groves of Plassy. During that short period the power of the English nation has spread itself over an extent of empire exceeding that of all the ancient kingdoms of Christendom. It was whilst taking an evening walk, during this journey, that Mr. Sherwood and myself first saw a small society of good men, who for several years after we came to India united together to read their Bibles and to pray; often having no 215

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place in which they could meet undisturbed but old stores, ravines, groves, and woods, and other retired places, where they, however, no doubt enjoyed much communion with their God. The very existence of any person in the barracks who had the smallest notion of the importance of religion was quite unsuspected by me. I believe I am not severe when I assert that at that time there really was not one in the higher ranks in the regiment who had courage enough to come forward and say, “I think it right, in this distant land, to do as it regards religion what I have been accustomed to do at home.” But more of these holy ones in their place. I ought to remember this journey especially, because it was the beginning of my intimacy, my friendship, I may call it, I trust, with Mrs. Mawby, the lady of our colonel,471—a friendship which never had an intermission of daily meetings whilst we were in India. No two persons could have been naturally more different than Mrs. Mawby and myself; but there was one point which pleased me, even at the first moment of our introduction to each other. Mrs. Mawby had the manners of a lady; she never said a rude thing, nor took an impertinent liberty; there never was any want of decorum in her conduct. As it is hard to live without some little familiar intercourse, I trust that she was as glad to find something suitable in me as I was to find much that was interesting in her. The colonel, too, became my husband’s friend, and sweet and precious to me is the memory of that friendship. As we ascended the river, and as the season advanced, we began to experience great change in the temperature. The early mornings became quite cool and fresh, so that the servants at the top of the pinnace were glad to wrap themselves up in thick cotton quilts. We had brought a little native boy with us, as a helper to our Kitmutghaur. This lad waited at table; he was a quick witted little fellow, who seemed almost able to read his master’s wishes. One morning he came in with a face of great alarm, and proclaimed in a most doleful voice, “that all the butter—the salted European butter which we had brought in a tub from Calcutta was spoilt—utterly spoilt.” Of course we inquired what he could mean, for there seemed to be an end to many a savoury dish, if there was no European butter, as we could get nothing like it in the villages along the river side, nothing but buffalo’s butter, which is rancid, and as yellow as if mixed up with sulphur. This doleful business of the destruction of the butter was, however, explained as soon as the elder Kitmutghaur entered. The boy had never seen the European butter in any state but what was entirely liquid. The cold of the last night had been sufficient to harden it, and the phenomenon had overpowered the boy. I think it needful in this place to make some remarks on the anxiety I felt that the child I hoped shortly to possess should receive Christian baptism; but I will state my reason, which I omitted to tell in its proper place. The summer before in Worcestershire, one day, just as we were about to sit down to dinner, my brother being present, a person came to beg him to go immediately to Abberley, to baptize a child who was dying, Mr. Severne, who was the proper minister, not being at home. 216

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My brother, however, thought he would dine before he obeyed the summons, and by this delay the child was dead before he arrived. When my sister and I were alone after this event, she put the fearful question to me, “If the soul of that child is lost on account of Marten’s delay, how can he ever forgive himself for this neglect of duty?” Through the Divine mercy, as my mind became more enlightened, I have been taught to see that much, much less importance is to be attached to the rite of baptism; but it may be imagined how I then answered this question, when, nearly a year and a half afterwards, I was in the utmost agitation lest there should be no ordained clergyman at Dinapore to baptise my child. Hence my constant prayer, “Grant to it, oh, my Heavenly Father, a Christian baptism,—the baptism of thy Holy Spirit, so that whether living or dying make it thine own.” I shall have occasion to point out how I allegorized my anxieties respecting my baby, and their termination, in my “Infant Progress.”472 But who would imagine that I was at that time so utterly dark as to believe that the eternal happiness of an infant for whom Christ died could possibly depend in the smallest degree on the performance of any rite, or on the will of any man. I have since often thought that, with such impressions on my mind, I ought by no means ever to have travelled abroad. Nay, if the Almighty is thus ready to hang as it were the fate of infants on the caprices of man, no feeling person ought ever to marry, or to be an instrument of bringing children into a life of such awful peril. But the very nature of false doctrine is inconsistency. A true doctrine may be followed as far as it will go, without producing confusion and disorder; a false one can only be followed to a certain point, beyond which it invariably produces perplexity. Whilst I remained in the pinnace473 at anchor, and so far distant from the cantonments474 that I saw nothing of them, Mr. Sherwood went up to them to look for quarters. It was at Dinapore that we first actually began to feel what Indian luxuries are. The Kitmutghaur475 who had attended us from Calcutta had done his work, and made his market, though in no very large way, of the “Tazee Willaut,” or white people, and therefore he left us as soon as we were settled in Dinapore. We parted good friends, and I do not recollect any very great enormity of which he was guilty, except that he charged as much weekly for the onions to put into our curry as would have filled a good sized cart. Probably, however, with all his peccadilloes, he did not make more than one hundred rupees out of all these petty thefts. In his place we took other servants, Dirges,476 and Dobes,477 and a Sais478 for Mr. Sherwood, who now got a pony, and I had a tonjon, or open palanquin, in which I rode, having put aside my bonnet for a lace cap with European ribbons. We liked Dinapore; but the place was so unhealthy that we lost fifteen men the first fourteen days. The weather, too, was very cold, and we were glad to shut up our houses and light a fire; for almost all the houses have one room with a fireplace in it. It was at Dinapore that our first-born son entered into life. Oh, my Henry, my precious boy, how shall I now go on with my history, and retrace the events of your short yet painful course. “My lovely, my redeemed one.” 217

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My Heavenly Father, in his paternal goodness, so far indulged my earnest desire, that I had the satisfaction of having my son baptized by a clergyman of the church of England, who was accidentally at the station. Oh, foolish, blind mother! who could rest upon the shadow, even when she had so many proofs of the love of Him who is the substance! My child was born on Christmas-day, and on the 2nd of February, Sunday, I went to the chapel in the barracks to hear the clergyman on the text, “Many are called, but few chosen.”479 I call it, in my diary, an ill-spent Sunday for most of us; for immediately after service some travelling merchants came with European goods, and our housesteward paid the servants’ wages, and our sergeant the regimental account. I add, alas! alas! The reference here made to the manner in which a Sunday was then spent at Dinapore affords a good opportunity of opening another page of domestic life in India. There was then no church in Dinapore. The service was performed in a large empty quarter of a wide and lofty room, having numbers of double doors of green lattice-work in it, and possessing no other furniture than forms for the inferior persons, and chairs and footstools for the superiors, placed there by their own servants. There was nothing like a pulpit or desk, but the preacher stood before a table. In the cold season the service was before breakfast, and the regiment was marched to the place appointed, the band sometimes playing. At Dinapore the soldiers’ wives all attended, dressed completely in white, with caps instead of bonnets, and many of them looking very well. The women, of course, had to walk to church, and they were obliged to protect their heads from the sun; but I do not know their reason for choosing painted umbrellas. The higher ranks all came in carriages of some kind, and as the civilians came from the neighbouring places round, the square was littered with vehicles of all possible descriptions. The ladies were all led to their seats by one of the officers. Such was the custom, and on occasion when a lady came alone, she was no sooner seen alighting from her carriage, than some gentleman would leave his place in the church, run to meet her, and hand her in. On one occasion at Cawnpore, I was detained very late by the illness of a little child, and I found myself handed into the church by the clergyman himself, having espied me from his robing-room, where he was preparing himself for the sermon. It was a pleasing sight to see so many well-dressed Europeans at this place of worship at Dinapore so far, so very far from our native land. But alas, as soon as the sermon was over, all attention to the especial duties of the day entirely ceased with most of those persons whom I then knew at Dinapore.480 Mr. Sherwood himself used to transact his business in the centre room of our quarters, where was the iron chest containing the rupees, and there in a corner by it sat the Circar481 on his carpet, ready to weigh the money, and Sergeant Clarke, the paymaster’s assistant, to write down the accounts. 218

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When the service, too, was over, the officers came as usual to settle their affairs, and even the clergyman not unseldom used to call to take tiffin, or a hot luncheon, with us. The first time this last gentleman honoured us with his company, he sat with me in the verandah, and seeing some travelling pedlars passing by he invited them in, made them open their wares on the floor of the verandah, and amused himself by making bargains for any small articles which he fancied. A dinner party generally finished the day; though, having a very young baby, and one which was far from strong, I seldom joined it. I was, however, very uneasy at the sad way in which our Sundays were spent; but I could not prevail immediately to have things altered. About this time a plan was formed, without any trouble on my part, for the establishment of a regimental school, and as this school afterwards formed a very prominent feature in my Indian life, I think it necessary to explain somewhat particularly how the affair originated. There was at that time no provision made by government for the instruction of the children of soldiers; but this year at a dinner party, but at whose house I cannot say, the subject being discussed, Mr. Sherwood and myself at once offered to receive the children in our quarters, if it was agreed upon that a school should be established, and Mr. Sherwood offered his clerk to assist me in the undertaking. The children were only to be present from eight till twelve every day, quite drudgery enough in that climate, and rather too much for me in some respects, as I was never without a baby whilst I was in India. I must do Sergeant Clarke the justice to say, that he made no objection whatever to this additional labour, for which he never received fee nor reward but from ourselves. Since we had been settled in Dinapore, he had always taken his dinner at our house, and this he continued to do as long as we remained in India. On this new arrangement we appointed a room for him, and there, when we had tiffin, his dinner was served him, and a more respectable man I have seldom met with. He was not a soldier-like man, but much more like a banker’s clerk; Clarke he was by name, by nature, and by office. It was whilst we were at Dinapore that I persuaded Mr. Sherwood not to see the officers on a Sunday, and the only plan which he could suggest was his going out himself on that day, and dismissing the Circar. He used, therefore, after breakfast, to leave the house and go to the quarters of some other officer, where he was obliged to take his chance of whatever mode of spending the time might be offered him. Thus was I often left alone the whole Sunday, having no companion but my little baby. Our week days were more cheerful, and it was a source of great interest to me to look about the strange land in which I then resided. It is a custom with Europeans in the provinces, in the cool of the evening, to have whatever carriages they keep paraded before their doors, whether with or without orders. We were then already so Indian that we had our bullock carriage, our palanquin, and a riding horse paraded before the house. Our bullock coach, with its fine silver-grey pair, was usually appropriated to our boy and his nurse, whilst my general vehicle at that time was an open palanquin; and I was almost always joined in my airing 219

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by my beloved friend, Mrs. Mawby, and vastly amused we were by the scenes which we beheld as we passed the Bazaar. The women in and about Dinapore, that is, the Hindoos, are the very dirtiest I ever saw in India. Their dress consists of a single web of coarse cotton, gathered by the hand on the hips, and brought round the lower part of the person, so as to form a scanty petticoat; then so manœuvered as to cover one arm, the back, and the lower part of one side under the arm, and finally carried over the head, forming a veil.482 This is a most beautiful arrangement of drapery for a picture or statue, or for a young and delicate girl; but for the old and the ugly most disgusting. In many parts of India the women dress their hair neatly; not so at Dinapore, neither do they trouble themselves to wash their clothes. They wear silver and glass bangles, armlets, bracelets, and anklets, with nose-jewels; and their ear-rings are so heavy and so numerous that the ears are often quite dragged down. The feet are bare, but their walk is graceful. They carry everything but their children on their heads and shoulders. The little ones they set astride on their hips. The huts at Dinapore consist in general of one apartment. They are commonly clay-built, and arranged in groups without order. No furniture is needed but a bamboo bedstead laced with cord, and brass or earthen pots, in the form of the bell of a hyacinth. They cook out of doors. Their food is simple, and their wants few. If they need a house, they build the walls with mud, and buy a thatched roof double-leaved, which being perched upon the walls completes the edifice. The children hardly wear any clothes till seven or eight years old; not even a petticoat is thought necessary for a girl. They have often the abominable custom of devoting their children’s hair to some idol; and in this case the poor little wretch’s locks are neither combed nor cut till the day of offering.483 But let it not be supposed for one moment that these people are the happier because their wants are few, and because they can purchase a plentiful meal for a few cowries, a hundred or more of which are not of the value of a farthing. It is quite a mistake to suppose that the happiest persons are those who can live on the smallest means, for there is little or no peace in these dark villages; and though we did not then understand a word which was said, we could read the indication of every vile passion on the countenance of almost every person we met. It was impossible to mistake the fierce expression of the adults, or the pining sadness of infancy. Nor can I well describe what my feelings often were on the view of this heathen population, who were living wholly without a knowledge of our God and our Redeemer.

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CHAPTER XVII. INDIAN

DINNERS—MY

SCHOOL—VOYAGE

TO

BERHAMPORE—DESCRIPTION

OF

THE

NATIVES—INVITATION OF THE NAWAUB OF BENGAL—THE PALACE AT MOORSHEDABAD— THE ENTERTAINMENT AND THE NAUTCH—THE FIREWORKS—THE SUPPER—THE BROTHERS OF THE NAWAUB—THE PARTING GIFT—ILLNESS AND DEATH OF MY SON.

WHEN first I knew India, I was perfectly amazed at the quantities of meat which smoked upon the table at a dinner party. We never sat long afterwards, nor was there much that was interesting that I ever saw going on in the drawing-room. In Indian parties, I always thought that the preponderance of gentlemen made society uncomfortable. One gentleman among ladies is less overpowering than one lady among many gentlemen. We were, on one occasion, invited to a grand dinner. A fatted calf, and a grainfed sheep had been killed in the morning; but, when the dinner was set on the table, there was not one joint, either of the sheep or of the calf, which was eatable. Every dish of veal or of mutton was forced to be sent away, and nothing was left but the poultry and the curries. “You now see,” said our host to me, “wherefore, when we give a dinner, we are forced to overload our tables. We must kill our own meat, and it often happens that it becomes tainted before it is cold.” There were no servants but the sweepers, who would eat anything brought from the master’s table; and probably the greater part of the calf and the sheep were thrown to the crows. My school in India gradually increased from the thirteen, with whom it first began, to forty or fifty. It consisted chiefly of the children from the barracks, with a few officers’ children, in general even worse behaved, because more pampered, than the soldiers’ children, and children perhaps of merchants and other people in the neighbourhood of the cantonment in which I might chance to be. I refused none who came to ask me to receive and instruct their little ones, not even when the children were coloured; but I was speedily brought to see that many of my pupils were extremely wicked, and complaints of very bad language and very bad conduct were brought to me. In my first indignation I used to get Sergeant Clarke to exercise his cane on the children’s backs. After a little time and a little experience, he and I came to the determination of never allowing a tale to be told us of anything that passed out of our school-room, and never to chastise any offence which did not take place under our roof, and this plan we found good. We always dismissed the girls before the boys, in order to give them time to get home quietly. A report arose that the regiment was to go down the river immediately, to make room for some corps which was leaving the field; and the official order at length 221

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arrived for our proceeding by water to Berhampore484 as soon as boats could be collected. We procured a sixteen-oared budgerow485 for our conveyance, and got leave to drop down before the fleet. Mr. Sherwood had settled all his business at Dinapore by the 1st of July, when we embarked in our budgerow, and with our attendant boats and many servants dropped down the river to Diga. We heard from the colonel that the regiment was positively to sail on the 6th. The wind, however, was so high from the east, that we thought it impossible they could attempt to move, and Mr. Sherwood engaged himself, on the strength of this persuasion, to dine out. We had, however, all gone down in the morning to our budgerow to be ready, and greatly were we astonished, about ten o’clock, to see the whole fleet in the midst of the river, scattered by the gale, and, though the current was strong, making very little way. They were at length compelled to run to the shore, though not till two boats had been lost, though the persons they had in them were saved. The waves ran exceedingly high, and it was a mercy that the whole fleet did not suffer more severely. It took the next day to repair the damages. On the 8th of July the wind was more moderate, and we sailed with the fleet; but when our budgerow got into the river, she rolled so much that we were afraid of her sinking, and when we had reached Patna,486 the river taking a sweep to the eastward, and losing all protection from the shore, we lay rolling for three hours, the current forcing us down, whilst the wind with equal violence drove us upwards; and there we lay without making more than half a mile; however, a lull for about half an hour gave us leisure to cross the river, and we got into a small channel on the north side of the stream. It is a grand sight, by the light of the moon, to see upwards of a hundred boats floating down so large a river without a sail set; and I got a chair on the deck of the budgerow, and sat enjoying the prospect, which is ever varying. We arrived at Berhampore at eleven in the forenoon, having made a voyage of about three hundred and eight miles, including windings, in eight days, and in those eight days encountered more perils than in our voyage from Europe. We had made a miserable exchange of climate, and I cannot now reflect on Berhampore but as on a region of miasma487—a place of graves. There is no part of India which I have ever seen in which Europeans look as they do at Berhampore. There is a marble whiteness about all females and infants in India, which I think far from ugly, especially where the lips preserve any colour; but the lips of most persons in Berhampore are perfectly white—white as the paper on which I am writing, and the effect is fearful. Immediately on arriving at Berhampore we got letters from home, which cost us upwards of two guineas, from their having followed us from Madras. On the 18th we received one hundred and thirty men from the 75th regiment, and as these brought several coloured children with them, they were added to my school; and truly keeping school at that time, at Berhampore, was dreadful work from the excessive heat. On the 4th of August the Commander in Chief, Lord Lake, arrived, on his way to England; and, on the 5th, the 53rd gave a public dinner to him and all the civil 222

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and military servants, after which there was a ball and supper, and to this ball I went. My journal only gives a hint upon the subject of this ball, which, however, I well understand. I had had, when in London, some conversations with Dr. Andrews, in which he told me, “If I wished to do good I must not shun society;” I mean gay society; and he had actually sent me a message on this subject, which I received about that time. In accordance with Dr. Andrews’ letter I went to several balls. [I make no comment upon this advice, as every thinking mind has settled the point for itself.]488 There appears, in many portions of my old Indian diary, a sort of discrepancy, which I have observed in the diaries of many religious persons. In one passage, it appears as if I had been the most miserable of human beings; and in the next, perhaps, I speak of the pleasant manner in which my days pass, and of my many enjoyments: both passages having, probably, been tolerably correct copies of my feelings at the time they were written. I also believe that these discrepancies, which are the copies of the mind, exist more in the journals of persons in a half-awakened state, as it regards religion, than in those of persons either having no religion or those enjoying real light. He that dwells in a border country will, and must, have views both ways, and must necessarily breathe the air which blows from either side of the border—the land of Bether (Sol. Song, ii. 17).489 Early in September all the Europeans of a certain rank in the cantonment received an invitation, in a note written in Persian, on paper sprinkled with gold, from the Nawaub of Bengal,490 to sup with him in his palace at Moorshedabad, and to see certain splendid illuminations. This is an annual ceremony,491 the occasion of which is the river having passed its height. Early on the morning of the 11th of September, having, together with a friend and his lady, hired a budgerow, merely for the occasion, we set out, with little Henry and his two attendants, and proceeded up the river. Our table-servants all accompanied us, and brought all that was necessary for breakfast and tiffin. We breakfasted as we went along, and had the pleasure of seeing the troops of Indians, as they proceeded from different parts of the country up the river in boats towards the same point with ourselves. We also saw groups of natives coming down to the river from the interior, trudging along the shores, being sometimes exposed to the burning rays of the sun on the open yet swampy banks, and again passing under the shade of plantains and bamboos, the roots of which bathed themselves in the neighbouring flood. But the river’s bank was not more gay than the stream itself; multitudes of persons, of higher degree, were ascending the stream, in boats of such infinite variety of forms, and such brilliancy of material, as afforded us an endless source of amusement until we reached the place of our destination. These vessels were in general very long and narrow, having an awning of silk in some instances, and having their beaks wrought into the form of some living creature; one terminated in the body and head of a horse, another of a dragon, and so forth, according to the taste of the builder. But the most splendid of all these vessels represented a peacock, painted in green and gold, being, in its way, 223

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excessively brilliant. In these gaudy vessels sat many a well-fed, oily Mussulmaun,492 in that sort of dull placidity which is so commonly observed in rich Orientals, and which is a mode of existence that a lively European cannot be made to comprehend as the sum of human felicity. The seats of these great men were generally a sort of canopied dais, towards the stern of their vessels; and there they squatted, many of them being engaged with their hookahs,493 a species of pastime of which they never seem to be weary. Of course, we saw no native ladies in these vessels. As we proceeded, the throng, both on the water and the land, became thicker and thicker, and was so great that when we reached Moorshedabad it was difficult to find anchorage. We, however, succeeded in finding a place on the bank, just under the palace, where we were much troubled by the evening sun, which poured in upon us in a most annoying manner. As far as I can recollect, the palace of the Nawaub, as seen from the river, looks like an irregular heap of old castellated buildings, ranged without order, and having few, if any, windows towards the river. We arrived at our anchorage about one o’clock, and found great amusement in looking about us till our tiffin was served. Amongst other things, we were greatly entertained by watching the manœuvres of an elephant, which had been brought down to the river to be washed. We observed, also, that there were frames of bamboo, in various shapes and forms, for a quarter of a mile along the shore of the river, immediately opposite the city; but what these meant we did not find out till night. After tiffin we walked into the city, but saw nothing but what may be seen in all Indian bazaars. The principal manufactory of the place is shoes, finely embroidered with gold and silver; they are made with the toe pointed and curled upwards. We bought a small pair, of scarlet and gold, for two rupees; of course we gave too much. The evening amusement began at sunset, among the poorer sort of Mussulmauns; these brought small ships of painted paper, bearing lighted lamps within them, which they launched into the stream, and watched as they sailed away until they could see them no longer, on account of the distance, or till the light burnt out or was extinguished by the wind. Many of these little vessels were made in the form of peacocks, which is the Mussulmaun emblem. We prepared ourselves to proceed to the palace by eight o’clock, having put on our most splendid dresses: the gentlemen being in uniform. It was not without anxiety that I left little Henry, with his nurse, in the budgerow. The scene on the river and on the bank was so noisy and tumultuous, that I could scarcely fancy he could be safe. We could not get our palanquins down to the beach, and were therefore obliged to go on foot to the palace, through such a crowd, and such a clamour, and such uncertain light, that I have little recollection of the places we went through; though I remember certain narrow passages, steps, and doorways. Having threaded these narrow passages, into which opened the doors of certain mean habitations, we arrived at an ancient gateway, the passage under which was arched and lofty, and in the chamber above, but dimly distinguished, was a part 224

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of the Nawaub’s band, every instrument being in full exercise. It is impossible to give any idea of this music, and, not being myself a musician, I shall probably be guilty of some grievous mistake in attempting to describe it; but it appeared to me as if every instrument of which the band was composed was attuned and screwed up to the highest pitch of which it was capable, without the smallest reference to the agreement of one instrument with another: never had we before heard such fearful screeching and skirling as proceeded from this band. We passed from hence through one or more wide and dimly illumined courts, into which only a few high and small windows opened—high, I mean, as to the ground; who or what occupied these rooms it is not for me to say. We passed a second gateway, over which another part of the band was stationed. Over this second gateway was an illumination, representing a crown and various jewellery, in exceedingly rich colouring. The second court was even more vast and gloomy than the first, and here we met a servant of his highness the Nawaub, who led us to a pavilion in which the company were assembled. This pavilion was very large; the Nawaub was sitting at one end of it on a musnud encircled with cushions, and the company sat on sofas round, close to the curtains of the tent:—there was a wide area in the centre. The whole was lighted by English glass chandeliers. We were separately introduced to the Nawaub; he arose each time, held out his hand to take ours, and, though he did not speak English, he addressed us with great courtesy. After the introduction we took our places on the sofas prepared for the English visitants, where wine and water, cooled with ice, was handed to us, and we were refreshed by the air of many large fans, or punkahs,494 of palm leaves. Around the throne of the Nawaub were a multitude of attendants, and some dismounted cavalry, besides many native gentlemen who formed his court. He was rather a good-looking man, and not more than twenty-eight years of age; but the expression of his countenance was melancholy, and he was evidently so infirm that he appeared to rise each time with pain: this weakness was attributed to the immense quantity of ardent spirits which he had been in the habit of taking for years. The amusements provided had commenced before we arrived, and when we entered we found that a woman and two girls were performing a dance and song, or nautch.495 They only moved their arms and feet slowly, first stepping forwards and then sinking backwards; their song was melancholy and monotonous, and consisted only, as we were told, of praises of the Nawaub, to which he did not seem to pay the smallest attention. These were succeeded by at least a dozen pretended fools and jesters, who played all sorts of tricks, none of which had any real drollery in them. The principal story acted by them was a trial about a horse, before an English jury. One of the men represented the horse, being furnished with a back, a tail, and hind legs, like the stalking-horse496 in our old Christmas gambols, and thus metamorphosed he tried to frisk about in a horse-like style, to neigh, and to prance. The joke consisted in the endeavours of the two claimants of the horse to climb his back, and his efforts always to throw off the false claimant for his possession. 225

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The next piece of merriment was this:—The chief fool pretended that he wanted to make a road for the Nawaub, and for this purpose he laid all his people down in a row, and then walked over them to try his road. When he had strutted backwards and forwards over them for several times, one of them put up his hand and tripped him up, which most sapient497 and elegant jest elicited a roar of laughter from his highness’ courtiers, though the prince himself moved not a muscle, but continued to smoke his hookah with true prince-like apathy; for nothing degrades more a noble person, it is believed, in the East, than the capability of being pleased. This most witty and agreeable device was followed by another, less merry, indeed, but not less ingenious. When the jesters had withdrawn, an elderly man entered, apparently covered with blood, with a spear which seemed to be run right through his body. This object made me shut my eyes, and even so startled Mr. Sherwood that, for an instant, he believed that this old man had really been wounded, and was come to complain; for he kept up the serious farce much better than his brother jesters had done the ridiculous one. He came forward and stood before the Nawaub in a deploring attitude, and with a miserable countenance; and he was soon afterwards followed by some singing men, who, as the female singers had done before, made his highness the burden of their song. “You,” said they, “are a greater man than your father, though not so rich: many great white men are come to pay their respects to you; some on horses, some in carriages, some in boats, and some in palanquins.” We had had quite enough of the attempts of the Mussulmaun jugglers and buffoons to be witty and amusing before the signal was given for the better part of the evening’s amusement, by the sound of a gun. This signal was at nine o’clock precisely, and there was a general move. We all left the pavilion, and, passing through several chambers, were introduced into a vast gallery, or balcony, which hung over the river, or appeared in the gloom so to do. It was with some difficulty that we got front seats in this gallery. The scene was fine, and memory brings it back indistinctly in many particulars; for I was thinking very much of my delicate boy, and was trying to distinguish the vessel which contained him amid the vast crowd of boats which lay thickly along the bank, especially above the palace. The heavens were dark, and we were high above the water; but the river seemed to be almost covered with fire, on account of the multitudes of little vessels which had been set to float by the superstitious populace. The bamboo framework, which we had seen on the shore opposite to the palace, was now lighted up, and had assumed the semblance of a regular and most magnificent building, formed, as it were, of stones of fire; the effect was singularly fine. From one moment to another great guns were fired, and scarcely were we all placed when a blazing ship, of vast dimensions, came floating down before our eyes, passing away into the distant darkness. The scene every moment became more exciting, for towers and castles of fire followed each other along the blue waters. Between the thunders of the guns, which shook the very palace, the band did its utmost to awaken the echoes, which, 226

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together with the cries and shouts of the people below, the strong smell of sulphur, the darkness which alternated with the blaze, and the fear which I had lest my baby should be frightened, made me thankful when this most noisy part of the entertainment was over, and the last exhibition brought forward. This consisted of two fiery dazzling peacocks, rich with every colour of the rainbow, which appeared for awhile to float upon the air, though how I can hardly conceive, unless the works were fastened to wires suspended from the towers. At one o’clock we sat down to supper. There were two tables, and everything was served much in the Anglo-Indian fashion. Two very handsome boys presided at our table; we could not find out whether they were sons or brothers of the Nawaub, but they wore such jewels as I believed existed only in tales of genii. They had necklaces of all-coloured jewels, strung together without taste, of which the beads were literally as large as pigeons’ eggs. They used their knives and forks as if they had never handled either before; one of these was fourteen and the other eight years of age. They had a certain air about them which spoke them of princely blood, but they looked melancholy. It is impossible that they should witness the prosperity of the English without pain. We sat an hour after supper, and were then dismissed by having a drop or two of otto of roses498 thrown upon us, and by every person receiving a collar of jasmine, sandalwood, and silver tinsel, with a little beetle-nut,499 &c., wrapped in leaves: this last I found to be an acceptable present to Henry’s nurse. When arrived at the budgerow we found that the baby had not been the least annoyed by the noises, and that his attendants had been amazingly delighted with the sights and the uproar. My friend and myself, with the woman and child, retired into the inner room of the budgerow and slept, as the gentlemen did in the outer. During our sleep the vessel dropped down to Berhampore, and when we awoke we were lying gently on the bank. This was altogether a most delightful and interesting expedition, a little bright spot in my life, of which I have had no small pleasure in renewing the recollection. It was shortly after this entertainment that the nurse took my boy, when walking out with him, his ayah500 and bearer,501 to some Poojah (idolatrous service),502 and brought him home marked with some idolatrous daub or spot on his forehead. I can hardly believe that I could possibly at that time have been so dark as I was. The woman should have been blamed, with Christian instruction, and the stain removed, and there the matter should have ended: but I was dreadfully terrified. How bitterly did I cry and sob! Our chaplain came in at the time, and saw me thus distressed. I explained to him what had happened, and we proposed to him that the baby should be baptized again; it was with some difficulty that he succeeded in removing my terrors. By this anecdote I think that a somewhat accurate estimate may be formed of my religious knowledge at that period. I began the month of February with plans for weaning Henry; there was no one to tell me that in so doing I was sacrificing him. I learned this lesson when it was too late to profit my boy. Everything was against my child; everything as it 227

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regarded his continuance on earth, everything in favour of his early admittance into a happier state of being. There is a circumstance here which should be noticed. Little Henry was then fourteen months old; and, according to our English notions, not at all too young to be weaned. His nurse, I suppose, gave herself airs, and the white woman at the head of our nursery establishment was anxious that she should be got rid of: her influence, the surgeon’s, and every European also whom I consulted, gave their voices for this weaning. I was permitted to take that step which, humanly speaking, brought my baby to his grave in a few months afterwards. May we not, therefore, understand by faith that the early death of this little boy was the best which could have happened to him, and thus my prayers for him were answered. Somewhere about or before this time I had a great shock. Being in my dressingroom next the nursery, I heard my baby give a sharp cry. In a moment I was near him, and I felt certain that his nurse had crammed something into his mouth. I charged her with it, but both she and the ayah denied it. I was not satisfied. I watched my boy carefully; in a very little while he fell into a deep sleep. I still watched. I had fearful suspicions. The sleep became heavier and heavier. His extremities became cold. I sent for the medical man, and he soon discovered that my babe had been drugged with opium. I cannot say what means were used by the surgeon, but the baby lay like death for many hours, I think about twelve; he then revived gradually, but assuredly this was not the first time he had been so quieted. After this, of course, we could have no confidence in his nurse, and we changed her for a black woman to whom he had taken a fancy. It is my firm belief that half the European children who die in infancy in India die from the habit which their nurses have of giving them opium.503 How many, many things were against my infant boy! It was ordained that he was not to remain long on earth; but I had not, when this happened, reconciled myself to the idea of parting from him. My Henry was an exceedingly pretty child, paler and fairer than polished marble, with soft, blue eyes, hair of paly gold, and faultless features; but truly may I say he never appeared to enjoy one hour of perfect health. This was the first bitter drop in the cup of my Indian life, which otherwise might have intoxicated me with its sweetness. How wisely and how kindly are all things arranged by our Heavenly Father, for the good of those whom he hath reconciled to Himself by the blood of His Son! As any one who knew India might have predicted, the infant began to fall off as soon as he was completely weaned. He grew rapidly, and became a complete skeleton. He was constantly either with me or his favourite black woman; by day she walked incessantly with him, always singing to him her lullaby. Both the words and the air are still fresh in my mind, and in after years I sung them in the original Hindoostannee to every little beloved one who rested on my knee. “Sleep make Baby, Sleep make; Sleep little Baby, Sleep, oh! oh! 228

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Golden is thy bed, Of silk are thy curtains, From Cabul the Mogul woman comes To make my master sleep.” This woman, of whom Henry was so fond, though then a Matrannee,504 had once been a dancing and singing girl. Her voice was sweet, and a more affectionate creature I never knew. For hours and hours she used to pace the verandah with my boy; her labours were by day, and mine by night; and when I say that I not uncommonly walked above half the night, singing to my child, some allowances may be made for my weariness. About the middle of this month my sorrows were greatly aggravated by the breaking out in the cantonments of the hooping-cough. It first appeared in the family of a Mr. Oldfield, a civilian in the neighbourhood, and then came into the cantonments, and infected every child in it. Of course we instantly dismissed the school, and did what we could to preserve the babies in our house. But the will of my God be done; and it was His will to afflict my child. I had my lovely Henry as usual with me in the night of the 25th of March, and walked with him some hours: we then had a quiet sleep together; but I awoke at four, and was obliged to change my quarters immediately to the room in the house most distant from the nursery. Before ten that night my sweet little Lucy was born, the day being Good Friday. This circumstance was the cause of the particular horror which the hoopingcough gave me; for when I parted from Henry at four o’clock, I expected the immediate arrival of his sister. I never again hoped to see him in life; but my God dealt mercifully with me in this respect, though I cannot now think of some passages of that time without anguish. I had been obliged to take the most remote of our sitting-rooms for my use during my absence from the family. It was at the very end of the house, and looked towards the river, catching the view of the opposite shore—that lovely woody district, in the neighbourhood of which I had spent one or two days, and taken several lovely walks when ascending the river to Dinapore, a year and a half before. I could see this region from my bed, through the open verandah; whilst no one could approach the verandah from without, as there were posts and rails beyond it. The first night after my Lucy was born was to me one of great sadness, mingled with thanksgiving for my new-born baby; for my quick ear could catch the distant call of Henry, at the usual hour, for a long, long while, for his own Mamma; till at length the cry of “Oh, Mamma! Mamma!” sunk under the persevering lullaby of the faithful attendant. After this night the poor infant pined less for me. They brought him after a few days, that I should see him through the glass windows; and he then looked at me with a sweet and tender smile, and like a weaned child submitted to be taken quietly away. My journal thus speaks of this period:—“My little girl is a sweet plump child. Thank God, she has hitherto had excellent health, and the Lord has dealt most 229

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favourably with me. My anxiety about my lovely Henry has been very great; he has been very ill, but I trusted in God and he comforted me. Oh my God! my good God! “My pretty little girl was baptized on the 7th of April by the name of Lucy Martha. “Oh! my Father, for the Lord Jesus Christ’s sake, hear a mother’s prayer for her infants. Oh! my Father, bless the babes thou has given to me. I ask not riches, I ask not honour for them; I ask only that Thou wilt make them Thine for ever.” It seems that it was proposed, after this, that I might safely put the children together; this may be thought soon, but the hooping-cough is not in India what it is in Europe. But why do I linger in this part of my narrative? Let me hasten onwards. From day to day my baby boy was sinking to the grave; yet with short intervals of ease which deceived me. The weather was intensely hot; very close, without either wind or rain, and the nights were so oppressive that we could not sleep. I was now beginning seriously to apprehend that I must give up my child. It was the first trial of the kind to which I had been called. I had felt it hard to be parted from my little Mary, parted so effectually that during all her infant and childlish years she never was anything to me. But oh! it was still more painful to watch the lingering death of my beautiful boy; yet God remembered mercy, and in this instance, when one child was taken another was left, for I had Lucy still when Henry died. But God “does not willingly afflict the children of men; though He cause grief yet will He have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies.”505 During the month of May I received a small box containing letters from home, with the account of my sister’s marriage to the Rev. Charles Cameron, son of Dr. Cameron, of Worcester. In the beginning of June I find this prayer in my diary:— “Oh, Holy Father! give thy grace to my poor little boy; help us to conquer in him what there may be of an evil spirit, and deign to visit him with thy holy, peaceful spirit, the spirit of love, of content, of innocence. “Oh, Holy Father, that fillest this world with so many innocent delights, so many natural beauties, fields and woods, and running streams—banks fragrant with primroses, and violets—waterfalls in woody glens, and open meadows gay with cowslips—Oh! give us hearts pure and fragrant as these, lovely and innocent, that we may know how to estimate these innocent joys. Oh, make us fit for our eternal home, for the sake of thy only Son our Lord and Saviour.” I cannot exactly say at what time, but it was either in this month of May or of June, that, one day in conversation with our chaplain, I betrayed my total ignorance respecting the doctrine of human depravity. I seemed at times to have been astonished and dismayed by my own depravity, and this uneasiness was, of course, greatly increased by the idea which I entertained, that other religious people were free from my infirmities. It would be strange to think how I could have remained thus blind to this doctrine when reading the Bible, as I did every day, if we did not see this same blindness frequently at this time amongst well-meaning people. 230

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Our chaplain was undoubtedly my first teacher (through the Divine Spirit) of this very essential truth, that man’s nature is depraved, for he admitted this doctrine as explained in our ninth Article. He stated that original sin belonged to all the children of Adam; for through the first father man is very far gone from original righteousness, and is of his own nature inclined to evil; so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the spirit, and therefore every person born into the world is deserving of God’s wrath and displeasure. He showed me many texts which proved his words, and I sought out many others. I found immediate comfort in the doctrine; it was the comfort of one who, having long felt himself sick, finds the nature of his disease and its remedy laid open before him. I was then (through Divine mercy) precisely in that state to receive, to admit, and to make my own all that Mr. Parson taught me on this subject of original sin. I read with greediness a book which he lent me, viz., “Owen on Indwelling Sin.”506 I have reason to rejoice in this little step towards the truth which I had been led to ascend, and I have reason also to remember with gratitude that friend who was permitted so far to assist me. It should have been out of the question with me, situated as I then was, with one sick child and another either expected or hanging on me for support, to have undertaken the regimental school; but there again came in my false views of what God required of me, or of what I was to effect by my exertions. I was, I thought, either to work, or to suffer severe punishment, or if I escaped, through the Redeemer, others, I thought, might perish through my neglect. I therefore did work at all risks; and, had I then had an opportunity of consulting Henry Martyn507 on the subject, he would have said, “Go on, though you sacrifice your life in so doing.” And I must add, that under the idea that immortal souls in any degree depended upon human ministry, no human person could have done otherwise than we did. I had not yet attained that first step to a heavenly life in the scale given us by the apostle. I had not yet seen cause to glory in tribulation, because tribulation worketh experience, and experience hope, and hope maketh not ashamed.508 I had not patience; the constant sufferings of my boy were dreadful to me to witness, and I fear I accounted the persons about me to blame for the misery I endured. It is a new and terrible feeling when a tender parent first looks upon the corpse of his own child. Every father or mother possesses a sort of instinctive persuasion that his child is to outlive him; and if ever he presents his own death-bed scene to himself, he always imagines that his sons and daughters will be standing round him, endeavouring to administer every comfort in their power. Nature shrinks at the idea of the child going before the father. Well do I remember, that, although the death of infants is so common an event, I was utterly confounded when I was called upon to give up my infant baby. Oh! my baby,—oh! my Henry! Teach me to do thy will, my God. On the 6th July I sent out the rest of the family, and walked with my little sweet one on the river side; his bearer carried him. He often held out his arms to me, and I bade him look at the birds (adjutants)509 and monkeys on the shore. He looked, sweet babe, and with the bright hues of the birds and the antics of the monkeys he was pleased. 231

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There was a row of posts along the river’s bank, at the top of each of which there always was an adjutant sitting, as if the creature had been a part of the woodwork. There were monkeys, too, belonging to some gentleman, which used to be brought out for air on the bank, to the great delight of many a little white child and his nurse. In the evening I walked with my Henry in Lucy’s verandah510 (the verandah of the room in which that little fair one was born). I sang the “Evening Hymn.”511 I sang many Psalms, and took him at last asleep to bed. These words are ever sounding in my ears—“Mamma! mamma! remember Henry.” I used to fancy at that time that I constantly heard him repeating them. On Saturday I saw him in the back verandah, with a little slender stick in his hand; and I saw him afterwards with corn for the fowls in his frock. I know not how it was, but I often found myself singing this verse whilst I nursed him— “And sickness, alas! to the cold grave had brought him.”512 This is part of a sweet song which Mr. Sherwood used to sing. Yet I had a stupidity about me, so that I did not foresee his death. In the evening he became worse, and being very restless I walked a little way with him to show him some elephants, which were often led out on the bank. Oh! my baby! oh! my Henry! and can I no more even behold the burying-place of my baby, beneath the palm-trees? Oh! my child! may our re-union be happy! “Oh! mamma! mamma! remember Henry!” Hath death, with awful terrors arm’d, Been waiting at the door, And carried hence a pleasant babe, Whose charms delight no more? How shall we bear the dreadful stroke With a submissive frame— How well improve the providence, And profit by the same? Lord, ’tis thy hand, thy sovereign power, That formed him in the womb; Thy holy, just, almighty word Now lays him in the tomb. Far heavier strokes my sins deserve, If thou shouldst be severe; Patient, submissive, all-resigned, Thy just rebuke I’ll bear. 232

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What though no more his own mamma Shall lull her baby’s pains With cradle hymns and songs of praise, In soothing, gentle strains— What though his mother never more Shall kiss her Henry dear, Nor, gazing on his pale, sweet face, Bedew it with a tear— Yet the great King, with father’s love, Hath laid this babe to rest In that most glorious, happy land, Where all in Christ are bless’d. There infant saints, who went before, Triumphant flock around, Whilst to their golden harps they sing Words of immortal sound. In pastures fair, by waters still, The Lamb these babes shall lead, And there for ever shall they praise Him who for them did bleed. Oh, may we keep the heavenly road, Led on by grace Divine, To where, with thee, my Henry dear, We in thy songs may join!513 On the Saturday before my little one’s death, I sat at the door (or entrance) of the front verandah, with my boy on a pillow on my lap. After a while he raised himself up, and looked about him. I took him in my arms, and walked with him towards the river: he seemed easier; but, towards evening, the disease, which had ceased for twenty-four hours, came on again with violence. We sent for the doctor, and two of the women sat up with him. He lay in his ayah’s arms, and death sat on his face. I saw it then, for the first time. The native servants were quarrelsome, as they too often are in scenes of trouble. The bearers could not agree who was to air the linen with which the nurse changed the bed of my dying infant. This circumstance made me weep bitterly; for when a cup is full a small thing causes it to overflow. Dr. Penny (the station surgeon) came. I suppose that Mr. Millar had brought him in. He looked at the dying baby, and then, taking my hand, he told me not to grieve if he was taken from me: he was struggling with death. Once again I got 233

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my boy in my arms. I walked with him to the farther part of the verandah, where I was not under the immediate gaze of any one. There were some lovely golden clouds just above my head; I thought that these were opening to receive my baby, and that my father and little Maria Parker were coming for my child. I was alone for a moment, and I remember crying, in an agony of grief, “Oh, Lord! take my child, and make him thine own for ever.” (Thus far had I then been brought to submit, after much and long resistance against the Divine will; for assuredly never did mother more reluctantly resign a child than I did Henry: yet even this sin is forgiven me, through Him who is the propitiation for all sins). I dreaded lest he might suffer much in death, but God was good to me. The two surgeons again brought me away from my boy. He was still struggling with his last enemy (death), and wanted to be removed from place to place. They brought him into that part of the verandah opposite to the door of the room where they detained me. I could remain from him no longer—I hastened to his side. He was changed during the few minutes in which I had been absent from him. Some one said to him, “Henry, kiss your mamma.” We supposed he had passed all knowledge of present things, but he turned his lovely eyes to me and smiled. Oh! what a smile! I kissed his lips; they were already quite cold and clammy. I was again drawn from him, but soon after, returning, I sat down and took him on my lap, stretched as he was on his mattress. He was breathing hard; his breath became slower and slower. He suddenly raised his eyes, as if to heaven, and they became fixed. He fetched his breath at longer and longer intervals, and soon it ceased for ever. Oh! my baby! Oh! my Henry! I saw the remains of my precious baby for a few minutes that same night; he was laid out on the sofa of the parlour. They would not suffer me to stay with him. They tore me from him. The fair corpse wore a delicate holland cap,514 with a white rose, and a frill round his neck, but otherwise dressed as he had been in life. He looked quite white; but his features were in no way changed. Flowers were scattered over the infant corpse. Mrs. Sturt had a boy a little older than Henry; this child had been so ill that she had come into cantonments with him, for the advantage of being near medical assistance. His disease had been convulsions. In one of his fits he had been supposed to be dead; his coffin had been ordered and made, but he recovered, and the child of another mother was destined to fill that last receptacle. As soon as I arose the next day I went with my baby, Lucy, to Mrs. Whetstone’s quarters in the great Square, and from her kindness received much comfort; only once giving way to a violent burst of sorrow, on hearing the well-known sound of our own carriage when it conveyed my boy, on the knees of his nurses, to the burying ground. Still I had my beautiful Lucy to comfort me, and the whole tide of my maternal affection (baulked already in two instances) poured forth upon her. This lovely child was not then quite a quarter old, but a more beautiful infant can scarcely be imagined. There was not a fault in her features, and although a 234

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native of Berhampore,515 yet there was a glow of health and beauty which was very promising of long life. Her eyes were of dark blue, and soft as those of the gazelle, and her hair, young as she was, of the real golden auburn. I remember that day occupying myself in trimming her lace cap with bows of narrow black love-ribbon, and tying a black love-sash round her waist. I was encouraging myself to make a new idol; each idol that I raised becoming more and more precious, if possible, than the one which had gone before. Still, still my heart clung to the memory of my Henry. I never returned to our old quarters at Berhampore after my boy’s funeral, but went at night to the budgerow which had been prepared for our voyage to Cawnpore. We had expected to have moved some time before, but we depended on the 22nd regiment, which was up the country, and was to relieve us. This regiment had left Muttra, we heard, on the 20th June; it was to come down the river, and the boats which had been used to bring down the soldiers of that regiment were to take ours up. We could not expect them, it seems, before the middle of August. I do not remember how it had happened that we had got a budgerow so soon; it was to this boat, however, that we went that night. I spent the whole day there with my Lucy, and the next, Mr. Parson fetched us to his house. Supposing, what I cannot suppose, that the minute accounts of the lives and deaths of these babes have no interest, yet I hope presently to show, that behind this frowning providence there were purposes of mercy to be revealed that no human wisdom can appreciate. Oh! the memory of my Henry! my little, melancholy, sad companion! my sweet little one! born to sorrow, thy days were days of affliction. Can I ever forget my baby, my lovely baby? The companion of many mournful days at Patna and Dinapore, thou saddest, sweetest baby! Oh! if I love my little Henry, I shall endeavour to do what is in my power to serve my God, who has taken him to Himself. By many persons it will be thought that my grief for Henry was inordinate. I do not dispute the point. I am not writing these memoirs to prove myself a faultless person. My wish is to state the truth, as I find it in my Indian journal, and it is with this object that I introduce many little things which self-love would persuade me to keep in the back-ground. As Mr. Sherwood could not pay the regiment, nor settle with the officers, at the house of Mr. Parson, he had a room still in his old quarters. He used to breakfast early, and go out, seldom appearing again till dinner time. Of course, I could not have my school; I therefore after breakfast always retired to my rooms, where I had my own sweet Lucy to comfort me; yet still my thoughts would wander back to the children from whom I was parted. I often used to weep over my lovely, solitary Lucy. I felt very sad that this, my third child, should be alone, without brother or sister, and I permitted this regret one day to escape me in the presence of Mr. Sherwood. He was so much affected by my sorrow, that he made me a proposal which much pleased me, and which just suited my feelings. “Would you,” he said, “like to adopt a little orphan from the barracks, some little motherless child, who 235

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might be a companion to our Lucy?” I rejoiced greatly when Mr. Sherwood made this kind proposition to me, and he immediately left me to make inquiries for an orphan child in the barracks. I can give no account of the feeling which led me so eagerly to accept his proposal, for I still had one child left with me, and I was of an age to suppose I might have many more; neither did I then thoroughly understand the condition of white orphans in India. But all that I can now say is, that it pleased God (in whose hands are the hearts of all men) so at that time to fill my my heart with feelings of pity for little children, that there was no length which I would not have gone to serve them, babies especially. I needed none to tell me how deplorable must be the state of a white child left in barracks without a mother. I thought that nothing could comfort me so much after the loss of Henry as the adoption of some little motherless one in his place. I was, however, induced to give up this plan at that time from this circumstance, that there was not, on inquiry, any orphan in the barracks but a boy about three years old, a stout, healthy little fellow, who did not particularly require any fostering care. I reflected that in a very few years I could do nothing with a boy, and we gave up the idea for that time. I still, however, was permitted to retain the hope that some time or another I might adopt some forlorn little girl from the barracks, and the idea was sweet to me. At that time there was no refuge for white orphan girls in India. Our kind host, Mr. Parson, devoted himself much to me in my deep sorrow, to give me such views of Divine love as I never knew before. At those periods he also spoke to me of Mr. Brown, Mr. Martyn, Mr. Corrie, and Mr. Simeon;516 of what was doing in England, and what was planned in India, for the conversion of the world. He told me, also, of a set of holy persons517 who lived, or had lived, at Malda; and amongst these last was a Mr. Clayton,518 who actually arrived at Mr. Parson’s whilst I was there, on his way to Calcutta, in dreadful health, where he died shortly afterwards. This Mr. Clayton had resided long in India, and had always been enabled to walk in holiness. He was a native of Coventry, and had first received serious impressions from a sermon he had heard in Trinity Church, in that city. Mr. Sherwood and myself well knew the preacher of the sermon, and there is little doubt that if he was the means of doing Mr. Clayton good it was a Divine work, for he was not by any means enlightened himself. But it pleased God so to bless his words to Mr. Clayton, that, humanly speaking, he owed to him his conversion to the truth as it is in our blessed Redeemer.

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CHAPTER XVIII. DEATH

OF MRS . CHILDE — LEFT BERHAMPORE — OUR ATTENDANTS — MR . RAMSAY ’ S

INVITATION—THE DANCE—MRS. STURT’S LITTLE BOY—MY

“INFANT

PILGRIM’S PRO-

GRESS”—HENRY’S NURSE—MR. MARTYN—HIS VIEWS ON THE MILLENIUM—MR. CORRIE—MRS. PARSONS AND LITTLE MARY—ADOPTION OF ANNIE AND SARAH.

IT was in the beginning of September, a day or two only before we left Berhampore, when our host, Mr. Parson, was called one evening to visit a dying woman in the hospital. This woman, who had come out with the detachment under Major Mansell, had suffered severely from the length of the voyage. I cannot recollect how long they were on the sea, but it seems that when arrived at Calcutta, instead of enjoying any rest, they had been immediately transferred to boats, and brought on to Berhampore. Two of the women of the detachment, in consequence, were in a dying state when they reached the regiment, although one of these did not die for several weeks after we had left that station. The names of these women were Childe and Pownal, the last being the wife of a serjeant. I shall have occasion to refer to both hereafter. It was to Mrs. Childe that Mr. Parson was called; and when he returned he seemed to be much affected. He described the scene as being such as he never before witnessed. He did not tell us the name of the woman, but he said she was a young and delicate person, and near death. She had not had time to make any friends in the regiment, except with the few women who had come out with her, and they were suffering from the same cause (over-fatigue) with herself. Hence she was quite alone, saving that on her pillow sat a little pale girl, not much more than three years old, a sweet little creature, wholly unconscious of her threatened loss. The dying woman had sent to Mr. Parson, as the minister of Christ; but, as often happens between the minister and the person dying, the holy lesson was to come from her to him, and not from him to her. He found her furnished with much religious knowledge of the best kind. She repeated, he said, many passages from the Scriptures and from “Watts’s Hymns”519 (these last were at that time universally taught in Sunday and other schools). She gave this evidence of her faith—an evidence, the strength of which a tender mother only can comprehend: she expressed herself in that, her dying hour, perfectly assured, without a shadow of uneasiness, that her little beloved one would be well provided for,—yea, even better than she could do for her herself. Thus her faith was made to see beyond the dark scene of this world. She was of inferior degree by birth, in a foreign land, a stranger even to the ladies of her own regiment, her husband but a private soldier, her infant’s only refuge being a soldier’s life, and yet even Job himself did not exclaim more confidently, “I know that my Redeemer liveth,”520 than did this poor dying mother, “that she 237

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knew her infant girl would be taken care of.” The child, as I said before, was a delicate, pale little creature, sitting by her mother’s side almost motionless. Mr. Parson was greatly struck by this instance of strong faith in this poor woman, as, indeed, we all were; but the bustle and hurry which ensued immediately afterwards put all these things out of our minds; for at the same time my little Lucy was far from well. Oh! poor human nature! in my own trouble I forgot that there was, or had been, another mother, more tried, but more faithful than myself. We left Berhampore on the 9th September. We sailed with a fine easterly wind, and soon overtook the regiment, which had halted to place itself in order about three miles above Berhampore, on the opposite side. I remember that we were deserted by almost all our servants at the very moment of our embarkation, though Mr. Sherwood had taken the precaution to inquire of each one whether he would go with us or not to Cawnpore. Some of our attendants had expressed perfect willingness to go, whilst others had refused; so Mr. Sherwood paid them all up the day before. Those who were going with us alleged that they wanted their wages to buy provisions for the voyage. When we got into our budgerow how greatly, then, were we amazed to find that all those servants who had undertaken to go with us had decamped, bag and baggage, whilst those who had declared their intention to leave us were in their places, and ready to serve us. Amongst these was a certain little hideous Kitmutghaur,521 with a huge head and shrivelled members, who served us from the time of our residence in Berhampore till we went down to Calcutta, to embark for England, with the exception of only a few months. The name of this monstrous dwarf was Babouk; and worthy he was of being a brother of the famous barber of Bagdad.522 This strange conduct on the part of our servants left us in some trouble on our departure, for our cook and Dobe523 were of the number of those who had left us. Though we soon made up their loss, yet we could get no food cooked for the first day, the consequence of which was that we had nothing to eat or drink for twenty-four hours but what the budgerow itself contained. My sweet Lucy was ill during this voyage, and continued so till we reached Jungipore, where a Mr. Ramsay, a son of Lord Dalhousie, had a magnificent house close to the river side. Mr. Ramsay had associated much with our officers at Berhampore. He had engaged our colonel to halt the fleet in that place for three days on our voyage up. He also had invited all the great civilians to meet their old friends for the last time in this place. As the position of our budgerow was very near the head of the regiment, it so happened that we lay, during the three days of our sojourn at Jungipore, nearly opposite the principal front of Mr. Ramsay’s house. We were separated from this house only by a small extent of sloping lawn, so that by candle light we could see into the very hall in which the company were regaled. The blaze of the numerous lamps streamed through every open window and door-way, and pouring through the portico, displayed the whole front of the mansion, with the light colonnade and oriental balustrade which encircled the flat roof, in strong relief against the back-ground of dark vegetation. The band usually struck up immediately after the appearance of the lights, and continued at intervals to fill the air with many a 238

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well-remembered strain, till night gave place to morning, and the weary travellers were compelled to retreat each to his boat or tent. Sunday was the last day which we spent at Jungipore. My little one, who had been ill, was much better. As I received another invitation to dinner from Mrs. Ramsay, I thought it best to accept it. It is evident I was to a certain extent sufficiently Indian to do as others did about me; so accordingly I accompanied Mr. Sherwood to the house at the usual dinner hour. It must be understood that there was not an unmarried female then at Jungipore. As I ascended the steps of the portico, one of our officers, a Major I****, seized my hand. “I am the first to secure you,” he said; “will you be my partner?” “For what?” I asked. “The ball, to be sure,” he replied; “will you dance with me?” “What!” I answered, “on Sunday!”524 “And why not?” he said, and he went on attempting to prove that there could not possibly be any harm in dancing on a Sunday. It was impossible to argue with him there. I could not shake him off till I had told him that I would dance with no other person, though I believed that he was altogether jesting about a ball that evening. Before I got into the saloon, however, several similar petitions were made to me. I was most kindly received by all parties. We had a dinner laid out in all the pomp of the East, and after dinner the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room, and there I had an unlooked-for shock. Mrs. Sturt had brought her babies with her. She had four children in Europe and four in India. A little pale boy, one of Mrs. Sturt’s children, came running into the drawingroom; he was a month, or two, perhaps, older than my Henry would have been. His mamma began to talk of him to the lady on my other side, as he stood between her and myself. She said, “that he had lately been so terribly ill that his coffin had been ordered and made; indeed, he had been supposed to have been absolutely dead.” The child was standing close to me, leaning upon me, and I could not restrain my feelings. “Oh, that coffin!” I said, “oh, that coffin!” The ladies could not conceive what was the matter with me. They kindly took me into another room, where they were both much affected when I told them, that my own little boy had occupied the coffin from which the other had been saved. Mrs. Ramsay had then never had a child, but still, with all the tenderness of a mother, she and Mrs. Sturt kindly took care that the little pale boy should be seen no more by me that night. Thus was the pleasure of that evening thoroughly saddened to me by this very painful association. Truly my way in India was mercifully hedged in with thorns, until, as I firmly believe, I was brought out where I was no longer encompassed with snares and pitfalls. Mr. Sherwood and myself waited only till after tea. On hearing the band preluding as for the opening of the ball in the next room, and seeing the gentlemen rising to select their partners, we took a hasty leave of Mrs. Ramsay, and escaped to our budgerow and to our little baby. It was not till near the morning that the music ceased on the shore, as the company took their last farewell of their magnificent and truly kind entertainers. At gun-fire the fleet was in motion to leave Jungipore. When free from sickness, and the weather favourable, there was something in the mode of life which we led during that voyage which was particularly delightful to me. The circumstances of 239

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the order of our aquatic march separating me from the other ladies, threw me into much intercourse with dear Mrs. Mawby. I was much engaged at the time with my “Infant Pilgrim’s Progress.”525 It was by the especial desire of my dear brother that I planned this work. I wrote a part of it at Berhampore; first in quarters, and afterwards at Mr. Parson’s. I recommenced the work in the budgerow, and had advanced a long way beyond the Valley of Adversity,—indeed, I had nearly reached the end of it,—when suddenly, one quiet morning, in the budgerow, it struck me that I would personify Inbred or Original Sin, and make him the companion of the little pilgrims through all their wanderings. How strange it is that I should remember the very moment when this idea struck me! I was sitting at a table before an open jalousie, in view of a low shore, where there was a long row of trees, which seemed like an avenue, terminated by a cluster of cottages. That idea had hardly struck me before I ceased writing in the style in which I had began, turned to the beginning, and commenced the rewriting of the whole work in a blank book of thin Indian paper which I had by me. I might in this place say much upon that curious and inexplicable faculty, by some called invention, and by others imagination. But if I have possessed this quality, as I must suppose that I have, I can give no more account of it than if I had been a total stranger to it. The very best ideas I have ever had have always come to me without effort, though effort may have been necessary to finish the work. On the 29th it blew a gale of wind; and half an hour after we had moved, our cooking boat overset in the middle of the river. Strange to say, it was with some difficulty we saved the people, and not before Mr. Sherwood threatened to fire at a small native boat which was passing, the men of which were going on with true Hindoo apathy, without offering the least assistance. None of our people perished, nor was our loss more than one hundred rupees; but we were put to great inconvenience for awhile. We were obliged to run to a sandbank, and anchor there apart from the fleet, and there we passed the night very uncomfortably. It was on the Sunday following, for the first time, my beloved husband read prayers with his family; and, praised be God, we contrived to do so every Sunday in India since. We halted at Diga. There is much grass in the place, and many trees in the neighbourhood. The bank rose from the water, and was green and smooth. A single tree stood alone on this bank; under it sat a native woman, and by her lay several gaudy toys. Alas! it was the nurse of my departed child. She had been aware of our approach, and had sat waiting there to see her boy. The tears will flow when I think of these things, and the same reflections occur to my mind in this place as did when I first recorded this circumstance in my diary. There are moments of intense feeling, in which all distinctions of nations, colours, and castes disappear, and in their place there only remains between two human beings one abiding sense of a common nature. When I saw the beloved nurse of my Henry brought into the boat, and unfeignedly weeping for her boy, I felt in truth that she was a human being like myself,526 and as dear to Him that made her as the most exalted saint that ever existed in the Christian world. Oh, memory! memory! The scene of that weeping woman has power, whenever it occurs to my mind, even at this 240

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distant period of time, to cause my tears to flow afresh; and they will flow till I am a member of that glorious choir that shall never weep again. The instant we came to anchor at Dinapore, Mr. Sherwood set out on foot to carry a letter which he had brought from Mr. Parson to Mr. Henry Martyn, who eventually became one of our dearest friends. Mr. Martyn’s quarters at Dinapore were in the smaller square, as far as could be distant from our old quarters, but precisely the same sort of church-like abode, with little furniture, the rooms wide and high, with many vast doorways, having their green jalousied doors, and long verandahs encompassing two sides of the quarters. Mr. Martyn received Mr. Sherwood not as a stranger, but as a brother,—the child of the same father. As the sun was already low, he must needs walk back with him to see me. I perfectly remember the figure of that simple hearted and holy young man, when he entered our budgerow. He was dressed in white, and looked very pale, which, however, was nothing singular in India; his hair, a light brown, was raised from his forehead, which was a remarkably fine one. His features were not regular, but the expression was so luminous, so intellectual, so affectionate, so beaming with Divine charity, that no one could have looked at his features, and thought of their shape or form,— the out-beaming of his soul would absorb the attention of every observer. There was a very decided air, too, of the gentleman about Mr. Martyn, and a perfection of manners which, from his extreme attention to all minute civilities, might seem almost inconsistent with the general bent of his thoughts to the most serious subjects. He was as remarkable for ease as for cheerfulness, and in these particulars this journal does not give a graphic account of this blessed child of God. I was much pleased at the first sight of Mr. Martyn. I had heard much of him from Mr. Parson; but I had no anticipation of his hereafter becoming so distinguished as he subsequently did. And if I anticipated it little, he, I am sure, anticipated it less; for he was one of the humblest of men. Mr. Martyn invited us to visit him at his quarters at Dinapore, and we agreed to accept his invitation the next day. Mr. Martyn’s house was destitute of every comfort, though he had multitudes of people about him. I had been troubled with a pain in my face, and there was not such a thing as a pillow in the house. I could not find anything to lay my head on at night but a bolster, stuffed as hard as a pin-cushion. We had not, as is usual in India, brought our own bedding from the boats. Our kind friend had given us his own room; but I could get no rest during the two nights of my remaining there, from the pain in my face, which was irritated by the bolster; but during each day, however, there was much for the mind to feed upon with delight. After breakfast Mr. Martyn had family prayers, which he commenced by singing a hymn. He had a rich, deep voice, and a fine taste for vocal music. After singing he read a chapter, explained parts of it, and prayed extempore. Afterwards he withdrew to his studies and translations. The evening was finished with another hymn, scripture reading, and prayers. The conversion of the natives and the building up of the kingdom of Christ were the great objects for which alone that child of God seemed to exist then, and, in fact, for which he died. His views on these subjects were then what were entertained by all 241

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religious persons in England—views which are, I believe, generally entertained under various modifications by those who are called evangelical. As far as I can recollect them, they were these: that a time was to come when, according to the promise, “the earth was to be filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the seas.”527 Nor did he err in receiving the promise in its full sense, without doubting; for that which God hath said shall be, and it is sweet to the memory of this beloved child of God to state that the promises of his Saviour were the grounds of his brightest and most sanguine hopes. But it appears to me that our dear friend did not fully comprehend three important points relating to the fulfilment of the promise. First, as to the time when this blessed change was to take place, even under the present order of things, whilst all things in the natural world were going on in the natural way; secondly, as to the state of those who were then to exist of the offspring of Adam; and thirdly, as to the means by which this blessed change was to be wrought: viz., the ministry of man, as directed by the Divine Spirit. Hence he was led to entertain the idea that this day of better things was about to dawn. He believed that he saw the glimmering of this day in the exertions then making in Europe for the diffusion of the Scriptures and the sending forth of missionaries. Influenced by the belief that man’s ministry was the instrumentality which, by the Holy Spirit, would be made effectual to the work, we found him labouring beyond his strength, and doing all in his power to excite other persons to use the same exertions. How far they influenced us may be seen in the sequel. I can recollect that it was chiefly whilst walking with him on the Plain, on the Saturday and Sunday evenings, that he opened his mind to us on these subjects; explaining his various plans, and the difficulties he had already met with in other matters relative to religion, which I do not exactly now remember. This, however, I can never forget, that Henry Martyn was one of the very few persons whom I have ever met who appeared never to be drawn away from one leading and prevailing object of interest, and that object was the promotion of religion. He did not appear like one who felt the necessity of contending with the world and denying himself its delights, but rather as one who was unconscious of the existence of any attractions in the world, or of any delights which were worthy of his notice. When he relaxed from his labours in the presence of his friends, it was to play and laugh like an innocent, happy child, more especially if children were present to play and laugh with him. I wish that I could remember more of his conversation at that time; but my memory has been too often heavily laden with diversified subjects to be always vigorous and distinct. There is a reference in “The Infant’s Progress”528 to one elegant idea of his respecting a rose transfixed with a thorn. The natives have a peculiar taste for forming nosegays by fixing flowers of various colours and descriptions on a thorny branch; and these the gardener often presents as an offering to his master. This offering is usually laid on the breakfast-table. The flowers thus parted from their own stem begin to languish instantly, soon collapse, and lose their bloom and fragrance. It may easily be imagined how such a mind as that which Henry Martyn had might apply this emblem to the union between Christ 242

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and his people; showing how our life depends on our union with him, and with him only, as the only living root. We were much pleased with Mr. Martyn’s sermon, and yet I do not now even remember the text. Mr. Martyn showed us in the Calcutta Collection,529 which we used in India, a hymn which he had caused to be sung at the funeral of a young and lovely lady, the wife of an officer of the regiment then in Dinapore. Little did I anticipate the circumstances under which I myself selected this hymn to be sung, many a year after, at the funeral sermon of my daughter Emily:— “When blooming youth is snatch’d away By death’s resistless hand, Our hearts the mournful tribute pay Which pity must demand.”530 Calcutta Collection, 212. In my Indian journal I find this remark:—“Mr. Martyn is one of the most pleasing, mild, and heavenly-minded men, walking in this turbulent world with peace in his mind, and charity in his heart.” It was some days after leaving Dinapore before we reached Benares, one of the most striking examples of a Pagan city I ever beheld.531 In its wretched, dark, and narrow streets one meets perpetually with hogs and sacred bulls,532 having gilded horns, pariah dogs,533 and naked fakeers534 besmeared with mud and cow-dung, deformed men and women, beggars, lazars,535 lepers, Brahmins, Nautch girls,536 and devotees in furious fanatic excitement, marching in procession, and shouting and howling fearfully in honour of their gods. But we did not linger in its polluted air, for we started at four o’clock the next morning. We could not but admire the effect, though we must disapprove the object, of the illumination, occasioned by the lamps of the many devotees, placed in all directions above the city, lighting up the buildings as if studded with stars. As we were proceeding we met with a boat, bringing us bread and vegetables from kind Mr. Corrie,537 the late Bishop of Madras, a friend of Mr. Parson, then stationed as chaplain at Chunar. This was the beginning of our intercourse with that simple hearted, holy Christian. God, in His infinite mercy, though we knew it not, was beginning to lead us out from worldly society into that of His chosen and most beloved children in India. He hitherto hedged our way with sharp thorns, but He was preparing the roses which after a little while were to render the few last years of our residence in the East as happy as human beings can be in the present state of existence. As the day broke, having not yet left Benares behind us, but being still near some parts of the city, we heard a confused noise of horns, cracked drums, and other nondescript instruments, we cannot say of music, but of discord, sufficient to terrify any one who did not know from whence it came. These sounds were from different places of worship at Benares. It was here that Mr. Corrie first began his ministry in India, and many of his letters to Mr. Martyn are dated from thence. 243

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It is very probable that had he not been removed from this place, within two or three years afterwards, his life must have fallen a sacrifice to the excessive heats. Mr. Sherwood walked up from the river to the Fort, when he landed at Chunar, and he found Mr. Corrie in quarters there. He breakfasted with him whilst the fleet was coming up, and when it came in view he brought Mr. Corrie on board our pinnace.538 He remained with us three hours, whilst the greater part of the fleet was labouring through the dangerous rapid which is opposite Chunar, and then he left us. And now let me endeavour to recover my first impression of that humble and blessed child of God, Mr. Corrie. He was a tall man, nearly six feet high; his features were not good, from the length of his face, but the expression of his countenance was as full of love as that of my father’s—more I cannot say—with a simplicity wholly his own. He never departed from the most perfect rules of politeness; he never said a rude or unkind thing, and never seemed to have any consciousness of the rank of the person with whom he was conversing. He was equally courteous to all, and attentive to every individual who came within his observation. I had been greatly pleased with Mr. Martyn; I could not be less so with Mr. Corrie. A letter from Mr. Parson had apprised him of our approach, and he met us not as strangers, but in every respect treated us as a dear brother and sister, opening out his own plans for instructing the people, and urging us to make every exertion for the cause of Christianity. This excellent man, as I said, remained nearly three hours with us, until we, with the whole fleet, had passed Chunar; he was then obliged to leave us, returning in a small boat. And now, urged on to exertion by our new friends, we assembled the school again as soon as we arrived at Cawnpore, and we worked very hard with the children. I generally heard four classes: one of great boys, another of the elder girls, and two classes of the younger children. The great boys were placed under instruction mostly by the sanction of the regiment. Many of the first set, having been brought from Europe, died before we left India; some of the older girls also died, and some married. Many married officers above their own birth, and some proved their affection to me in after life. It was at this time that Mr. Sherwood’s kind offer of taking a little companion for my Lucy occurred to my mind, and I employed one of the soldiers’ wives, a Mrs. Parsons, to look out for a little girl for me. On the first establishment of our school at Dinapore a young and comely woman particularly attracted my attention. She wore, on the occasion when she first presented herself before me, a print gown and white apron and kerchief, and in her arms she carried a little creature about three years old, very fair, and having a profusion of light hair curling about her head. The mother set her down at a little distance from the house, and showed her the door of the school-room where she was to enter. The child, however, held back, and the mother stooped and kissed her babe, leading her a few steps, and then encouraging her to go on alone; and, after a while, the little one, gathering courage, presented herself, and soon became a very dear and affectionate pupil. This little Mary will be often spoken of hereafter; but I cannot refrain from making this remark here: 244

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Mrs. Parsons was the orphans’ friend; she it was who helped me to find those who needed help. Hence, as might be expected, God blessed her, by providing a friend for her own child when the little girl became motherless. Little did I then foresee that Mary Parsons would become, in future days, a partner with me in many joys and sorrows. But to return to little Annie Childe’s infantine sorrows. I said I employed Mrs. Parsons to look out for a little girl for me. One day she informed me that she had found out a child in the barracks, motherless and fatherless, the father having died within a few weeks. This was precisely the object I sought, and I immediately commissioned Mrs. Parsons to bring the child to me, and to inform the persons who took care of her that it was my intention to adopt her. I soon discovered that the little one was the same whom the chaplain had noticed at Berhampore, seated on the pillow, where rested the head of her dying mother, that same little helpless one for whom the prayer of faith had been poured forth in circumstances as dark as faith ever enlightened. Kind, motherly Mrs. Parsons did not linger on her errand. The motherless Annie was brought by her to me, and, sad to say, we found that the little destitute girl had been so improperly treated since her mother’s death, having been drugged with ardent spirits, that the fatal effects upon her health were never overcome. The history of this sweet child will be found, at full length, in a work of mine entitled “The Indian Orphans,”539 published by Melrose, Berwick-upon-Tweed, in 1839. When my Annie was provided with new clothes, the forlorn and neglected orphan shortly appeared a delicate-looking little lady, with all the airs and manners suitable to the rank into which she had been raised; at the same time she did not lose an item of that unpresuming simplicity which is so lovely in childhood. I was at this period of my life so very busy with the children of the regiment, that is, with the motherless children in the barracks, that it hardly seemed as if the taking of one or more into the house was a circumstance worth a notice of a few lines. I frequently regret that I have said so much in my Indian journals of private feelings and thoughts, and so little of real events. We had made a large collection in the regiment, for the use of all the little children which had lost a parent; by this means they were handsomely provided for. The women in the barracks were glad to take them for the money which was given with them; but as Mr. Sherwood, as paymaster, had the charge of this charity, I had far more little creatures to see clothed and taken care of out of my own family than in it. There were five little boys in the school nearly of the age of my own Mary, four of whom were orphans, and for these I had made clothes at Sunderland and Morpeth. The money we had collected for the orphans was the beginning of a fund by which we effectually relieved many children whilst we remained with the 53rd. Efforts of this description were afterwards rendered less necessary, as will be shown in the sequel of these memoirs. I now proceed to explain one cause of my being so strongly excited as I was, to take the part of the orphans of the 53rd regiment under my immediate superintendence. 245

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It happened some weeks only after I had taken little Annie, that Mrs. Parsons called to see my Lucy, who was, next to her own children, the dearest to her in the regiment. We were always pleased to see her, and she had always much to say to me; amongst other things she spoke with high indignation of some wretched woman in the barracks, who had the charge of an orphan girl. This woman, whose name I forget, had come out in the same detachment with the mother of Annie, and also with the mother of the poor baby whom she was treating thus barbarously. Mrs. Parsons hinted that she believed the woman was actually endeavouring, in an underhand, quiet way, to relieve herself of the burden of the child by starving it to death. It was natural for me to inquire what sort of man the father was, and wherefore did the woman undertake the care of the child? The father was a young man, and easily deceived, she said; he was told that his child was ill, and the woman had made some promise to the mother on her death-bed that she would take the child. Having Mr. Sherwood’s consent to all I did, I sent the next morning to the barracks to desire the woman who had the care of Serjeant Pownal’s infant to come and bring the child to me, which, however unwilling she might be, she did not dare to refuse, and so well was I known that even the father could scarcely have withheld the child from me had he wished it. I perfectly remember the time, and where I stood when the babe was brought in. I was in the nursery; Mrs. Parker, some black women, and also the bearer who attended the children, were with me. It was noon-day, and I had dismissed the school. The soldier’s wife, as I said, was brought before me: she was young, sandy complexion, and hair inclined to red—a coarse and disagreeable person; in her arms she carried the child; the skin about the infant’s mouth was stretched until the mouth and teeth were quite prominent; the cheeks were fallen in, the eyes staring, and the whole physiognomy that of the most eager famine. The little creature was very pale, and had very light and soft hair. The child wore a muslin frock, which had been hastily put on, and there were little long sleeves rudely attached to the short ones. The frock was clean, but the child had no other garment than the frock. The woman looked defiance at us all when I put the question to her—“Is this child ill?” “Yes,” she answered, “very ill.” “I do not think it,” I said; and going near to the baby to examine her more closely, she stretched out her arms to me and struggled faintly. Those little arms, and that little eager, helpless appeal, was rendered effectual by Him in whose hands are the hearts of all men, to turn and direct them to his own purposes. “And now,” I said to the woman, having received the little one in my arms, “now you may go; the child needs you no more.” She refused to go without the babe, and would have been very impertinent, had not the white women, with the other servants, taken up the cause, and the bearer very quietly followed her till he saw her without the gates. I must just add, that the father expressed himself truly grateful. The woman was no sooner gone than Mrs. Parker began to provide for the baby’s comfort. She first bathed and dressed her, and as the poor child had not power to sit up straight, we laid her on a little mattress, and we procured an Ayah to attend her; we gave her from time to time a few spoonfuls of very light food, such as we made for the youngest baby; but for weeks she was so ravenous that she would have eaten 246

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everything which she could lay her little hands upon. We found very soon that the child had no disease whatever, and that she was suffering merely from famine, though the wretched woman had persuaded the father that she was very ill. As I said above, he was very thankful for all I was doing for his child, and deeply grieved when he knew of her past sufferings.

CHAPTER XIX. DEATH

OF LITTLE LUCY—MY INORDINATE GRIEF—DESCRIPTION OF ANNIE—DEATH OF

MRS. PARSONS—THREATENINGS OF WAR—MR. JEFFRIES—MODE OF EXISTENCE DURING

THE HOT WINDS—ARRIVAL AND ILLNESS OF THE REV. HENRY MARTYN—ANECDOTES OF ANNIE AND MR. MARTYN.

AND now once again I am called upon to narrate another of those heavy losses which will ever render our life on earth a life of mourning. Oh, life! life!—the life we live in Adam—how full it is of sorrowful memories! but we live in the hope of the life which is in Christ, an existence of happiness unspeakable and full of glory. It was on a Wednesday that, after our tiffin, I lay down with my baby, her sweet arms over my neck. We both slept; but, alas! when I awoke I found that her little frame burned like fire, and, oh, my precious one, she never from that time left the house but in her coffin. We sent for a doctor, who did what he thought advisable. My sweet Lucy was very restless in the night. Her disease was dysentery, and in the morning light I saw that she was much altered in appearance, and that the last fatal symptom had already shown itself. My God was preparing me to give up this idol also. My Bible was in my hand, and I turned to the Lamentations, thinking only that I might there find suitable expressions of anguish, and there I was led to see, and in part to receive in faith, that beautiful passage, which I quote at length:—“For the Lord will not cast off for ever: but though He cause grief, yet will He have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies. For He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men.”—Lam. iii. 31, 32, 33. But let me draw a veil over my sorrows. The Friday after her first attack I lost my Lucy. Thank God, she slept much between the intervals of her disease. When she last awoke, she rolled and threw herself about on the mattress, which we had put for coolness on the floor, as if she were in mortal anguish. But the agony was short, and during that agony her father was kneeling in his own room; for this child, this third child, had been the most dear and precious to him of all his children. When the anguish of death was about to terminate, my baby girl extended her little arms towards me, her eyes being at the same time closed. Her cry was, 247

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“Mamma, mamma,” speaking lower and lower, and more indistinctly, till the last faint repetition of the words could no longer be heard. I felt for her pulse, but it was gone. Suddenly she raised her beautiful black eye-lashes, and looked up towards the ceiling. Oh, what a look, what a countenance of heavenly beauty, mingled with the expression of extinguishing mortality. Oh, my Lucy, I thank thy heavenly Father that I know thou art already profiting by thy Redeemer’s merits. I have no fears of thy eternal happiness; no, nor had I even at that moment in which I felt this life was going from thee. Another instant, and the immortal soul had passed away; the little body was a dead weight upon the mother’s arms. Oh, my God! I thank Thee for the composure and comfort which Thou bestowed upon us in that hour of greatest need. But, as days passed on, we were very unhappy, for my Lucy’s father sorrowed as deeply as myself. It seemed as if we had forgotten prosperity, or to have our hearts raised with joy. I tried, but it was coldly, to thank God for the blessings still remaining to me, and the kindness of those about me, especially of that dearest of dear friends, Mrs. Mawby.540 I laboured with my school, but I saw not the fruits of my labours, excepting in my little Annie, for this child was early blest. There is no doubt that many mothers have lost more children one after another than I did in India, and perhaps even under more painful circumstances. These mothers, too, may have been equally tender with myself, yet they may have suffered these losses with far more resignation, cheerfulness, and submission to the Divine will than I did; but something in my favour may perhaps be allowed for the enervating effect of the climate in which I then resided. And yet, when all has been said, I must acknowledge that I did not only yield to my grief, but that I nourished and cherished it in many instances in which I should have fled from it; for example, was it not a needless pain to me to write down as I did all the particulars of my Lucy’s last days on earth and the circumstances of her death? Was it not feeding grief to do what I did, as it regarded the little Sally? For this child, having been badly nourished, was scarcely larger than my Lucy had been, and nearly as helpless and infantine. No sooner, then, was my Lucy gone, than I caused Sally to be dressed in her frocks. I made her and Annie new caps, which I trimmed with rosettes of black love-ribbon,541 thus encouraging my sorrow. Weeks passed, too, before I would go out in the tonjon,542 though I sometimes walked with the children in our beautiful garden, for they were with me on all occasions, even when the ladies of the regiment visited me. Annie had improved so rapidly, and had so much of the little lady in her manners, with such peculiar refinement of sentiment, that she became a particular favourite of Mrs. Mawby’s and the other ladies. She was much spoken of, and often invited to spend days from home, and had she been my own child she could not have received more attention. It seemed to be a wonder to all that the barracks could have produced such a child. Thus persons began to turn their thoughts to the situation of motherless white girls of low degre in India, and thus, may I add, 248

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were all things ordered, so as to tend to one point of no small importance, for the welfare of the many. What use it pleased God to make of this little girl will hereafter appear. But again am I called upon to narrate scenes of suffering. My humble but pious friend and constant companion, dear Mrs. Parsons,543 died so suddenly, in the beginning of October, scarcely one month after my Lucy, that the first thing I heard was that Parsons was come to get flowers to lay over his wife’s remains. Oh, death, death, thou art very busy here. On the Wednesday morning the afflicted husband brought his little girl, his sole remaining child, to me. I was preparing her black clothes; poor child, she was pleased with the change. Three orphans and myself, the mother of two departed babes, made up our party in the room in which I sat to work. On the 6th a great ball was given to the commander-in-chief, which I did not attend, but stayed at home with my little girls. I have their figures now before me walking in that fair garden, dressed in white, as children commonly are in India, with black caps and trimmings, Mary Parsons being the eldest by a year and a half. Mrs. Parsons had never looked up after she was informed of the death of my Lucy. Her answer to those who told her was, “I, too, shall soon go to her.” It was the day afterwards I heard of the death of a poor woman in the barracks, whose infant was brought to me, and I had some trouble in getting a nurse. At this time there were many rumours of war,544 though we hardly knew what to believe; yet we knew that government was marching an army towards Ludhana, one of the fords on the Sutlege, the most eastern branch of the Indus.545 It also appeared that the Seik546 chief, Rajah Runjeet Sing, of Lahore, had a large army on the western bank; but what the purposes of the English were, as regarded this man, we did not know; though it seemed, however, that there was some alarm. In short, we were under such constant expectation of an order to march that every officer began to provide himself with camp furniture and camels, and well it was that they did so, for soon afterwards there was a removal of three companies of our regiment into the Bundelcund,547 to take a strong fort near Callinger,548 which lies nearly west of Allahabad, among the mountains. I had much anxiety at this time upon the following subject. I expected again to become a mother, and I was told by our medical men no child of mine could be reared in India. What was I to do?—to sacrifice my child, or leave my husband to take the babe to England? We could neither of us decide; hence we were burthened with care and anxiety about the threatened separation. I could not find any person or persons who would relieve me of the charge of the orphans, who now depended upon me wholly for support. Miss Corrie, the sister of the Rev. Mr. Corrie,549 had consented to take Annie; and so full was my confidence in this excellent brother and sister, that I had not a moment’s fear respecting my little girl. But my poor Sally, my little Sally, a mere lisping babe—I was very unhappy respecting her, and formed many plans for her, until I got a promise from a Mrs. R., of Benares, that she would receive her. Oh, how do we poor human beings vex and turmoil ourselves about many 249

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things! Surely we are all blind, and as blind leading the blind; yet how are we led on through the tangled paths of this world into scenes of peace, of rest, and of security. Oh, that we may, as we advance in life, and look back on our former acts of folly and want of faith, learn more and more to trust God our Father for the future, remembering always that He has reconciled himself to us, through His beloved Son. During the whole of the cold season, being in good health, I worked excessively hard with the regimental school, with my precious little Annie, and also with my beloved pupil, George, giving to the latter private lessons in the afternoon. I also wrote an outline of history, in short, a set of questions with verses attached to them, and was working at my “Infant Pilgrim,”550 reading the manuscript to my children as I proceeded. We had not many books then for children, and what I wrote were therefore particularly acceptable. It was about the month of February that the Rev. Mr. Jeffries551 (one of the company’s chaplains, a venerable person, and the father of ten children) called to see us on his way up from Calcutta to Furruckabad, to which station he had been appointed. We were very much pleased with him; and he told us that, in the beginning of the year 1806, three clergymen arrived from Cambridge, appointed chaplains in Bengal, the Rev. Mr. Martyn,552 Mr. Corrie, and Mr. Parson.553 These gentlemen, Mr. Jeffries told us, were, according to the term then in use, called Methodists,554 that is, close followers of the Thirty-nine Articles;555 whilst the chaplains on the establishment before, with the exception of Dr. Buchannan556 and David Browne,557 were unhappily believed to have been inclined to Socinianism.558 Mr. Martyn’s doctrines were therefore thought very strict, when he delivered them in Calcutta; and he was commented on with some bitterness by the superior chaplains, who considered that doctrines should be left out of the question altogether in sermons, and morality only preached. The controversy was carried on in the pulpit, and all Calcutta became excited on the subject. Mr. Jeffries never spoke publicly on one side or the other, as he was a military chaplain, and on a distinct service, till he was called upon to give his opinion in Calcutta, which he did by reading the homily on the subject under agitation instead of a sermon. The subject of the homily was, I think, “Justification by Faith.” The homily, of course, went against the preachers of a cold morality, and caused great anger. The inhabitants of Calcutta were divided respecting the propriety of reading this homily; one side remarking, “that they wondered that Mr. Jeffries should read so old a book, for were we not making improvements every year in the sciences, and, of course, in religion also? But more of this anon. Towards the end of March the winds began to blow warm; and when once set in they continue to blow violently till the end of the month. I at this time lived in much retirement, seeing only Mrs. Mawby and Mrs. Percy;559 for when the hot winds blew we were obliged to give up the daily school; but, in consequence, I had more leisure for my books, my pen and ink, and my orphans. The mode of existence of an English family during the hot winds in India is so very unlike any thing in Europe, that I must not omit to describe it, with reference especially to my 250

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own situation then at Cawnpore. Every outer door of the house and every window is closed; all the interior doors and venetians are, however, open, whilst most of the private apartments are shut in by drop curtains or screens of grass, looking like fine wire-work, partially covered with green silk. The hall, which never has any other than borrowed lights in any bungalow, is always in the centre of the house; and ours, at Cawnpore, had a large room on each side of it, with baths and sleeping-rooms. In the hot winds I always sat in the hall at Cawnpore. Though I was that year without a baby of my own, I had my orphan, my little Annie, always by me, quietly occupying herself when not actually receiving instruction from me. I had given her a good-sized box, painted green, with a lock and key; she had a little chair and table. She was the neatest of all neat little people, somewhat faddy and particular, perchance. She was the child, of all others, to live with an ancient grandmother. Annie’s treasures were few; but they were all contained in her green box. She never wanted occupation: she was either dressing her doll or finding pretty verses in her Bible, marking the places with an infinitude of minute pieces of paper. It was a great delight to me to have this little quiet one by my side. I generally sat on a sofa, with a table before me, with my pen and ink and books; for I used to write as long as I could bear the exertion, and then I rested on the sofa, and read. I read an immense deal in India, the very scarcity of books making me more anxious for them. A new book, or one I had not often read before, was then to me like cold water to the thirsty soul. I shall never forget the delight which I had when somebody lent me “Robinson Crusoe,” and when Mr. Sherwood picked up an old copy of “Sir Charles Grandison.” But to proceed with my picture. In another part of this hall sat Mr. Sherwood during most part of the morning, either engaged with his accounts, his journal, or his books. He, of course, did not like the confinement so well as I did, and often contrived to get out to a neighbour’s bungalow, in his palanquin,560 during some part of the long morning. In one of the side rooms sat Serjeant Clarke, with his books and accounts. This worthy and most methodical personage used to fill up his time in copying my manuscripts in a very neat hand, and in giving lessons in reading and spelling, &c., to Annie. He always dined at our tiffin time. In the other room was the orphan Sally, with her toys. Beside her sat her attendant, chewing her paun,561 and enjoying a state of perfect apathy. Thus did our mornings pass, whilst we sat in what the lovers of broad daylight would call almost darkness. During these mornings we heard no sounds but the monotonous click click of the punkah,*562 or the melancholy moaning of the burning blast without, with the splash and dripping of the water thrown over the tatties.†563 At one o’clock, or perhaps somewhat later, the tiffin was always

* The punkah is a piece of mechanism attached to large houses in India. which, being worked, acts as a monstrous fan to the whole house.—ED. † The tatta is a screen of fragrant mosslike grass, which is constantly kept wet by the water-carriers.—ED.

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served,—a hot dinner in fact, consisting always of curry and variety of vegetables. We often dined at this hour, the children at a little table in the room, after which we all lay down, the adults on sofas, and the children on the floor, under the punkah in the hall. At four, or later perhaps, we had coffee brought, from which we all derived much refreshment. We then bathed and dressed, and at six, or thereabouts, the wind generally falling, the tatties were removed, the doors and windows of the house were opened, and we either took an airing in carriages, or sat in the verandah; but the evenings and nights of the hot winds brought no refreshment. On the 30th of May the Rev. Henry Martyn arrived at our bungalow. The former chaplain had proceeded to the presidency, and we were so highly favoured as to have Mr. Martyn appointed in his place. I am not aware whether we expected him, but certainly not at the time when he did appear. It was in the morning, and we were situated as above described, the desert winds blowing like fire without, when we suddenly heard the quick steps of many bearers. Mr. Sherwood ran out to the leeward of the house, and exclaimed, “Mr. Martyn.” The next moment I saw him leading in that excellent man, and saw our visitor, a moment afterwards, fall down in a fainting fit. He had travelled in a palanquin from Dinapore, and the first part of the way he moved only by night. But between Cawnpore and Allahabad, being a hundred and thirty miles, there is no resting place, and he was compelled for two days and two nights to journey on in his palanquin, exposed to the raging heat of a fiery wind. He arrived, therefore, quite exhausted, and actually under the influence of fever. There was not another family in Cawnpore except ours to which he could have gone with pleasure; not because any family would have denied shelter to a countryman in such a condition, but alas! they were only Christians in name. In his fainting state, Mr. Martyn could not have retired to the sleeping-room which we caused to be prepared immediately for him, because we had no means of cooling any sleeping-room so thoroughly as we could the hall. We, therefore, had a couch set for him in the hall. There he was laid, and very ill he was for a day or two. On the 2nd of May the hot winds left us, and we had a close, suffocating calm. Mr. Martyn could not lift his head from the couch. In our bungalow, when shut up as close as it could be, we could not get the thermometer under ninety-six, though the punkah was constantly going. When Mr. Martyn got a little better he became very cheerful, and seemed quite happy with us all about him. He commonly lay on his couch in the hall during the morning, with many books near to his hand, and amongst these always a Hebrew Bible and a Greek Testament. Soon, very soon, he began to talk to me of what was passing in his mind, calling to me at my table to tell me his thoughts. He was studying the Hebrew characters, having an idea, which I believe is not a new one, that these characters contain the elements of all things,564 though I have reason to suppose he could not make them out at all to his satisfaction; but whenever any thing occurred to him he must needs make it known to me. He was much engaged also with another subject, into which I was more capable of entering. It was his opinion that if the Hindoos could be persuaded that all nations are made of one blood, to dwell upon the face of the earth, and if they 252

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could be shown how each nation is connected by its descent from the sons and grandsons of Noah with other nations existing upon the globe, that it would be a means of breaking down, or at least of loosening, that wall of separation which they have set up between themselves and all other people. With this view Mr. Martyn was endeavouring to trace up the various leading families of the earth to their great progenitors; and so much pleased was I with what he said on this subject, that I immediately committed all I could remember to paper, and founded thereupon a system of historical instruction which I ever afterwards used with my children. Mr. Martyn, like myself at this time, was often perplexed and dismayed at the workings of his own heart, yet, perhaps, not discerning a hundredth part of the depth of the depravity of his own nature, the character of which is summed up in Holy Writ in these two words—“utterly unclean.”565 He felt this the more strongly, because he partook also of that new nature “which sinneth not.”566 It was in the workings and actings of that nature that his character shone so preeminently as it did amid a dark and unbelieving society, such as was ours then at Cawnpore. In a very few days he had discerned the sweet qualities of the orphan Annie, and had so encouraged her to come about him that she drew her chair, and her table, and her green box to the vicinity of his couch. She showed him her verses, and consulted him about the adoption of more passages into the number of her favourites. Annie had a particular delight in all the pastoral views given in Scripture of our Saviour and of his church; and when Mr. Martyn showed her this beautiful passage, “Feed Thy people with Thy rod, the flock of Thine heritage which dwell solitarily in the wood in the midst of Carmel” (Micah vii. 14), she was as pleased with this passage as if she had made some wonderful acquisition. As I have remarked in the history of my Indian orphans, what could have been more beautiful than to see the senior wrangler and the almost infant Annie thus conversing together, whilst the elder seemed to be in no ways conscious of any condescension in bringing down his mind to the level of the child’s? Such are the beautiful influences of the Divine Spirit, which, whilst they depress the high places of human pride, exalt the lowly valleys. When Mr. Martyn lost the worst symptoms of his illness he used to sing a great deal. He had an uncommonly fine voice and fine ear; he could sing many fine chaunts, and a vast variety of hymns and psalms. He would insist upon it that I should sing with him, and he taught me many tunes, all of which were afterwards brought into requisition; and when fatigued himself, he made me sit by his couch, and practise these hymns. He would listen to my singing, which was altogether very unscientific, for hours together, and he was constantly requiring me to go on even when I was tired. The tunes he taught me, no doubt, reminded him of England, and of scenes and friends no longer seen. The more simple the style of singing, the more it probably answered his purpose.

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CHAPTER XX. MR.

MARTYN AND THE PIOUS SOLDIERS—MR. MARTYN’S SALARY—HIS BUNGALOW—

SABAT’S HISTORY—OUR FIRST VISIT TO MR. MARTYN—THE PADRE—THE MUTTON

PATTIES—THE BIRTH OF MY FOURTH CHILD—MY DAUGHTER’S CHRISTENING—THE

WATER-SPOUTS—WE LEAVE OUR BUNGALOW—VISIT TO MR. MARTYN.

AS soon as Mr. Martyn could in any way exert himself, he made acquaintance with some of the pious men of the regiment (the same poor men whom I have mentioned before, who used to meet in ravines, in huts, in woods, and in every wild and secret place they could find, to read, and pray, and sing); and he invited them to come to him in our house, Mr. Sherwood making no objection. The time first fixed was an evening after parade, and in consequence they all appeared at the appointed hour, each carrying their mora567 (a low seat), and their books tied up in pocket-handkerchiefs. In this very unmilitary fashion they were all met in a body by some officers. It was with some difficulty that Mr. Sherwood could divert the storm of displeasure which had well nigh burst upon them on the occasion. Had they been all found intoxicated and fighting, they would have created less anger from those who loved not religion. How truly is it said that “the children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light.”568 Notwithstanding this unfortunate contre-temps,569 these poor good men were received by Mr. Martyn in his own apartment; and a most joyful meeting he had with them. We did not join the party, but we heard them singing and praying, and the sound was very sweet. Mr. Martyn then promised them that when he had got a house he would set aside a room for them, where they might come every evening, adding he would meet them himself twice in the week. It may as well be remarked here as in another place, that as soon as every convenience for the assembly of these persons was provided, and when these assemblies were sanctioned by our ever kind Colonel Mawby, and all difficulties, in short, overcome, many who had been the most zealous under persecution fell quite away, and never returned. How can we account for these things? Many, however, remained steadfast under evil report as well as good report, and died, as they had lived, in simple and pure faith. I must not omit in this place another anecdote of Mr. Martyn, which amused us much at the time after we had recovered the alarm attending it. The salary of a chaplain is large, and Mr. Martyn had not drawn his for so long a time, that the sum amounted perhaps to some hundreds. He was to receive it from the collector at Cawnpore. Accordingly, he one morning sent a note for the amount, confiding the note to the care of a common Cooley,570 a porter of low caste, generally a very poor man. This man went off, unknown to Mr. Sherwood and myself, early in the morning. The day passed, the evening came, and no Cooley arrived. At length Mr. 254

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Martyn said in a quiet voice to us, “The Cooley does not come with my money. I was thinking this morning how rich I should be; and, now, I should not wonder in the least if he has not run off, and taken my treasure with him.” “What,” we exclaimed, “surely you have not sent a common Cooley for your pay?” “I have,” he replied. Of course we could not expect that it would ever arrive safe; for it would be paid in silver, and delivered to the man in cotton bags. Soon afterwards, however, it did arrive, a circumstance at which we all greatly marvelled. Immediately after this Mr. Martyn went out, and, being persuaded by some black man, he bought one of the most undesirable houses, to all appearance, which he could have chosen. This house afterwards proved to be in many respects singularly convenient, as we shall show by-and-by. On the 29th of May Mr. Martyn left us to go to his own house; and after he was gone, it seems, I fell into a state of uneasiness and dissatisfaction with myself; for I was then experiencing a deeply strong sense of my own depravity, not yet having reached to such Bible knowledge as might lead me to the conviction that this depravity, which I bewailed so incessantly, must remain in antagonism with the work of the Spirit until the carnal nature shall be put off in the moment of death. Mr. Martyn’s house was a bungalow571 situated between the Sepoy Parade and the Artillery Barracks, but behind that range of principal bungalows which face the Parade. The approach to the dwelling was called the Compound, along an avenue of palm trees and aloes. A more stiff, funereal avenue can hardly be imagined, unless it might be that one of noted Sphynxes which I have read of, but where I forget, as the approach to a ruined Egyptian temple. At the end of this avenue were two bungalows, connected by a long passage. These bungalows were low, and the rooms small. The garden was prettily laid out with flowering shrubs and tall trees; in the centre was a wide space, which at some seasons was green, and a cherbuter,572 or raised platform of chunam, of great extent, was placed in the middle of this space. A vast number and variety of huts and sheds formed one boundary of the compound; these were concealed by the shrubs. But who would venture to give any account of the heterogeneous population which occupied these buildings? For, besides the usual complement of servants found in and about the houses of persons of a certain rank in India, we must add to Mr. Martyn’s household a multitude of Pundits,573 Moonshees,574 schoolmasters, and poor nominal Christians, who hung about him because there was no other to give them a handful of rice for their daily maintenance; and most strange was the murmur which proceeded at times from this ill-assorted and discordant multitude. Mr. Martyn occupied the largest of the two bungalows. He had given up the least to the wife of Sabat, that wild man of the desert whose extraordinary history has made so much noise in the Christian world.575 Mr. Martyn had come up dawk576 from Dinapore; Sabat with all the household and goods had arrived in boats. He was introduced to us soon after his arrival. Mr. Sherwood wrote down the outline of his history at the time, from Mr. Martyn’s mouth. This history was as Sabat told it, and we had no means of detecting its inaccuracy, or of proving its correctness. But I will quote it as it is written. “Sabat,” says Mr. Sherwood’s journal, “is of the tribe of Koreish, the most noble of the Arab tribes, 255

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and that to which Mahomet belonged. He asserts that he is a descendant of that impostor, but this may be doubted, as this is a boast too common with Mussulmauns; and although Sabat is a Christian now, we perceive a great deal of national and family pride in him. He was born, he says, on the banks of the Euphrates, near Bagdad. His father died when he was very young, and left him to the care of his mother, who, as he describes her, was a very clever and learned woman, of a Persian family. His parents kept numbers of camels and sheep. Many sheep they expended in feeding Mahomedan pilgrims from different countries. Sabat left Arabia when very young, and served against the French when they were in Palestine; he afterwards went into the Persian service, and was often wounded. Of one wound in his hand he still complains. He left the Persian service in consequence of these wounds. He served as an assistant secretary to the King of Cabul, and in this situation he formed a friendship with a young man of the name of Abdalla, who was a fellow secretary, and of the same noble tribe of the Koreish. Abdalla was very clever, and a poet also, which, in fact, most educated Arabs pretend to be. When the Wahabees took possession of Mecca, their chief wrote to the King of Cabul, and Abdalla was commanded to translate the letter. The young Arab performed this task by rendering it into Persian verse. The king was so delighted by what the youth had done that he ordered his mouth to be filled with pearls, a custom by no means unfrequent in Eastern courts; but (as Sabat adds), though thus highly honoured, Abdalla did not seem to be happy. He was observed to seek solitude, and retire from his usual companions. He frequented the house of an Armenian, but, as this Armenian had a fair daughter, these visits were, for a time, attributed to love, and no doubt the sadness and melancholy of the young man was set down to the same cause. At length Abdalla asked leave to retire from court, and to withdraw to his own country, Arabia. Some time after this the Tartars from Bokhara attacked the King of Cabul, and Sabat was made a captive, and kept as a slave within the territories of the Tartars. One day Sabat, seeing the King of Bokhara passing, he lifted up his voice, and cried, ‘Justice, O king! justice.’ The king stopped, and inquired the cause of his cry; the Arab replied, ‘Is it lawful to keep a descendant of the Prophet in slavery?’ The king hearkened to his plea, and, finding him to be a man of talents, took him into his service; and, owing to the royal favour, he rose so high that he travelled in a litter, and had a magnificent establishment allowed him. Whilst thus basking in the sunshine of prosperity— being, as he described himself, not a little uplifted thereby—he visited the city of Bokhara, and on one occasion thought he saw at some distance his old friend Abdalla. Sabat hastened after him, but perceived he was avoided by him. However, Sabat at length came up with him, when he saw, with amazement, that Abdalla had no beard. Much, in the East, is indicated by the fashion of the beard, and Sabat failed not to question his former companion most closely upon this singularity in his appearance. After much hesitation, Abdalla confessed that he had become a Christian, and did not wish to be recognized. Sabat was then a furious Mussulmaun, and, being in great wrath, he entreated him to return again to the faith of his fathers, and not to persist in dishonouring his noble descent; and when 256

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he saw that he could not prevail by persuasion, he had recourse to threatening. These threats, however, had no effect; and, in his rage, Sabat betrayed his once old friend to the priests, and caused him to be seized and brought before them. The priests were anxious to spare Abdalla, and used every argument to induce him to renounce the Christian religion, but in vain; a strength from on high was given to this martyr to the truth, and he listened not to their arguments. The wild Arab, Sabat, was always much affected when he spoke of the trial and death of the young Christian convert; and, surely, we cannot suppose that he was the only one then in Bokhara on whom the circumstances made an impression. After much discussion, one of the priests said to Abdalla, ‘In the Gospel of Christ, that is, in the Book of the Gospel, is anything said of our prophet?’ This question was put in order to extort from the Christian the acknowledgment that Christ had promised to send the Comforter,577 by which the Mussulmauns always pretend that Mahomet was intended; though, as Mahomet came with a sword, it may be wondered at how ignorance itself could have applied to him the name of Parakletos,578 ‘the Comforter.’ Abdalla’s answer was, ‘Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves’ (Matt. vii. 15). On this the principal priest ordered him to be beaten on the mouth until the blood ran down. Sabat says he at that moment thought with sorrow of the time when he had seen that same mouth filled with pearls. Abdalla was then ordered to prison, and four days were given him to change his religion; at the end of that time, should he continue to refuse to change, he was to suffer death. This was published throughout Bokhara; and, on the appointed day, multitudes gathered together around the scaffold, where Abdallah was brought, and pardon offered to him if he would recant. But power was given to him to continue steadfast unto death in the faith of Christ. He then had his left hand cut off, after which he was again exhorted to save his life by denying the religion of Christ. Sabat stood near him, as he told Mr. Martyn, and Abdalla, turning to him, gave him one look of deep sorrow, though not of anger. That look seemed to say to his former friend, ‘Wherefore did you betray me? Why have you done this?’ Sabat declares, ‘that from that moment he began to regret what he had done.’ The conclusion of the termination of the faithful Abdalla’s sufferings, was that his head was cut off.” Mr. Martyn and ourselves always thought that Sabat could not have told this story in the way he always did had he been perfectly blind, and hard, and ignorant; and yet, in many other respects, he made it but too evident that he was only partly reclaimed from his original fierce character. There was a sort of hiatus, or portion of time, in the history of Sabat which to us was never properly or satisfactorily filled up. That chasm of time was from after the death of Abdalla until he described himself as being Moola,579 or chief native judge of the Mahomedan court at Vizagapatam. “It was there,” said Sabat, for I am now again quoting Mr. Sherwood’s journal, “that, being one day engaged in reading the Koran, I met with a passage which acknowledged that the Lord Jesus had no father among men, but was conceived of the Spirit.580 This puzzled me, because the Prophet had never pretended to any distinction of this kind; again, Mahomet had died and was 257

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buried, and it never had been asserted of him that his body had risen again, yet Mahomet allows that Jesus had risen. These two facts were both striking proofs of the superiority of Christ over Mahomet.” After this, Sabat, it seems, sought the most learned priests, to account to him for this difficulty; but in the true anti-Christian spirit, a spirit which differs little in the East from the West, they told him that he must read and believe, and not endeavour to look into things which were above him. The haughty son of Ishmael581 was not pleased at being put off in this way, and, in consequence, he immediately applied to an English gentleman then in Bokhara for a Persian or Arabic New Testament, but no such thing could be procured in that country. With much expense and trouble Sabat got one from Bombay; and, having read it attentively, he discerned that he could make nothing of it without knowing something of the prophecies and the history of the fall of man. From this example, as from many others, Christians ought to be admonished of the necessity, wherever it is possible, of giving the whole Bible together, and of not disseminating it in detached parts. But man has ever been wiser in his own opinion than the God by whom he was created. With much trouble Sabat obtained a copy of the Old Testament, and, by comparison with the New, he was convinced that Jesus was the Christ. He then repaired to Bombay, and applied to the chaplain there for baptism, but who this gentleman was our diaries do not explain; though it seems probable that, with very good reasons, he thought it right to deny it him till he could give some proof of his being in earnest. The chaplain put off the rite so long that Sabat became impatient, and, in the true spirit of the wild man of the desert, he threatened the Christian minister that he would be his accuser before God, in the resurrection, if he did not baptize him at once. What followed from the time of his baptism till we found him with Mr. Martyn assisting in translating the Scriptures, does not appear from Mr. Sherwood’s journal at that time. Sabat afterwards added such a variety of wonderful episodes, and told so many marvellous tales of himself, that the most credulous person must have been led to ask how it was possible that so many things could have been done and suffered by one man in so short a time. For this son of Ishmael did not appear, when we knew him, to be more than thirty, nor did he acknowledge himself to be so old as that. But to leave Sabat for awhile, and return to Mr. Martyn. It was a burning evening in June, when after sun-set I accompanied Mr. Sherwood to Mr. Martyn’s bungalow, and saw for the first time its avenue of palms and aloes. We were conducted to the cherbuter,582 where the company was already assembled, among which there was no lady but myself. This cherbuter was many feet square, and chairs were set for the guests; and a more heterogeneous assembly surely had not often met, and seldom, I believe, were more languages in requisition in so small a party. Besides Mr. Martyn and ourselves, there was no one present who could speak English. But let me introduce each individual separately; and first, Sabat, for whose physiognomy I recommend my readers to study any old sign of the Saracen’s head which may chance to be in his neighbourhood.583 Every 258

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feature in the large disk of Sabat’s face was what we should call exaggerated. His eyebrows were arched, black, and strongly pencilled; his eyes dark and round, and from time to time flashing with unsubdued emotion, and ready to kindle into flame on the most trifling occasion. His nose was high, his mouth wide, his teeth large, and looked white in contrast with his bronzed complexion and fierce black mustachios. He was a large and powerful man, and generally wore a skull-cap of rich shawling, or embroidered silk, with circular flaps of the same hanging over each ear. His large, tawny throat and neck had no other covering than that afforded by his beard, which was black. His attire was a kind of jacket of silk, with long sleeves, fastened by a girelle, or girdle, about his loins, to which was appended a jewelled dirk. He wore loose trousers, and embroidered shoes turned up at the toes. In the cold season he threw over this a wrapper lined with fur, and when it was warmer the fur was changed for silk. When to this costume is added ear-rings, and sometimes a golden chain, the Arab stands before you in his complete state of Oriental dandyism. This son of the desert never sat in a chair without contriving to tuck up his legs under him on the seat, in attitude very like a tailor on his board. The only languages which he was able to speak were Persian, Arabic, and a very little bad Hindostance;584 but what was wanting in the words of this man was more than made up by the loudness with which he uttered them, for he had a voice like rolling thunder. When it is understood that loud utterance is considered as an ingredient of respect in the East, we cannot suppose that one who had been much in native courts should think it necessary to modulate his voice in the presence of the English Sahib Logues.585 The second of Mr. Martyn’s guests, whom I must introduce as being not a whit behind Sabat in his own opinion of himself, was the Padre Julius Cæsar, an Italian monk of the order of the Jesuits, a worthy disciple of Ignatius Loyola. Mr. Martyn had become acquainted with him at Patna, where the Italian priest was not less zealous and active in making proselytes than the Company’s chaplain, and probably much more wise and subtle in his movements than the latter. The Jesuit was a handsome young man, and dressed in the complete costume of the monk, with his little skull-cap, his flowing robes, and his cord. The materials, however, of his dress were very rich; his robe was of the finest purple satin, and his cord of twisted silk, and his rosary of costly stones, whilst his air and manner were extremely elegant. He spoke French fluently, and there Mr. Sherwood was at home with him, but his native language was Italian. His conversation with Mr. Martyn was carried on partly in Latin and partly in Italian. A third guest was a learned native of India, in his full and handsome Hindostanee costume; and a fourth, a little, thin, copper-coloured, half-caste Bengalee gentleman, in white nankeen,586 who spoke only Bengalee.587 Mr. Sherwood made a fifth, in his scarlet and gold uniform; myself, the only lady, was the sixth; and add our host, Mr. Martyn, in his clerical black silk coat, and there is our party. Most assuredly I never listened to such a confusion of tongues before or since. Such a noisy, perplexing Babel can scarcely be imagined. Every one who had acquired his views of politeness in Eastern society was shouting at the top of his voice, as if he had lost his fellow in a wood; and no less than seven languages were 259

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in constant request, viz., English, French, Italian, Arabic, Persian, Hindostanee, Bengalee, and Latin. In order to lengthen out the pleasures of the evening, we were scarcely seated before good Mr. Martyn recollected that he had heard me say that I liked a certain sort of little mutton patty, which the natives made particularly well; so, without thinking how long it might take to make these same patties, he called to a servant, to give orders that mutton patties should be added to the supper. I heard the order, but never dreamed that perhaps the mutton might not be in the house. The consequence of this order was, that we sat on the cherbuter till it was quite dark, and till I was utterly weary with the confusion. It must be understood, that sitting out of doors late in the evening, or long in the night, is by no means so uncomfortable in a hot climate as it is in England, though I much doubt its salubrity. No one who has not been in or near the tropics can have an idea of the glorious appearance of the heavens in these regions, and the brilliancy of the star-lit nights, at Cawnpore. Mr. Martyn used often to show me the pole-star, just above the line of the horizon; and I have seen the moon, when almost new, looking like a ball of ebony in a silver cup. Who can, therefore, be surprised that the science of astronomy should first have been pursued by the shepherds who watched their flocks by night in the plains of the South? When the mutton patties were ready, I was handed by Mr. Martyn into the hall of the bungalow. Mr. Martyn took the top of the table, and Sabat perched himself on a chair at the bottom. I think it was on this day, when at table, Sabat was telling some of his own adventures to Mr. Martyn, in Persian, which the latter interpreted to Mr. Sherwood and myself, that the wild Arab asserted, that there were in Tartary and Arabia many persons converted to Christianity, and that many had given up their lives for the faith. He professed to be himself acquainted with two of these, besides Abdalla. “One,” he said, “was a relation of his own.” But he gave but small proof of this man’s sincerity. This convert, if such he was, drew the attention of the priests by a total neglect of all forms; and this was the more remarkable on account of the multiplied forms of Islamism; for at the wonted hour of prayer a true Mussulmaun must kneel down and pray in the middle of a street, or between the courses of a feast, nay, even at the moment when perhaps his hands might be reeking with a brother’s blood. This relative of Sabat’s, however, was, as he remarked, observed to neglect all forms, and he was called before the heads of his tribe, and required to say wherefore he was guilty of this offence. His answer was, “It is nothing.” He proceeded to express himself as if he doubted the very existence of a God. The seniors of the tribe told him that it would be better for him to be a Christian than an atheist; adding, therefore, “If you do not believe in our prophet you must be a Christian;” for they wisely accounted that no man but a fool could be without some religion. The man’s reply was, that he thought the Christian’s a better religion than that of Mahomet; the consequence of which declaration was, that they stoned him until he died. The other example which Sabat gave us was of a boy in Bagdad, who was converted by an Armenian, and endeavoured to escape, but was pursued, seized, and offered pardon if he would recant; but he 260

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was preserved in steadfastness to the truth, and preferred death to returning to Mahometanism. His life was required of him. From the time Mr. Martyn left our house he was in the constant habit of supping with us two or three times a week, and he used to come on horseback, with the Sais running by his side. He sat his horse as if he were not quite aware that he was on horseback, and he generally wore his coat as if it were falling from his shoulders. When he dismounted, his favourite place was in the verandah, with a book, till we came in from our airing. And when we returned many a sweet and long discourse we had, whilst waiting for our dinner or supper. Mr. Martyn often looked up to the starry heavens, and spoke of those glorious worlds of which we know so little now, but of which we hope to know so much hereafter. Often we turned from the contemplation of these to the consideration of the smallness, and apparent diminutiveness in creation, of our own little globe, and of the exceeding love of the Father, who so cared for its inhabitants that He sent His Son to redeem them. It was on the tenth of August I was blessed in the birth of another daughter, my ever-precious Lucy Elizabeth; and shortly afterwards I received a very pleasant letter from a lady in Benares, who had undertaken to adopt little Sarah, of whom she spoke very kindly. During this time dear Mrs. Mawby was unfailing in her kindness and attention to me, and dearly did she love my baby and sympathize in my happiness, in once again possessing a living child. A few days after my Lucy’s birth, towards the dusk of the evening, the musquitto-curtains having been removed in order that I might be the cooler, and being alone with my baby, an enormous bat, as large as an owl, came and sat on the bar at the foot of the bed, its round eyes settled upon me. For some time I could not make any one hear, and was forced to lie still, with the eyes of this ill-omened creature fixed upon me, which I acknowledge frightened me not a little. A somewhat curious circumstance occurred on the occasion of the baptism of my second Lucy. We had requested Mr. Martyn to come some evening to perform the service, leaving the day to himself. He came accordingly on the 2nd of September, in the cool of the evening, and directed the servants to set a table and water in the long verandah; this was done. All the white persons in the house, consisting of myself, Mr. Sherwood, Mrs. Wiley the nurse, Annie, and Sally, gathered round the table with the baby. Never can I forget the solemn manner with which Mr. Martyn went through the service, which of course, to the parents who had lost so many children, was particularly affecting; but it suddenly occurred to me whilst the service was going on, that in that very spot in the verandah, at that very hour of evening, that very day twelve months, my first Lucy had been laid down upon a mattress, from which she was lifted up a cold corpse before midnight. My heart rose to my throat, I could hardly preserve my composure, but I took this circumstance as a token for good, and I did not err in so doing. Never can I forget the beautiful and earnest blessing Mr. Martyn implored for my baby, when he took her into his arms after the service was concluded. I still fancy I see that child of God as 261

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he looked down tenderly on the gentle babe, and then looked upwards, asking of his God that grace and mercy for the infant which he truly accounted as the only gift which parents ought to desire. After many years, I add, alas, my daughter! alas, my Lucy! How sweet are all the recollections connected with my Lucy, my now glorified one. But to proceed; this babe, in infancy, had so peculiar a gentleness of aspect, that Mr. Martyn always called her Serena.588 During the first few months of her life she promised more strength of constitution than she afterwards exhibited. It was about the 30th of September when, riding out, we saw a very large waterspout playing between the heavens and a lake in the Lucknow territories. We asked our servants “what it was?” They answered, “God’s elephant, which was drinking.” We referred the question to a Brahmin, who said that it was Indru’s elephant drinking from the lake. He seemed much put out when I told him “that I had seen numbers of these waterspouts at the same time, for it was never heard that Indru’s elephant had any young ones.” He replied, “Probably it may be something else,” adding some other foolish tale bearing on the subject. We must not give the Brahmins credit for believing all the wild tales by which they deceive the people. The time was now arrived in which the painful step I had long looked forward to was to be taken, when I must begin my preparations for my visit to England. The sad separation was to be effected, and consequently we sold our lovely bungalow, the scene of the death of one Lucy and the birth of another. We hired a large sixteen-oared budgerow for three hundred rupees, for our journey to Calcutta was to be made by water; and I need scarcely say how much we both suffered in anticipation, for, after all, it was but anticipation, as I shall presently show. I was terrified, I well remember, at the responsibility of the voyage to England, with a very little baby, and yet still bent upon making it; such a horror I had of seeing the child dying like the rest, and at the same time being quite assured that she would die if I kept her in India. I was, indeed, in a cruel strait, and had not faith to leave the affair in the hands of God. I should rejoice if any person should be admonished from my example, when they find themselves, as I was then, uncertain what was my duty, to remember that it is always better to await the leadings of Providence than to take the lead in our own hands. If possible, every one should avoid any decisive step when under strong excitement, particularly from grief. I think I may say that I acted decidedly wrong when I proposed leaving Cawnpore to return to England; and although even this my impatient folly worked for all our good, yet this result only proves that God is not extreme to mark what is done amiss. There was much to be settled previous to an absence of some months, for Mr. Sherwood had got leave to accompany me to Calcutta. Mrs. Wiley was to go with me by her own desire, and Annie and Sally were to be left at Chunar with Miss Corrie, Mrs. R., of Benares, having asked Miss Corrie to take care of Sally till after her confinement, which was near at hand. On the Sunday before we left our house at Cawnpore we had our children (that is, the children of the regiment, whom we had instructed up to that time), as usual, 262

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for Divine service in the morning. On the Monday we left our beloved bungalow, beloved and ever to be remembered on many accounts. There many events occurred, the consequence of which may extend into all eternity; there I learned to read (or rather, I should say, acquired the habit of studying) my Bible; there I received and nourished my orphans; from thence my redeemed Lucy departed to that rest for which her Lord had prepared her; and there another little sweet one was given me in her place. It was in those fair gardens I have often meditated, in much bitterness and sorrow of heart, on heavenly things, being pressed down with bitter grief under the chastisement of heaven; but tribulation, I humbly thank my God, with his grace, has worked patience,589 and patience experience, and experience hope; for experience has shown me Divine love in answer to my prayers respecting my beloved Annie. And shall I experience Thy kindness, oh! my Heavenly Father, and not have hope—a hope which time shall swallow up in certainty? It was in the evening we left our house, and went to our boats with the children; but we remained a week afterwards at Cawnpore. During this week we spent the days at Mr. Martyn’s house, who appropriated a suite of rooms to our use, so that we only slept in the boats. Mr. Martyn’s house was peaceful, holy, and cheerful. Oh, Lord God, truly may they who have dwelt in the tents of thine enemies cry, “Thy ways are ways of pleasantness, and all Thy paths are peace.”590

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CHAPTER XXI. OUR RESIDENCE AT MR. MARTYN’S BUNGALOW—ACCOUNT OF HIS SCHOOL—SABAT’S WIFE— THE LORD’S SUPPER AT MR. MARTYN’S—WE LEAVE CAWNPORE—REV. MR. CORRIE AND LITTLE ANNIE—MRS. R.—BENARES—STATE OF BENARES—ARRIVAL AT CALCUTTA— OUR UNEASINESS—DRS. SCHOLBRED AND RUSSELL. I STILL remember the time we spent at Mr. Martyn’s bungalow with deep interest. In the mornings we all used to set out together, children and servants, to go up from the river to the house, whilst the dew yet lay upon the grass; for it was the beginning of the cold season, and the many aromatic flowers of that southern climate shed their perfume in the air. Having arrived at the bungalow, the children and their servants went to the apartments appointed them, and I went into the hall to breakfast. There were always one or more strangers (gentlemen) present. We sang a hymn, and Mr. Martyn read and prayed before breakfast, and we often sat long at breakfast. The persons who visited Mr. Martyn, with few exceptions, were religious persons, and the conversation was generally upon religious subjects, the conversion of the heathen being constantly the topic of discourse. Many letters were at this time passing between the different religious leaders (if such an expression may be permitted me) throughout all India: the Rev. David Browne,591 of Calcutta, being, as it were, set in the centre of the battle, whilst others occupied the front, and were as pioneers, breaking up the new ground. Mr. Browne again and again suggested new plans of work, and there were then not a few who were eager to execute them, full of confidence that wonders were to be wrought, and the whole earth converted, according to the words of Mr. Martyn’s favourite hymn, which is a paraphrase of the 72nd Psalm by Dr. Watts:— “Jesus shall reign where’er the sun Does his successive journeys run; His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, Till moons shall wax and wane no more. The saints shall flourish in his days, Dress’d in the robes of joy and praise; Peace, like a river from his throne, Shall flow to nations yet unknown.”592 I now ask, after many years—And did these glowing and, I believe, heavenlyinspired hopes of these children of God fall short of the truth of what shall really be? Yes; for, inasmuch as the nature of man is limited, he cannot comprehend the 264

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boundless love of the Divinity. We believed that this world, at some future time, should be a holy world; and this I still believe; but I thank God that I have ceased to believe that man, unaided by the Spirit, can accomplish this mighty work, for I now know that God alone can do it. Is it not asked, “When our Lord shall come, shall he find faith on the earth?”593 We walked then as mere babes; and yet, I humbly trust, as children having been brought to desire to do their Father’s will. As I said before, little was spoken of at Mr. Martyn’s table but of various plans for advancing the triumphs of Christianity. Among the plans adopted, Mr. Martyn had, first at Dinapore and then at Cawnpore, established one or two schools for children of the natives of the lower caste. His plan was to hire a native schoolmaster, generally a Mussulmaun, to appoint him a place, and to pay him an anna a head for each boy whom he could induce to attend school. These boys the master was to teach to write and read. It was Mr. Martyn’s great aim, and, indeed, the sole end of his exertions, to get Christian books into the school. As no mention was ever made of proselytism, there was never any difficulty found in introducing even portions of the Scripture itself, more especially portions of the Old Testament, to the attention of the children. The books of Moses are always very acceptable to a Mussulmaun, and Genesis is particularly interesting to the Hindoos. Mr. Martyn’s first school at Cawnpore was located in a long shed, which was on the side of the cavalry lines. It was the first school of the kind I ever saw. The master sat at one end, like a tailor, on the dusty floor; and along under the shed sat the scholars, a pack of little urchins, with no other clothes on, than a skullcap and a piece of cloth round the loins. These little ones squatted, like their master, in the sand. They had wooden imitations of slates in their hands, on which having first written their lessons with chalk, they recited them, “à pleine gorge,”594 as the French would say, being sure to raise their voices on the approach of any European or native of note. Now Cawnpore is about one of the most dusty places in the world. The Sepoy lines are the most dusty part of Cawnpore; and as the little urchins are always well greased, either with cocoa-nut oil or, in failure thereof, with rancid mustard oil, whenever there was the slightest breath of air they always looked as if they had been powdered all over with brown powder. But what did this signify? they would have been equally dusty in their own huts. In these schools they were in the way of getting a few ideas; at all events, they often got so far as to be able to copy a verse on their wooden slates. Afterwards they committed to memory what they had written. Who that has ever heard it can forget the sounds of the various notes with which these little people intonated their “Aleph Zubbur ah—Zair a—Paiche oh,”595 as they waved backwards and forwards in their recitations? Or who can forget the vacant self-importance of the schoolmaster, who was generally a longbearded, dry old man, who had no other means of proving his superiority over the scholars but making more noise than even they could do? Such a scene, indeed, could not be forgotten; but would it not require great faith to expect anything green to spring from a soil so dry? But this faith was not wanting to the Christians then in India. Faith is the root of hope and charity,596 for whosoever believes in Christ confides in his word. To know that we are saved is the foundation of hope 265

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and charity; for a man who believes must hope for the coming of Christ and for the joys of heaven; and such a one must also have love or charity. For in the end, when faith and hope are lost in sight and in fruition, then love will reign triumphant, and will burn more and more brightly through all the long ages of eternity. But though we perhaps did not understand this then, we felt its germ in our hearts. Sabat often made one of our company at Mr. Martyn’s table. He was at that time married to his seventh wife; that is, according to his own account. Amina was a pretty young woman, though particularly dark for a purdah walla,597 or one, according to the Eastern custom, who is supposed always to sit behind a purdah, or curtain. She occupied the smaller bungalow, which adjoined the larger by a long, covered passage. Our children often went to see her whilst they were at Mr. Martyn’s, and I paid her one formal visit. I found her seated on the ground, encircled by cushions within gauze musquitto-curtains, stretched by ropes from the four corners of the hall. In the day time these curtains were twisted and knotted over her head, and towards the night they were let down around her, and thus she slept where she had sat all day. She had one or two women in constant attendance upon her, though her husband was a mere subordinate. These Eastern women have little idea of using the needle, and very few are taught any other feminine accomplishment. Music and literature, dancing and singing, are known only to the Nautch, or dancing-girls by profession. Hence, nothing on earth can be imagined to be more monotonous than the lives of women in the East; such, I mean, as are not compelled to servile labour. They sit on their cushions behind their curtains from day to day, from month to month, with no other occupation than that of having their hair dressed, and their nails and eyelids stained, and no other amusement than hearing “the gup gup,” or gossip of the place where they may happen to be; nor is any gossip too low or too frivolous to be unacceptable. The visits of our children and nurses were very acceptable to Amina, and she took much and tender notice of the baby. She lived on miserable terms with her husband, and hated him most cordially. She was a Mussulmaun, and he was very anxious to make her a Christian, to which she constantly showed strong opposition. At length, however, she terminated the controversy in the following extraordinary manner:—“Pray,” said she, “will you have the goodness to inform me where Christians go after death?” “To heaven and to their Saviour,” replied Sabat. “And where do Mahomedans go?” she asked. “To hell and the devil,” answered the fierce Arab. “You,” said the meek wife, “will go to heaven, of course, as being a Christian.” “Certainly,” replied Sabat. “Well then,” she said, “I will continue to be a Mussulmaun, because I should prefer hell and the devil without you, to heaven itself in your presence.” This anecdote was told to Mr. Martyn by Sabat himself, as a proof of the hardened spirit of his wife. Amina was, by the Arab’s own account, his seventh wife. He had some wonderful story to tell of each of his former marriages; but that which he related of his sixth wife exceeded all the rest in the marvellous and the romantic. He told this tale at Mr. Martyn’s table one evening, whilst we were at supper, during the week we lived in the house. He spoke in Persian, and Mr. 266

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Martyn interpreted what he said, and it was this he narrated:—It was on some occasion, he said, in which fortune had played him one of her worst tricks, and reduced him to a state of the most abject poverty, that he happened to arrive one night at a certain city, which was the capital of some rajah, or petty king—Sabat called this person a king. It seemed he arrived at a crisis in which the king’s only daughter had given her father some terrible offence, and in order to be revenged upon her, the father issued his commands that she should be compelled to take for her husband the first stranger who arrived in the town after sunset. This man happened to be our Arab; he was accordingly seized and subjected to the processes of bathing and anointing with precious oil. He was then magnificently dressed, introduced into the royal hall, and duly married to the princess, who proved not only to be fair as the houris,598 but to be quite prepared to love the husband whom fortune had sent her. He lived with her, he pretended, I know not how many years, and they were perfectly happy until the princess died, and he lost the favour of his majesty. I think that Sabat laid the scene of this adventure in or near Agra. But this could hardly be. That such things have been in the East, that is, that royal parents have taken such means of avenging themselves on offending daughters, is quite certain; but I cannot venture to assert that Sabat was telling the truth when he made himself the hero of the tale. Bibles at that period were most scarce and valuable in India; Annie and Sally were therefore much pleased when Mr. Martyn gave each of them a copy. His kindness to these little ones was always remarkable; he was never more at his ease than when they were hanging about him. On Sunday, 22nd October, we received the Lord’s Supper from Mr. Martyn; about fourteen of the devout men of the 53rd being present, and Francis, the eldest of my scholars in the regiment. There was one circumstance attending the celebration of the Lord’s Supper this day in Mr. Martyn’s house which I must record. Everything was prepared in a long inner verandah, which Mr. Martyn had given up for the use of the pious soldiers, and where they met every evening. Down each side, and at both ends of this verandah, were lofty doors, filled up with double shutters of green lattice work. Near the door at the farther end they had placed the table with the white cloth, and all things requisite for the service. There were hassocks to kneel upon on each side the table, and a high form marked the line beyond which the people were not to go. All this was but decent and in good order, according to the forms of the Church of England. But when Mr. Martyn took his place on the right of the table, he, no doubt with the best intention, caused Sabat to stand opposite to him on the left, in the place of a sort of deacon, or assisting minister. The fierce Arab was not more clerical than any other man present, and, alas, nothing, we since believed, could have injured this man more than thus to have set him up as a teacher of the Christians in the house. We have reason to think that he was the victim of spiritual pride. The whole of the next day we spent in the boats, settling ourselves for the voyage, and parting from Mr. Martyn, who came to call on us with other friends. Many tears were shed by the black women and children when the former left the 267

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budgerow, and stood looking upon them from the bank. But it was not till the Tuesday that we left Cawnpore. It was on the Wednesday evening we reached Dalinow, and saw an old man brought on a charpie,599 or bedstead, to the river side, to be smothered. He was not dead, but his relations had given him over, and when such is the case the poor dying man has no resource but to submit to his fate, and to suffer himself to be carried to the shores of the river; which being done, his bodily sufferings are speedily ended by stuffing his mouth, his nose, and ears, with what they call holy mud. Thus he is speedily stifled, and the body is then left on the charpie, from which the corpse is soon dragged by the jackals or birds of prey. This is one of the abominations which is continually witnessed in Hindostan, and cannot be denied by any defender of the Hindoos. Unless we had had an armed force we could not have hindered this work of death, for no expostulations, at that period, had the least power to prevent these horrors. I had received a letter from Allahabad, from Mrs. R., requesting me to leave Sally at Chunar, till she should be recovered from her confinement; so when we came in sight of the Fort, at Chunar, I had my babies washed and dressed, in order to be ready to receive Mr. Corrie, whom I knew would come down to the budgerow as soon as he heard of our arrival. He accordingly appeared immediately. If I could have given up my beloved children to any human being with confidence, that human being was Daniel Corrie. Never have I since seen, and never had I before seen, excepting in the instance of my own beloved father, such manifestations in a countenance, of that spirit of love which is directly derived from God, and by which, as far as a finite nature will allow, these two persons seemed to include all the excellencies of human nature. Benevolence beamed from the eyes of Mr. Corrie, and rendered a face not particularly handsome at times even beautiful. With his benevolence he had extraordinary humility, and yet was he not without dignity of manner and carriage. He was playful when amongst friends, but in his most playful moods he never manifested the smallest levity. He was ever engaged, even beyond his strength and means, in doing good to his fellow creatures, but with so little display and pretension that his most intimate friends hardly knew the half he did. Far, most far was it from him to take any merit to himself for any good work, and, in truth, it hardly appeared that he was ever conscious of doing more than another. His character, however, was one which the Christian world never, I think, thoroughly appreciated as it really deserved, for less has been said of him in the Missionary Registers and public papers in Europe than of some other of the leading characters of the day. I wish now most earnestly to bear my testimony, as far as it will go, to his having been in his way, which differed widely from Mr. Martyn’s, perhaps the most useful man, of the Established Church, who ever set his foot on Indian ground. But to return. When Mr. Corrie entered our boat, I brought my motherless ones to him. Oh, how kindly did this holy man welcome those orphan babies! He received them in the true spirit of his Divine Master, who said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”600 Being all prepared, I got into 268

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the palanquin. Hearing that Miss Corrie was very impatient to see the orphans, I took them both with me; Lucy, with her nurse, also accompanied us. We were carried to Mr. Corrie’s house, which was not above a quarter of a mile from the river, and situated on the left hand of the Fort, where there is an extent of open park-like country, green and fresh at that time of the year, and scattered with groups and clusters of magnificent trees. The house, which was a puckah one,601 was elevated above a very pretty hanging garden by a high flight of steps. Dear Miss Corrie, how much pleased was I with her, and how kind was she to me and mine. She was very anxious, too, to know what my plans of instruction had been with Annie, with the real view of doing her best with this motherless one. Mr. Corrie, when it was cool, drove me a little way into the interior, and I had much profitable conversation with him during this airing. One remark which he made was this, that he believed that when any one persevered in prayer for another, that prayer would finally be answered. Assuredly so, because He who inspired the prayer, and gives the faith for it, hath foreordained that it shall be answered. Before we took leave, Mr. Corrie proposed prayers and a chapter. I kissed my sweet orphans, and they were taken to bed. Sally, to the last, could not be made to understand that I was leaving her, but Annie, who was older, understood the parting better. I had prepared and dressed two European dolls, to be given them in the morning on their awaking. Those who know Mr. and Miss Corrie, will understand how soothing their kindness was to me; nor will they be surprised that all anxiety from thenceforth was at an end with me respecting Annie, for the lot of this poor babe had fallen on a fair heritage. And here the believer may trace the hand of Providence, and the depth of wisdom and goodness by which the Almighty makes even the follies of his creatures to work together for good.602 I was impatient and rebellious under the loss of my children, and hence was driven on a measure which might have destroyed the whole peace of my life; for although I had a beloved child and an infirm mother in England, yet I was leaving my husband and my appointed place to seek that which God could have given me, and did afterwards give me when restored to that place, and I may add, much more than I ever could have hoped. But the Almighty so far permitted me to follow my own devices as to go down to Calcutta, to leave Annie with Miss Corrie, to form acquaintances in Calcutta, and to tell the tale of my sorrows and anxieties respecting the orphans to the friends of religion in that presidency. The great work which was afterwards wrought for these orphans603 was at once taken in hand, not only by the church, but also by people of the world in India. God works by means, and blessed, thrice blessed, are those whom the God and Father of all men employs as the agents of any present good. Before parting, Miss Corrie kindly told me “That if Mrs. R. should not be able to take to Sally, she would protect her;” for her brother had said to her, “He should not dislike to have both children always under his roof.” Excellent man! true child of God! these little ones had already so won his affection that he would gladly have adopted them both. We had expected to have met a carriage from 269

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Mrs. R. at the ghaut604 at Benares, but were disappointed, owing to the following circumstance:—A week before our arrival a most violent quarrel had occurred in Benares between the Hindoos and Mussulmauns,605 in which three hundred and fifteen persons were said to have been killed in one day, two hundred of whom were Mahometans. The quarrel arose in this way. A certain Hindoo happened to find a little image in the ground; a circumstance which might well happen at this principal seat of idolatry, Benares. Having made this wonderful acquisition, he resolved to make it his god; accordingly he raised a little clay platform, whereupon he placed it, and over it he built a shed of straw. To this he made his daily poojah,606 or worship, vowing that if it would be his god and send him a child he would built it a puckah house607 to dwell in. In course of time he had a child, and of course the poor deluded Hindoo considered the birth of his son to be an answer to his prayer. He immediately resolved to perform his vow, but had not considered that the land on which he had erected his idol-house was not his own; it appertained to a Mussulmaun mosque. The little shed had been so low under the wall that it had never been observed by the priests of the mosque; but when the devotee was beginning to prepare his puckah house, the attention of the followers of Mahomet was drawn to the abomination, and they at first expostulated with the Hindoo. Of course, between two such parties, it cannot be supposed that the words used on either side would be particularly mild. There is hardly a language on earth which is more abundant in grossly abusive terms than the Hindostanee, and no people better skilled in the use of what they call Gallee than these people. We may suppose, then, how each party provoked the other on the occasion above described; and the next thing done by the enraged Mussulmauns was that they called an assembly, and in the fury of their zeal they resolved upon killing a sacred cow, one accounted by the Hindoos a divinity, which being done, they sprinkled the blood over the place of worship, thus making it to be considered defiled for ever—though it might be asked how the blood of a divinity could possibly have this defiling effect in the opinion of the worshippers. This first outrage having been effected, the Mahommedans determined to destroy all the idols throughout the city. Their next attempt was against a celebrated stone608 which was said to have fallen from heaven during some former age, and to which was attached this superstition, that it was to exist as long as the Hindoo religion and the Hindoo castes endured. It had been observed of this stone that its size had considerably diminished during the few years which had passed before the affair we are speaking of occurred; an idea which, however absurd it may be in one sense, is remarkable in another, as it agrees with a persuasion entertained by the Hindoos in general, and often expressed by them to the Europeans, that the time was coming in which all nations would be of one opinion as it regarded religion, or, to use their own terms, as one flock of sheep instead of many. It was further said of this same sacred stone, that when Aurungzebe609 destroyed many of the Hindoo temples at Benares, he attempted to destroy this palladium also by firing his guns at it; but the shot had recoiled from it upon his troops, and killed a thousand men. Others asserted that curious beasts came out of it and cut one hundred soldiers to pieces, making him 270

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prudently to desist from his impious attempt. Notwithstanding the fate of the one thousand moguls and the history of the curious beasts, the enraged Mussulmauns were bent upon the destruction of this same marvellous stone. They piled wood upon it, and, having set fire to the wood, they killed another cow, and threw the blood, mixed with water, upon it when it was hot, the consequence of which was that it split into many pieces, and lay a broken and blackened ruin. The infuriated zealots next proceeded to attack the Hindoo temples, one of which they destroyed; but the Sepoys610 arrived in time to save the one which had been, according to the Hindoo traditions, built before the flood; for had this been destroyed, it is feared that the Hindoos would have been in civil war for years. The Hindoos now began to collect in masses, and as it is calculated that in Benares there are one hundred of them to every ten Mussulmaun, they drove their enemies away, murdering every individual they could find, forcing their way into houses and beating out the brains of the little children against the stones. In fact these fierce idolators acted like devils in their fury, and in justice it should be told that during this trial of strength the Mussulmauns were in no case guilty of like wanton cruelties, as indeed they are found also to be the mildest when in power. The Hindoos pulled down one mosque, which was dedicated to Fatima,611 and killed pigs in all to pollute them.612 The only thing which saved the noble one built by Aurungzebe was the dread of pulling the minarets on their heads. Whilst they were considering how the destruction of this fine building could be safely effected, the Sepoys, as I said above, arrived, and compelled the mob to desist from their purposed mischief. It was curious, as those who were present told us, to observe the awe inspired by the regular troops, fourteen of whom put to flight thousands of men completely armed, and quiet was restored in that quarter with the death of only one Sepoy. The rioters had attempted the house of the princes, the children of the eldest son of the late Emperor Shah Allum;613 and as the inhabitants of this house were unprepared, the assailants had got within the gates, but the servants killed one of them, and providentially succeeded in shutting the gates, and so keeping the others out. It must be remarked that all the houses of natives of high rank in India are fortifications. But to return to our visit at Benares. The people were not then calm, and all the Mahomedans were hidden. It is a blessing that the respect and fear of the English is a control over both parties. The English go between them without fear. Mr. Wilberforce Bird, the son of Mr. Bird, late M.P. for Coventry, and a friend of my grandfather’s, was the acting assistant magistrate, and was much employed during the riots. He behaved most judiciously and courageously. The shops in Benares were all shut, and no persons except soldiers were allowed to go armed into the city. Our host, Mr. R., had the care of the wounded, and the tales of cruelty which he told us were fearful in the extreme. A woman, he said, was then in jail for throwing her own child into a well, and the reason she gave for this fearful deed was, that some neighbour having offended her, she killed the child that its ghost might haunt her enemy. Again, he told us as a known and positive fact, that there is a Poojah, a religious festival, in which two of the handsomest children which 271

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can be found about ten years of age are made to personate the deities.614 After the ceremony they are not suffered to live, and are never seen again; yet with this fact before their eyes, the Hindoo parent prefers the honour which is accounted as done to his family by having a beautiful child chosen from it—first, for exaltation, and then for destruction—to retaining him beneath his roof, and seeing him growing up to man’s estate. It is impossible, in a nominal Christian country even, to conceive half the horrors of idolatry. But while Mr. Sherwood was gathering all the information that he could learn of this lamentable city of destruction, I found poor Mrs. R. in a most uncomfortable situation. She was hourly expecting her confinement, yet without hope, or at least with little hope of doing well. Some weeks before she had been paying a morning visit, and as she was returning home through the verandah, two young tigers, pets of the master of the house, came bounding upon her. The creatures were but half grown, and were, as yet, harmless; but they were both far too large to play with. The master, who had reared them from cubs, had not observed their growth, and it was well, perhaps for him, though not for poor Mrs. R., that she met with this alarm. He was exceedingly sorry, but the mischief was done, and could not be repaired. She had made great preparations for her expected baby; she had dressed out a cradle of delicate basket-work, with rose-coloured China gauze, and silk rosettes, with a beautiful mattress and pillows, and the finest linen. Added to all this was a most elegant assortment of baby-clothes, for no expense and trouble had been spared. I was introduced into Mrs. R.’s sleeping-room, and found her in bed and very much depressed. I had my little Lucy with me; my baby was asleep, and she directed me to lay her in the beautiful cradle, which was in an inner room. As I placed her in it, the rose-coloured curtains cast a soft glow on her fair cheek, but my heart sank, for I felt that that bed would never be occupied by the child for whom it was intended. On the morning of the 28th of November we reached Calcutta, and came to anchor. The appearance of the shipping through which we made our way, reminded us in a smaller degree of London, and filled me with fear on account of the long voyage before me. Mr. Sherwood’s first business, when arrived, was to look out a vessel to convey me and my baby to England. He soon learnt that there were four ships so nearly ready to sail that the captains had gone on board, and that in two days at the latest the fleet would sail. The agent strongly recommended “The Ocean,” and told us that if we dropped down to Saugur the next day, in the evening, we should be in time. Whilst my husband was thus engaged, I remember that I was looking out on the busy scene on the water. An East Indiaman615 was lying in view, with the flying figure at the head. I saw the English sailors busy about, and goods of various kinds handed up the side in all the fervour of preparation, but, to add to my misery, the sight of these things had such an effect on the white woman, Mrs. Wiley, I had brought with me, by her own desire, from Cawnpore, that she suddenly declared that she would not return with me. When Mr. Sherwood came in from the agent’s, he had been bargaining for a cabin in “The Ocean,” but the captain’s brother only 272

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being in Calcutta, he was not empowered to conclude the arrangement, though he promised an answer in the evening. The captain’s brother had asked five thousand rupees for a cabin; but he had added, that if we would drop down to the Indiaman in the morning—for “The Ocean” had left Calcutta—he had no doubt that when his brother the captain saw us he would take us in for the four thousand. The brother said that he was not authorised to close the bargain under five thousand. Had we closed it, it must have been paid at all risks. We were expecting an answer from the captain’s brother all the evening; and had it come, and been favourable, as I was ready, it was our intention to have dropped down to the ship the next morning. Such was the state of things when I was obliged to tell Mr. Sherwood of Mrs. Wiley’s refusal to go on with me. Deeply, then, were we distressed every way; and that evening, finding how my husband objected to our separation, I proposed, I hope under the guidance of God, that I certainly would not go by “The Ocean,” but that we would, at any rate, decline closing with the captain of that vessel, even should we find him willing to take our offer. We agreed, too, that we would the next day take the advice of one of the medical men in Calcutta respecting the constitutions of our children, and the necessity of taking the present little one to a colder climate. Oh, my God! my Father! and my Friend! How can I sufficiently thank Thee, O Lord, for Thy goodness to me in this instance; for Thine infinite kindness in thus removing the film from my eyes, and showing me the way I should go, ere yet I had taken that step which was so decidedly against my duty. Oh! who can tell what might have been the consequences had I been permitted to have gone, following my own devices, until I had made full shipwreck of all our domestic happiness. Oh! let me warn all wives to consider what I have here said. It was a happy breakfast next morning after this determination, and when it was over I wrote to Mr. Scholbred,616 who was accounted one of the first medical men, in the cases of children, then in the Presidency. This Mr. Scholbred was the husband of the sister of Mrs. Piercy, of our regiment. As Mr. Sherwood had had it in his power, as paymaster, greatly to serve Captain Piercy, Mr. Scholbred was, as it turned out, prepared to show us much kindness. We wrote to request to see him, and were in great agitation till he came. But before he arrived we heard from the captain of “The Ocean,” who offered me, my child, and servant, a passage in his vessel for four thousand rupees. The offer was a remarkably good one. Mr. Sherwood was deeply affected by this, but I decidedly said—we would decline it. If I had accepted it I must have set out immediately. Had that offer been made the day before, and had not Mrs. Wiley changed her mind as to going on with me, I probably should have accepted it, and left all that was dear to me in India. As soon as possible Mr. Scholbred came, and we had the satisfaction of having his opinion, and that of another eminent physician, Dr. Russell, entirely in favour of our keeping the child in the country some years at least. It was by Mr. Scholbred’s advice that Dr. Russell was consulted. It seems that Mrs. Piercy had given the cases of our two former children to her sister, and Mr. Scholbred, in consequence, did not choose to take the responsibility wholly on himself. Dr. Russell’s 273

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opinion, however, coincided with his; and it is a pleasure to me to say how much obliged we were to the liberality of both these kind gentlemen, for they both refused all remuneration. When our most friendly doctor, Mr. Scholbred, had left us, and we had got the other opinion, we were indeed happy; and to this day, although many years have since passed, the recollection of our happiness is still as fresh as ever. Oh! what a weight of woe was removed; what a contrast was that evening with the one which had gone before. So violent, however, had been my agitation during the late few hours, that my head gave me much pain. After a few days my hair began to drop off in large quantities; it returned, however, quite fresh, and of as good a colour as before, a few weeks after. With what joy, what peace of mind, did we prepare to go up the country, and Mr. Sherwood began to look about him for a pinnace, the budgerow in which we had come down the river having been much injured at Allahabad, and was otherwise old and inconvenient. He soon met with what he desired, an elegant pinnace, which differs from a budgerow in many particulars; and has, among other agreeable peculiarities, windows in the stern. In an incredibly short time, this pinnace having been brought alongside our budgerow, the servants passed all our goods and chattels through the windows, our little crook-backed Babouk being most active on the occasion, the small man being very well pleased at the idea of my going back, for, as he used to say, he had seen all the Sahib’s children born. The white woman was also pleased, and as she had not the delicacy to be aware of her past conduct, we passed it over.

CHAPTER XXII. OUR REMOVAL FROM CALCUTTA, AND ANCHORING FOR TWO DAYS—OUR NEW ACQUAINTANCES—VISIT TO MR. THOMASON’S—THE REV. DAVID BROWNE—THE BOTANIC GARDEN—CRUDEN’S CONCORDANCE—OUR JOURNEY TO CAWNPORE—MEETING WITH MR. R.—VISIT TO MR. CORRIE AT CHUNAR. IN a very short time we were established in our handsome and commodious abode, our elegant pinnace; and having laid in provisions, we dropped down the river just so far as to clear all houses, and to be anchored on a quiet and solitary shore, where we remained two days. Let not any one assert that there is not such a thing as happiness in this present life. Our heavenly Father does indeed, and in truth, sometimes give us a foretaste of heavenly bliss; at least, so much as may assist us to anticipate what our feelings may and will be when death shall be swallowed up in victory, through the grace of our all-conquering Redeemer. It is impossible to give an idea of our peace, our joy, our delight, during the two days we passed on 274

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that solitary shore; we who had so long anticipated a fearful separation. I remember even now our walks upon that quiet beach, our baby being carried by a black nurse by our side, our little, fair, and smiling Lucy. During those two days I wrote to Miss Corrie and Mrs. R., anxiously desiring to have my orphans, my adopted ones, again. But we did not think of remaining in Calcutta for answers; we proposed calling to take them up on our way. On the 1st of December Mr. Sherwood went from our quiet resting-place to the bazaar in Calcutta, and purchased many things which were wanting for the voyage up again to the provinces, for which we discovered we needed as much as for a short sea voyage. He had determined to commence our journey up the country immediately, but this was not to be; we were to be introduced to many of the excellent people in Calcutta, and it was assuredly for our refreshment in our pilgrimage that it was to be so. On the 2nd Mr. Sherwood, being again in Calcutta, called on the Rev. Mr. Thomason,617 minister of the New Church. I can compare the little religious society at that time in Calcutta to nothing else than a very happy family, the children of which had long been separated, and had then but lately found each other united together again, enjoying a beloved parent’s smiles, and rejoicing in the consciousness of his great love and Divine power. I have never seen in any body of Christians, nor probably ever shall see again while this life lasts, such full and perfect reliance upon the Divine will as was evinced in that little church of the children of the Holy One. The Rev. David Browne,618 who had been the minister of what was called “The Missionary Church” in Calcutta, was then gone to Aldeen, near Serampore. Mr. Thomason, who had lately come to India, now filled the place Mr. Browne had vacated, and, with his wife and children, resided in the house of the minister, near the church. Another most eminent Christian, a Mr. Myers, an old and most excellent man, and his wife and daughter, lived near and were kindred spirits to them. Mr. Thomason was a friend of Mr. Martyn’s, and, knowing us well by report, he insisted on our going with him, and passing a few days at a country house which had been lent to him at Garden Reach, and in which he was residing whilst his own was under repair. We could not refuse his warm solicitations, and, having left our retreat, we came up to our old station on the river, and proceeded to the house with our baby and Mrs. Wiley in the evening. Mr. Thomason’s house was within the court of the New Church, and opposite the end of the court were several apartments which joined to the church, and which were always occupied by Mr. Browne when he came from Aldeen. We found a party of ladies assembled at tea, after which every one repaired to the church. It was a custom adopted by Mr. Thomason once a week to examine the European children or Christian children of half-blood whom he could collect in the church. The subject of his last Sunday’s sermon was the subject for examination, and, to enable them to answer the better, he had always some of the principal points of the discourse printed each week in form of question and answer, and distributed amongst the children. About that time he was preaching a series of 275

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discourses on obedience to parents, and the duty of enforcing this obedience. It was a sweet and affecting sight to me to see so many fair English children, all of them elegantly dressed, standing round the desk and answering the good man’s questions. Of these very few now live. We slept that night at Mr. Thomason’s, and though the house was of good size, it was as full as a hive of bees. Besides the sleeping inmates, visitors were dropping in at every meal, merely making calls, with Moonshees, Pundits, persons desiring religious instruction, and native servants in great numbers. We sat down at every meal to a very long table, profusely provided. The conversation at this hospitable board always ran upon religious subjects and on plans for doing good. On Sunday we had two services, and, when I say it was nearly five years since we had seen a church or heard a church-bell, it may be imagined what were our feelings on the occasion. On the Monday, after breakfast, Mr. Thomason and his guests came down to our pinnace, which was lying off the Esplanade, and we dropped down altogether in it to Garden Reach, the first house of which is distant a very little way from Calcutta. Whilst in our pinnace, Mrs. Thomason, happening to see amongst our books my “Susan Grey,”619 exclaimed with great delight how much she liked that book when in England, and she asked us “if we knew who had written it.” When I told her, it seemed a new subject of interest between us. Garden Reach consists of a long extent of houses belonging to the great civilians of Calcutta, and the house to which we were bound was six miles down the river. Our party at Garden Reach was much the same as it had been at Calcutta, but I had more opportunities of witnessing the Christian graces of dear Mrs. Thomason, and I doubt not but that she shortened her life by her exertions in the cause of her faith. When she died, she left behind her few who had been enabled to manifest, whilst in the flesh, so enlarged a kindness for all classes of human beings. She was formed to take a part in the blessed work that was then going on in India, and having taken that part and done her task, she was called away to rest in peace. It was our intention to have left our friends on the 12th, but we were so much pressed to stay, that we consented to remain a week with them in Calcutta. During this week Mr. Sherwood went across the river to the botanic gardens,620 and called at Dr. Roxbury’s, who gave him four pots of strawberries to take up the country, which he did. Before that time strawberries were not known in the Indian provinces, but they are now abundant. One day during this week that most excellent of men, the Rev. David Browne, came over to see us from his country house at Aldeen, near Serampore. Mr. Browne was a fine, tall, handsome, dark man, with a countenance beaming with Christian charity. This was the only time I ever saw him. I had much conversation, whilst at Calcutta, with Mr. and Mrs. Thomason, respecting the state of the white orphan children of poor Europeans in India. I opened my heart especially to dear Mrs. Thomason, and did not pour forth my feelings into the ears of the deaf; for from that time her mind was led to work on the subject, and we shall in the sequel see that, through these means,—these 276

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humble, unostentatious means—that provision was made which these forlorn ones required, in a mauner which no person could then have anticipated. On Monday, the 18th of December, we took leave of our dear friends in Calcutta, after many blessings on each side. As we stood in the portico Mr. Thomason suddenly ran into the house, and came out with a quarto Cruden’s Concordance,621 which he presented to me. I cannot say what a treasure that book was, even then, to me, or how valuable I have since found it. At the same time a number of books were put into our trunks, to carry up to Patna, to a Mrs. Hawkins, the wife of a great civilian there, with a letter of introduction if we chose to use it, which we did. And to this package was added the welcome privilege of opening it and reading the books on our way. During my voyage I had much leisure, which I had not in Calcutta, to cultivate the affections of my baby, my fair and gentle Lucy, the little pivot, as Mr. Thomason used to call her, on which all our late great movements had turned. She was a sweet, mild, smiling baby, very, very fair, with light brown hair. In her I seemed to have found again all the children I had lost. Our Lucy dear was lent to me for many happy years, and still is present with me in every hope I enjoy of future happiness. I know that I shall find her again when I am perfected in my Redeemer’s image; for “I shall be satisfied when I awake in His likeness.”622 I was not without employment during my journey, neither was Mr. Sherwood. Every morning, after breakfast, he used to read to me many chapters in the Bible, whilst I sewed. We then looked for texts, compared passages by our new Cruden, and both of us wrote down verses applicable to a set of lessons on history and prophecy which I was writing for my children, and which I still have by me. Oh, that was a happy life, after the miseries we had suffered! It was about two o’clock on the fourteenth day after our leaving Calcutta, as we were tracking slowly up the right bank of the stream, being in the principal branch of the Ganges, that notice was given of the approach of a budgerow, bearing a European family from the upper country. When Europeans thus meet, there is always a ceremony of hailing each other. Mr. Sherwood was out in a moment on the fore-deck, and as the up-country boat glided rapidly by us with the stream, he hailed the gentleman on the deck, and found him to be Mr. R., of Benares, on his way to the presidency, with his lady, his little son, and the orphan Sally. There was not time for more to be said than that Mr. R. would stop as soon as possible, and that we would try to meet when come to anchor; for Mr. R. could not stop his rapid downward course easily, nor indeed until the two boats were at least a mile distant. As had been anticipated, Mrs. R. had been disappointed in her hopes of a living baby to occupy her beautiful cradle, and she was going down to Calcutta to renew her health and spirits. No sooner was our pinnace come to anchor than Mr. Sherwood, taking a small boat that we always had with us, and two or three men, dropped down to Mr. R.’s boat to inquire for little Sally, being earnestly charged by me to get her back if possible. I was anxious till he returned with the child, and then he told me that 277

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the little girl had been so restless, and had so pined after me, that it was thought advisable she should come to me at once. Poor Mrs. R. was wholly incapable of attending to the orphan, for she was in feeble health; indeed, I cannot think she ever recovered that illness at Benares which was thought to be occasioned by the alarm of the young tigers, as she died in Calcutta not very long afterwards. We passed the mouth of the Caramnassa623 river, which flows from the west, and is accounted as impure as the Ganges is esteemed holy; insomuch so, that if a pilgrim, returning from any of the holy places to the south, should accidentally touch its waters, all his former labours would be of no avail. Such are the absurdities of the superstitious. On the same day Mr. Sherwood observed a large tree on the high bank, with its roots worn bare by the stream at high water, and threatening to fall during the next rains into the bed of the stream. Mr. Sherwood observed to one of the boatmen, “that if that tree were then cut down, it might save many a boat next year.” The man answered, “that it was a divinity, and must not be touched.” It was probably one of those kinds which these poor ignorant people account not only holy, but divine. At twelve o’clock on the 9th of February we reached Chunar, where we purposed visiting Mr. and Miss Corrie, and expected to take up our little Annie. Oh! how different were the feelings with which I now approached that place to those which I had had when I saw it last. We had scarcely obtained a sight of the landing place, when we saw Mr. Corrie’s palanquins waiting to take us up to his hospitable house. We landed, all impatience, and were carried, not to the same place where I had left my little girls, but to some old house near the fort, Mr. Corrie was under orders for Agra, and had parted with his pretty domain, having provided himself with only a temporary residence—a wide, dark, dilapidated bungalow, only half furnished. With what affection did little Annie rush into my arms, and into those of her beloved Sally! How kindly did my dear Miss Corrie receive me! She was ever to me like the friend and sister of former years. Mr. Corrie was not in the house when we arrived; but when he entered, and saw us, he hailed our presence with unfeigned delight, expressing his pleasure in seeing us all again together. But hardly had he looked at us, before he inquired anxiously for the baby. “Where is Lucy Elizabeth?” he said. He was under fear that this little one too had been taken from her parents. She was in an adjoining suite of rooms, which Miss Corrie had already appropriated to us. In a moment after he understood where the baby was, he passed the door, and appeared again with her in his arms, tossing her up, and setting the little fair creature, then only eight months old, to laugh, and crow, and dance as he raised her in the air. That was indeed a joyful meeting, and the memory of it will remain with me, perhaps, beyond this present existence. But to return to little Annie. I could not have looked at her for one moment, in the presence of her adopted parents, without beholding in her a happy child at home. Pale and delicate she always was; but there was peace in the expression of her dove-like eye, and content in all her movements. Her dress was neat to perfection, consisting of white muslin, without ornament, and her hair was nicely 278

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arranged. She dined with Sally at a little low table which had been purchased for her; she had also a small arm chair. Her green box was still precious, but her small possessions were increased to the utmost of her simple desires. And when, after dinner, the children had gone into another room, she became the subject of our conversation, and we offered to take her, nay, were even anxious so to do; the Christian brother and sister both looked so unhappy that we desisted in our request. “We love her” said Mr. Corrie; “she is a sweet and gentle child, and so intelligent, that she is already a companion to my sister, and her solace in many a lonely hour of the long, hot Indian day. She sleeps in her room, she is her constant companion; she reads to her, she finds sweet verses to show to her, and we would gladly keep her; still, we must not insist upon it. Though she would like to go with you, we feel she would be grieved to part with us. You have other children, and many other calls for your compassion.” Thus spoke Mr. Corrie, and we thought that we should have really injured the child had we pressed the point; and we had no right to do it. Parting her from Sally was the only difficulty. She had, it seemed, pined much after her when Sally went first to Benares—often bursting into tears in the midst of her work or play, and crying, “Oh! I am sorry for Sally! I am sorry for Sally!” But our little Annie had become used to be without her sister by adoption, and the bitterness of the separation was in some degree passed. It was evidently with an important purpose that this child was taken from me by Miss Corrie, as will appear in the sequel. Whilst we were at Chunar, on the 10th and 11th, the hot winds began to be so strong that we were advised to get tatties for our budgerow. We also heard that the regiment was returned to head-quarters—Cawnpore. On the 12th we left Chunar; the wind was very hot, and one side of our budgerow was darkened by tatties, some one being always employed to draw water from the river, and throw it on them. An awning, too, was raised over the roof, under which the bearers and other idle servants reposed. I think that this was the only time in which we ever travelled in the hot winds; and it was not many days that we were exposed to this very uncomfortable situation, in which we could do nothing but lie down, and perhaps read.

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CHAPTER XXIII. THE

CIVILIAN’S FAMILY AT MIRZAPORE—MISS LOUISA—THE OLD AYAH’S ADVICE—OUR

RETURN TO CAWNPORE—THE DHAYE’S CHILD—MR. MARTYN AND THE FAKEERS—

ABDOOL MUSSEEH—THE DEATH OF THE DHAYE’S CHILD AND LITTLE CHARLES

SUNDERLAND.

WE reached Mirzapore two days after leaving Chunar, and here we had an opportunity of seeing the proceedings of a true Indian family, a civilian of great opulence. Though we slept in our boat I could not leave the children there, and, therefore, we brought them up, and located little Miss Lucy and her attendants in the nursery of our friend, who had, besides two or three children at school in England, one daughter, Miss Louisa, whom we had seen before, and three very little ones. These children had the whole of a wing of the large house devoted to themselves and their attendants; for each child had two or more servants to itself, not counting the washerman, sweepers, bullock drivers, silver-stick bearers,624 cooks, &c., &c., which that portion of the house needed. Over all these was a large, tall, consequential, superbly dressed, high salaried, white woman, probably some sergeant’s widow, who sat in state, gave her orders, and talked in superlatives. Woe was there to those who did not pay her the respect she thought due to herself. Under this person was an Ayah, or head nurse, a black woman, who had lived long with the lady of the mansion, and who no doubt felt the yoke of the white woman anything but easy. My own white woman, Mrs. Wiley, however, here found a fellow creature, and one to whom she looked up as the very ultimatum of all that was desirable. The civilian’s lady herself, who was a very gentle, timid person, seemed to be in some awe of the mistress paramount of her nursery. I can fancy I see this tyrant now, in her smart head-tire, seated in her elbow chair, issuing her commands in Anglo-Hindostanee, and scarcely condescending to bow to her lady’s visitors. But there were three babies, as near to each other in age as possible, and this was to me a sight of the deepest interest, for the children looked well, and the little one was so fat that they had put rows of pearls about her little neck to prevent the creases occasioned by the plumpness from galling. To learn how these little ones were managed was so important to me that I would have borne any insolence to obtain information. Each person who had anything to do in the nursery way agreed that wet-nurses must be had for delicate children in India, even if the white mother was able to nurse her children for a time.625 “But the wetnurse’s baby,” I remarked; “what can be done for the little black infant?” “Oh!” replied the amiable white woman, “something handsome is always paid for their being reared; but they commonly die.” “My lady,” she added, “has had six nurses for different children, and the babies have one and all died.” “Died!” I remember 280

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I exclaimed, “but this is murder.” She answered coolly, “But this can’t be helped; the mothers never fret after them. Whenever they nurse a white baby they cease to care for their own; they say, ‘White child is good; black child his slave.’ ” I still inquired “whether this might not be avoided?” “Only,” she answered, “by a lady taking the trouble of keeping the infant within her compound, and seeing it daily.” I was not content with talking to the white nurse upon the subject of rearing children. I had a long conversation with the old Ayah. The advice she gave me was so important that I ever afterwards acted upon it whilst in India. She looked at my little fair Lucy, who had not then a sign of a tooth, and, though in good health, was delicately fair, and without a shade of colour, so that a baby form cut in Carara marble626 could not have been whiter than she was. “When you reach your home,” said the old Ayah, “you must get a Dhaye (nurse)627 for the little Beebee (lady), and keep that Dhaye with her till she has cut every tooth. Do not force or tempt her to eat; let her live entirely, if she pleases, on her milk, and, God willing, you will rear her. So do with all the children you may have hereafter, for bones made of milk are good.” I made up my mind to follow this advice, and to mothers in India it may prove very valuable. I must now proceed to some description of Miss Louisa, the eldest daughter then in India of our friends, who at that time might have been about six or seven. She was tall of her age, very brown, and very pale. She had been entirely reared in India, and was accustomed from her earliest infancy to be attended by a multitude of servants, whom she despised thoroughly as being black, although, no doubt, she preferred their society to her own country people, as they administered, with much flattery and servility, to her wants. Wherever she had moved during these first years of her life, she had been followed by her Ayah, and probably by one or two bearers, and she was perfectly aware that if she got into any mischief they would be blamed, and not herself. In the meantime, except in the article of food, every desire, and every caprice, and every want had been indulged to satiety. No one who has not seen it could imagine the profusion of toys which are scattered about an Indian house wherever the Babalogue (children people)628 are permitted to range. There may be seen—fine polished and painted toys from Benares, in which all the household utensils of the country, the fruits, and even the animals, are represented, the last most ludicrously incorrect. Toys in painted clay from Morshedabad and Calcutta, representing figures of gods and goddesses, with horses, camels, elephants, peacocks, and parrots, and now and then a Tope Walla,629 or hat wearer, as they call the English, in full regimentals and cockedhat, seated on an ill-formed, clumsy thing, meant for a horse. Then add to these English, French, and Dutch toys, which generally lie pell-mell in every corner where the listless, toy-satiated child may have thrown or kicked them. The quantity of inner and outer garments worn by a little girl in England would render it extremely fatiguing to change the dress so often as our little ladies are required to do in India. Miss Louisa’s attire consisted of a single garment, a frock 281

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body without sleeves, attached to a pair of trousers, with rather a short, full skirt gathered into the body with the trousers, so as to form one whole, the whole being ruffled with the finest jindelly,630 a cloth which is not unlike cambric, every ruffle being plaited in the most delicate manner. These ruffles are doubled and trebled on the top of the arm, forming there a substitute for a sleeve, and the same is done around the ancle, answering the purpose almost of a stocking, or at least concealing its absence. Fine coloured kid shoes ought to have completed this attire, but it most often happened that these were kicked away among the rejected toys. How many times in the day the dress of Miss Louisa was renewed, who shall say? It, however, depended much upon the accidents which might happen to it, but four times was the usual arrangement, which was once before breakfast, once after, once again before tiffin, and once again for the evening airing. The child, being now nearly seven years old, was permitted to move about the house independently of her Ayah; thus, she was sometimes in the hall, sometimes in the verandah, sometimes in one room, sometimes in another. In an Indian house in the hot season no inner door is ever shut, and curtains only are hung in the doorways, so that this little wild one was in and out and every where just as it hit her fancy. She had never been taught even to know her letters; she had never been kept to any task; she was a complete slave of idleness, restlessness, and ennui. “It is time for Louisa to go to England,” was quietly remarked by the parents, and no one present controverted the point. As to little Sally, she seemed perfectly terrified by this child, and kept close by me. The lady of the house, it should be told, suffered as much as any European who yet lived, could do, from the influence of the climate. She appeared to be a complete victim to languor and ennui. She had not the bodily strength of controlling either children or servants; she seemed to have lost all motive of action, all power of exertion. She had few books, and scarcely ever heard any news of her own people, of whom she saw scarce one in a year, and apparently she took little interest in the natives. Hers was, indeed, but a common picture, which might represent hundreds of her country people in the same situation. There is no solitude like the solitude of a civilian’s lady in a retired situation in India. We left after two days’ visit, proceeding for twenty-one days more, when we came within view of Cawnpore. Our long, long voyage terminated under a high conker bank,631 on the summit of which was our assistant surgeon’s bungalow, or rather I should say bungalows, for there were two, connected by a long gallery or passage, with walls of unbaked brick. By mutual arrangement, he kindly let us have the whole of the smaller bungalow, and on the Monday morning we sent up all our furniture from the boats, which was placed, without any trouble of ours, just as we would have it, in the empty bungalow. It was the season for the beginning of the hot winds, and most thankful were we for this refuge. Behold us then again established, in a certain degree; keeping to our own side of the house, as it were, without any trouble to our hosts, for thus we manage things in India. Our old friends were soon about us, congratulating us on our 282

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return, and I believe sincerely glad to see us again—my pupils and their parents especially, who were amongst the most foremost to welcome us; for there had been no school in the regiment since we had left Cawnpore, and no hope of one till our return. Of those in the higher ranks who rejoiced most at my remaining in India, was dear Mrs. Mawby, Mrs. Pircy, and, last named but not least beloved, Mr. Henry Martyn, who came the very first evening on horseback, with his coat, as he always wore it, hanging like a saddle over his horse’s back, to sup with us, and tell us how full of joy he was. “He had wanted fellow countrymen,” he said, “during our absence,” and, to use his own words, “had felt he had been dwelling in the tents of Kedar.”632 He looked, we thought, very ill, and often complained of what he called a fire burning in his breast. We remained ten days in our kind friends’, Mr. and Mrs. Millar’s, bungalow, during which time Mr. Sherwood was looking for a house, and he had some difficulty in finding a suitable one. I had resolved, ever since my conversation with the old Ayah, to procure a wet-nurse for my little Lucy. A respectable woman offered herself, and was approved. I took every possible precaution for her baby, promising money if care was taken and the child reared. The mother selected the nurse, and was far better satisfied than I was. I gave orders that the child of the nurse should be brought to me every day. I hid myself then for a time from my own dear Lucy, and had the pleasure to find that my little one was soon reconciled to her foster-mother. It is touching to see the European babe hanging on the breast of the black woman, and testifying towards her all the tenderness which is due to its own mother. It is not uncommon to see the delicate, fair hand stroking the swarthy face of the foster-parent, and even to observe that foster-mother smiling upon the child, really, I believe, usually feeling for it unfeigned and unextinguishable love. During the latter part of this month we had the pleasure of Mr. Martyn’s company continually. He was urging me to learn Hebrew. He usually came in just before tea time, and, if Lucy was not gone to rest, took her in his arms, and had always a something to say to Sally. He was with us during a most tremendous touffan,633 and no one who has not been in a tropical region can, I think, imagine what these storms are. The wind roars, and howls, and whistles, as if bearing terrible voices on its wings, and bursts, every now and then, with such fury, that one expects to see the roof of the house torn up, or the walls giving way. We had a curious conversation on the subject. There was a hollow, fearful whistling, like human voices, in the blast; and Mr. Martyn said, “It was often in his mind, that the prince of the power of the air634 was permitted to inflict,635 not only all storms and tempests, but all diseases and sufferings on man in the flesh.” He brought forward passages in the book of Job, and many other texts, to prove this opinion. Mr. Martyn’s conversation was always upon subjects of general and never ceasing interest. Neither the gossip, or even the politics, much less the gains and losses of this present time, seemed to enter into his thoughts, in consequence of which his society had a perpetual influence in elevating the minds of his hearers, and filling them with ideas to dwell upon when alone. “Mr. Martyn’s mind,” observes his biographer in his printed memoirs, “closed as it was against trifling vanities, was 283

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ever open and alive to many of those subjects which arrest the attention and interest the curiosity of men of science and research, and which form one great source of intellectual gratification. While the moral depravity of Shiraz chiefly occupied his thoughts and aroused his commiseration, he could find also a mournful pleasure in musing over the fallen grandeur of Persepolis.” I remember my dear mother once gave me a red morocco account-book, on the first page of which she wrote, “Let your conversation be without covetousness.”636 Most deep was the impression this made upon me, through the Divine blessing, and often since have I been led to observe how very full of covetousness the conversation even of the best people often is. How common it is to say, “I wish I had this,” or, “I wish I had that,” thus awakening and strengthening in their own minds and those of their hearers those feelings of covetousness to which another name is given in Scripture. But no one could leave Mr. Martyn’s company without feeling, more than before, the importance of the things of another world, though I do not say that I think all his views of religion were decidedly clear. When I awoke on the morning of the 4th of May I heard that the Dhaye’s baby was come, brought for my inspection. I thought it did not look well. I was sorry for this poor child, and sent for another nurse for it. I did feel deeply for the little creature, whose milk my Lucy enjoyed, and I have no doubt that I was deceived in respect to that baby, and that the nurse provided by the mother probably had no support for her. I grew more capable of managing when the next occasion of the kind occurred. I made another attempt, however, to change the nurse of the Dhaye’s child, but the mother did not seem to wish me to interfere. Whilst uneasy for this child, I commenced a story called “Little Henry and his Bearer,”637 for I was thinking much of the poor natives of India, and their religious necessities. From the earliest period of Mr. Martyn’s arrival at Cawnpore he had collected all the pious soldiers, as has been stated before, and he was trying to get a place for them for public worship. It was very remarkable that the building fixed upon for this purpose was a large, empty bungalow, in the very next compound to his own house. This bungalow was in preparation when we returned. They commenced placing pews and benches, and erecting a pulpit and reading-desk, and thus eventually a very respectable and convenient place of worship was prepared, although Mr. Martyn remained only to see it opened. But before it was opened, however, a part of the building afforded a convenient place for the meetings of the pious soldiers and a few persons of the higher ranks who longed for something like public worship. In the church compound there was a small puckah house, the former use of which we know not; but I cast my eyes upon it, and asked Mr. Martyn if he would permit me to have it for the orphan children of the regiment then in the barracks, the girls especially who were without mothers. Mr. Martyn’s school of native boys had proceeded prosperously during the cold season, and he had brought it nearer to himself, whilst he filled his domain with Moonshees, Pundits, and native Christians, and all sorts of odd people; some of whom, when he left Cawnpore, he added to his brother Corrie’s establishment, and a few he bequeathed to us. During this time he had formed a friendship with 284

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some Europeans, and, as this blessed minister of the truth, had been very useful, also, to several young men, especially to a fine young man of our corps, Lieutenant Harrington, who, about this period of which I am writing, mixed himself up in all our parties and many of our employments. Another of Mr. Martyn’s works at Cawnpore during the late cold season was collecting together and preaching to the Yogees and Fakeers,638 a sort of persons who abound in every part of India, persons who, under a thin veil of superstition, are thieves, rogues, and murderers, the very vilest of the vile. It was whilst we were absent that he commenced this strange and apparently unpromising labour. Every Sunday evening the gates of his compound were opened, and every one admitted who chose to come, and then placing himself on his cherbuter, he from thence addressed these people. These Fakeers and Yogees (Mussulmaun and Hindoo saints) are organized bodies, having their king or supreme in every district. They amount to hundreds in every large station, and, as it has lately been better understood, act in concert to gull the people. Even we English, in all our pretended wisdom, have been often deceived by them as well as the poor ignorant natives. I remember once seeing a man standing by the river side, who was said to have stood there in one attitude for many years, until his beard and his nails had grown to an enormous length, and the very birds had built their nests in his hair. We, of course, marvelled not a little at this prodigy; but we did not suspect, what has since been discovered, that this appearance is always kept up by three or four persons, who combine together to relieve guard, watching their opportunities to make the exchange when no eye is upon them. But horrid as these standing and sitting objects make themselves by wigs and false beards of matted hair, and a thick plaister of cow-dung, they are not worse, if so bad, as many that move about the country, demanding alms from the superstitious or ignorant people. The various contrivances with which they create wonder and excite compassion can hardly be believed in a Christian country. Sometimes Mr. Martyn’s garden has contained as many as five hundred of these people on a Sunday evening, and as I dare not let my imagination loose to describe them, I will copy from my Indian journals what I have written of them. “No dreams nor visions excited in the delirium of a raging fever can surpass these realities. These devotees vary in age and appearance; they are young and old, male and female, bloated and wizened, tall and short, athletic and feeble; some clothed with abominable rags; some nearly without clothes; some plastered with mud and cow-dung; others with matted, uncombed locks streaming down to their heels; others with heads bald or scabby, every countenance being hard and fixed, as it were, by the continual indulgence of bad passions, the features having become exaggerated, and the lips blackened with tobacco, or blood red with the juice of the henna. But these and such as these form only the general mass of the people; there are among them still more distinguished monsters. One little man generally comes in a small cart drawn by a bullock; his body and limbs are so shrivelled as to give, with his black skin and large head, the appearance of a gigantic frog. Another has his arm fixed above his head, the nail of the thumb piercing through the palm of the hand; another, and a very large man, has his ribs and the bones 285

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of his face externally traced with white chalk, which, striking the eye in relief above the dark skin, makes him appear, as he approaches, like a moving skeleton. The most horrible, however, of these poor creatures are such as have contrived to throw all the nourishment of the body into one limb, so as to make that limb of immense size, whilst all the rest of the frame is shrivelled.” Since I wrote this account I have been inclined to believe that this last case must be one of disease, commonly called elephantiasis,639 and not an artificial work. When Mr. Martyn collected these people he gave each a pice;640 but he was most carefully watched by the British authorities, and had he attempted at anything which could have been represented to be an attack upon the religion of these poor people, he certainly would have incurred a command to collect them no more. Had he excited them to make any noise or tumult, he would undoubtedly have incurred the same reproof. He, therefore, was compelled to be very careful of what he said to them, and on this account he kept much to discussions upon the moral law. He went over the ten commandments with them. Though he used the greatest caution, he was often interrupted with groans, hissings, cursings, blasphemies, and threatenings; the scene altogether was a fearful one. Nor was Mr. Martyn aware that these addresses to the beggars had produced any fruit until the very last Sunday of his residence in Cawnpore. Mr. Martyn’s bungalow was next to one in which some wealthy natives resided, and on the wall of one of these gardens was a summerhouse, which overlooked his domain. One Sunday a party of young Mussulmauns were regaling themselves in this kiosk, or summer-house, with their hookahs641 and their sherbet,642 at the very time when Mr. Martyn was haranguing the mendicants below. This was a fine amusement for the idle youths, and they no doubt made their comments upon the “foolishness” of the Feringhee Padre,643 “foolishness” being the term commonly applied even by the English at Cawnpore to many of the actions of this child of God. But after a little while these young men felt disposed to see and hear more of what was going forward; so down they came from their Kiosk, and entered the garden, and made their way through the crowd, and placed themselves in a row before the front of the bungalow, with their arms folded, their turbans placed jauntily on one side, and their countenances and their manner betraying the deepest scorn. Their description was given me by one who had well observed them. They listened with much assurance, made their remarks, and after a while returned to their Kiosk, leaving such small impression on the Europeans present, that some neither observed their entrance nor their exit. Amongst these young men was Abdool Musseeh,644 afterwards so well known in the religious world of India; the original name of this man was Sheik Saleh. He was born at Delhi about the year 1776. He was the son of a learned man, whose occupation was the instruction of youth, though the learning, however, of the East amounts to but little with the knowing. Sheik Saleh was remarkably handsome, of a grave and dignified air; his comeliness being of that description which we attribute to the patriarchs of the Old Testament. Under his father’s instruction, he had become well versed in Persian and Arabic; for these are languages indispensable in a literary character in that 286

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part of the world. Persian may be considered the court language of the East; it is the softest, most elegant, and melodious of all Oriental tongues. It is delightful to hear it spoken, even though by the hearer it be not understood. Sheik Saleh, when of age, had come with his father to Lucknow; there he became Moonshee to two English gentlemen, the first a merchant, the second an officer in the company’s service. He was then a fiery Mussulmaun, who wanted but the power to convert the whole earth by the force of the sword. The fruit of his zeal was only one poor fellow-servant, whom he persuaded to abandon his idolatries, and become a Mussulmaun. Being probably much excited by his success in this instance, he became so forward and troublesome in the family that his master found it necessary to reprove him. This he was by no means disposed to put up with; he therefore left his service, vowing never again to attend upon a Feringhee. He next attached himself to the Nawaub of Lucknow, and from this service he went into the Mahratta country. It was in this country that it pleased God to impress the mind of this young man with his first serious thoughts. He was in the service of the Rajah, and accompanied the envoy sent by the Rajah to murder the rival of the Rajah of Joudpore. The cruelty and treachery which he there witnessed seemed to open his eyes, and probably gave him a disgust to his own religion. The envoy swore on the Koran that he came on a message of peace, and having thus lulled his victim into security, he decoyed the young chief into his tent, where he stabbed his victim through the folds of the cloth. Shiek Saleh witnessed this act; and so great was the fear he conceived lest he too should be employed in some such work of treachery that he immediately left the Mahratta service, and returned to Lucknow, and, guided by a hand of which he still was ignorant, he was shortly after led to visit Cawnpore, where he was present when Mr. Martyn so stated the purity of the Divine law as to bring the conviction to the mind of this auditor at least, that, as by the deeds of the law no flesh can be saved, some atonement beyond the reach of man was requisite for man’s salvation. From thus hearing the gospel, Sheik Saleh forthwith resolved to look deeper into the Christian doctrines. He had already become dissatisfied with the Mussulmaun creed, and God had opened and prepared his heart for instruction, so that on his return to Lucknow he begged his father, who was residing there, to procure him employment in Cawnpore. His father was acquainted with a friend of Sabat’s, and through this friend’s interest he was engaged to copy Persian manuscripts for Sabat, and came to Cawnpore for this purpose, and he actually resided within Mr. Martyn’s domain, though unknown, or I should say unregarded, by any of us. The party assembled at that period at Cawnpore was ready to hail the approach of Mr. and Miss Corrie, with their little Annie; and on the 3rd of June these dear friends arrived, Miss Corrie and Annie staying with us, and Mr. Corrie going to Mr. Martyn’s; but not a day, however, passed in which we did not meet. I was made very unhappy one morning, on being suddenly informed that the Dhaye’s poor baby was dead. The account given me was that it had been killed in a fall—its death had been very sudden. I felt much for the mother, and begged 287

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they would not tell her till she had dined. When I looked through the venetians of the children’s room, and saw her sitting placidly taking her food as usual, I remember that I withdrew and cried bitterly, till Miss Corrie came to me and said, “Wipe away your tears on the mother’s account, she has known of her child’s death since the morning, and all the comment she made upon it was, ‘I hope the Beebee Sahib will not be vexed.’ ” After this of course I was comforted, or, as my journal says, I became entirely reconciled, for this poor babe is gone to Him who made it and loved it, after a very short suffering. Its very sudden death excited in my mind painful conjectures. It was on Thursday, the 12th of June, whilst dressing in the morning, a sweet little boy, called Charles Sunderland, whose mother was dead, was brought to me from the barracks in a state almost past hope. His father implored me to look for a Dhaye for him, and Mr. Sherwood was so kind as to say, as he ever did, that I might take the little one in. He was in our house a week, and I succeeded in procuring a Dhaye for him, and during that time he was so dreadfully ill that on Saturday we hourly looked for his death. In fact, he died on Wednesday, between six and seven in the evening, and he passed so gently that I, who was watching him anxiously, did not exactly know the moment of his departure. Lovely, lovely baby. His mother, I am told, was a pious woman. The little memorandum of his birth and death is as follows:— “Charles Sunderland, born and died at Cawnpore, aged two years and two months, buried in his mother’s tomb in the soldiers’ burying ground.” I have by me still a lock of fair hair cut from that baby’s head.

CHAPTER XXIV. OUR

SERVICES AT THE CHURCH BUNGALOW—MR. MARTYN’S ADDRESS TO THE MENDI-

CANTS—THE “INDIAN PILGRIM’S PROGRESS”—THE PINE-APPLE CHEESE—MR. MARTYN’S

STUDIES—MR. MARTYN LEAVES FOR PERSIA—OUR SCHOOL—MARIA CLARKE—THE PORTUGUESE HALF-CASTE.

WE were, during this our second stay at Cawnpore, peculiarly blessed in our society. Few were the evenings which we did not spend with Mr. Martyn and Mr. Corrie, and twice in the week we all went together to Mr. Martyn’s domain, the children not being omitted. First we went to the church bungalow, where we had service, and afterwards to his house. One or other of these excellent men usually expounded to us. Our party consisted of some young officers, who were almost always with us, a few poor, pious soldiers, some orphans of the barracks, and a number of our former pupils. We always sang two or three hymns from the Calcutta Collection, and sat at one end of the place of worship, the other and larger 288

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end not being finished, and of course not open. After the service, as I said, we went to the bungalow, and had supper, and generally concluded with another hymn. Mr. Martyn’s principal favourite hymns were “The God of Abraham’s praise,”645 and “O’er the gloomy hills of darkness.”646 I remember to this hour the spirit of hope and of joy with which we were wont to join in these words:— “O’er the gloomy hills of darkness Look, my soul, with hope and praise, All the promises do travail With a glorious day of grace; Blessed jubilee, Let thy glorious morning dawn. Let the Indian, let the negro, Let the rude barbarian see That divine and glorious conquest Once obtain’d on Calvary; Let the gospel Loud resound from pole to pole.” Oh, what glorious feelings have we enjoyed when, Mr. Martyn leading the hymn, we all broke forth in one delightful chorus. On such occasions all languor was forgotten, and every heart glowed with holy hope. We were then, indeed, somewhat mistaken as to the means which were to bring about our expected jubilee; but we did not mistake as to the magnitude of the love of God, through Christ our Redeemer, and what he wrought for the human race when he cried out on the cross, “It is finished,”647 and then gave up the ghost. We often went, too, on the Sunday evenings, to hear the addresses of Mr. Martyn to the assembly of mendicants,648 and we generally stood behind him on the cherbuter. On these occasions we had to make our way through a dense crowd, with a temperature often rising above 92, whilst the sun poured its burning rays upon us through a lurid haze of dust. Frightful were the objects which usually met our eyes in this crowd; so many monstrous and diseased limbs, and hideous faces, were displayed before us, and pushed forward for our inspection, that I have often made my way to the cherbuter with my eyes shut, whilst Mr. Sherwood led me. On reaching the platform I was surrounded by our own people, and yet even there I scarcely dared to look about me. I still imagine that I hear the calm, distinct, and musical tones of Henry Martyn, as he stood raised above the people, endeavouring, by showing the purity of the Divine law, to convince the unbelievers that by their works they were all condemned; and that this was the case of every man of the offspring of Adam, and they therefore needed a Saviour who was both willing and able to redeem them. From time to time low murmurs and curses would arise in the distance, and then roll forward, till they became so loud as to drown the voice of this pious one, generally concluding with hissings and fierce cries. But 289

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when the storm passed away, again might he be heard going on where he had left off, in the same calm, steadfast tone, as if he were incapable of irritation from the interruption. Mr. Martyn himself assisted in giving each person his pice after the address was concluded; and when he withdrew to his bungalow I have seen him drop, almost fainting, on a sofa, for he had, as he often said, even at that time, a slow inflammation burning in his chest, and one which he knew must eventually terminate his existence. In consequence of this he was usually in much pain after any exertion of speaking. The 18th of August that year is a day to be remembered by me. The religious persons in Calcutta were just beginning at this time to think of translating some of the best English works on religious subjects into Hindostanee. Amongst some other books they had tried John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” but if ever there was a work ill suited to the genius of the East, it was this work of honest old John’s. When a few pages had been completed the incompatibility of Bunyan’s homespun style with the flowery Oriental taste so struck everybody, that it was thought the thing must be given up. What could be made of “Mrs. Bat’s-eyes,” “Mr. Worldly Wiseman,” and “Mr. Byends,” in a narrative for Hindoos and Mussulmauns? The report of this failure had reached Mr. Corrie, and he came over the Parade to us this morning, all glee and delight, with the idea of fabricating an Indian “Pilgrim’s Progress;”649 but, as he said, “he had none of that qualification called invention.” He could give hints and correct blunders, but he had not been in the habit of writing in the style required, and, therefore, it had been settled between him and Mr. Martyn that I was to write and they were to direct and criticize; in short, it was to be a joint performance, and we formed a conception of our plan that very day. Our dear companion, Mr. Martyn, was indeed, as we apprehended, changing rapidly for another state of being. In the autumn of the year before, he had suffered from an attack of inflammation of the chest of a very serious nature, and so feeble was he in the spring, that Mr. Corrie, when he arrived at Cawnpore, in his way to Agra, made an application to the authorities to be permitted to remain there, in order to assist his friend. As it afterwards happened, Mr. Corrie was prepared to take Mr. Martyn’s place as soon as he was obliged to leave the station. Most merciful and tender was that arrangement of Providence whereby these two beloved friends were thus left together for some months, so short a time prieviously to the death of one of them; and I have shown how much Mr. Sherwood and myself benefited by this arrangement. I must now proceed to what I call the adventures of a pine-apple cheese. A European cheese was at that time a most expensive article in the higher provinces. One had been provided for our family, at the cost of I know not how many rupees, and our little major-domo had received these rupees to pay for it. This cheese was placed every evening on the supper-table when we supped at home, which was five days on an average in the week, our party, whether at home or elsewhere, always including the Padre, as Mr. Martyn was called. It occurred to me one day, 290

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by mere chance, that Mr. Martyn’s cheese was singularly like our own, and, on deeper scrutiny, I thought I perceived a remarkable sympathy between ours and the one which appeared on Mr. Martyn’s table; as one diminished so, in equal ratio, did the other shrink. I mentioned my suspicions to Miss Corrie, and we soon became convinced that there was but one cheese between the two families, although both heads of the houses had assuredly each paid for one. Having arrived at this point, I charged our attendant, Babouk, with being in league with Mr. Martyn’s head man in the affair. I told him that he stood detected; he joined his hands, crouched like a dog, and confessed the charge, crying, “Mercy! mercy!” He was forgiven, though from that time the double duties of this celebrated cheese were put a stop to. Mr. Martyn himself always supped on raisins, steeped in water, and sweet limes. I of course gave money to have these provided when he was at our house. They were things of small value there, but I found out afterwards that our little thief bought the raisins at half price from Mr. Martyn’s servant. We spent some hours every morning during the early part of the month of September in taking short voyages on the river; for Mr. Sherwood, Mr. Martyn, and Mr. Corrie hired a pinnace,650 and we furnished it with a sofa and a few chairs and tables. The children went with us, and their attendants. Mr. Martyn sent a quantity of books, and used to take possession of the sofa, with all his books about him. He was often studying Hebrew, and had huge lexicons lying by him. The nurses sat on the floor in the inner room, and the rest of us in the outer. Well do I remember some of the manœuvres of little Lucy at that time, who had just acquired the power of moving about independently of a guiding hand; by this independence she always used to make her way to Mr. Martyn when he was by any means approachable. On one occasion I remember seeing the little one, with her grave yet placid countenance, her silken hair, and shoeless feet, step out of the inner room of the pinnace with a little mora,651 which she set by Mr. Martyn’s couch, then, mounting on it, she got upon the sofa, which was low, and next seated herself on his huge lexicon. He would not suffer her to be disturbed, though he required his book every instant. Soon, however, weary of this seat, she moved to Mr. Martyn’s knee, and there she remained, now and then taking his book from him, and pretending to read; but he would not have her removed, for, as he said, she had taken her position with him, and she was on no account to be sent from him. Little Annie, in the mean time, as Miss Corrie used to say of her, had more than she could do, in all the various exigencies of these voyages, to take care of herself, and keep herself safe and blameless, neat and clean; a pretty anxiety ever manifested itself on her small face lest we should be overset, or some one should tumble out of the window. But, oh! how dear in their different ways were all these little ones to Mr. Corrie; climbing about him, leaning upon him, and laughing at all his innocent jests. Sweet, most sweet, is the remembrance of those excursions on the Ganges, and such must they continue ever, till memory’s power shall pass away.

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In the mean time, I was going on with my “Indian Pilgrim,” under the eye of Mr. Corrie, being in the Mahomedan part of the story much assisted by some papers of Mr. Martyn. The history of Bartholomew, in this book, is founded on fact. I often went out with Mr. Martyn in his gig, during that month, when he used to call either for me or Miss Corrie, and whoever went with him went at the peril of their lives. He never looked where he was driving, but went dashing through thick and thin, being always occupied in reading Hindostanee by word of mouth, or discussing some text of Scripture. I certainly never expected to have survived a lesson he gave me in his gig, in the midst of the plain at Cawnpore, on the pronunciation of one of the Persian letters; however, I did survive, and live to tell of it many years afterwards. Mr. Martyn had long been intending to leave Cawnpore. His purpose was to return to England by way of Persia, and the time of separation was drawing near; and the loss of that holy man was the first break in our little happy society. When Mr. Martyn had finished his translation of the New Testament in Persian,652 it was given to Sheik Saleh (Abdool Musseeh) to bind, who took this opportunity to read it attentively; and such was the interest which it excited, that from that time he resolved to go down with Mr. Martyn to Calcutta, that is, to follow in his train, for as yet Mr. Martyn knew him not personally. Sabat also was with Mr. Martyn, as I have lately said; but little did he know of him, although his stern form, which terrified the children, was often mixed up with our happiest scenes. During this period, it may be difficult to give an idea of the tortures which this Arab inflicted upon his patron. Mr. Martyn was most anxious, of course, to finish the translation of the New Testament into Persian. He felt that his time would be short, and he felt also the pressure of the climate and of illness; but the spirit of pride and disputation had taken such hold of Sabat that he would often contend for a whole morning about the meaning of an unimportant word; and Mr. Martyn has not unseldom ordered his palanquin and come over to us, to get out of the sound of the voice of the fierce Ishmaelite.653 Though often thoroughly exhausted by the constant inflictions of this man, this true child of God never lost his temper with him. What must have been the reflections of Sabat, in the days of his adversity, on the manner in which he treated that gentle one? Most awful is the history of this son of the desert, for his was a spirit which was incapable of rest. He maintained a perpetual warfare with his fellow creatures; and as he lived in violence, so he died. I have by me now a note of his, addressed to Mr. Sherwood, on occasion of his having lost a jewelled dagger, which note was directed, in English, “To the Man of God, Captain Sherwood,” and was brought on parade by a black servant, and handed about from one officer to another till it reached its destination. There is another anecdote of this man which I will relate here. Being one day offended with Mr. Martyn, Sabat wrote a Persian letter, full of abuse of his patron, to a friend of his, who lived in the service of the English resident at Lucknow. This friend showed the letter to his master, who, being greatly displeased with Sabat’s ingratitude, sent it under cover to Mr. Martyn, in order to apprize him of the nature of the person harboured beneath his roof, assuring him that the terms of the letter 292

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were extremely violent. Mr. Martyn did not look into it, but, summoning the Ishmaelite, requested him to read it aloud to him, seeming as if he knew not who had written it. The child of the desert was for once confounded; he could not look up; he cowered and was still before his calm, dispassionate master. Mr. Martyn pitied him, and, first assuring him that he had not read one word of the letter, though he understood its tendency, he bade him go in peace, taking the epistle in his hands. On this occasion Sabat seemed to be really touched, and expressed contrition. On the Sunday before Mr. Martyn left, the church was opened, and the bell sounded for the first time over this land of darkness. The church was crowded, and there was the band of our regiment to lead the singing and the chaunting. Sergeant Clarke—our Sergeant Clarke—had been appointed as clerk; and there he sat under the desk in due form, in his red coat, and went through his duty with all due correctness. The Rev. Daniel Corrie read prayers, and Mr. Martyn preached. That was a day never to be forgotten. Those only who have been for some years in a place where there never has been public worship can have any idea of the fearful effect of its absence, especially among the mass of the people, who, of course, are unregenerate. Every prescribed form of public worship certainly has a tendency to become nothing more than a form, yet even a form may awaken reflection, and any state is better than that of perfect deadness. From his first arrival at the station, Mr. Martyn had been labouring to effect the purpose which he then saw completed; namely, the opening of a place of worship. He was permitted to see it, to address the congregation once, and then he was summoned to depart. How often, how very often, are human beings called away, perhaps from this world, at the moment they have been enabled to bring to bear some favourite object. Blessed are those whose object has been such a one as that of Henry Martyn. Alas! he was known to be, even then, in a most dangerous state of health, either burnt within by slow inflammation, which gave a flush to his cheek, or pale as death from weakness and lassitude. On this occasion the bright glow prevailed—a brilliant light shone from his eyes—he was filled with hope and joy; he saw the dawn of better things, he thought, at Cawnpore, and most eloquent, earnest, and affectionate was his address to the congregation. Our usual party accompanied him back to his bungalow, where, being arrived, he sank, as was often his way, nearly fainting, on a sofa in the hall. Soon, however, he revived a little, and called us all about him to sing. It was then that we sang to him that sweet hymn which thus begins:— “Oh, God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.”654 We all dined early together, and then returned with our little ones to enjoy some rest and quiet; but when the sun began to descend to the horizon we again went over to Mr. Martyn’s bungalow, to hear his last address to the Fakeers. It was 293

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one of those sickly, hazy, burning evenings, which I have before described, and the scene was precisely such a one as I have recounted above. Mr. Martyn nearly fainted again after this effort, and when he got to his house, with his friends about him, he told us that he was afraid he had not been the means of doing the smallest good to any one of the strange people whom he had thus so often addressed. He did not even then know of the impression he had been enabled to make, on one of these occasions, on Sheik Saleh. On the Monday our beloved friend went to his boats, which lay at the Ghaut, nearest the bungalow; but in the cool of the evening, however, whilst Miss Corrie and myself were taking the air in our tonjons, he came after us on horseback. There was a gentle sadness in his aspect as he accompanied me home; and Miss Corrie came also. Once again we all supped together, and united in one last hymn. We were all low, very, very low; we could never expect to behold again that face which we then saw—to hear again that voice, or to be again elevated and instructed by that conversation. It was impossible to hope that he would survive the fatigue of such a journey as he meditated. Often and often, when thinking of him, have these verses, so frequently sung by him, come to my mind:— “E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. Then, in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Is silent in the grave.”655 Mr. Martyn’s object for going to Persia was to complete his Persian Testament; but he had no unpleasant ideas nor expectations of the country; on the contrary, all his imaginations of Persia were taken from those beautiful descriptions given by the poets. He often spoke of that land as of a land of roses and nightingales, of fresh, flowing streams, of sparkling fountains, and of breezes laden with perfumes. Though these imaginations were far from the truth, yet they pleased and soothed him, and cheated him of some fears. Man lives by hope, and to hope and anticipate good of every kind must be a part of the renewed nature. The parting moment, when that holy man arose to leave us, blessing our little children, and blessing us, was deeply sad; we never expected to see him more, and we never did. We kept up almost as constant an intercourse with Mr. Corrie’s family as if we had been in the same house; for Miss Corrie and Annie left us after Mr. Martyn’s absence, and removed to his bungalow. Both brother and sister helped us in all our plans, and we did what we could to help them in theirs. We assembled our children from the barracks after the hot season, and once again opened our school. 294

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We appropriated one of the side rooms in the larger bungalow for the little girls, and another for the boys. We had more scholars than ever we had had before; and, as the cold weather advanced, I was better able to exert myself. We had one or two officers’ children also, and some children from the Artillery Barracks, which were rather nearer to us than our own. At this time we brought to bear the following plan. We placed a soldier and his wife in the small house in the church compound, and having made a little collection amongst the officers, which was given over to me, we settled several orphans, or rather, I should say, motherless girls, in this house under the woman’s care. Mrs. Parker had a temper, we knew, but we had no choice; for, could we have found a better tempered person, who was correct in morals, perhaps her husband might have been everything bad and undesirable; we therefore did our best, and in some respects succeeded in our object. Mary Parsons, who was growing a fine child, and an amiable, but, unhappily, deformed little girl called Maria Clarke, were the two first children placed in this new asylum, and shortly afterwards were added two infant boys. The little girls, with Mrs. Parker’s son, used to come every day to school, with their satchels in their hands, neatly washed and dressed. Their shortest way was through Mr. Corrie’s garden, and if, perchance, he met them, he had always a kind word to say to them, or an orange to give them, or a pat on the head, to which, no doubt, he added his blessing. These little ones were always gladdened at the sight of him. I used to go almost daily to see these children at home, after we had our tiffin, and I caused to be carried with me what remained of pie, pudding, or fruit, on a tray, for which the little people, no doubt, looked with anxious eyes. Whilst thus engaged Mr. Sherwood was occupied in the following way. First he appropriated a room, with a long table and forms, for the use of any young soldiers who wished to come and improve themselves in reading and writing; next he employed one or two, or more, of the steady old religious men to attend and give instruction. Then we all met together, that is, both schools and the adults, to read a chapter, sing a hymn, and pray every morning before we commenced our daily occupations. Mr Corrie often led this service and Mr Harrington656 also gave much of his time to the men’s school and was a great assistant to us all. Whilst our house was thus filled in a morning with scholars of various ages, Miss Corrie took Sally to teach with Annie, and little Lucy used to make her progress under a large umbrella to the Padre’s (Mr Corrie’s) bungalow, where she explored every nook being accompanied by her Dhaye and her bearer. She had discovered an old deal three cornered hat-box, and because it was not safe for her to sit on the chunam657 floors, her bearer always carried this hat-box with her, and whenever she chose to sit down in a shady part of the verandah, the box was set on the floor, and she sat in it like a little god in his shrine, whilst the man placed himself on one side of her, and the woman on the other. Having finished the “Indian Pilgrim”, I began to write my “Church Catechism”658 for the use of my school, for I had a little before been thoroughly perplexed by finding that the children could not understand any common English 295

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narrative without asking many questions; for instance, on reading an English story, one said, “What is a barn?” another, “Do they walk out at noon without a chatta?659 Are they not afraid of serpents in the grass?” This was rather too much and what could I do but write for them myself? and with this idea I began the “Church Catechism”, making use of any tale or conversation from the barracks which I might chance to hear. I must here mention a set of children, two or three of whom I particularly remember, who came under my care at this time. They were the half-caste children of European officers and black women; their mothers lived about the cantonments, supported by the European gentlemen. Many of them were well supplied with money, and keeping their servants, and probably possessing a bullock-coach, in which they sat like tailors on a board.660 Children of this description of families are usually sent to Calcutta or to Europe for education, but if not, they are left by the father to reside with the mother, and have no means whatever of education, growing up too often in total ignorance of all that is right, being initiated in vice from their tenderest infancy. When our school began to be talked of in Cawnpore, some of these poor mothers became anxious to profit by it, and sent their children. In several instances they appeared before our bungalow in their bullock-coach, without ceremony or previous warning, accompanied probably by some old Ayah, and merely saying in broken English, “They were come to learn.” To turn such petitioners back again would have been quite out of the question with a Christian, for I felt true pity for them, so we always took them in, and did what we could for them. I never hesitated about these petitions until we were at Meerut some years afterwards, when a Colonel Ruttledge, who was there, sent a band of young black drummers and trumpeters with his compliments, and he should be obliged to me if I would instruct them. I was, indeed, ready then to refuse, for some of these boys were taller than myself; but I did not. But more of this in its place. I particularly recollect some of these half-caste children who came to me in the way I have just spoken of at Cawnpore; and amongst the rest were two sisters about thirteen and fourteen, tall, slender, and, though dark, very delicate girls in form and feature. They wore white muslin frocks and coloured red shoes, with golden earrings and cornelian necklaces. Their hair, which was glossy black, was neatly braided, and partly knotted at the top of the head. They spoke a sort of broken, clipped English; they had fine teeth and eyes. They knew not a single letter, and could do nothing but mark on fine canvass.661 They were very civil and well behaved externally, but so profoundly ignorant that they had perhaps never heard the name of Christ. These, and many such as these, are the daughters of Europeans, of Englishmen and English gentlemen—of men who have known what it is to have had a tender, well educated Christian mother, and honourable and amiable sisters. How can such men, by any sophistry, reconcile it to themselves so utterly to forget the first principles of morality, and then neglect the good of their own offspring, as they, alas! too often and often do? But this is a subject I dare not enter upon. I shall only say that, with one sort 296

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and another, however, I had an immense school at Cawnpore, and I had only Sergeant Clarke to assist me; and for several days in every month, about the 24th, I was even deprived of him. As I classed the children, and kept the girls in one room and the boys in another, it was quite beyond all possibility to attend to both. So I arranged, that Mrs Parker should sit with the girls and keep them to their sewing, whilst I was with the boys, and thus I was greatly relieved. It was in the month of August, 1840, that one of my Cawnpore pupils, now a clergyman of the Church of England, gave this testimony to my instructions to him in childhood:“I have never,” he said, “been brought to unlearn anything you taught me, though, through the Divine blessing, each doctrine has been further and fuller developed to my mind.” He also much interested me by adding, there was, by the goodness of God, a sort of esprit de corps established among many of the barrack children; so that when even in their own places, their own most unpropitious homes, they used often to check each other when doing wrong, by saying such and such words and actions would not please Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood if they knew it. I cannot believe that any statement or any terrors of the law could have produced effects like this in any children, much less in children such as these. Mr Corrie was busy at this time in getting my “Indian Pilgrim” translated into Hindostanee,662 for the benefit of the Hindoos, to point out their errors of belief. He was very successful in getting a chapter rendered into Hindostanee by a Mussulman Danishmund, or wise man, whom he was employing as a translator. This man was so pleased with it, that he cried, “Wa! Wa!” “Wonderful! Wonderful!” and did his utmost to translate it in his best style. I fancy I now can see dear Mr Corrie in his dress of white nankeen,663 stepping through the doorway we had cut in the wall, with the first chapter of the “Indian Pilgrim”, in Hindostanee, in his hand, coming all glee to tell us how well he succeeded, and expressing his hopes that we should soon see the whole book in Hindostanee. Mr Sherwood advised him not to set the translator at work on the chapter which treated of the Mohammedan religion, but to keep that back till all the other chapters were concluded. Mr Corrie thought, however, that his translator might be benefited rather than offended by this chapter; and he tried it, and the consequence was that the Mussulman took offence, and the work was at an end. One evening in March little Sally was taken so ill that I sent her with Mrs. Parker in the palanquin to the surgeon’s bungalow, and it was discovered that she had the scarlet fever and a putrid sore throat. That night Mrs. Parker sat up with her, and it was agreed that on the Saturday she should be carried to the hospital; for Mr. Millar dreaded infection for my delicate Lucy. I therefore proposed that Mrs. Parker should go with her to the hospital; and in order to facilitate this plan, we took all the children under the care of Mrs. Parker into our house. Amongst these children were Mary Parsons, John Parker, and little Maria Clarke. These three children’s little cots were all put together in one room, and so far all was well. 297

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Dear Mr. and Miss Corrie took their parts whilst Sally was so very ill. Mr. Corrie came regularly every morning, soon after sun-rise, to make his enquiries, and to know whether we had any news, and what they were. One morning when he came he found the door of the room which I had devoted to the orphans wide open, and little Mary Parsons, whose business it was to dress Maria Clark, absent, with or without leave. The youthful lady’s maid gone, John was trying to dress the child, who, though older, was less than himself, and, as sickly and deformed children sometimes are, particularly neat and precise in her person. Mr. Corrie stood at the door to speak to, and no doubt in his heart to bless, these little ones; and much amused was he by the state in which he found the children. The little girl sat on her mora, that the boy should reach her to tie her frock; but Mr. Corrie soon saw that there was something going amiss between the lady and her valet, but what this great matter was he could not discover till she called to him to come and assist; for “she did not know what to do,” she said; “John had been trying and trying, and he could not make a double bow.” “Indeed,” said Mr. Corrie, “I am not sure that I could do any better.” But the good man condescended to try, and little Maria’s toilet was thus completed. “Can you tie a double bow yet?” was often his address to little John whenever he afterwards saw him. But before I leave dear Mr. Corrie again I must tell another anecdote of him which was not quite so complaisant to me as the toilet duty was to little Maria. Somewhere about the time I am writing of, or probably a little before, there appeared one morning issuing through the doorway between the two compounds such a being as I almost despair of bringing before the eyes of my untravelled English reader. This person was a young man, a Portuguese half-caste, his mother probably having been entirely native; his name Decoster, to which some very fine Christian appellations were appended. He was, as most of his race are, very slight and apparently feeble, of an olive complexion, with dark eyes and hair, foppishly dressed in white nankeen, with rings and brooches, and, when out of doors, wearing white gloves; his general air and manner was free and easy to a degree difficult to be described. He partook at least one quality of his maternal people, the incapacity of blushing. From my own experience I must say that, although a native of Hindostan may be frightened—and they are a timid people—they cannot be made ashamed; I never saw any one of them what we call out of countenance. This poor youth had received no education whatever beyond being just able to read a little English, which he understood imperfectly, and to write a flourishing hand; this last operation, being mechanical, is easily acquired by persons otherwise wholly ignorant. His mother tongue was Hindostanee; yet he could speak English of a certain description—a sort of dictionary English, consisting of the longest words most amusingly ill placed. As to any religious or intellectual knowledge, the youth was dark as darkness itself; yet was it evident that he had some command of money. This poor fellow was but the pattern-card of multitudes. There is hardly a station in India, where Europeans are, where such young men do not abound; some, having English fathers, and these are less dark. The Portuguese girls usually in such circumstances 298

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are sent to England for education, but their brothers are in general miserably neglected, living loose on the world even when supplied with money, knowing nothing of the gentle control of a happy domestic life, and having no resources but those of dissipation wherewith to beguile the tedium of existence. These are, however, a class of persons whom a refined white individual instinctively shuns, on account of that forwardness which seems a trait of the national character, not to be counteracted effectually by the most careful subsequent training. Poor Decoster had heard that there was instruction to be had by asking for it at Mr. Corrie’s, and he came and begged to be taught, having been introduced by some of Mr. Corrie’s many protegés. Mr. Corrie forthwith sent him to me with a note expressing his hope that I would instruct him. I was certainly somewhat puzzled what to do with him, as I never professed to teach grown gentlemen; however, I located him in the boys’ room, and between myself and Sergeant Clarke we gave him lessons, though I could not set him in any class, and was obliged to give him lessons apart from the children. After I had dismissed the school, during the hot winds season, I had more time to give him religious instruction, and instruction in writing English, but he was so wrapped up in his own self-sufficiency that it seemed utterly impossible to teach either his heart or understanding. When I saw Mr. Corrie next, after this addition to our seminary, I said, “By-the-by, what could have induced you to send me such a pupil as you did this morning?” He laughed, and replied, “Because I could not bear to teach him myself; I could not stand his extreme self-sufficiency and forwardness.” I could not help laughing too. “Surely,” I said, “if the youth is so forward that you could not put up with him, he is still less fit to be taught by me.” He smiled in his own kind way, and looked around for a friend to take his part; but no one came forward, not even his sister. However, I continued to do what I could, till the youth got tired of us all, and absented himself entirely, much to the delight of the sergeant, whose calm and soldier-like dignity he continually disturbed, without being himself conscious that he did so.

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CHAPTER XXV. DEATH

OF MARIA CLARKE—SARAH ABBOT—BIRTH OF MY FIFTH CHILD—THE WAR—TAK-

ING OF CALLINGER—LITTLE MARGARET AND JOHN—MRS. HAWKINS’ ARRIVAL—THE

FAKEERS—OUR MEETING—OUR REMOVAL TO MEERUT—THE BEGUM—JOHN STRACHAN—THE NAUTCH GIRLS—DEATH OF MR. MARTYN.

WE had feared for the life of little Sally, but it was the will of God that this child should be spared for many years on earth, while for Maria Clarke we had then no fears. This little one was taken ill suddenly, and so seriously that she died in a few days. The last month of her life she was in our house, and I trust under careful keeping, careful I mean in a religious way. It is beautiful to see the mercy of Providence in these apparently small matters. This dear child’s death may be accounted a desirable circumstance for herself, for she had suffered distressingly in her constitution by her deformity, and her mind was in the greatest danger from the wickedness about her; for I would not pollute my paper by describing the horrid habits of the youth of both sexes in general in India. It was during the cold season a child of the name of Sally Abbot attended from the Artillery Barracks. Her short, disastrous story I shall conclude in this place. She was a fair little girl, entirely English in her appearance, the daughter of an artilleryman and an English woman, and though her father lived her mother had died while she was an infant. This child was well-known to me. She was brought to me by Miss Corrie, and I not only taught her to read, but often invited her with the other children to partake of any little entertainment which was going forward. Sarah Abbot was not more than six years old in these her happiest days. But whilst we were still at Cawnpore her father died, and being quite destitute, she was sent to the lower orphan-school at the presidency. This orphan-school is an asylum which was provided for the destitute children of European soldiers, without any respect to the colour of the mother, or her character as wife or otherwise. It was but just and right that such a refuge should be provided, but it was not right, and an offence to propriety, to class the daughters of English women of good character with children which had been nurtured by Hindoo and Mussulmaun mothers of the lowest description, neither could the two parties amalgamate. Sarah Abbot was the only white child in the seminary at the time, and prejudice instantly marked her as a victim, the other children not being content merely to drive her from them at their play hours, but actually proceeded to hunt her like a stricken deer, until, from the heat of the climate, her tender frame gave way, and she was released by death from this scene of present suffering. Two other girls at this time also came to me from the Artillery Barracks, Mary McMahon, and a little one called Diana. 300

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Mary was a fine, blooming girl, about entering her teens. Diana was younger. Mary’s mother was the wife of a sergeant. She was a very handsome, smart, lively, respectable, warmhearted person; and had won all our hearts by her kindness to Diana, whom she had taken from a dying mother, and had reared for some years with her own daughter, making no difference between the two, but treating and dressing both alike. The very sight of Mrs. McMahon conveyed the idea of happiness, and so blooming was she that she looked fitter to shine at a village festival in her own cool, native lands, than to reside in the burning plains of Hindostan. On the 16th of July Mr. Corrie was very unwell, and could not do his duty; but he persuaded Mr. Sherwood to go to the church to read to the little party of children and soldiers which assembled there on the Sundays and Wednesdays. On the 20th of this month it pleased God to add another little girl to my family. This lovely child was my fifth, and, till then, I had never, only for a short and very painful period, seen two of my children together. This infant was more beautiful, but very like my precious first Lucy. It was the same fair face again; the same fine, oval, and chiselled mouth; the same bright hair and eyes, though not quite so dark. There was scarcely a fault in the exterior of this infant, and it was instantly acknowledged by all who saw her. Mrs. Mawby and Miss Corrie, on the report of her beauty, came that day to see her, and the next day the one brought her husband and the other her brother, to behold a thing so rare as a beautiful new-born babe. Colonel Mawby was not introduced to me, but Mr. Corrie came in, at my request, to baptize her, he being also her godfather. It was my wish to have called her Martha, after my mother; but when Mr. Corrie took her in his arms and heard the name, he laid her quietly down, saying in his playful way, “Then I don’t christen her.” “What will you please to have her called?” we asked. He answered, “Emily.” “Then Emily it shall be,” we replied. He took her up again, and gave her this sweet name. Oh, Emily! my Emily! My memory is fuller than my written records. My Emily grew more lovely from day to day; she became fairer and her form more full. She was so spoken of that some even of the young officers came to see her. One of these officers wrote me a note to say that if I would permit him to be her godfather he thought it might do him good, and constrain him to lead a better life than he had hitherto done; an odd idea, but there was something of good feeling in it. My pretty Emily was transferred to the care of a fine, tall, black woman, who was recommended to me; her name was Luchmee. She would have been very handsome had she not been tattoed all over her arms and neck: she was a Hindoo. I had then six black women in my nursery—Sally’s attendant, Lacy’s Dhaye and Ayah, a sweeper, Luchmee, and my Ayah. They slept in a room off mine; one in a bed with Lucy, the rest on the floor. They used to sit in an evening and till late at night on the floor, with the children lying on a cotton quilt in the centre of them. There, whilst they fanned the children, or champooed them if they were restless, they used to tell stories, some of which dealt of marvels as great as those recorded in the “Thousand and One Nights.”664 We knew we must shortly lose Mr. Corrie from Cawnpore, and we formed a plan for carrying on the Hindostanee service when he was gone, and God blessed 301

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our efforts. This was about September; but in the month of December five companies of our regiment were ordered to take the field against some forts to the westward. The commanding officer, Colonel Mawby, was to go, and the staff also. On the Christmas-day we took sacrament together, and most sad and solemn was our meeting, and the next morning early my husband set off with a party to Bundlecund. With him went Sergeant Clarke, my great assistant in the school; but good Mr. Harrington promised to help me as much as was in his power. Sad as it may be for those who go to warfare, yet equally sad are the feelings of those left behind. Letters from Mr. Sherwood gave us accounts of what those persons who only read of wars in distant lands, and are not brought into a close view of their disasters, can have no idea. The scene which took place at the taking of the fort of Callinger,665 although few soldiers comparatively were engaged in it, was one of peculiar horror. The guns were actually forced up a road nearly perpendicular. No opposition was made to getting up the artillery, as is usual in Indian warfare, and, six days after the batteries opened, Major Kelly,666 with a detachment of the 7th Native Infantry, took possession of the village at the foot of the hill. For three days the fort was attacked in vain, and then it was determined that a storm should take place next morning. As paymaster, Mr. Sherwood could not join in a party of the kind, the treasure being under his charge, and by that he was to abide; but he saw his brother officers and their men march to storm the fort at three in the morning, and till daylight he walked about the camp, as he himself described in his letters to me, in the deepest anxiety. By sun-rise there was a very heavy fire of musketry. Then came the sad news of the deaths of Major Frazer667 and Lieutenant-adjutant Nice,668 and next a report that Lieutenant Young669 was severely hurt. In a little while the wounded men were brought into camp, saying, “the fort neither could nor would be taken.” The officers all agreed that the rock was invulnerable; for the lowest and least difficult place was, they said, ten feet of a perpendicular height. This was, however, overcome, in the end, by ladders, after which there was thirty feet of broken wall to surmount, ragged it is true, but leaning against a perpendicular rock, which the Europeon soldiers achieved by clinging to the stones of the old wall. Whilst hanging on the broken rock our soldiers were knocked down by large stones rolled upon them from above, or fired upon by matchlock men, who, being in places of perfect security themselves, could aim with the coolest precision on those below them. Of the officers who marched up in health before the dawn of that day twelve were carried back before eight o’clock, two of them corpses, the rest wounded more or less; and of the men a hundred and twenty-two were carried back, and thirteen left dead. Major Frazer’s body also was left in the breach, and it was five days before it was recovered, when Mr. Sherwood read the funeral service over this lamented friend’s remains. Our enemy’s brother-in-law having been killed, and forty-nine of his men, it so alarmed him and his people that he sent to surrender; and a deputation, consisting of hostages, elephants, and palanquins, &c., came into the camp, with many Indian chiefs. The next night all the native women of consequence were removed 302

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with such great privacy that those who had taken the fort knew not scarcely how it was done. It was after this our truly kind friend, Colonel Mawby, gave Mr. Sherwood leave to return to us at Cawnpore. He set off from the camp on the 14th of February, with his attendants, horses, camels, palanquins, &c.; and, after a most fatiguing journey, he reached Cawnpore on the 18th. It was before Mr. Sherwood’s return that one Sunday morning I thought I heard the roll of our doctor’s carriage, which was a heavy one, coming up from the gates. The noise continued, and then I thought the sound came from various carriages going up to the church, along the side of our compound, for it was church time. Presently, for all this passed in a minute, I was made aware that the sound was underneath me: a fearful, awful, unearthly sound, accompanied by a tremendous motion. I ran to the room where the children were, and perceived the flooring of the apartment moving under my feet, as if it floated on water, whilst the walls rocked, and the curtains of the bed shook backwards and forwards, as the skirt of a person walking. The underground unearthly sound continued for some minutes, filling all parties present with extreme terror, and Emily’s nurse, Luchmee, in her fears, I remember, gave us a reason from the Hindoo mythology for all earthquakes. Another event of this period was, that one morning several women of the regiment came to me with a little babe wrapped in the apron of one of them. The mother had died the evening before, and the brutal father had ordered that the coffin should be made large enough for the infant. Without hesitation I took the little one in, and she was shortly baptized by Mr. Corrie, receiving the name of Margaret, and she proved a remarkably handsome, though dark, child. Mr. Corrie was shortly after this obliged to leave us for Agra, and we parted with much sorrow, felt by all parties. Alas! poor Cawnpore, it had cause to mourn his removal from amongst us. He committed to our management his Hindostanee schools, sundry curious native Christian protegés, and four native Christian boys, for whom he wholly provided. On the departure of Mr. Corrie the native schoolmaster was ordered to parade his boys once every day before our house, and I was to see to their writing, to hear their recitals, and mark their tasks. When this office first devolved on me I could not follow the words on the book. I did not know where the pupil stopped, and where I was to put my mark. However, I put a good face on the matter, handed my pencil to each boy in his turn, and made him mark himself where he left off, and so obtained time to become more expert before I was found out. I had the care of the clothes of the four Christian boys, and saw that twice a week they made themselves respectable to attend Divine service. As to all other days, their external appearance spoke of nothing but oil and dust; but their acquirements were above my hand. Besides these duties with the children, which devolved much upon me, Mr. Sherwood took—upon the absence of Mr. Corrie, for he was then returned to me—the Hindostanee service for Christian natives, which he conducted twice a week. This service had been commenced by Mr. Martyn, and was carried on by 303

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Mr. Corrie. The congregation met in the church on Sundays and Wednesdays, and consisted of all sorts of odd people, chiefly hangers on of our regiment. It was about this time that we took, as a new inmate into our family, the fine boy my sister had commenced instructing at Canterbury. Mr. Sherwood saw him lounging at a tent door, his mother being within; he was the only boy of that age who had not beeen put on the strength of the regiment. “John,” said Mr. Sherwood, “will you come with me?” And then addressing his mother, who was now married again, “Mrs. H., shall I take your son?” he said. “Yes, Sir,” she answered, “gladly anywhere with you, Sir.” The boy stepped into Mr. Sherwood’s gig, and it might be said that his whole future history turned on that small circumstance. Mr. Sherwood brought him to me in the upper bungalow, saying, “I have brought you a present; will you have it?” “Of course,” was my reply, and soon the boy was established as one of our family, and soon I set him to study Hindostanee, and he became a great help to me in the school, and God blessed this adoption in a remarkable manner. There are no means, however small and humble, which in the hands of God may not be blessed to the production of incalculable good, whereas all human exertions, when not so blessed, end only in disappointment. It was at this period I arrived at the capacity of being able to follow the Hindostanee when the book was put into my hands. About this time our pious and estimable friend Mrs. Hawkins came to us on her way to join her husband at Bareilly.670 Many were her attempts at doing good, and, amongst others, whilst with us, she proposed the collecting together of the Fakeers on the Sunday, as Mr. Martyn had done, and engaging old Bartholomew to read and expound to them. Now this Bartholomew is described in my “Indian Pilgrim” as the man found in the Serai by Goonah Purist, and he had a most peculiar kind of whine and snuffle, which he used when expounding. His expositions consisted only in turning each sentence after he had read it; for instance, “Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judah—in Bethlehem of Judah Jesus was born.” I am not quite convinced that old Bartholomew’s expositions, as being nearest to Scripture, were not after all of the very best kind. The small house, in which we had located our little establishment of orphans in the church compound, stood on a raised platform, and on that was placed Bartholomew to address the beggars. Thither Mrs. Hawkins and myself repaired, and took our seats beside him. On that memorable Sunday evening in May we were making an attempt to keep up what, as I said before, Mr. Martyn had done. Scarcely, however, were we seated, when, behold, there poured into the space before us, not only all the Yogees, Fakeers, and rogues of that description which the neighbourhood might afford, but the king of the beggars himself, wearing his peculiar badge, by which he was known immediately to the few native servants who were with us. These persons did not approach with the humble, crouching air of beggars, but with such strong indications of defiance and insult that Mrs. Hawkins, who was a person of very quick feelings of all kinds, rushed into the small house near the door of which we were standing, leaving me to appease the 304

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strange mob, which was prepared for any violence of tongue, for already they had saluted us with groans and hisses. I was frightened, but I dealt out the pice which Mrs. Hawkins had brought in, and the men went out of the compound in straggling parties, though not without bestowing a few of their blessings of the wrong kind upon us, under the idea that we were wishing to bribe them to give up those superstitions upon which they lived. There is no language, probably, on earth so redundant in curses as the Hindostanee, and it was often very happy for me that I did not understand the low words in common use in that language. Of course we never dared renew our attempts at converting the Fakeers, as they had come for the money and nothing else, and for this, no doubt, they would come again and again, without permitting old Bartholomew to utter a word that could be heard. At the suggestion of Mrs. Hawkins, however, I commenced a little work, more in my own way than collecting thieves and devotees for their conversion, and the result was “The Ayah and Lady,”671 which small work is considered a faithful description of the manners of that sort of persons of whom it professes to treat. Many of its stories, and those the most remarkable, are real histories; for Mrs. Hawkins knew much of Indian life, and she corrected my narrations as I wrote them, and caused her Moonshee to translate them, so that they were completed in two languages within a few days of each other. She also had “Henry and his Bearer” translated into Hindostanee at this time. Another proposition of dear Mrs. Hawkins’ at this period proved more successful than our affair with the Fakeers; and this was the collecting of all the servants of both families in our large hall every morning, and engaging the very intelligent Moonshee who had been lately occupied with the translations to read aloud a chapter of the Old Testament in Hindostanee. Well do I remember the first morning we made our attempt; I was not almost, but entirely, frightened. We mustered all the white people we could, and all the Christians. The Moonshee stood with his book,—there was the delay of a moment or two, and then the native servants came pouring in from both houses. The Moonshee then began to read aloud, slowly and clearly, the first and second chapters of Genesis. The Hindoos and Mussulmauns were all attention. When the reading ceased some said, “The words are good, very good; we will hear more;” and they all walked quietly out, whilst the Christians persent, white and black, in deep thankfulness knelt down to prayer. We never found the smallest difficulty in carrying on this plan, for the native servants all came willingly and regularly. On the 18th of June dear Mrs. Hawkins left us, taking one of the orphans with her. We never met again in this world; but her loss was made up to me, in a great measure, by the daily intercourse with Mrs. Mawby. Some of our children having had the hooping-cough, our doctor recommended a change of house, and our new residence was close to the Colonel’s bungalow. It was in this new house that a large cobra de capella672 was found glaring one day in the long, gloomy passage where my babes had often played. It was killed, but there might be others, and I 305

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was never easy afterwards in that place, though we took every precaution necessary. Nevertheless I was glad to get back to our house. Sir George Nugent673 on the 26th of September reviewed our troops, and the heat was so great that one man died in the field. Sir George was then commanderin-chief, and as many changes were taking place, we, too, had orders for removal, and our new destination was Meerut. We were going to a place cooler in winter than Cawnpore, so I made the children warm clothing. We sent our goods on board our boats, and on the 14th we all moved into Mr. Corrie’s bungalow, which remained as he had left it; but we were soon after terribly alarmed by a bungalow very near to us taking fire, and blazing up to the clouds, the flakes of burning thatch rising and dropping not only near to where we were, but still nearer to the house we had left. Nothing can be more terrible than a fire in India after a dry season. It was late in the night before we could fancy all was safe; and then the burning bungalow showed itself reduced to blackened, crumbling walls, ready in the first rain to return to the dust from which it had been raised. Sweet Cawnpore, farewell! Place ever dear to me, for there is the white tomb wherein the mortal remains of my elder Lucy sleep, and there my younger Lucy and my Emily were born, and there I became acquainted with dear Mr. Corrie, Miss Corrie, and Mr. Martyn, beloved children of our heavenly Father. One circumstance only of our journey shall I record. Near Shahjehanpoor we disposed ourselves for sleep as usual in our tents. The one which I occupied had two compartments, besides a verandah; but we were not to rest. We had scarcely fallen asleep when we were awakened by the howling of wild dogs and wolves round the tent, the dogs actually making their way several times into it. The babies, the babies were the objects of our first thoughts. The women, in their little tent, were equally terrified with me, and each held her infant closer. I got up, and shut up Emily and her Dhaye in the palanquin within the tent, closing the doors, and I took Lucy in my arms. But it was a fearful situation, and I could not sleep till it was nearly light, and the savage beasts of the jungle were withdrawn; but I had hardly then closed my eyes when I was again roused. The men, according to orders, were taking down the tent, and it already shook over my head; and there was no more quiet or sleep for any one. Oh, the goodness of my Lord, who, notwithstanding all my negligence, all my worldly and wicked ways, thus tenderly takes care of us, amidst thousands of dangers, snares, and deaths. We reached Meerut before our old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Parson, were up; but the roads were so bad that, in going through a jungle, Mr. Sherwood nearly broke his gig to pieces on an old stump of a tree. Our new residence stood in a large and fair garden, gay with bambool parkinsonia674 and pomegranate, orange and citron, and provided with a long grape trellice. After the hackeries675 came up, it took only a few hours for us to be settled in perfect comfort. In our lodge we placed Mrs. Parker and our orphans. There was no other place of worship then at Meerut but a barn-like building, which had been erected in the plain near the bazaar by the Lieutenants Peevor and Goodenough,676 of the 17th. This place had been furnished with benches, &c., 306

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&c., and there these young officers used to read to any of the men who were disposed to hear. Our religious men succeeded to this place; and on the first Sunday evening at Meerut we went with Mr. Parson and Mr. Harrington, and had divine service there, after which these gentlemen came to our house for refreshment, and this became a precedent whilst we remained at Meerut. About this time an order came from the Duke of York for appointing a schoolmaster to teach the children of the regiment. It was so ordained, that the fittest man for the appointment happened to be a religious man, Sergeant Cake.677 Thus, through the goodness and tender mercy of my God, the greater burden of the school was taken from me when my own children began to need more of my instructions. From the time since we arrived at Meerut we had been endeavouring to establish a native school, to get a schoolmaster and scholars, but without success. For some days the natives in the bazaar only laughed at those we sent to inquire for children, saying, “that their children knew more Hindostanee than we could teach them.” At length a native came to the door to sell thread, and he saw one of our children with a Hindostanee book in her hand, on which he said that he could read himself. We gave him a little volume called “Scripture Characters,”678 and he promised to read it. We inquired if he could hire us a schoolmaster, and the next day he sent us an old grey-bearded pedagogue, with thirteen boys; and we agreed to give the old man four rupees a month, and two annas a head for each boy he could collect. We appointed him a room in the stable for his school, and ordered him to come at eleven every day for the boys to repeat their lessons; and during the month of December the average number kept up to eleven. Few of these boys could tell a single letter when they came. We had nineteen on our books at the end of the month; they were chiefly of low grade, few of them had a jacket, and they were all smeared with oil, and smelt of garlick. The regimental school, too, was established this month. Twice a day our native school was paraded in the verandah, and in the morning, with the assistance of the Moonshee and John, I examined what had been done during the last day, and marked the progress in the books. In the afternoon they passed along the verandah, announcing their presence by the repetition of the ten commandments in Hindostanee. They stood in a row opposite my dressing window, all repeating together; after which they were taken back to their schoolhouse at the master shaking his cane. Upon their departure, my dear Mrs. Mawby made her appearance, and we generally took our airing together. Our house was the only depository of the Scriptures in that part of India. We had been the first to bring the strawberry-plant up the country; but we were far more highly blest in being permitted to bring the translated and printed word of God, before all others, into the province of Delhi. Great was our gratification at this time on receiving a letter from a Mrs. Law, to ask us to send a Persian Gospel to the Vakeel of the Nawaub of Rampore,679 which we did. Shortly after this I went to pay my respects to the Begum Somru,680 who was come from her own territory to meet our commander-in-chief, Sir George Nugent. She had sent to the chief ladies of the station a present of rose-water, by which 307

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the persons thus honoured were made to understand that if they paid a visit they would be received. In her little territory of twenty miles long and twelve miles broad she ruled with absolute power, and it was fearful to hear the recitals of the cruelties of which she was guilty. She surrounded her person with numerous slaves, many of whom were women; and woe was it to her who fell under the Begum’s displeasure. Those who offended her she tortured with thumb-screws, and sometimes even with death. On one occasion she ordered that two of her women should be buried alive, and she caused her carpet to be spread over the grave, that she might dine upon the spot. It might seem strange that knowing what this woman was I should have thought of paying her a visit. Perhaps I might have been led by curiosity, but I hope that I had a better motive; for knowing that she could never have seen a Persian Gospel, I directed that one of those I had by me should be as handsomely bound and as richly decorated with gold as the Meerut workmen could do it. Now, I thought, is my time for taking it myself, and I shall be sure it is put in her own hands. As I shall have occasion to mention another visit I paid her, I shall only remark here that the book which I presented was most graciously received. We sat awhile on chairs, which were brought us, said very little, and then took our leave. As we were much cramped for room, Mr. Sherwood caused a small building to be erected amongst fragrant flowers, approached by a shadowy grape terrace walk. This he fitted up with benches and wall shades, and it became our only place of worship. Our chaplain, Mr. Parson, came generally twice or three times a week to perform the service to the white people, and it was attended by as many of all degrees as could crowd into it. We had also the Christian service conducted in Hindostanee in it. It was used for the regimental school, and after evening parade it was at the service of the religious men of the regiment, who often met there. Never shall I forget the sweet feelings which we had when the sound of their simple hymns used to reach us within the bungalow, as we sat with our doors open. In our Hindostanee service, which was performed by Mr. Sherwood, we used the Liturgy of our church, translated under the inspection of Mr. Corrie, together with some hymns which were adapted to some of the old and simple melodies of the country by Mrs. Hawkins. Instead of a sermon, portions of the Bible were read, and our own orphans and myself were clerks, choristers, and all officials needful. Our first congregations consisted of eight black women. One especially of our girls, Mary Parsons, had a remarkably fine voice, my own and Mr. Sherwood’s were both good and powerful, and another orphan, Sarah, showed a decided talent for music; thus we were quite able to manage the musical department of our services. Another motherless babe was brought to me in the month of February—little John Strachan. As my Margaret no longer needed a nurse, the infant was given over to hers, and Margaret was removed to my own nursery. The heavenly messenger, after awhile, was sent to remove these little fair ones whilst yet in their first loveliness. Thy imputed righteousness, O Bleeding Lamb, has removed their imputed guilt. As I pass through time I drop one sweet flower after another, till my hand is empty, in comparison, at least, with its former fullness. What then, O God, 308

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would my feelings be in recording these bereavements if I were not assured that I should find with Thee all the dear ones whom I have ever lost. It was whilst we were at Meerut that Chuny Laul,681 the Copra Walla, commonly called the Burrah Nauk Walla, the Great Nose Fellow, brought to our gates a party of dancers, Nautch girls,682 and asked me if I would like to see a Nautch. I was glad to have the opportunity, and had the party to the long room, whilst every child and servant in the compound were collected to see the sight. These Nautch girls are regularly brought up to the profession; some of them are probably slaves, often sold by their parents for the purpose; and the most beautiful girls, and those who have the finest voices, are selected. There is generally an old female at the head of the company—one who lives on the wages obtained in various ways by these unhappy girls, and there are men who attend in the household and go out with the girls. Oh, who would desire to investigate the secrets of such families! When these girls travel, they generally go hidden by crimson curtains in a rutt683 or car drawn by bullocks. Their education consists in singing, dancing, and playing on a sort of guitar or small harp. Some of the higher ranks of them are taught to read, on which account it is considered disgraceful for respectable women in the East to learn. The influence of these Nautch girls over the other sex, even over men who have been bred up in England, and who have known, admired, and respected their own countrywomen, is not to be accounted for; because it is not only obtained in a very peculiar way, but often kept up even when beauty is past. This influence steals upon the senses of those who come within its charmed circle not unlike that of an intoxicating drug, or that of what is written of the wiles of witchcraft, being the more dangerous to young Europeans because they seldom fear it; for perhaps these very men who are so infatuated remember some lovely face in their native land, and fancy they are wholly unapproachable by any attraction which could be used by a tawny beauty. It was on this occasion that I thought of writing “The History of George Desmond,”684 which is taken from various facts. The three girls described in “George Desmond” were represented from the three who were introduced by Chuny Laul. As the chapter in which they are mentioned was written immediately after I had seen them, I shall not say more here than request that if any one should take the trouble to read that work, he must please to consider that in my narrative there I imagined the spectator to be, not a matron surrounded by her children, but a young man, half intoxicated, who had placed himself in the way of temptation. Of course the effect produced on me was not similar to that described in “George Desmond;” but certainly I was astonished, fascinated, and carried, as described in fancy, to the golden halls of ancient kings. I was thus made thoroughly to comprehend the nature of the fascination which persons of this description exercise over many a fine English youth, commencing the process of the entire ruin of all his prospects in this world. For who can tell the utter depravity of these unhappy women? Before I leave the subject of “George Desmond,” which I began to write at that time, I must say that the fact of the poisoning is true, and was of no rare occurrence; for it was said many an English wife lost her life from the jealousy of 309

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native favourites; but the story of the lovely “Emily Desmond” was taken from a particular case known to me. The nights at this time of the year were so very hot that I often got up and partially dressed. I often sat by the open window, and there, night after night, I used to hear the songs of the unhappy dancing-girls, accompanied by the sweet yet melancholy music of the cithara;685 and many were the sad reflections inspired by these long-protracted songs. All these Englishmen who were beguiled by this sweet music had had mothers at home, and some had mothers still, who, in the far distant land of their children’s birth, still cared, and prayed, and wept for the once blooming boys, who were then slowly sacrificing themselves to drinking, smoking, want of rest, and the witcheries of the unhappy daughters of heathens and infidels. I cannot describe the many melancholy feelings inspired by this midnight music. It was on the 24th of this month the news came to us of the death of Mr. Martyn, which took place at Torcat, on the borders of Turkey, on the 16th of the last October. We were all most deeply affected, and I then resolved, if all were well, and that if it pleased God ever to give me a son, I would bestow on him the revered name of Henry Martyn.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE

TOUFFAN—MR. CORRIE’S VISIT TO CAWNPORE—BIRTH OF MY SON—THE CHRISTIAN

CONVERTS AND THEIR BAPTISM BY MR. CORRIE—LITTLE SUTKEE—THE ADOPTION OF

MARY PARSONS—THE WAR AND THE BEGUM SOMRU’S GUARD—THE PIOUS SOLDIERS— OUR ALARM—THE TAKING OF KALUNGA—THE CHUCKOOR—ARRIVAL OF PERMUNUND— THE MOHURRUM.

DURING this month we had the most violent touffan686 I ever experienced in India. In the evening, the day having been dark, there came on such a north-wester687 as we had never before seen nor heard. Mr. Sherwood thus describes it:—“I first observed the appearance of a heavy squall rising in the north-west, and being acquainted with its portents, I ran to the house, and saw that every window, door, and shutter was closed. This being done, I held the principal door in my hand to admit some air; but prepared to close it should the wind come on with fury. The appearance of the approaching storm some minutes before it reached us was that of a dense wall, rising from the plain to the mid-heavens, advancing steadily forward, whilst the light of day fled before it, and the breath of every living thing was affected with a sense of suffocation. Its march was silent, and every one experienced a solemn awe as he felt its approach. Presently the whole air became like to one immense cloud of dust; but without wind of any consequence. Whilst I still held the door, it suddenly became dark; I never saw a night so dark; it was so deep 310

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a darkness that even the situations of the windows in the nursery, into which Mrs. Sherwood had withdrawn with all the women and children, could not be seen. When the door was closed we could not tell its position. In about a minute the light again appeared; but its appearance through the floating sand was like that of an intense flame, a lurid and fearful glare. One would have thought that the whole surrounding country was in flames. After this awful scene we can well understand the stories of whole armies being buried in clouds of sand in the deserts; for the sand-storm which came over us had come from a great distance, and had of course lost much of its denseness in every yard of cultivated country which it had passed over, where it could gather nothing, but only lost in matter, and if it could occasion such total darkness when we saw it, what must it have been in its fullness? “There was not an article in the house which was not covered with some inches of sand when the storm was past. “After this dry shower we had rain, and the thermometer stood the next morning at 86, and we were subject for some days afterwards to violent squalls, which had power to turn up the thatch of the bungalow like the feathers of a Friezeland hen.” It was on Mr. Corrie’s return at this time from the presidency of Agra, that he stopped at Cawnpore, and visited the bungalows and other places where we had all been so happy together. The house he had once occupied was left unfurnished, and in the compound there still lingered an odd assortment of native Christians, old pensioners, and forlorn persons, whom he was to collect and take with him to Agra; but all those with whom he had held sweet social intercourse only a few months since were gone from thence. His sister, Mrs. Sherer, for she was then married, and the little orphan Annie, were in Calcutta; Henry Martyn was no more, and all our party were at Meerut. What is more sad than the view of the inanimate scenes which were once peopled with those we love? How Mr. Corrie felt this is beautifully expressed by his own words in a letter to his beloved little Annie:—

Copy of a Letter from the Reverend Daniel Corrie to Annie Childe. “MY DEAR LITTLE ANNIE,—

“I was sorry to hear from Ma’am* that you have a pain in your side still; but I hope you will learn the reason why people are sick and why they die, and what improvement we should make of our present time. I dare say you remember how ‘by one man sin entered the world, and death by sin, and so death passed upon all men, for all have sinned;’688 and you can repeat to yourself the answer to that question, ‘Who is the Saviour of sinners?’ It begins, ‘Jesus the Lord.’ I hope my * The orphan was accustomed to call Mr. Corrie’s sister, after awhile her sole protectress, “Ma’am,” and myself “Mamma.”

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dear little Annie does not forget to pray to Him for His grace, which is as needful for her soul as medicine is for the pain in her side. If the doctor do not give medicine, her side will get worse; so, if Jesus do not give grace to enable her to love and serve Him, her soul must die for ever and ever. When I was at Cawnpore, it put me very much in mind of the way people live and die, and pass from this world to the next. I first went to Mr. Martyn’s bungalow, and there all the doors and windows were shut, and nobody came to welcome me home, and no little girl to cry out, ‘O, there’s Mr. Corrie!’ Then I went in and found a chair or two, and a table covered with dust; then I went into the little bungalow, and looked about and spied out Annie’s green box; and when I opened it, I saw the geography book, and all the strings and curls hanging to it, and then I thought, ‘Where’s little Annie? I do not see her here, but she is not yet gone hence to be no more seen; she is in Calcutta, but she will not be there either, always.’ Then I looked all about, but saw no Mr. nor Mrs. Sherwood, no Lucy, no Emily, nor Sally, nor John Parker—all, all gone away to Meerut. Then poor Susan Stubbs, she lies in the lonely buryingground, and will be seen no more on earth. Now, it matters not to her that she had a pretty voice, if she did not use it to sing the praises of Jesus; all her smart clothes will do her no more service if she cannot sing, ‘Jesus, thy blood and righteousness My beauty are, my glorious dress.’689 “After a few more hot and cold seasons, we shall all undergo the change she has passed through. Surely my dear Annie will not forget this, but pray that she may live to God now that she may be happy with Him hereafter. I hope she is attentive during prayers, and sits quietly at church, and is obedient to her lessons; and then, when we look about and see her no more, we shall say she is gone to heaven; or, if she gets well, we shall be happy to think she is a servant of Christ, and shall love her still more dearly. “I am, my dear Annie, “Yours affectionately, “D. C.” It is not so much in the public as in the private lives of the children of God that we are enabled best to discern the wonderful beauty of the Divine influence. It is in the most private intercourse with the humblest and feeblest persons that we find the best and most lovely exhibitions of the Christian graces. These are not formed for external show; the time for their manifestation is not now. The dross of this world prevents the jewels of the Redeemer from pouring forth their lustre;690 but these, and only these, shall shine forth when He, our Saviour, comes again, bearing them in his crown, or set as signals upon His heart and upon His arm. On the first morning of July my boy was born, and we christened him, after our lamented, departed friend, Henry Martyn. The ceremony was performed in 312

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the little chapel in our garden, Mr. Corrie being one godfather. When the beloved name was pronounced, tears were in the eyes of all present. Where was he now who was so dear to all of us, the bright ray of light which had once so gladdened our eyes and warmed our hearts? It was after my recovery that the drummers of the 3rd Native Infantry, by request of their officers, and especially of that of Colonel Ruttledge, came every other day to read to me. They were tall, almost full-grown coloured boys, and they read Hindostanee well; and each boy possessed a St. Matthew’s Gospel. Kind Mr. Corrie at this time undertook to carry on the education of John, and he was sent to him at Cawnpore. He was afterwards ordained by him. The Christian convert, Abdool Musseeh, once Sheik Saleh, whom I have mentioned before, paid us a visit at this time at Meerut, and on the Sunday I went to hear him preach in the hall of Mr. Parson’s house. Abdool remained a fortnight at Meerut, preaching in the city, and he left behind him one convert, Taleb Musseeh; for such was the name by which we knew him, though not his original appellation. Taleb had formerly been the chief physician to the Rajah of Bhurtpoor. It was thought he was a learned man, though he believed “the world to be balanced on a point like a child’s whirligig, the axis of which is a high mountain.”691 Two natives also applied to us for baptism. One of them lived about twelve miles off, and possessed some property; he could have no worldly object in view; the other was a woman, highly recommended. There was also a learned man in the bazaar, a native of Rampore, who had been persecuted, even to the confiscation of his property, by the Rampore Rajah, only for speaking in favour of Christianity. This man seemed inclined to become a Christian himself, and for that purpose commenced reading the Scriptures with great attention. Abdool Musseeh, having preached and disputed some days in the city of Meerut, next visited Sirdhana, and then returned to Mr. Corrie at Agra, having, I trust, with God’s blessing, sowed the good seed there. The physician of Bhurtpoor, Taleb Musseeh, remained behind to perform Divine service in the old chapel in the plain, to a few poor native Christians with the schools. He came to us every day for instruction from Mr. Sherwood. After the perusal of the Scriptures the native of Rampore informed my husband that he much wished to brave the world and acknowledge himself a Christian, but he said he was afraid; however, after being more fully instructed, he decided on so doing, and asked to be baptized by Mr. Corrie, who hoped to be at Delhi on the 18th of January. Mr. Sherwood was very diligent in instructing him, to prepare him for this sacrament; and as he well understood the Hindostanee language, he could explain many things to the poor man. We were told that Mr. Corrie might perhaps be unable to come as far as Delhi, and the candidates for baptism became so anxious that they set off to meet him on the Delhi road. We soon heard of their meeting from Mr. Corrie himself, and that he was pleased with them. Shortly afterwards our beloved friend appeared, with tents, camels, and elephants, and we had the pleasure of 313

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having his largest tent pitched in our compound, for we had not room for all his suite within the house. Then for the next week our house and grounds brought to my mind what I had often fancied of a scene in some high festival in Jerusalem; but ours was an assembly under a fairer, brighter dispensation. “Here we are,” said Mr. Corrie, “poor weary pilgrims;” and he applied the names of “Christian” and “Mercy”692 to his wife and an orphan girl who was with them. Dear Mr. Corrie! perhaps there never was a man so universally beloved as he was. Wherever he was known, from the lisping babe who climbed upon his knee, to the hoary-headed native, he was regarded as a bright example of Christian charity and humility. On Sunday, January 31st, the baptism of all the converts but one took place. Numbers of Europeans from different quarters of the station attended. The little chapel was crowded to overflowing, and most affecting indeed was the sight. Few persons could restrain their tears when Mr. Corrie extended his hand to raise the silver curls which clustered upon the brow of Monghool Doss, one of the most sincere of the converts. After the reception of these natives into the visible Church we sang together these words:— “Proclaim, saith Christ, my wondrous grace To all the sons of men; He that believes and is baptized Salvation shall obtain.”693 The ceremony was very affecting, and the convert, who stood by and saw the others baptized, became so uneasy that when Mr. Corrie set off to return he followed him. For family reasons this man’s baptism had been deferred, as he hoped by so doing to bring others of his family into the Church of God. How delightfully passed that Sunday!—how sweet was our private intercourse with Mr. Corrie! He brought our children many Hindostanee hymns, set to ancient Oriental melodies, which they were to sing at the Hindoo services, and we all together sang a hymn, which I find in my journal designated by this title:— “WE HAVE SEEN HIS STAR IN THE EAST. “In Britain’s land of light my mind To Jesus and His love was blind, Till, wandering midst the heathen far, Lo in the east I saw His star. Oh, should my steps, which distant roam, Attain once more my native shore, Better than India’s wealth by far, I’ll speak the worth of Bethlehem’s star.”694 314

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There is little merit in the composition of this hymn; but it had a peculiar interest for us at that time, and the sentiment which it professes must ever retain its interest. These, his friends and companions of many happy days, never saw Mr. Corrie again in India, in his own especial province, where he was most happy, most blessed, and most at home. Languor and disease soon after this seized on Mrs. Corrie, and Mr. Corrie himself became so disordered by the burning seasons of the higher provinces, that he was compelled to give up Agra and proceed to England for a while. I once wrote, all of happiness and hope which belonged to those times, and was of earth, is passed away; but now to me it seems the sentiment is a wrong one, though I thought the word earth had corrected the error. Surely, surely, it is ingratitude in us weak mortals so to speak. Does not the expression sound like a lament? and shall we have anything to lament in our Saviour and Redeemer? Let me rather say that the happiness and hope which belonged to those times, inasmuch as they were of earth, fell so far short of what we shall hereafter feel, as the earthly nature is inferior to the heavenly. Shall we regret the passing pleasure we experienced when we first found ourselves capable of deciphering the first symbols of Providence, now we can read pages and pages of His glorious Promises? I received this month a parcel from England, in which was inclosed a book of my brother’s, “The Pilgrimage of Theophilus to the City of God.”695 This book is little known, but there are exquisite passages in it, and some of the pilgrims’ songs equal in beauty almost anything of the kind I have ever seen written. It was in the end of the Spring that one day Sally, on returning home, told me that she had seen a white baby in a hut in the Bazaar. I sent to inquire about it, and found that there was a white infant, an orphan, who had been left by some English soldiers, not ours, with an old black woman in a hut. His name was Edward Kitchen, and when I went to see him he was about a year and a half old, and such a skeleton I had hardly ever beheld. We called him Suktee, which signifies dry, for he was mere bones. I got him into the compound, where I provided him with a wet-nurse. He was brought to the bungalow every day, and we saw that he was washed, fed, and had clean clothes; we took care of him as long as we were at Meerut, and before I left India I got him sent to the orphan-school at Madras, under the protection of a pious chaplain there, and I have heard that he is doing well. At the same time that we discovered Suktee I was told other stories which made my heart ache, but for which I had no remedy. It was not an uncommon occurrence to find the orphan children of natives left to perish of hunger in the streets of the village, whilst the inhabitants looked on with total apathy. One little girl had lately died in this way in our own regimental bazaar. Who can describe, or even imagine, the cruelties which prevail in the dark corners of the earth? It is in the small details of life that the natural depravity makes itself apparent, for even the believer—though God in mercy restrains him from gross offences in most instances—is still left sufficiently to himself to understand what he might be without restraining grace. 315

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About this time I was obliged to drop all intercourse with the white woman who had the care of two of our motherless girls. I could not endure to witness the sufferings of the child whom I have mentioned before as little Mary Parsons. Her cries, when beaten, reached even to the bungalow, and I could not bear to hear them. But what made me most angry was, that she was sent many times on most days to the barracks. Her father was miserable about her. He had bought her a little arm-chair of Sessoo wood,696 and one evening she came weeping to me, and saying, “Oh! ma’am, give me a corner of your house, where I may put my chair and sit all day.” I could not bear this; my mind was made up. I got permission from Mr. Sherwood, and we adopted the child. How thankfully did her father fetch her box from the lodge! how happy was the rescued child! I settled with that truly worthy man, Sergeant Cake, who was most respectably married, to take charge of the one orphan when I took Mary into our own house. We were now beginning to be weary of India.697 The children were coming to an age in which they required to go to a colder climate. We had one child in England, and I had a tender mother there, who was daily growing more infirm. Our thoughts then necessarily turned towards England, and yet we had a dread of leaving India, we all so dearly loved that country. Towards the end of September our regiment was alarmed by many flying reports respecting a move; but they were so vague, and often so ridiculous, that, although sometimes irritated by them, we ourselves paid them little credit. They, however, soon gained strength, though varying every day. Sometimes it was said that two thousand pairs of boots were making for the soldiers; again, half that number of flannel waistcoats, preparatory for a colder clime; but on the third of October the real order came for marching.698 The effective men were to leave the station, whilst the women and children were to remain without protection at Meerut, at the mercy of all the wild and fierce people in the neighbourhood. The Begum Somru was applied to for aid, and she sent a guard to each family; I was to have six men, a superior and five inferiors. These were to live in our compound, and guard us during the night; but they looked so savage and fierce themselves that I acknowledge I had no real confidence in them. I can never forget the figure of the principal man of the party with us. He was tall, and precisely such a person as one would draw for the captain of a gang of desperadoes, very dark, with brilliant and flashing eyes, and a certain smile on his countenance, the meaning of which one did not desire to investigate. His moustachios were dark and curling, his carriage erect, his tread heavy, and he always appeared in full military accoutrements. Our palanquin and bearers had gone with Mr. Sherwood, but, the evenings being cool, I used to walk with the children, to call on the other ladies; but I never took a step abroad without this man, and probably two others, following me. I felt somewhat as a person would do when followed by a tame tiger. Such were the guardians with whom we were left, and we were tolerably safe with them, no doubt, so long as good accounts arrived from the battle-field, but not a moment 316

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after. The dread that our protectors might be removed kept us in a state of constant anxiety. The Sunday before the march was an affecting day in every English house in the station, and on some accounts particularly so to me. Mr. Leonard, a judge’s writer, a friend of Mr. Bowley’s,699 from the city, officiated at the Hindostanee service, and undertook it during Mr. Sherwood’s absence. At the ten o’clock service there were few present except the usual religious society. After the service, Mr. Sherwood spoke to them in the kindest and most affecting manner, pressing upon them a continued attention to their religious duties in the camp, giving them each a little work, which he thought particularly suitable to their state, and promising them the use of his tent for their evening meetings. We could not part on this occasion without tears. Two years before, these pious men had given me a “Rippon’s Hymn Book,”700 with all their names inscribed on the first page. I shall record them here, as they stand in my book. “Thomas Cake William Smith James Deighton Abraham Hays John Nother Thos. McGuire

Richard Mills Joshua Hall Thos. Farmour Benj. Watson Thos. Roberts George Russel.”

Underneath they had written this verse— “Oh, that you may, with steady, even pace, Pass forward till you gain that heavenly place Where you and we, we hope, at last shall meet, And sit like Mary at the Saviour’s feet; There shall we in his glorious presence shine— Oh, may this happy lot be yours and mine.”701 These were the same good men who, when we first came to India, met in the jungles and ravines to pray and read their Bibles; the same who had attended in Mr. Martyn’s and Mr. Corrie’s house; the same who had met in our little chapel at Meerut for many of the last months; and the same to whom Mr. Sherwood promised the use of his tent, which proved to many of them their last earthly meeting-house. It was rather a remarkable circumstance that several of these soldiers, especially Abraham Hays, though they had already gone through many campaigns, were fully persuaded that they should never return from this. In consequence of this presentiment they brought me their watches, tea-spoons, and other valuables, begging me to take care of them for those they loved. The march was towards the Himalaya, and the campaign was against the Ghoorkas,702 one of the mountain tribes which had been constantly making 317

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invasions on the people of the plains. The object of the movements of our troops was kept as profound a secret as possible, in order that the enemy might not be prepared; but this very secrecy tended much to excite the alarm of wives, who, when they parted from their husbands, knew not whence they might hear next from them. My first few letters from Mr. Sherwood were from the different halts in his way, and I wrote to him whenever I had opportunity. From one of my letters, still preserved, I quote the following event which happened to us:—“I had gone to rest with all my helpless ones about me, and was falling asleep, when I was roused by the sounds of running round the house and firing of guns, with a knocking at the walls near my bed. I got up instantly and dressed myself, and on inquiry the people told me that bands of armed thieves were attacking the cantonments. I ordered the frightened nurses to dress the children, and we all got together—the youngest, Henry, in his nurse’s arms, Emily in mine, and Lucy coming close to me with little Sally and Mary Parsons; all of us resolving, if we must die, we would die together. Thus we passed the night, whilst the noise, the shouts, the firing, and tramping continued, the alarm being given to every female throughout the cantonment, and every one being conscious that we had no human aid at hand.” The Begum Somru703 kindly sent us more guards after this, and a party of ten Sepoys came, and were located in our compound; but they frightened me very much by the immense fires they made near the bungalow, and I was kept up some nights before I could get it arranged that these fires should not be near the house. The morning after our first terrible alarm was a morning free from all disturbance. The ladies of the regiment were, of course, comparing notes; and we came to the conclusion that the alarm had been got up in order that our guards might increase their own importance. From the letter I received, I learnt of the pains and penalties connected with scenes of warfare;704 but Mr. Sherwood, on account of our fears and anxieties, kindly made as light of these things as possible. One adventure of his I particularly remember. Orders were given on an occasion at twelve o’clock at noon for an evening march, and notwithstanding that the same orders said that no one was to start before that hour, the camp-followers were at once in motion, each anxious to clear the head of the pass before the column reached it, for it was foreseen that the road might be choked up. Although Mr. Sherwood was usually desirous to obey orders, yet he found himself obliged, as it were, to act with others; so leaving his tent to take its chance, tacitly authorising the striking and packing, and eventually the moving of it, he set off slowly to observe what was to be seen, and soon he was joined by two friends, Colonel Buckland and Emery, who were on horseback. His own commanding officer, Colonel Mawby, being in advance, Mr. Sherwood also mounted, and they rode forwards together. The colonel’s horse being the larger took long steps, and so got over the ground, hence Mr. Sherwood was obliged to trot on whenever a clearing of a few paces permitted; but as they advanced, the camels, by the narrowness of the pass, were so forced together in a confused mass, that the three were obliged to dismount, and in the end separate. 318

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Mr. Sherwood had to lead his pony, here, stepping over a loaded camel, fallen in the pass, now, creeping under another, whilst such discordant sounds of thumping, swearing, shouting, were going on as were enough to deafen any one. The crest of the pass was scarcely nine feet wide, and almost as steep as the roof of a house. “The Sais, or horse-attendant, soon, however, took charge of my horse,” added Mr. Sherwood, in his letter to me, “and I scrambled up the bank, where I was joined by the Colonel and Emery, and there we stood just on the culminating point, giving orders and advice which no one could or would attend to. The heat was intolerable, and we were exposed fully to it; the colonel was white as a sheet, and supported, or rather dragged on by Emery, and yet we could not refrain from laughing. One restive camel fell, and choked up the road, and nothing could make him rise, till a cord was placed round him and he was turned upon his back, in which position he was moved away like a sledge. In this state we remained some time; at length, as it got cooler I moved on by myself, leaving only my Sais with the horse. After awhile, being tired, I rested myself under a tree, lighted a fire of brushwood, prepared my dinner, and being provided with a bottle of wine, I was much pleased when my two friends found me in my very delightful situation. I shall never forget the pleasure I experienced at the rising of the moon, and how heartily Emery and myself sang ‘Rise Cynthia, rise,’705 to the annoyance of our friend the colonel, who would rather have been in Ibbottson’s Hotel.706 It soon, however, became so cold, that when the regiment joined us at ten o’clock we were very glad to proceed. About twelve we reached the place where our guide had left Colonel Mawby, and the marks of the encampment were visible by the light of the moon, but no man nor beast could be seen. I lay down to sleep, and on awaking learned that the army was about three miles off, encamped opposite a high hill, on which was built the Fort of Kalunga. As the day broke, we saw that the Fort had a very imposing appearance, its size being lost by the elevation on which it was placed. It was small and newly built, but its natural defences were so strong that though Colonel Mawby had attacked it, he was for the present obliged to desist, and he was now engaged in drawing up six-pound gallopers,707 and forming a battery. Soon after daylight firing commenced, though little could be seen, even with the aid of a glass; but towards middle day, a native cavalry officer came galloping down, exclaiming ‘General Gillespie is killed, and the attack has failed.’708 Then shortly after the wounded came in, and they reported the attack as a rash one, describing the dragoons in boots and spurs, headed by the general commanding in chief. “When the general fell he had few except officers near him, and Major Ludlow, who was next him, commanded the retreat.” General Gillespie was shot through the heart, and altogether 107 men of the 53rd were killed and wounded. The total loss was nearly 500, the officers being out of proportion in numbers. The events of the day threw a damp over all. At half-past six in the morning Mr. Sherwood read the burial service over the officers and men, whose bodies were brought in, and permission was asked to bring our dead from the field. 319

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But it would be painful and tedious to go through other scenes of battle and warfare. I shall therefore only make one more quotation from Mr. Sherwood’s letters. “At two o’clock on the morning of the 29th I heard,” he writes, “a heavy firing of musketry and a shout. I arose and went out, but all was silent again, and I could not tell from what side the noise had come. Shortly afterwards the shouts began again, and the firing was very heavy. I hastened to my tent door, where I clearly discovered the cries to be English, accompanied by the beat of a drum. Several officers had now come to the quarter-guard,709 and we thought that the drum beat the Grenadier’s March.710 Percy, Emery, and myself set off towards the fort to see what had happened, and we met a seapoy coming down from Major Kelly to say that the fort was empty. “Emery and myself returned with the seapoy to the Colonel, where we heard that at two o’clock in the morning the Ghoorkas had made a rush down the hill in hopes of forcing their way, but were driven back with great loss. About an hour afterwards they made a second most desperate attempt. Many were killed, but some few escaped. “I now started off for the fort; it was not light when I reached it. I was for going in immediately, when Heathcote, who was on duty, advised our waiting till we had more light, as he feared we should tread on the bodies of the dead or dying. The fort was very small, and the whole space was covered with bodies; and in one place, about ten feet long by six broad, lay seven bodies across each other. The fort itself was trenched across in every direction, and these trenches were about two feet deep; and in them the unhappy people had endeavoured to find shelter. There were eighty-six dead bodies lying in this small place. The wounded were in a most wretched state; those who could in any way move had attempted to get out, but others were crying, ‘Water, water!’ and our officers were assisting, as well as they could, by pouring water out to them. Some of the poor creatures had lain there for three days with their limbs broken. I shall never forget one young woman with a broken leg, lying among the dead. She was partly covered or entangled among the bodies; and as she could not move, she held her mouth open for water so anxiously that there is no describing it. We could not get near her, but Heathcote at length contrived to pour a stream from a mussak.711 There was another woman, herself unhurt, but she had a wounded baby at her breast. She seemed dreadfully distressed; but the child was taking its food, and did not seem to mind it. There was a soldier-like looking Ghoorka also lying on a bed in the fort; his wound had been in his head, and had taken away his senses; he was making figures in the bloody dust with his fingers. Two little girls, one about four years old, and the other about one, had lost both father and mother; they were taken care of, but the elder screamed very much, fearing she should be separated from the younger. This sight is certainly more distressing than what is generally met with in Indian warfare, for the women and helpless are usually alone seen; yet still we feel that they were until within a few days a conquering, oppressing people, who had held this place and the valleys around in fearful subjection. These persons I saw 320

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afterwards clean and in high spirits, particularly the young woman, who had got a wooden leg. “When I again visited the fort it was partially cleared. Ninety-seven dead bodies had been burnt, but this was only a part, for all around the fort you might see the marks of imperfect burials. The ground was rocky, and it was difficult to dig into it, so that I could still count thirty bodies only half buried, in many cases having a leg or an arm above the ground.” Such was the style of many of Mr. Sherwood’s letters; but all was not as sad; for instance, one day, in the fort, he found a hill partridge, inclosed in a wicker basket without a door, which he afterwards sent to me. This bird is called the chuckoor,712 and is said to eat fire. The story of this little chuckoor is to be found in a work of mine, entitled “Juliana Oakeley.”713 We called the bird our prisoner of war. It loved the warmth of the sun, and delighted to come out of the new cage which we bought for it, and roll itself in the gravel. But to return to my own situation, and the situation of those whose sons, husbands, and brothers were in the camp. We were much alarmed at the loss of the General, and we heard of nothing but the killed and wounded, or of the enemy’s horsemen collecting near us. We were advised to get a few things packed up, and for safety to get within the city walls, for Meerut had been fortified. On the Sunday I sent my little boy with his nurses to the regimental hospital for advice, the child being ill; and as I sat alone I heard the guns firing over General Gillespie’s grave; for his body was sent for interment to Meerut. The guns ceased, and the minutefire began again. “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes,”—the gallant hero of Java was then laid in the cold grave. He met his fate gallantly, at Kalunga, in the Indian Caucasus, and there also died Abraham Hays, Russell, and Gill,714 three poor holy men, private soldiers. For days our alarm increased, and we had no trust but in Providence. My kind friends on Monday took charge of my children. My God helped us. He protected my husband, my precious little ones, and my soon expected but then unborn babe. We were threatened with the Sikhs and other marauders, I know not with what foundation, but we felt ourselves utterly helpless. I must here quote a passage from a letter to my mother, which, from its date, was written whilst my husband was with the regiment at Kalunga, and will show the state of my mind at that time. “MEERUT, Dec. 27th. “MY DEAREST MOTHER, “I fear you will begin to think that it is very long since I have written to you; but you, no doubt, have heard of us through my dear cousin Butt, at Trentham, to whom I have addressed two letters lately. You will have heard that Henry is not with me, but with our regiment, and other considerable force, attacking the country of the Ghoorkas, which lies in the valleys among the mountains which divide Hindostan from Thibet, and extend from the Caspian Sea to China. The regiment has been absent more than two months, nor can we guess when it is likely to return. Dear Henry, from whom I often hear, is well, and I hope doing good wherever he 321

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goes. His tent is a place of worship to all devoutly disposed. He is happy in the acquaintance of a pious young officer of the name of Tomkins, whose father lives near Bromyard. As to myself, I am at Meerut, and have much upon my hands, having three dear babes of my own, the two orphans, and Henry’s nurse’s child in the house, besides the care of two infants, whose nurses I have to overlook. I have also an English and an Hindostanee school to see to, the latter daily, besides giving attention to the Hindostanee service, which, without care, would have dropped through on Mr. Sherwood’s going to the camp; but, by the express ordination of Providence, it has suddenly revived, and become more flourishing than ever. “The Almighty has kept me in great peace of mind amidst all these employments, and amongst many alarms attendant upon being situated near the seat of war. I have more reason to be thankful, as I am in expectation of an addition to my little family in the beginning of February; I am afraid before I see dear Henry. I have given much of my time since the regiment went, to the education of my children, and I have brought them amazingly forward during these two months. Sarah, one of my orphans, can read Hindostanee with much facility, so as to be able to perform the clerk’s part in the Hindostanee service. Having an opportunity, I am getting her taught to read Persian, and also to read the old Sanscrit character. I write questions from the Bible for my motherless girls, and make them bring me the answers neatly written in English, and I find that this exercise greatly sharpens their understandings. Mary Parsons, the eldest, begins to be very useful amongst the children, and can carry keys and take care of clothes, so that already she pays me somewhat for my trouble. “My own Lucy is a very pleasing girl, not speaking partially; she is exceedingly sweet-tempered, and may be managed by any one—very upright and free from deceit. She has an open English countenance and complexion, and is very tender hearted. I was punishing Emily the other day; Lucy stood by reddening; at last she burst into a loud cry, saying in English, with the Hindostanee idiom, ‘This little sister of mine, I cannot bear to see her weep, because she is very pleasant to me.’ The children have a very pretty way of mixing the languages, using the Eastern idiom with the English. ‘Oh, my papa,’ she sometimes says, ‘my heart is full of grief for my papa, because he is gone very far.’ In the military life, where there is affection, the joys and sorrows are more keen and higher wrought than in common life. “You can form no idea, my beloved mother, of the spirit which is required in the management of a family in India, particularly when the master is not at home, or rather gone out in dangerous warfare. The natives have no respect for females. Four or five men walk into the parlour, and quarrel altogether before your face, using the lowest and most abusive language, and trying in the night to frighten you with cries of alarm of thieves and fire. The night after Henry went away, one of the men appointed as a guard or watchman came to my window, close to my bed’s head, setting up a great howl and firing off a gun, exclaiming at the same time in Hindostanee, ‘Come, come, ye thieves, come, come, and I will destroy you; I will cut you down; there they are, there they run.’ I thought of ‘Don Quixote’ and the flock of sheep to which he called out so manfully, and could not help laughing, because I knew the men’s tricks; but Mary and Sally and Lucy, who 322

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were in another room, were terribly scared. Some ladies in the station, who had not been so long in the country as myself, were almost frightened into fits by the alarming ways of these watchmen. I own that they have made my heart beat a little when they cry ‘Fire;’ but of late they have kept themselves quieter, and the officer left here has been so kind as to let me have an invalid soldier of the regiment to sleep in the house, which has set all things to rights. “The hooping-cough is so prevalent just round us that I have resolved to move, and go into a small house which Mr. Parson,715 our chaplain, possesses within the walls of his grounds, where I hope to remain quiet, please God, till Mr. Sherwood’s return, of which I have as yet no distinct hope; but thank God he is well, in the camp among the hills, and not only well but doing good, I trust. He goes about among the natives with the other officer, Mr. Tomkins,716 and distributes the Bible in their language.717 He performs Divine service in his tent on Sundays and Wednesdays, and is perhaps the first person who ever uttered the words of God in the Indian Caucasus, or carried the Holy Bible there in the language of the natives. Are not these sweet and consoling circumstances amid all the fears and agitations of this life? I do not trouble you with an account of the campaign among the hills, it being, I am sorry to say, a disastrous one. I have now been left nearly four months, and have had occasion for the exertion of much spirit and activity, but God has been infinitely good, and has comforted and brought me so far in health.” This letter it was afterwards thought advisable to detain, as we feared to distress our aged mother in England, and we did not send it till Mr. Sherwood returned to us at Meerut. But to speak of what befel us one Sunday morning. It was, I recollect, on the 18th of December, that being prepared with my orphans, and my little Indian daughters, Lucy and Emily, one in each hand, I stood ready in the verandah, until the servants should inform me of the arrival of Mr. Leonard,718 to accompany him to the chapel, where he was to perform the service. I afterwards learnt, however, that he was taken ill suddenly that day of a fever. Mr. Bowley,719 who had done duty for us, had left Meerut to go to Mr. Corrie’s, at Agra, some months before, so that Mr. Leonard was our only hope. Whilst we stood there waiting, the servants came up in high glee, ill concealed by assumed perplexity, to say that the congregation were waiting, but no reader could be seen coming over the plain. Another and another servant followed, each with the same tale. “The congregation are waiting in the sun,” said one; “shall they be dismissed?” “Open the chapel doors, then,” I replied, “and let them in.” “It is very late, and Mr. Leonard is not to be seen,” replied the attendant. “He is not coming. Will the Beebee Sahib720 give orders for dismissing the people?” Though sorely perplexed and troubled, I could not find it in my heart to do so. No, I will not, I thought; if they go they must, but I will never order the gates of this little place of worship to be closed. But it was a moment of triumph to the heathen servants, and it was natural for them, by constant applications, to try to obtain orders for dismissing the congregation. Time moves heavily in scenes like this, and yet, though it might appear in recollection that this perplexing state of the case 323

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continued an hour or more, it was probably not of many minutes’ endurance, when suddenly, whilst still standing under the verandah, I saw two well-dressed natives approaching. Let no one now say, after reading this, that real life has not wonders great as fiction. What is here related has been written from documents taken down at the time, and owes nothing to any glosses given too often by fancy to narrations of the past. There is as much difference in the air and manner of a refined and gentlemanlike native and one of low caste, as in the different ranks and orders of Europeans, and the principal of the two whom I then saw approaching was decidedly of superior birth. He was a tall, handsome man, and, like Abdool Musseeh, of a turn of countenance and air resembling the pictures we have been accustomed to see of Abraham.721 The servants, by the cringing, fawning manner common to them, immediately acknowledged the rank of these strangers, and permitted them to approach near the spot where I stood, and to make their salams* to me. After the first civilities had passed, for the strangers said “they had come expressly to see me,” I asked them, “what had induced them to take this trouble?” They answered, “that Mr. Chamberlayne,722 the baptist minister, had sent them, desiring them to seek me out at Meerut.” I knew that Mr. Chamberlayne had been engaged by the Begum Somru, at Sirdhana, as a tutor to her grandson, and also that he had left his situation, and I believed had gone to Serampore. But this did not occur to me at the moment, for I only fancied that perhaps this gentleman was accidentally passing through Meerut, and that he had, by some unaccountable means, heard of my present dilemma, and had sent timely help. I therefore said in reply, “Mr. Chamberlayne has then heard of my distress.” “What distress?” asked the stranger. I immediately explained my situation, adding, “Who are you? and wherefore did you come here?” “I am,” was the reply, “a Christian, converted by Mr. Chamberlayne, and I have been accustomed to assist him in his services.” “Will you come with me, then, now?” I said; “you can read and expound to my little congregation.” “With joy,” he answered; “and you shall stand by me, and tell me what I shall do.” Not a moment more was lost; books were placed in the strangers’ hands, and they proceeded through the flowery and embowered paths to the little chapel in the pleasure ground, whilst every Hindoo and Mussulmaun servant of every degree in the compound crowded after them, and filled the place of worship. The stranger took his place at the desk. The Hindostanee version of the English Liturgy was opened before him; we directed him how to proceed; little Sally made the responses, and all was delightful. The stranger, whose name was Permunund,723 read extremely well, and was not in the least embarrassed by the novelty of his situation. He went through all the forms of the Liturgy as if he had been brought up in Oxford, and the Christians in the place followed his lead, and knelt down and rose up when proper so to do. The Hindoos and Mussulmauns who stood around, however, showed their independence, by sitting through the service, or standing with their arms folded. In the places appointed Permunund gave out hymns, set to * Salams—respectful bows.

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some old Eastern melody, some of which are exquisitely sweet, though generally sad. He knew many hymns of this kind, of which our Lord was the theme, and the metre entirely Oriental. The voice of this gifted native was uncommonly fine, and when he on this occasion broke forth in the praises of Him whose name is the Beloved, I felt that I had never heard such music before. Nor do I ever again expect to hear strains so sweet as those then seemed to be, till all shall be fulfilled of which those songs of holy love were then the earnest. Permunund gave out the words of the hymn, verse by verse. The air was wellknown to many. Mary and Sarah took up the strain, and every Christian present joined. Thus the chorus was filled, and surely such a chorus had never yet arisen in that province, of old the principal seat of the mighty emperors of Delhi. When these hymns and the usual prayers of the morning service were finished, Permunund asked leave to expound a chapter. He took that one from St. Luke, relating to the crucifixion of our Lord,724 and gave a most beautiful commentary upon the passage he read; using the high, flowery, and poetical style so general in the East, and seeming to comprehend the figures of Scripture at once as if by intuition, one example of which I particularly remember. In speaking of the purple robe placed upon our Lord,725 he made the figure to represent the imputation of the sins of mankind, in which the Saviour was imbued in the moment of his suffering, and by which imputation he became subject to death; for otherwise death could not have passed upon him, death being the consequence of sin.726 Could any gospel have been clearer than this? What human learning or human ingenuity could have added aught to the truth and eloquence of this commentary? Before we left the chapel, he asked permission to appoint another service in the evening; and from that time forward this little place of worship overflowed with natives, not only nominal Christians, but idolators and Mussulmauns; though these, whilst they listened, took good care to preserve their supercilious air in the presence of the Christians. Whilst walking back with Permunund to the house I said, “Come, tell me now, did you drop from the clouds this morning?” He then informed me that his mind had been first awakened to attention to the Christian religion by Mr. Chamberlayne when that zealous child of God was at Sirdhana. Mr. Chamberlayne, it seems, had employed him in reading and teaching, and he had been with him some months; at length Permunund had been led to desire baptism, at the same time requiring to have his infant children baptized with himself. Mr. Chamberlayne, thinking as he did,727 could not comply with this last request, neither would Permunund give it up. Mr. Chamberlayne then proposed that if such were his wishes as it regarded his infant children, he should apply for advice and instruction from some person of the Established Church of England, and he recommended him to seek me out, “who,” he said, “would take interest in his spiritual concerns.” Circumstances, however, had delayed his coming till the critical moment when his appearance was thus marvellously ordered. Nor can we easily calculate the effect of this singular occurrence on the minds of those who witnessed it. Permunund himself seemed to feel it deeply. Having no one to consult, without hesitation I engaged him to remain in the family for a few months 325

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to perform the service in the chapel, to overlook the native schoolmaster, and to instruct the children. He was well content to accept the proposal, for I was to give him eight rupees a month, and, provided that he attended to what I required, he had liberty to go to and fro, and do what he pleased in his leisure hours. He very soon opened a room in the old city of Meerut for reading and expounding the Scriptures. He took vast pains to instruct his little English pupils to sing Hindostanee hymns; and many a time, when very far from Meerut, under the pale, cold sky of England, have these children caused tears to gush to the eyes of their parents by singing these songs of another land. Let me relate one more anecdote of this year before I close it; but that one, I regret to say, is not of so pleasing a description as the last. On the great day of the Mohurrum,728 the 23rd of December, the Dhayes wanted the liberty to go out, which I refused. They all appeared to submit quietly, and I supposed even that I had carried my point, when, in the middle of the night, I heard Henry’s fosterbrother screaming most dreadfully. I was up in a moment, and went into a closed verandah where this baby and its nurse always slept. I found the woman sitting on her bedstead, leaning her head forwards on her hands, the very image of sullenness and stupidity, whilst the black baby was lying with his face downwards on the cold chunam floor; his mother and the other women were up, looking on and expostulating. I came forward in high indignation, and asked what all this meant, ordering the woman to take up the baby. Stir she did not. On my repeating my commands, she muttered, “Why did you not let me go to the Mohurrum, then?” “I used to wonder,” says my journal, “at what is said of Queen Elizabeth, that she boxed the ears of her maids of honour,729 but I now wonder no longer.” I used argument, and it was useless; so I followed the example of the royal lady, and then so able were my arguments, that the nurse caught up the baby, and found the proper means of quieting him instantly, and from that time gave me no farther trouble. I am not commending these summary modes of procedure in any circumstances; I am merely telling a fact. But I must not omit to bring in the fag-end730 of this story. Being in England some years afterwards, I was telling what I had done in the presence of a lady who kept a maid-of-all-work.731 Now it so happened that this damsel the next day chose to be insolent. The mistress thought that she could not do better than follow my excellent example; so to work she went, and was obliged to make very humble apologies to save herself from being carried before a magistrate, where, no doubt, she would have pleaded my example. It was soon after this, that, going into the nursery, I found the little black boy sprawling again on the floor, and Henry riding on him, or pretending to do so by jolting up and down on his back. I called to his mother to ask her how she could suffer such a thing. She laughed and said, “Is he not Hindoo, and is he not Henry Sahib’s Bunda732 (slave), and may he not do what he will with him?” I found afterwards that this poor woman was in fact, even at that time, a slave of Sirdhana,733 and had run away and found a refuge with us. We took care that she should never be a slave again; but she could not lay aside the slavish feelings. I soon unhorsed my boy, and ordered that he should never be suffered to ride again upon the same steed. 326

CHAPTER XXVII. WE MOVE TO MR. PARSON’S BUNGALOW—LORD MOIRA’S VISIT TO MEERUT—LETTER FROM COLONEL MAWBY—RETURN OF MR. SHERWOOD—LITTLE ELIZABETH O—OUR VISIT TO THE BEGUM SOMRU—PERMUNUND’S ASTRONOMY—MR. SHERWOOD GOES AGAIN TO THE FIELD—THE END OF THE WAR—OUR REMOVAL TO BERHAMPORE—OUR RAINY JOURNEY—SHAHJEHANPORE—OUR ARRIVAL AT THE GHAUT OF GHURMETSIR—THE BRAHMIN—OUR VISIT TO MR. SHERER AT CALCUTTA—OUR REMOVAL TO ALDEEN—THE BAPTIST MISSIONARY SETTLEMENT—THE SUTTEE. THE taking of Kalunga734 was a terrible affair, but we were easier at Meerut when the true accounts were made known; for grievous was it to see the poor women weeping and lamenting, and some had need to weep, for they were widows. Dismal news, however, again reached us from the camp: more of the poor 53rd cut up in attempting to stop the water of some fort near Nahum.735 A cruel work this stopping water, more especially in these hot climates. As the news was still sad from the camp, I made up my mind to accept an invitation to repair with all my children and a few servants to the small bungalow in Mr. Parson’s compound. He had often pressed me to do so, and as these matters are very easily arranged in India, it took but a day to move and be settled; and very comfortable we were in this small bungalow, under the protection of Mr. Parson. Sometimes in the cool of the evening our children played together in the gardens, whilst we walked about, and our beloved friend Mrs. Mawby never failed to be of our party. Our Hindostanee service was at this time always conducted by Permunund, and greatly was I pleased with the improvement he effected in the singing of the hymns. Every country has its own peculiar character and style of music; that of the East is sweet and melancholy in the extreme, but wonderfully melodious. I cannot speak scientifically of music, yet I know what is lovely, and some of the old Indian airs to my taste surpass every air I ever heard in Europe as to their deeply touching pathos. Permunund took great pains to teach our little ones to sing these airs to the hymns which Mr. Corrie had caused to be prepared. I spent the few next days in a quiet, contented way, with my sweet children about me, and my kind friends near me. The weather was cool, and my own little ones blooming and gay. I have their figures before me as they played in the shade of the little bungalow, whilst the sun was getting low. Ah! where are my daughters now? More gloriously beautiful are they become than even their mother thought them then; for there is no spot nor stain of sin upon them; and when I behold them again, I shall be satisfied, yea, filled with joy; for they shall be in the likeness of their Redeemer,736 and one with Him. 327

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The governor-general, Lord Moira,737 and his lady, with their suite, had been making a progress among the higher provinces, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomason,738 with their children, had the privilege of travelling with them, and seeing much of India to great advantage. The government party, who had been expected some time, entered Meerut early in this month; and our own dear friends, who had preceded the rest a day or two, were received into Mr. Parson’s house. Mr. Thomason on his arrival loaded the children with many toys, and immense was the bustle of coming and going for a short time. Lord Moira had given notice to inspect the schools, and there were none to inspect but that in our little chapel. There had been for some years past at that time two establishments near Calcutta, the one for the relief of orphans of officers of both sexes, and the other for the orphans of military men of inferior grade. The children in these establishments were found, with very few exceptions, to consist of those of white men and coloured mothers, and it had already been proved, as in the case of Sarah Abbot,739 that the two descriptions could not be mixed without the greatest detriment to the smaller party. The attention of Lady Loudon had been providentially drawn to this subject by the case of Annie, who was well known, much loved, and much admired among the religious party in Calcutta. This dear child, by her tender and delicate habits, was just the individual to create an interest for all her class in the eyes and minds of the more refined and elegant of the society in Calcutta, and thus the Almighty wrought his blessed work. Thus was Lady Loudon’s mind led to inquire into the state of motherless white girls exposed to all kinds of evil in barracks. It was this interest for the little one I had adopted which had induced her to procure from me, through Mrs. Thomason first, and afterwards by a more direct address, all the information on the subject which I could give. This confirmed the noble lady in her intention of establishing an asylum in Calcutta for white orphan girls,740 and she only waited for her return to the presidency to commence the blessed work. What a long and sweet discourse did I have that evening with Mr. and Mrs. Thomason at the little bungalow, and I was made to feel that every desire of my heart respecting these little ones, over whom I had mourned so long and so often, would now be more than answered. But where was my faith? Had I passed wholly unregarded these words of the Lord to Jonah?—“Thou hast had pity on the gourd for the which thou hast not laboured, neither madest it to grow, and should I not spare Nineveh, wherein are more than six score thousand that cannot discern between their right hand and their left?” (Jonah iii. 10, 11).741 My dear friend, Mrs. Mawby, about this time received the following letter from the colonel, which shows the friendly nature of his feelings to Mr. Sherwood and myself. It was respecting his leave of absence. It must be understood that Buxi means paymaster in the Anglo-Indian language. Copy of a Letter from Colonel Mawby to Mrs. Mawby. “Mr. Buxi came up the hill this morning at breakfast time, and I asked him ‘what he wished for.’ He said, ‘I wish for many things.’ ‘Well! what are they?’ 328

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‘Why, Sir, I wish I was off this hill.’ ‘And what more, Mr. Buxi?’ ‘I wish, Sir, I could be allowed to go to Meerut to Mrs. Sherwood, after mustering and paying the regiment on the 4th.’ I left him, of course, in suspense, but on going away he said, ‘Well, Sir, may I write to the collector to lay bearers for me to Meerut?’ so that, I suppose, he will be with his family about the end of this month.” (Such was the colonel’s kind letter; and now I add this memorandum to my journal in 1851. These friends were removed to a better and happier world within a very few months of each other. The last illness of our beloved Indian friend, Lieutenant-General Mawby,742 made its fatal attack within the first few weeks of my widowhood.) It was past midnight, just at morning dawn, that Mr. Sherwood arrived from the camp, and any one must have been in the situation such as that in which our ladies then were to know the delight of a husband’s return. He was all joy to see his children again, and the little ones hung upon him with delight. My fair little girls formed a curious contrast with their father, for he was tanned till he looked as dark as a mulatto, and he with the rest of the officers had let their hair and moustaches grow, dren to protect them from the cold winds of the mountains. The effect was strange; for the climate and mode of life of India make our infants’ complexions exceedingly delicate. It is for this reason that in one of my most popular works, in representing my own family, I call them “The Fairchild Family.”743 It must be remembered also that my eye then had constantly before it the dark natives of the south. As I was not at that time capable of much exertion, Mr. Sherwood looked after the schools, and Mr. Thomason appointed Permunund, under our eye, schoolmaster in the city. I have learned from Mr. Thomason that the convert from Rampore is assisting him in overlooking Fitrit’s translation of the Old Testament.744 On the 20th of this month, February, nineteen days after her father’s return, another daughter was added to our family. Every one had predicted that this infant could not live, so great had been the alarms and terrors for some months previous to her birth; but, through the Divine mercy, she proved to be a healthy baby. I had blindly wished for a son, to be the companion of my dear Henry. Where would have been my comfort now if this my wish had been granted? This was my fifth daughter, the only one, through various circumstances, left to be the solace and support of my declining age. Three of my daughters are with their Saviour. One, my eldest born, is herself the mother of a numerous family, who claim her constant and daily care; but my youngest Indian daughter is my comfort and my earthly rest. Let it not be thought, though, that I repined for an instant because I had not a son. No, for my heart at once poured forth all its affection towards the little helpless one; nor has the stream diminished from that time to the present hour, though years are past since first I took this daughter to my arms. Oh, let me point out from this that every disappointment we ever received will be as much to our advantage, when proved, as this has been to me. Oh, the goodness, the unspeakable goodness, of our Creator to all the creatures he has made. And for myself, oh Heavenly Father, I can declare thou hast kept me, and will keep me, in the secret of thy pavilion745 till time shall be no more. 329

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On the last Thursday of this month one of our soldier’s wives died in childbirth, leaving a little girl, who, as usual, was brought to me. I had vast trouble to find a nurse, which search occupied me to the end of the month. There are some curious circumstances attending this poor woman. She had been reared by pious people in a charity-school; she had married wretchedly; her husband was a man who drank and swore, and behaved most shockingly in every way. The unhappy woman attempted to console herself with drinking, and was doomed to pay the penalty of death in childbirth. But she lived a few days after the birth of her little girl, and was frequently visited by our chaplain, at which seasons she referred incessantly, and with apparent confidence, to what she had learned in youth. The chaplain was shocked beyond expression, and we knew not what to make of it. He found there was much evangelical knowledge, and but little practical influence. These things are beyond man’s comprehension, at least it was beyond ours then; in later life I have learnt to lay hold of the promise more firmly, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after many days thou shalt find it.”746 Parents, guardians, teachers, of all classes and descriptions, to you I say, “Labour diligently, be not discouraged; and trust in the Lord with all your heart. Fear not.”747 If ye have asked for bread for these misguided ones, will HE give you a stone?748 Nay, rather, “If ye ask the Father anything in the name of Christ, He will grant it you.” John xv. 16.749 On Easter Sunday the Begum Somru750 came with her camels, and set up her tents in the plain between our house and Mr. Parson’s. She then sent her usual present of rose-water to certain of the ladies, which was a hint that we were to pay our compliments. Accordingly I went, with others of the officers’ wives, taking with me my two little girls and two of the orphans. Many tents were pitched around, and the plain was littered by elephants, camels, hackeries, &c. We were ushered into the principal tent, where her highness sat on a musnud,751 her shrivelled person being almost lost in Cashmere shawls and immense cushions of quin qwab.752 Her superb hookah was set ready to one hand, and her glittering paunbox753 to the other, whilst very little of her person but her remarkably plain face was visible. Behind her, on the cushions, was perched David Dyce, the son of her husband’s daughter, a child of five or six years of age, in a full court suit—coat, waistcoat, and shorts of crimson satin,—with a sword dangling to his side, and a cocked hat. On each side the musnud was a row of female slaves, standing with their backs to the wall of the tent, dressed in white cotton, and that none of the cleanest. We went in, and having exchanged bows and salams in due form, and chairs being offered, the Begum addressed the children I had brought with me, all of whom answered very correctly, except the youngest of my little girls then present. Emily was the very specimen of a delicate and beautiful little English girl, such as the Begum probably had not often seen, and she seemed resolved to make her speak. At first she began gently and soothingly, but not a word would the little one reply, till the Begum said, “I suspect you have no tongue.” “I have,” she answered. 330

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“It is good for nothing, then,” said the old lady. “I will have it cut out and given to the crows.” The child reddened and stamped with her foot, and called the Begum “a naughty wicked Beebee.”754 The old lady laughed, and the poor slaves echoed her laugh; but I was glad to get the child away, though she expressed no fear. Master David, in his crimson satin suit, was called upon to hand us out of the tent, which he did with the usual etiquette. I must just add one remark in this place. My little girl, of whom I have just spoken, was a remarkably passionate infant; in her after life she proved quite otherwise, constantly evidencing much self-command. This change I can but attribute to the Divine influence, which early prepared her for glory. This week, I notice in my diary, I saw our own guard of the Begum’s Seapoys755 were reading Persian, and I sent a St. Matthew’s Gospel to one, and a St. Mark’s Gospel to another. Permunund’s new school of twenty-six boys came to be examined, and our own school increased. A stranger called to ask for a St. Matthew’s Gospel, which was given to him. Mr. Sherword read daily the Scriptures to the servants in their own language, and privately with Permanund, to give him deeper instructions. He afterwards employed him in teaching the Naugree756 Gospel to one bearer and five other men servants, but they seemed inclined to discontinue learning. But, thank God, I heard from Permanund that there was an immense demand for Naugree Scriptures in the city. I have remarked I had much difficulty in getting a nurse for the little orphan I had last brought to me. The women about had decided that the child must die, and they scarcely made the necessary attempts to save it. My little Eliza has, however, been spared to grow to womanhood. It was after one of our usual Hindostanee services, conducted by Permunund, that the notice came for Mr. Sherwood to return to the camp. Then news came that our regiment was ordered to Calcutta, and thus our minds were much agitated with doubts respecting our present and future plans, or whether he ought to go at all to the camp, as the detachment with which he was to go had been directed to remain where they were. However, he at last resolved upon starting, and I was full of anxiety about this journey on account of the heat, and because he went alone. He travelled dork,757 and was obliged to take advantage of the coolness of night. I was praying for him in much anguish that God would take care of him, when these words came powerfully to my mind, “I will; be not afraid.” On the 22nd of April I received a letter from Mr. Sherwood, and I see by the one I answered that it was at this time the Moonshee758 and Permanund were engaging me in explaining something of astronomy and the shape of the earth, &c., to them. I had found in India, where globes and maps are not to be had, a little way of my own, with larger and lesser balls, for teaching the children the rudiments of astronomy and geography. The grown men I had then to teach were not only as ignorant as children, but were each furnished with innumerable false notions on these subjects; as, for instance, that the world was a vast plain, with the sun on a 331

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high mountain in its centre. These notions were to be put away before the others could be understood, or, at any rate, removed for awhile out of sight; but I found my pupils wonderfully ready to learn. There is a letter from Permunund in one of the Missionary Registers, in which he refers most affectionately to me and my balls of silk. On one occasion the Moonshee said, “Are you not accounted one of the wisest women in the world, Beebee?” I could not resist answering, “Far from it; I have been accounted a fool in my own country.” Which was true enough, as Mr. Edgeworth had spoken disparagingly of my abilities, and others also had paid me the same compliments more than once, in childhood; I suppose from my appearing somewhat absent in company. “Eh wa! wa! wonderful! wonderful!” cried the old man, nothing doubting of the marvellous cleverness of the English ladies. All these lessons were given by me in Hindostanee, which added vastly to their labour, my broken language being corrected when written down by the Moonshee’s son, who assisted, as the French would say, at these strange lectures. During Mr. Sherwood’s absence, as usual, we kept up the Hindostanee service; as to the English service, only the children and the native women attached to the regiment attended it, for the English women did not. And here I must remark, that I was often greatly distressed in my mind by the condition of these native women. I then thought that the evil of the system belonging to them might and ought to be remedied. I have not now, as I had then, either hopes or expectations of seeing this world amended. It lieth in wickedness, and always has and always will do so, till the blessed One shall take the government into His own hands. The system I allude to is this, that the white men in barracks are allowed to take each of them a black woman as a temporary wife whilst they are in India. These women, for the most part, live in huts near the barracks, and act as servants to the men; and the only idea these poor creatures have of morality and honour is, that whilst thus engaged to one man they are to be faithful to him, and faithful many are, perhaps following him for years, bearing him many children, and may be standing with those children on the sands of the river to see the last of him and of the vessel which bears him away. I have had scenes of this kind described to me by such of these poor creatures as have themselves gone through them, and I cannot recal the recollection of them without tears. The lower orphan-school provides refuges for many of these poor children; but the mothers have no refuge, nor can I understand how one can be provided. She has lost caste by her union with the white man, and has no resource but, if she can, to form such another temporary union with another white man. In the meanwhile I received many letters from the camp with different information. Mr. Sherwood said that in the middle of the day the heat was oppressive, but he ought not to complain, for he had a tent, and could do as he liked; whereas several persons were obliged to pass the whole of the day with nothing but a screen made of portions of the tents. Mr. Sherwood added, “If we are to go by appearances, we are not one step nearer taking the fort than we were a 332

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month ago; but I believe the general knows what he is about. The Ghoorkas desert in dozens. * * * * The great number of women in the fort is the reason both of their distress and obstinacy, and the army is obliged to be much on the alert for fear of some desperate attack. * * * * I pity the Ghoorkas, and wish they would come to some terms. About five days ago the garrison consisted of 2090 fighting men; but we have had on an average ten a day coming in, and yesterday one came in and said they were starving, and that he himself, with many others, were confined in the stocks on suspicion of desertion. He says, too, that great numbers get out and make their escape to the low lands, in hopes of reaching their own country.” On the 10th of May Mr. Sherwood writes, “Poor Brodie is very unfortunate. Emery, he, and I took a walk in advance yesterday, where it was thought all was safe, and where half the officers of the regiment were assembled, when a chance matchlock ball struck Brodie on the elbow and carried away a piece of the bone—a very ugly wound. I had just turned away with Daly at the moment, and did not see it.” It was on the 17th that the next letter was written, and as it is a short one I will copy it:—“You must be content,” he writes, “with short notes from me; for I always put off, to the last moment, writing. Everything looks like capitulation, but we learn nothing for a certainty. Not a gun has been fired today, and messengers are passing. The Ghoorkas appear sitting within range of our guns, and our men are walking about within reach of theirs, and all this looks well. It is more than probable we shall be removed in a few days; but you will hear this from Mrs. Mawby, as I am a long way from the colonel. He came down and partook of one of my poor breakfasts this morning. I was really ashamed. I had a pot of bad butter on a tin dish, and a bit of bread; and that was all I could give him. I am out of wine, and there was none drinkable at the mess; I had seven bottles broke, by the Coolies falling, of that I brought with me, and all my rum was knocked over by the tent during the storm of the 4th. That was a dreadful night; the wind blew a complete hurricane, and the rain poured. I was up all night, for my tent was nearly down, and not only my rum lost, but my looking-glass broken. The mess-tent, too, broke. But, notwithstanding the poor breakfast I had to offer the colonel, I believe it was not his intention to have returned up the hill again so soon, but he was sent for in a hurry. I dine in Brodie’s tent, who cannot go to the mess. The poor Ghoorkas are absolutely starving, and begging for food; but we dare not give them any, for we fear they will not capitulate as long as they can exist.” On the 29th of May, middle day, Mr. Sherwood arrived at Meerut, and so I suppose the Indian warfare for that time had closed. He says, on the 18th, “The Ghoorka chief came into the camp, and all appeared to be at peace; but, the fort not being in the possession of the English, anxiety still prevailed.” The regiment left Nahum on the 5th June, and arrived three miles east of Meerut on the 20th, to which place Mr. Sherwood went to pay the officers, and there received orders for our immediate removal to Berhampore. I will not attempt 333

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to describe our feelings on this announcement, but we hastened to prepare for our departure. On Thursday, the 14th July, I saw the beloved chapel, and the congregation in it, for the last time. Captain and Mrs. Arden, who were at Meerut only for a short time, and had no house, came into ours as we left it; for we lent it to them. On the morning of the 20th July, after our house was quite emptied, we went to spend the day at Mr. Parson’s bungalow. Our trunks, beds, &c., had been sent forwards, and Captain Arden most kindly forwarded his tent to Shahjehanpore, half way between Meerut and the Ghaut,759 for our use. Our intention was to make the first move in the night, and our line of march was thus arranged: Mr. Sherwood leading the way on horseback, myself and baby in the first palanquin, my little boy and his nurse in the second, my little girls and their attendants in a bullock-coach belonging to a friend, and the foster brother of my son, with his nurse in attendance, in a second bullock-coach; and, lastly, a one-horse carriage, also borrowed, containing the orphans we had adopted; six modes of conveyances in all, added to which we had seventeen Coolies, carrying provisions and clothes in baskets slung on bamboos. I could laugh now at this procession, but so little did it appear particular to me then that I made no comment whatever upon it in my diary; but I remark how sad, how very, very sad, did we all feel that day at Mr. Parson’s. Often did I look upon our own beloved bungalow, which I was never more to enter; and I have now before me the whole line of the house, the front windows appearing above and amid the baubools760 and parkinsonias761 on the lawn. We left Mr. Parson’s at three in the afternoon. The day had been uncommonly overclouded for the season, with occasional showers, and it seemed so dark, and consequently cool, that we ventured forth earlier than we had intended. Our procession, however, had not advanced above two miles before the rain began to pour, not as a storm, but right down, as in a dead, solemn calm, the whole horizon being one dark lowering cloud. Soon the whole plain was a continued sheet of water, the bearers and cattle sliding at every step; for the earth around Meerut being of a soapy nature it became slippery in the extreme. Knowing that the Kali Middy762 lay in our route, we judged it right to return, which we accomplished with some difficulty, and thus we had another sorrowful evening and another sad parting. Our little ones, too, deeply felt these partings. The affection of one of Mr. Parson’s sons for my little Emily was curious. He would follow her everywhere, and stand to look at her as if he saw her only in the whole world. That first day of parting she gave him a small glass phial, and he held it in his hand night and day for a long time after she was gone. He was only three years old, and she was just four. It rained a good deal in the early part of the night, but at one o’clock it stopped, and the wind began to blow away the clouds which passed rapidly before the full moon. Mr. Sherwood arose and collected the family, and we set off once more, and our last look at the plain of Meerut was taken by moonlight. The roads 334

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were wet and slippery, and we advanced with difficulty. How often have I been tossed about from one country to another? how often has my heart attached itself to things, to places, to persons, and how have these cords of love been continually cut asunder? The love of the creature passeth away, but that of the Creator abideth for ever. Farewell for awhile, dear school; farewell, little church; thou art a Philadelphia, which hath an open door which no man can shut. After we started, the blinds of my palanquin being closed, with my child in my arms I fell into a sleep from which I did not wake till early dawn. I then opened my eyes, and looked out on a common, where I saw a row of round-topped, small trees. We slept again, and awoke in a small village, where we all stopped in the midst of a herd of cows. The Indian cows are small, of an iron grey, and of a very hungry appearance. All the party being come up, we bought some milk, had it put into a brass dish, and bread being sopped in it, the children after partaking of it were much refreshed. We next came to a beautiful tope,763 with roads beneath it, winding away in different directions, looking green and fresh from the late rain. The air was cool, and many birds were singing. I thought how sweet this scene would be when all India shall be Christianized. Passing on a little farther, we suddenly came to the plain where our regiment was encamped; they were, of course, bound like ourselves to the Ghaut. We soon afterwards stopped to refresh our bearers, whilst Mr. Sherwood went on before. We had a nulla to pass, where the water was expected to be between three and four feet deep, and Mr. Sherwood being afraid that the cattle and the people would knock up before we could possibly reach Shahjehanpore, set off to try at a neighbouring village if he could get any assistance, but he could not succeed. When the children’s carriages came up, and the bearers had rested a little, we went on by a gentle ascent to the village, and there saw Mr. Sherwood sitting at the door of a Serai.764 I must here acknowledge that I again fell asleep, and have no recollection of passing the nulla,765 or of anything, till we were come near to the beautiful groves of Shahjehanpore, a place renowned in the annals of the Sultans of Delhi.766 As we advanced we came to a running stream; the bearers stopped to drink, and the poor Behistee (watercarrier)767 whom we had taught to read the Bible, brought me some water in a leathern cup. It was cool and sweet, but, as I thought, not so sweet and refreshing as those precious truths which through the Divine favour we had been the unworthy means of opening in the letter to that poor man. We entered Shahjehanpore beneath beautiful mango topes of considerable extent, and underneath the branches of one of these we saw some ruins, which appeared like the portico of a temple. We observed also in various places the remains of ancient burial-grounds, the walls of the tombs in many instances broken away, whilst here and there lofty doorways of stone, remained alone of all the buildings, to which they originally belonged, exalting themselves above the brakes768 and underwood.769 We found the tent lent to us by Captain Arden pitched near a well, under an immense Brahminee fig tree.770 It was six o’clock before we reached it. There, in that royal solitude, we found everything that we could possibly require for 335

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comfort and refreshment. The bedding and other furniture reserved for our use in the boats were arranged in the two compartments of the large tent in the nicest order; the table set out for breakfast as if we had been in our dear bungalow, and our little hump-backed Kitmutghaur and his assistants ready to serve us, as unmoved in their aspects as if we had indeed been there. Whilst at breakfast another tremendous shower occurred, accompanied by the singular phenomenon of the fall of several fish, one as long as a man’s fore-finger; they were all quite fresh, though of course dashed to pieces in their fall. This is the more remarkable, as Shahjehanpore is far from any extensive waters. Some suppose that fish may be drawn up to the clouds by water spouts. The tent protected us so well that we remained quite dry whilst watching the rain, and soon I laid down on the couch and read my Bible for a considerable time. Then I took up a volume of the Persian tales, and did not I enjoy my literary banquet—the reading of the Persian tales beneath the groves of Shahjehanpore? Fancy has her delights, and I often pity those who do not understand them. When the rain was over, the children, with their nurses and servants, played about the roots of the old pepul tree, or, as some call it, the Brahminee fig tree. The children were sad, for they were about to leave their native country and their old companions. They then spoke a little English, but all their conversations passed in Hindostanee, and their associations, too, were Oriental. A crow came and sat on a bough in an opposite tree, and began to caw. Lucy got up and, addressing it, said, “Pretty crow, is every one well at Meerut, and is Annie good at Calcutta?” I asked her “what she meant by putting these questions to the bird,” and she answered, that her nurse had told her “that crows know all things.”771 It was at midnight that we again continued our journey, nor did we stop till we were in sight of the Brahmin’s Grove772 at Ghurmetsir. Mr. Sherwood, being on horseback, had no rest; but we, in our palanquins and bullock-coaches, slept the greater part of the way. He found that the country was almost covered with water, not deep, but enough to detain and fatigue the cattle. The tent was to go back from Shahjehanpore, but our baggage was to go to the Ghaut. Mr. Sherwood found the parties conveying it resting in the different villages on the way, so weary that they could not get on. As there was a budgerow and other boats already provided for us at the Ghaut, he permitted them to remain till refreshed, but we pushed on, though the floods were so high at Doolicah we had great difficulty in passing. In the meanwhile the clouds became more and more threatening, but the rain did not fall till Mr. Sherwood was within five minutes’ ride of the boats, and then so heavily did it come down that he was wet through in those few minutes; but he found, however, a change of clothes in the budgerow sent on before. Our quartermaster, who had been some days at the Ghaut with his family, received us hospitably, and gave us a good breakfast; and when the sun came out, which it soon did, we were not long in arranging all our things in our boats. Near the Ghaut of Ghurmetsir was a grove of many trees, planted by a Brahmin, who, though fifty years afterwards, still lived within its shade, in a small bungalow which he himself had built. This Brahmin was accounted one of superior 336

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sanctity among his people, and it happened that on the same day on which we left Meerut there was a great meeting of Brahmins to take place in the sacred grove of Ghurmetsir, on account of a great eclipse of the moon. Permunund was anxious to be present at this meeting, and to take his balls of silk, to impart some of that knowledge of the heavenly bodies which he had lately acquired concerning the form of the earth; which knowledge he asserted was a powerful instrument in throwing down the whole fabric of old and monstrous superstitions that had so inflamed his own mind. He wished, as I said, to be present at the assembly, and also that he might then take a last farewell of us at the Ghaut. He took his Bible with him, and held many arguments with the Brahmins, not only on the subject of the motions of the heavenly bodies, but on that of prophecy, which had lately much occupied his mind. We remained at the Ghaut till after the next Sunday, our regiment coming up in the mean time, and settling themselves in the boats. On Saturday Permunund came from the Brahmins, and asserted that they had heard him with eagerness. Oh, my God! Thou wert and art doing great things for this poor country. We had Hindostanee service in our boat on Sunday, and many of our poor servants were present, who had often heard the Word of God on such occasions—but where were they to hear it again? We talked much with Permunund in the evening about the conversion of the natives, and we parted in much sorrow; the children wept bitterly, and long, long they talked of poor Permunund. He returned solitary and alone to Meerut, and we never saw him more. On the Tuesday I accompanied Mr. Sherwood and Mrs Mawby to the Brahmin’s grove, but had not much time to talk to the Brahmin. He lives in his bungalow; the two other dwellings, built on each side of his, form a court in the centre, a very common arrangement in this country. It was late, and dusky under the trees. When we arrived two young Brahmins were sitting on the cherbuter.773 The old man was at prayers within, and we heard him call upon his idol. The young men spoke highly of Permunund, of his wisdom, and of his knowledge. They called on the old man to come out to us. He received us politely, and actually had chairs to offer us, but many of our officers being with us, I did not like to say much to him. It would be both tedious and uninteresting to describe how the fleet embarked from Ghurmetsir, and how we sometimes kept with it, and sometimes were in advance of it, as the scenery through which we passed called for our attention or otherwise. At Cawnpore Mr. Sherwood received permission to visit England for twelve months, but not for his final return. A few days after we had left Cawnpore, I believe it was on a Sunday, we observed a native come down into the water near our budge-row, with some sweetmeats in his hand; these he threw into the water, little by little, crying each time, “Gunga mi ca lo.” “My Gunga, take and eat.” Our voyage would be but a recapitulation of what I have described before of travelling through beautiful scenes, where the air is envenomed with poison, where death walks abroad on grand parades, inhabits marble halls, and hangs on every gale. The English children are deadly white, white as the whitest marble, 337

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till there is not even a tincture of colour in their lips. A damp heat pervades the whole atmosphere, producing a luxuriant vegetation, and promoting the increase of every species of disgusting and noxious reptile. In this unhealthy spot my infant was taken alarmingly ill; and it was whilst fearing for her life we came to anchor one evening in a jungle covered with flowering shrubs, amidst which I discovered a small white tomb, an infant’s tomb, over which stood a lofty palm tree. This tree had no doubt been wounded too deeply for its sap. It was in a dying state; its beautiful crown had fallen and hung on one side of the still upright stem, the vast leaves were turned quite black, and drooped like the sable plumes of the hearse, and a more striking emblem of death and of funereal pomp nature could surely nowhere supply. When the front of our budgerow touched this point I thought of Pompey, who, when the beak of his ship pointed to a tomb on the shores of Africa, was much troubled at the omen, and ordered that the vessel should be passed on a little further.774 But was this poor heathen to be an example to me? Had he a Saviour, a Friend, a Brother on high to look to as I had? Ah, why did I not rather regard in humble confidence the beautiful appropriateness of this emblem to Him who died in giving His blood for His people? And here I must say one word on the wonderful love and devotion of the Indian bearer of my baby, for it must be understood she had not at that time a black nurse. For one long, weary night did Jevan, kneeling beside the cot whereon the infant lay, watch her with the most unfeigned interest, awaiting the critical moment when the fearful fever of the jungles might effect its most terrible purpose, or pass away, we hoped, without any consequences. He it was who waited on her as the tenderest mother; and never shall I forget his soft, musical cry of “Baba gee, baba gee,” “The baby lives, the baby lives,” which he uttered as the dreadful symptoms of fever passed, one by one, away, and gentle sleep prevailed. I believe there are few instances of an English babe of five months old surviving the terrible fever ascribed to the miasma of the jungles of India. Oh, my God, how can I thank Thee for all the mercies bestowed upon me? The regiment received orders at Berhampore to proceed immediately to Calcutta, to embark for Madras; but we had determined to return to England, therefore these orders affected us but little. On the 24th September Mr. Sherwood gave up his paymaster duties, and we saw the iron box carried away to the acting paymaster’s quarters. We were very sad, but our attention was diverted by the alarming circumstance that the children saw a deadly serpent in the grass, which I believe was afterwards destroyed. It wanted only a little for Mr. Sherwood to have been twenty years with his corps. He had never left it before for any length of time, and he was so unwilling to have a parting scene, that we got under weigh at four in the morning, and halted at some little distance above the station. It must be understood that we had two motherless girls with us, Mary and Sarah, whom we purposed taking to England. The fathers of these children, soldiers of the 53rd, came with us to the boat to say farewell. Alas, poor 53rd! We were going to Mr. Sherer’s at Calcutta, whose lady was my own beloved friend, Miss Corrie. On our landing at the Ghaut, we found servants and carriages 338

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waiting to convey us to Chouringhee, where they resided. In my journal I find the following passage:—“30th Sept. This morning came down to Calcutta, where we are waiting the turn of the tide. And now, O Almighty Father! let me humbly thank thee for thine inestimable mercies, in that, not one evil untoward accident has happened to us in this long voyage of nearly four months. Oh, Lord God Almighty, give to me and to my babes Thine own robes, the robes provided by Thee for a covering, even the garments made white by Thy blood.”775 We got into the carriages sent by Mr. Sherer, and, if I remember rightly, passed through the Fort776 and over the drawbridges to Chouringhee.777 This is a magnificent row of houses facing a plain, at one end of which is the Government House. The houses are all white, being covered with chunam, with green lattices and immense porticoes, sometimes elevated to the very roofs, which are flat and encompassed by stone balustrades. They stand in gardens, which of course are rich with all those luxuriant trees only known in tropical countries. They have large gates and porters’ lodges, and are the residences of the great Sahibs of Calcutta. Amongst these, as far as rank went, was Mr. Sherer, the company’s accountant-general; and the next house to his was Bishop Middleton’s, the first Indian bishop of our Church, whom the natives called the Lord Padre. We were whirled away to Chouringhee, and were received with the warmest welcome by our beloved friends, Mr. and Mrs. Sherer and dear little Annie. Mrs. Sherer was then the happy mother of two fair girls, Mary Anne and Lucy. Sweet Lucy, she was not then two moons old; a lovely, delicate baby bestowed to bless her parents for awhile, and then to be removed, “High in salvation and the climes of bliss.”778 We saw much of our sweet Annie in Calcutta; she was with us in our room whenever she pleased. She was grown a tall girl, with a most agreeable manner; but she already suffered from that disease which terminated her life not many years afterwards. Mr. Sherwood took a passage for us and the two motherless girls, Mary and Sarah, in the ship “Robarts,” Captain Brown, and this filled my heart with joy for these my dear adopted ones; for often, often had I prayed that I might not be separated from them. At this time I became acquainted with Mr. Marshman and one of the young Carys, who came from Berhampore, for they were friends of my host and hostess. With them came a Mr. May, who had particular delight in instructing young children, for whom he had written several books filled with anecdotes. My Lucy’s late Dhaye, who had come to Calcutta with her lady, the niece of Lady Loudon, came to see her child. Poor Piarée, how tender was the meeting, between her and her nursling; how dearly did Lucy love her nurse; how earnestly did she strive in after years, by saving her pocket money, to effect means by which her beloved Piarée might be taught the truth; how often did she pray for her, that they might meet in glory; how many were the little tokens 339

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of affection sent to her: and when my Lucy was no more, I found amongst her papers, prayers for this poor creature, and a letter and presents to be sent to her. I fear that none of these tokens or parcels reached her; but why should I fear? He who gave that infant the heart to pray had surely determined in His infinite love to grant that prayer before it was uttered. It was in consequence of the strong affection of my Lucy for Piarée that I was induced to write the little tale of “Lucy and her Dhaye,”779 which is, in many points, true. Again I address myself to the children of English parents born in India, who owe perhaps their very existence now to the poor natives of those Eastern climes. Do not forget them, but remember, if you are allowed to owe to them an earthly life, implore permission to repay them by aiding the means used to show them the way to gain a heavenly life. About this time, as I was getting into the coach for an airing, a small book just arrived from Europe was put into my hand. I looked at it as we were driving along, and looked again, fancying that I must be dreaming, for the book was so very like “Susan Gray;”780 but the title of the book was “Betsy Green,”781 and the language not exactly mine, so much more rustic. I was much puzzled, but found out afterwards that a lady, a Mrs. Low, of Walsall, had taken my story, changed the names, put her own ideas of religion into it, and brought it out under the name of “Betsy Green.” I could not help laughing to find my elegant little heroine thus metamorphosed. As to the religion, it was only a shade better than the original; however, it put it into my head to look at my own work again, and to do, what we called in Calcutta, evangelize it; which, by-the-by, is rather a self-sufficient expression for such poor mortals as we are. The last arrivals from England had heard much of “Henry and his Bearer.” This little volume had been sent in a letter to my sister, some time before, and she sold the copyright for five pounds to a Mr. Houlston,782 a young bookseller just beginning life at Wellington, in Shropshire. It had come out in the same form it now is, and immediately produced a great sensation in England, so much so, that such religious persons as came to India were all anxious to find out the author, who was supposed to be a man. The day after I had made my acquaintance with “Betsy Green” I was favoured with the first sight of my “Little Henry,” in his new and elegant dress. It was brought to Calcutta by the wife of a Baptist missionary, and the little volume passed into every hand in the small religious society there. It was lent to me, and I must say brought tears into my eyes. I was pleased, yes, greatly pleased. I showed the pictures to Jevan—poor Jevan; and well do I remember him, standing and looking upon them, with deep, deep feeling on his bronzed features. It had been advised that Mrs. Sherer should remove from Calcutta, on account of her health, and we agreed to go up all together to Aldeen, to the habitation of the late David Browne, then empty. Good Mr. Thomason, too, and his estimable lady joined in this scheme of ours. Aldeen is on the banks of the Ganges, about fourteen miles above Calcutta, within a short walk of the Baptist Missionary Establishment at Serhampore.783 It 340

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is a puckah house, situated in extensive grounds, ornamented by various beautiful trees, amongst which two towering palms form a marked feature. In the grounds of Aldeen, itself now belonging to the estate, is an ancient pagoda, which, having probably suffered some imaginary pollution, was forsaken. The Rev. David Browne, of holy memory, obtained possession of it, repaired and beautified it, fitting it up with glass-doors, and making it his study; and, from the extraordinary thickness of the walls, it proved cooler than could have been expected. Behind it there was a long stone terrace walk, of ancient construction. Mr. Browne cleaned this, and adorned it on each side with flowering shrubs; there he used to walk, and meditate, and pray. Near to the entrance of this pagoda is an immense Brahminee fig tree, under the cool arcades of which our children used to play, as Mr. Browne’s children had done before them, tying the drooping branches together, and forming swings. In that pagoda, and on the terrace behind, Mr. Browne for many years offered up his prayers for a blessing on the Indian Church. There he was accustomed to converse with the holy and heavenly Henry Martyn and the no less holy Daniel Corrie; men whose memories must be ever dear to those who love the Lord. This good man saw his prayers answered in the very place in which he made his petitions. The Baptist Missionary Establishment was within a quarter of an hour’s walk higher up the river, and on the same side of Aldeen: it was like a bee-hive of busy people, for there were many buildings belonging to the establishment, several dwelling-houses, a chapel, a school for native boys, and schools for boys and girls of higher degree, and printing offices, in which were types for twenty languages, a paper manufactory, and innumerable small dwellings for Christian disciples. We settled ourselves very quietly at Aldeen, arranging ourselves in different parts of the wide house. I was pleased with the idea of being where such men as David Browne and Henry Martyn had been before me; the children rejoiced in the liberty of playing on the wide verandah, and under the Brahminee fig tree. Mr. Sherer did not accompany us to Aldeen; he was to follow us on the Saturday. On the Friday we took a walk to call on the missionaries, and in the evening we drank tea at the Mission House, in a large hall, at a very long table. I sat by Mr. Ward, who talked much with me. The scene was a curious one, so strange a variety of people. I brought most of the children with me. After tea Mr. Marshman took us into his garden, in which he much delighted. He had lately received some plants from England in a box of soil, and he must needs set each child on the box, that they might say they had been on English ground. After our walk every one repaired to service in the chapel. Dr. Cary was a fine old gentleman, fond of botany and ornithology. He had a beautiful aviary, where his birds dwelt in all the luxury of Indian queens, though, like them, deprived of liberty. We left our little chuckoor under his care, and we went with the children to take leave of the bird. The same evening Mr. Sherwood heard Mr. Ward preach to the workmen in the printing house; but he did not understand the language, which was different to what he had learnt. The missionaries tell us that they have baptized eight hundred persons since they arrived 341

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in India. The number is great when it is considered that they entered almost upon unbroken ground, and they never baptize children. Mr. Marshman had then one hundred native scholars at Serhampore. In the chapel, Dr. Cary propounded a text, and Mr. Ward preached upon it. The congregation was English, or so called, for many were present who never had, and probably never would see England. The preacher dwelt particularly on the providence of God, and touched upon the good which he supposed had arisen from the French revolution in separating good from evil, which is no doubt the effect of all convulsions in the political world. Mr. Marshman next took up the discourse, and showed how much good had been produced, to the overthrow of the long established system of polytheism, by the irruption of the northern hordes in the dark ages. This evening, whilst walking in the grounds at Aldeen, we heard the noise of horns, and drums, and tinkling cymbals; we did not think much of them, as they were very usual sounds to us. Presently we saw a smoke and flames rising above the trees beyond the domain, and, at the same time, several of the missionaries came rushing along the Aldeen grounds towards the fire. “A Suttee! a Suttee!”784 they cried, as they ran by; “we fear we are too late.” As the little ones caught and understood the words, they ran too, Lucy at their head, as if they would stop this work of fiends. The fire continued to blaze, and the infernal music to fill the air. Presently those who had ran came back; the work of death was concluded before they could reach the place. Our little ones cried bitterly. It was an awful and affecting circumstance.

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE

ORPHANS AND MR. EDMONDS—THE FEMALE ORPHAN ASYLUM—OUR RETURN TO

ENGLAND—THE BLACK AYAH—OUR LANDING—VISIT TO SNEDSHILL—ARRIVAL AT WORCESTER—VISIT OF MR. CORRIE—MY MOTHER’S ILLNESS AND DEATH.

OUR regiment was still at the fort, in tents, but under orders for Madras. Whilst waiting, I had great anxiety for three of my little motherless ones, Mary J***, and her brother John, and the babe Elizabeth. I soon found that there would be no difficulty in getting the last-named sweet child into the Orphan Asylum at Calcutta, under the care of Mrs. Thomason; but Mary’s father was not willing to part with her or her brother. The poor fellow was in a dying state at the hospital, and we were asking him to give up his children, without the prospect of ever seeing them again on earth; but those who know the horrors of a barrack life for young people will feel as I did for those motherless ones. The father, however, still continued determined not to part with them. 342

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I thought much, in the night of Sunday, the 17th December, of these helpless ones. The regiment was to embark for Madras the next day, and then all hope on my part of doing them any good was past. I lay awake from the earliest dawn, thinking what I could do, and I prayed most earnestly in my trouble. Suddenly these words seemed, as it were, whispered to me: “Send Mr. Edmonds to the father!” With that my mind was set at rest; and, as it was too early to rise and be doing, I slept again, and that sleep was sweet to me. Of this Mr. Edmonds,785 as I have not spoken before, I must speak now. I know nothing of his early history, nor how he came to India, nor in what capacity; but he was an elderly married man, of inferior rank; his wife kept a second-rate boarding-school in a small bungalow in the suburbs of Calcutta. But though his previous history could not be told, yet this man had for years past been known and highly respected by the religious people in Calcutta. He was a valued member of their society, and, in his own peculiar way, his place could not easily have been filled had it pleased God to have removed him to a better world. The talent with which he had been entrusted was a wonderful power which he had of impressing the truth on the minds of the lower classes of Europeans in India. He was daily to be found among the sick and afflicted in the fort and hospital. He was, therefore, much respected by the lowest and the highest. He was a meek, unassuming man, and never encroached on kindness or condescension. I had often heard of him, but had never seen him. My reason, however, at once saw the propriety of the suggestion to send him to Mary’s father, let that suggestion have come from whence it might. As soon, therefore, as any of the family were in motion I got up, wrote to Mrs. Thomason, stated the case to her, and asked her to convey my wishes to Mr. Edmonds. Through the goodness of God, so well did this succeed that before we had finished our breakfast in came Mr. Edmonds, with the little brother and sister, one in each hand. The good man had been blessed, in the arguments he had used, in inducing the parent to give up his children; so obviously for their benefit, yet, no doubt, so sadly for him, as he never saw them more. Mr. Edmonds, having obtained the father’s consent, had brought the children away at once, just as they were, standing in no small need of brush and soap. The girl had been more accustomed to me than her own parent; she came, therefore, with a less heavy heart. To her this change was a return to the friends of her infancy; to the poor boy it was the disruption of all his former associations. He remembered nothing of what I had done for him, and he stood, not only the image of sorrow, but of sullenness. Who could blame him? He had parted from his father. Let me draw his picture as I remember it: a fine, bold boy, but tanned to the very brow, without stockings, and wearing but one single article of dress, which answered the purpose of trousers and waistcoat without sleeves, all made of one piece of whitish calico. We were at breakfast, and Mr. Sherer, with his wonted humanity, called him to the table, and offered him such consolations as it could afford; but all in vain. The child retained his gloom, and one might have expected that the kind gentleman would have given up the matter; but not so, 343

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he had recourse to another little contrivance, which proved triumphant. He perceived that the little side pocket was amply filled; for the boy had, in his haste, crammed all his favourite possessions into it, to bring them away with him. Mr. Sherer judged well—that the heart might perhaps be reached through this same pocket; and forthwith he began a grave inquiry respecting the nature of the treasures therein contained. The little one was proud to show them, and began instantly to unload, producing as his primest treasure a broken fork without a handle, and a clasped knife. Mr. Sherer’s eyes, though they smiled, expressed the tenderest pity, so that I did not even think of asking him whether I might harbour these little ones in his house till they could go to their places. I should have thought the question an insult. I took the little ones to my own side of the house after breakfast, and Mary was received by her first dear friend, my own sweet Lucy, as one sister would receive another. On Friday little John went to the free-school, and Mary, his sister, about the same time went to the Orphan Asylum, under the protection of kind Mrs. Myers and the equally kind Mrs. Thomason. My sweet little Meggy was next placed safely with Mrs. S. My heart was thus made full of thankfulness respecting my orphans; for now my ties with them, excepting those of memory, were dissolved for awhile, not to be again renewed but in eternity. The house first appointed for the Orphan Asylum, at Calcutta,786 was in the Circular Road. This situation was more airy and open than most others in the neighbourhood, and there were shrubs and grass, and a few palm trees, within the domain. The rooms of this house were arranged, as they most commonly are in Indian houses, one large hall in the centre, and the other apartments round it. Each little girl had a cot to herself, with green gauze musquitto curtains, a good wardrobe, either of white cotton or muslin, and a complete suit allowed every day. Already had the hours of study, meals, recreation, and rest been arranged by Mrs. Thomason; and a most respectable governess, an English lady, had been appointed. Every pious and humane English female in Calcutta had at once come forward to patronize this beautiful charity. But probably, without the powerful sanction of Lady Loudon, this Christian work would never have been brought to bear; and the reason for this conjecture is plain, because the very first declared principle whereon this asylum was to be formed was, that it should receive only white orphans. Violent was the offence taken by the coloured population. The distinction could not do otherwise than give the greatest offence; and so great was the opposition that, even when the point was carried and the asylum opened, various little impotent acts of malice showed the feelings of the coloured populace. One of these acts was to burn good Mr. Thomason in effigy in a very public way. This he minded not; but he did feel the petty malice displayed in certain anonymous letters sent to him. One of these letters was fairly written in a delicate female hand, and signed “Indiana,” in which the writer remonstrated most pathetically against the slur put upon herself and all persons in her condition, as children of a mixed breed; showing that it was not their fault if they were such, and asking how it agreed with humanity and Christian feeling to add mortification to their unhappy condition? I do not pretend to have given the exact words of this letter, 344

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but I have given the purport. There was, however, an asylum of old standing for young ladies of her description—namely, the Upper Orphan School; but it was found that neither this nor the lower one was a proper refuge for the white orphans. There were about eleven little girls in the white Orphan Asylum when we visited it; amongst these were two of the 53rd, Mary and the infant Elizabeth, a nice little smiling, unconscious baby. Mrs. Thomason kindly showed us all her arrangements, and explained all her plans. The children were to receive a thoroughly good English education—writing, needlework, and accounts. They were never to have any intercourse with native servants, even to speak to them. Cleanliness and order were to prevail everywhere, and Scripture instruction to take the lead of all others. It was kindly promised that my little Mary (being a remarkably quick child, and having been taught by me to the point where it was supposed the teaching in the house would generally finish) should be carried on to things not intended to be taught there generally—such as the native languages, &c.; as if it were foreseen that she was to become the wife of a missionary, which she actually did. Whilst Mrs. Thomason took me round the house the children played in the pleasure grounds with the friend of their former years, thinking, in the happiness of the present moment, little of the separation which must soon ensue, and which was to be for this life. For some are passed to an asylum which will endure as long as the Eternal sits upon the throne of the heavens. It was remarkable, that I was permitted through the Divine favour to see all my wishes, and more than I could have hoped, wrought for those little helpless ones whose very deplorable condition had so largely filled my mind during nearly the whole period of my residence in India. But I cannot find words now, even at this distant period, to describe what I felt when I saw what God had done, and with what glorious characters of mercy and love he had traced the last pages of the volume of our Indian life. When we left Calcutta Mr. Sherer brought us in his carriage through the fort to the water’s edge. As we went along he was, in his own kind way, taking a little review of what he knew of our course in India, which proved very consoling. I felt even then, though I saw it not so clearly as I do now, that the long sicknesses and deaths of my babies had worked amazing good for our eternal happiness.787 Mr. Sherwood had hired a boat, for which he paid 200 rupees. It was called “The Wellington,” and we were to go in it to “The Robarts,” which was to bear us to England. One or two of our old servants accompanied us, and amongst these Jevan, Sophia’s bearer. He would see his little one as far as the black waters, he said. Our children cried most bitterly when they saw the Indian shores receding, and truly we were all very sad. I have little worth recording of our long sea voyage, saving that we had one awful storm, which had scarcely passed away before a black Ayah, who had charge of two English children, passengers on board, made an attempt to mislead our two little ones, by drawing the figure of some Hindoo god on the deck, and making poojah (worship) to it, and getting my children to do the same with hers. I found them bowing and bending before the grim figure, though I think they had 345

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no idea what they were really doing, yet I was very much shocked, and very angry with the elder ones especially, for not hindering it. We landed for a few hours at the Cape. I took all my little people with me on shore, that they might say in after years “they had been in Africa.” My little baby, who was only a year old, might be said there in reality first to have learned to walk, as it was full two months that we had been at sea. This little one, as nearly as we could calculate, at the time she was fifteen months old had travelled about fifteen thousand miles from the place of her birth. She has never met with but one youthful rival on this point, and that rival was the youngest daughter of Sir Stamford Raffles,788 the sweet little Ella, whose early death has caused her mother much sorrow. Surely we have cause to thank God, that “In foreign realms and lands remote, Supported by His care, Through burning climes we passed unhurt, And breath’d no tainted air. “When by the dreadful tempest toss’d High on the broken waves, We know Thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save. “Thus are thy servants blest, O Lord, Thus sure is their defence; Wisdom Eternal is their guard, Their help Omnipotence.”789 This, the traveller’s hymn, was much in my thoughts on the 26th of May. It was the change of the moon, and there was also an eclipse of the sun. Just as my dear husband commenced prayers it began to blow a tremendous gale, the water pouring in from the hatchways, the storm raging round us; whilst, at every motion of the ship, every loose article floated backwards and forwards confusedly. I got the children into their beds, and kept them as dry and quiet as possible, and told my servant Robinson to keep the babe in his arms. I felt she was most safe with him; but, as he stood on the outside in the steerage, just at the door, a tremendous wave came bursting down the hatchway. Oh! my baby girl! I feared she must have been lost; but Robinson kept her safe. Thus I go on as I record my feelings—Praised, blessed, glorified be my God! For some hours we had nothing before us but death. I prayed most earnestly that, whether living or dying, our Saviour would be with us. I thank God that He made me more submissive to the thoughts of death, for myself and those I loved, than I had been during a former storm. Though feeling more reconciled to death, and more assured of the love of my Saviour, than it had been in the 346

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previous similar trial, yet the poor sinful mortal body shrunk at the horrors of shipwreck and death. I commended myself to the Lord Jehovah, and solemnly renounced for myself and children all pleas for mercy but through the merits of Christ my Saviour. These very near views of eternity are awful beyond expression; the remembrance of these moments ought never to be effaced, since in them the real value of all things temporal appears. I felt, in those dread hours, with the saints of old, that nothing is precious, nothing desirable, but the Lord Jesus Christ. “Oh! could we read our title clear To mansions in the skies; We’d bid farewell to every fear, And wipe our weeping eyes.”790 And if I had not read that “title clear,” well might I have shrunk at death; but I copy here what I wrote at that time:—“This day I was struck with the difference of Mr. M‘Kenzie’s behaviour and that of most other persons on board. It was evident to all that we were in great danger; Mr. M‘Kenzie then showed where his support was. These scenes display the difference between the children of God and the children of the earth. Resignation in trouble and thankfulness in deliverance on the Christian’s part, and murmuring and unthankfulness on the part of the children of the world. The oaths I heard that day did not add to my confidence; neither, thank God, did they diminish it.” The danger had passed about our dinner time, at least I could read as much on the faces of the ship’s officers. When I went upon deck the wind blew with such force that it seemed almost to overpower and keep down the waves. The sea was covered with white foam, and the ship continued to roll and strain herself all night, creaking and groaning as if she would come to pieces. From time to time a wave came pouring down the hatchway, with such confusion of noises, crashes, and uproars, as if universal ruin must ensue. About three o’clock the terrified children all united in prayer. The port of Liverpool had just been opened to East Indiamen,791 and ours was the first vessel from India which availed itself of the permission. In consequence of this arrangement, the whole town was prepared to receive us with a hearty welcome. All was confusion and bustle on board. Mr. Sherwood hired a boat to take us on shore in the morning, and the captain, we believe, went off to Liverpool, for he disappeared, leaving anarchy behind him. When I went down to my cabin with the children at night there was a drunken man lying across the door. The ship was full of revenue officers, and it was the policy of some to make others intoxicated, which they did to good purpose. To sleep was impossible; the noise continued all night, and those who should have watched were wholly incapable. Much underhand work was being carried on. When Mr. Sherwood arose in the morning not a white face was to be seen belonging to the ship. The lascars792 on board were all drunk. Mr. Sherwood was 347

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of course anxious to get on shore, but the boat which he had hired was gone, and when he asked the Tindal793 what was become of it, he found him tipsy also, and told him so. The man repeated what he said to the officer then in command, a plain proof that the two understood each other; for such a thing is never known in India, that a Tindal should get drunk and confess it. The fact turned out to be that all the officers had been smuggling, and hence in the power of the sailors. Some time after this a letter was sent on board, and there was not an officer sober enough to read it. Mr. Sherwood was obliged to speak sharply before one would appear, for they were aware of their own state. There was an evident anxiety to get rid of us out of the vessel, though there was no incivility manifested. They had been smuggling all night, and were still employed in lowering contraband articles over the side of the vessel. We were up in the morning rather too early for them. We were very glad to get away from the ship, for all were intoxicated—from the chief mate to the lowest lascar. The custom-house waiters were as bad as the rest. So quarrelsome were they that there were two or three battles between the chief mate and the private sailors, even before we left. Robinson, our servant, was the only perfectly sober man of all the inferior Europeans on board. We had come up the Mersey in a fishing-boat. Had “The Robarts” brought a royal party it could not have excited more rejoicing, for the reason abovementioned. The bells were set to ring on this account—bells that had not rung for years. Our party happened to be the largest from the ship, for we had eight children, and we were followed wherever we went by hundreds of the residents of Liverpool. It must be understood we had not a bonnet in the party: we all wore caps trimmed with lace, white dresses, and Indian shawls. As every person was allowed to land a shawl without duty, each little girl had been made the bearer of one for that purpose. At the quay there were thousands of spectators to welcome us, looking kindly at the fair babes. We walked up with Robinson to the “Talbot,” whilst Mr. Sherwood went with the baggage to the custom-house. We did not understand then why we were followed through the streets by such a concourse of people. The little girls trembled lest they and their shawls should be seized, but no one offered to touch us, or anything belonging to us. We were received at the inn with as many expressions of welcome as we had been at the landing-place, and the children excited the same interest. We were led to an upper sitting-room looking on the street, with its paper-hangings and small neat compartments, which was so strange a sight to us, that one of the little girls said “it was like a box lined with coloured paper.” We ordered breakfast, and when the little creatures saw the fresh rolls, &c., they expressed such joy, that the hostess and her maids, who contrived to keep about us, were quite convulsed with merriment. The amazement expressed by these little Indians794 at all they saw was very entertaining, especially at the feather-beds; and when I threw the baby on one of them and she sank down laughing in it, they quite shrieked, and would have it tried again. The sights seen from the windows, too, the shops and passengers, were an infinite source of delight. We dined happily together when Mr. Sherwood joined us, having 348

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sent our goods by water to Worcester. We finished the evening in thanksgiving, by singing the following stanza:— “Here we raise our Ebenezer, Hither by Thy help we’re come; And we hope by Thy good pleasure Safely to arrive at home.”795 Our intention was to proceed to Worcester, where my aged mother and my eldest child resided, and we waited at Liverpool to hear from our friends. We had landed with a month’s clean clothing, but among our preparations I had not thought of a bonnet, that sine quâ non796 of English attire. The question might be asked, “Had I, in the years of absence from England, so totally forgotten English customs?” and the answer must be, “I suppose that I had.” Facts are stubborn things. I did not think of these said bonnets, nor did I avail myself of the Saturday to prepare them. There are odd people in the world, and ever have been, and I must be content to sit down among them; my conduct on this occasion leaves it without a doubt. On Sunday morning, June the 2nd, we were gladdened by the sound of bells calling the people to church. I should have thought it very wrong, after all our mercies, with the memory fresh of the fearful storm of that day fortnight, not to have gone to attend Divine service. So, without hesitation, bonnetless as we were, I went with three of my little girls to a fine church near the inn, and heard a good preacher. His subject was the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. We were put into a seat in the centre of the church. Some old ladies in Liverpool still talk of the Indian family who appeared that day, looking so remarkable with their Indian shawls and lace caps, being apparently and really unconscious of their outré797 appearance. After having been at church, we, with the rest of our family, took a walk in the town, followed by a concourse of people, all of whom looked favourably upon us as the first fruits of the port, and smiling on the fair children from a far-off land. On the Monday we left Liverpool, stopping at Trentham and Snedshill, on our way to Worcester. Trentham Parsonage was then the residence of my late beloved cousin, the Rev. Thomas Butt. My sister and her husband lived at Snedshill, where Mr. Cameron for many years was a faithful pastor. There were born there twelve children, six of whom have already entered into their eternal rest. Alas! my beloved sister! Before reaching Snedshill, we stopped for Mr. Cameron at the neighbouring town of Newport, where I met with the following little adventure. A stranger whom we met whilst looking about us in the street, and who, I thought, had come up to us accidentally from the church where our relative, Archdeacon Woodhouse, was holding a visitation, thus addressed me,—“It is, indeed, a privilege, Madam, to see the authoress of ‘Henry and his Bearer.’ ” “Well to be sure,” I thought, “and how does this gentleman know me?” though, by-the-by, as he expected to see me then and there, our very Indian appearance—for 349

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we still walked out of doors without bonnets—certainly required no great sagacity of discernment; but wherefore he should take such an interest in “Henry and his Bearer” was, however, soon explained to me by my sister. He was the publisher of the work. Lucy had sold the manuscript to him for five pounds. She had received it in a letter written by Mr. Sherwood from Cawnpore, and had immediately offered it to her near neighbour, Mr. Houlston, of Wellington. Its success was great, and I suddenly found myself, therefore, when I arrived in England, within reach of high literary honour as a writer for children; and the question they put to me was, “Should I declare my name or not?” This, however, was a point to which I could not then attend. We spent nearly a week at Snedshill, which we much enjoyed, and then proceeded to Worcester, being, by the assistance of my dear sister, duly accoutred in English fashion. I cannot attempt to describe in words the effect of seeing my beloved child again, the intense interest of the meeting, and the strangeness of finding myself the mother of an almost grown-up girl. I could scarcely realize the idea that the daughter now before me was the infant Mary I had left. The shyness, and yet strong affection, the curiosity, and yet fear of our feelings, made up something more than pleasure, something too much for human nature; but I despair of expressing it. I shall only add, that as my mother always called me Mary, to prevent confusion my Mary henceforth was called by her second name, Henrietta; hence some have thought I lost my Mary in childhood. Alas! when I saw my own beloved mother, I learnt that death had set its icy hand upon her. She was much and fearfully changed, for she had every external appearance of extreme decrepitude. The next week we arranged our plans for some months to come, taking lodgings for awhile in one of the suburbs of the city of Worcester. I felt I could never leave my parent again as soon as I knew her situation, and she seemed to rest in the persuasion I never would. My sweet mother was full of plans of how we should all settle together, and we looked at many houses; but our affairs were in the hand of God, and He had appointed all our movements. If there is a feeling of human nature remaining with anything of primeval purity, it is that of the parental attachment. The affections of the parent are vastly more exalted and more free from selfishness than that of the child. On this account the parental feelings are the type, imperfect indeed, of the Divine love, whilst the less disinterested, that of the child for the parent, is the emblem of that of the creature in its most exalted state. It must be understood that our pecuniary affairs were not then in the most flourishing state we could desire. Whilst my mother lived, the dear lady enjoyed the parental property, and my husband’s reliance was on his commission, which in India, with our private means, produced somewhere above a thousand a year. But the question was this: Mr. Sherwood, to possess this income, must remain with his regiment. And must I give up the sweet society of my children to remain with him, or must I allow him to return alone, that I may reside with my children in England? Neither of these arrangements pleased us. I was unwilling to part with either husband or children. My dying mother claimed my care and attention, and 350

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my husband, who was fond of domestic happiness, perhaps in worldly prudence, I should say too rashly, proposed to me to give up his commission, to retire on halfpay, and to choose some village home, where we all might dwell together. Then were we first taught that our family was a numerous, and, in consequence, an expensive one. We had five children of our own, and two orphan girls to support in England, besides calls for protegés in India, and we had been accustomed to the luxuries of the East. We had had a most expensive journey of seventeen thousand miles from Meerut; and for many a year, such is the style of life in India, I had done nothing for myself, being waited on hand and foot, and my Indian children had ever been accustomed to have servants and carriages at their disposal. But still, the desire to be together and not to part, made poverty with it appear preferable to luxury and separation. It was, however, a mercy, and I have ever felt grateful for it, that I was allowed to be with my mother during the last months of her life, though then I did not think that the sweet lady would not live to see another summer bloom on earth. Mr. Sherwood had obtained leave of absence for two years; if he then did not join the regiment he forfeited his situation, with a hope only of half-pay. His full-pay, however, would continue until his leave of absence expired. So, as is the way with most persons, we must be impatient, and arrange our affairs at once, and so far wisely, I must say, we looked on our pecuniary resources as they really stood; that is, we considered that as Mr. Sherwood had only leave of absence for a year more, the pay would end at that time, and half-pay in England, if allowed, was but of small account: yet that was our chief resource; for though my mother’s health might have told us that the dear lady could not live to enjoy her income for many years, yet this we did not see, nor desire to see. Therefore the result was decidedly that we were poor, and might feel ourselves straitened for our children and our orphans. It is a curious fact that, though then known as an authoress, neither Mr. Sherwood nor myself calculated thereupon, and only considered it as an advantage as an advertisement for procuring for me some pupils to educate with the six little girls already under my care. Thus were we induced to apply for pupils; though, before the second was offered to me, my beloved mother’s death putting me in possession of my parental portion, the securing of the half-pay of a captaincy for Mr. Sherwood in the Brunswick Hussars, added to our savings in India, and the liberal sums I received for my writings, altogether made our income more than sufficient for our wants. But now I must here confess the truth: I dearly loved the society of young persons, I rejoiced in the numbers of cheerful faces about me. As Mr. Sherwood never put a check upon my making our house the asylum for motherless girls in India, so in England he let me do what I would; and hence the many, many happy years I have obtained, through his indulgence, in the society of my own children and my orphans. For I have had orphans dependant upon me for support in England, as in India, as well as beloved pupils intrusted to my care. Some of these I now address; for to me there are some inexpressibly dear still left on earth, but many are already entered into glory. The sweet promise through my Saviour is mine, for these my loved ones. For He has said, “And all 351

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mine are Thine, O Father, and Thine, O Father, are mine, and I am glorified, and they shall be glorified in me.”798 Oh, my pupils! mourn not for me; but as you loved me, and cherish my memory, love Him who died for us, who will unite us in glory, who will make us one with Himself for ever and for ever. But now let me return, for I have anticipated events. Whilst our affairs were in this unsettled state dear Mr. Corrie, with his family, came to Worcester to seek us out. His carriage perambulated our street, and the driver was in such uncertainty where to find us that Mr. Corrie alighted, with the intention of making inquiries, but it was not necessary. The voice of his godson, Henry, reached his ear, speaking in Hindostanee to his attendant, which language she much admired, being no doubt proud of understanding more of what he said than she ever expected to know of the tongue of such an outlandish country. “Delightful!” exclaimed Mr. Corrie. “We are right; this is the place.” He entered with all that glee of former days with which he had passed into our domain from his own, through the gap in the wall, at dear Cawnpore, with some information which he thought would give us pleasure. He spent three or four days with us. He had been set on a high pinnacle for admiration in England; but this true Christian, through Divine help, could bear exaltation or abasement without derangement of his Christian equability. It was at this time Mr. Corrie persuaded us to give our Hindostanee translation of the Bible to the Bible Society. When Mr. and Mrs. Corrie left us, taking with them my eldest child, we, for a time, took a house on the Henwick Road, going out of Worcester, to be near my mother, who had taken lodgings in that neighbourhood for change of air. In the same house with my mother was the Rev. John Davis, then a young man, but now well known and beloved in that parish of St. Clement’s, Worcester, as its rector for many, many years. His kindness and attention to my mother I can never forget. It was about this time that, wishing to contribute to my brother-in-law’s Sunday-school, and not having any money, I wrote one of my most popular little works, called “George and his Penny,”799 which, I am told, went through eighteen editions in as many years. Several friends at this period were pressing Mr. Sherwood, if he resolved to give up the army, to try for ordination, and he so far listened to them as to study Latin and the Greek Testament; and thus, with the Divine blessing, he had an impulse given him for farther and deeper improvement. One letter from our beloved friend Mr. Corrie I cannot refrain from quoting, but I must remark, that this testimonial was given at this time purposely by Mr. Corrie, in case the plan of ordination should be carried out. “To Henry Sherwood, Esq. “MY DEAR SIR, “I shall be very happy if any testimony I can bear will be of any use in promoting your wishes to obtain holy orders. I recollect full well the labour you and dear Mrs. Sherwood bestowed on the children of the 53rd at Cawnpore, before 352

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the regimental school was formed, and the exemplary conduct of several of those children, now grown to riper years, is the best proof of the care you took of them, and will be ‘your joy and rejoicing’800 hereafter, whatever your earthly destination may be. I recollect full well, also, the excellent fruits of your adult soldiers’ school, at that period, in the good conduct of some of the men, ignorant before of letters, and in some instances of morals, and now useful non-commissioned officers in the regiment. But I am especially bound to recollect, with gratitude, the great assistance rendered to myself during a lingering illness, when you readily, and for a long time, read the Church prayers and a sermon on Sundays, and once in the week, to as many of the regiment as chose to assemble; thus supplying my place, and affording me the comfort of knowing that the public means of grace were not wholly suspended, though I was unable to administer them. “I am happy, also, to bear testimony to the exemplary Christian conduct which you have manifested in all our intercourse since 1808. “I remain, yours truly,

“January 13.”

“DAVID CORRIE, “Chaplain to the Honourable East India Company’s “Bengal Establishment.

I endeavoured at this time to speak continually with my mother on religious subjects, but was as the blind leading the blind, and I often expressed wonder and regret that I could not speak more to the purpose. My beloved mother was now beginning to sink visibly and rapidly. She soon was unable to move from one room to another; then she could not leave her couch, to walk, as she was wont, up and down her room. Oh! my parent! my sweet parent! where are the hopes which opened before me when I first arrived at Worcester, when I looked forward to living long with you, and seeing you attended in your happy home by your gentle grandchildren! “Oh! my Saviour!” I often prayed, “shew Thyself in sweet consolation to my mother.” Her disease, which was an inward one, had hitherto been with little suffering, but for a day or two it became very painful, and then ceased to be so, probably from the effect of mortification. At that time she blessed God frequently for her afflictions, saying, “that she had not had one too many; there was so much mercy and love in them, that they were made quite easy.” She often said, “What must sin be to make it needful for the Saviour to suffer so much?” She took to her bed on the Tuesday. She talked of her funeral, and spoke of her Redeemer in a sweet manner. Once I heard her call upon Him in a soft voice, and then she showed me a verse respecting Him, and said, “I love Him much, but I cannot talk of Him.” On the Wednesday kind Mr. Davis administered to her the Sacrament, but the day following she was in much distress and terror of mind, saying, “that she could not feel her sins were forgiven.” Tenderly as a Christian son did Mr. Davis pray with her, and try to comfort her. I judged on this occasion as one without experience. I 353

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thought that had my beloved parent been blessed through the course of life with more clear views of the Divine love, as manifested in the Saviour, she would certainly have escaped those terrors on the approach of death. But I have since changed this opinion, so far, that I believe it may please God to appoint these terrors,* for some purpose of love, to take hold of the mind of the best instructed Christian at certain seasons; perhaps to show us that no man can walk in his own, or even any previously enjoyed strength from on high, and that the first of saints is no more than any other man when the light of the Divine countenance is hidden from his eyes. As the illness progressed her mind seemed more disturbed. She was very gentle and thankful for attention, but her cry was constantly, “Peace! peace! Oh, that I could have peace! Oh, that I could have comfort!” “You will have peace—you will,” we answered; “the everlasting arms are under you.” “I hope so,” she answered, half despondingly. My brother came to see her about noon, and was much affected. As he drew near the bed, “Best of mothers,” he said, and was going to say more, when she cried in terror, “Oh no, no! not best, not good.” She was arrived at that hour, and at that blessed state of mind, in which those rags of human merit with which once the creature clad itself so fondly are thrown away with horror and abhorrence. Never since have I witnessed a more sincere repentance and renunciation of these than I beheld in my dying mother. To all appearance my beloved parent was slowly dying from Friday middle-day till eleven on the Saturday night. I do not think her sufferings were great, but this we cannot know. On the day of her death she was heard to say, in a very low voice, “Then I will ask no more; I am satisfied. Death! death!” A little while after this she prayed most earnestly, crying, “Lord, speak peace! Lord, speak peace!” and about an hour afterwards, having lain during the interval withdrawn into herself, and apparently unconscious, she said, “He is speaking peace.” The awful hour was approaching; she was covered with the dews of death, and her breath laboured, yet she knew her children, and begged we would not leave her. It was near eleven o’clock when the final struggle ensued. We had watched anxiously, and with little faith; we wanted some token from the dying child of God to assure us of her happiness. Blind, indeed, and dark we must have been, to require such a sign; yet so anxious was I for it, that when I saw the crisis approaching I threw myself on my knees in prayer that some such assurance might be granted. I was still in this attitude when she spoke. “Peace,” she said; “He speaks peace. I see Him, but not always. He speaks peace. It is peace.” And then nothing remained for us to do but to close those eyes, and kiss the still warm remains. *

*

*

*

*

My mother was buried by my father, at Stanford, and poor, faithful Kitty followed the hearse up the hill to the church, sorely weeping as she went. * Such terrors may be permitted for the purposes of paternal discipline. “He does not afflict willingly.”801 If He chasten us, “it is for our profit, that we might be made partakers of His holiness.”802—ED.

354

CHAPTER XXIX. OUR

HOME AT WICK—OUR FAMILY—MRS. BUTT’S DEATH—MY GEORGE’S BIRTH—MY

TRACT OF

“THE CHINA MANUFACTORY”—DEATHS OF ELIZABETH PARSONS AND MY LIT-

TLE GEORGE—OUR VISIT TO FRANCE—THE BARBER—PERE LA CHAISE—MR. WILKS AND HIS LETTER—OUR VISIT TO ST. VALERY—DEATH OF LITTLE ALFRED—MRS. FRY—

OUR VISIT TO WEEDON—THE MILITARY BAND.

WE remained at our small house at Henwick some months after the loss of my beloved mother, whilst Mr. Sherwood, or, as he was then called, Captain Sherwood, was looking out for some place near Worcester wherein to settle; and it was not till towards the end of June that we heard of one which we thought would suit us. We could not gain permission to go within the small grounds, but we looked at the house through a hedge, and liked it, and eventually we bought it. At this time we adopted another little child, the fatherless daughter of a poor relative. She came by the coach from London, and could scarcely speak ten words in English, for she was a native of Brussels; but she was properly directed. She was a fine child, not nine years of age, very pleasing, and not the least disconcerted in finding herself amongst strangers. Elize was soon at home, and one with the others. By this it will be seen that we brought our Indian ways to England, though human prudence (I am afraid it will be said) had forsaken us. And now I must attempt to give a description of a place in which I spent many and many a happy year of my life, the very happiest I have ever known; for I was surrounded by a joyous and blooming circle of young people, and enjoyed the companionship of a kind and pious husband. Our new home,—for it is still as we left it,—stands on the road between Worcester and Malvern, about two miles from Worcester Bridge. It is a little removed from the road itself, and the hamlet,—for there are still several houses there,—was once more distinguished than it now is, when it was called “Wick Episcopi,” but now simply “Lower Wick.” The house we had purchased was an old one, most marvellously ill constructed, though it had two good rooms, which had been lately added to it, whilst all the other chambers were merely nooks, and holes, and closets, approached by steps up and steps down, and in some instances divided only by partitions of lath and plaster; but the situation made up for all this. The house itself is placed amongst shadowy orchards of fruit trees. The grounds, richly carpeted with verdure, sweep down gently to my own beloved mountain stream, and we could hear, on a quiet summer’s evening, the waters dashing over the weir, and the roar and the whirl of the mill, where the river 355

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Teme hastens to empty itself into the Severn. Then again the land rises on the opposite side until it terminates in the beautiful range of Malvern, as a bird would fly, not five miles distant. The rising ground from the bridge over the Teme had been defended against the Parliament army by Prince Rupert,803 who had made a stand under a yew tree, and turned on the enemy on the brow of the hill close to our house. Prince Rupert’s tree was still in existence when we lived at Wick. It is whispered, too, that there was, in years back, a secret passage under ground from Malvern Abbey to Worcester Cathedral. However this may be, it is true that sounds in the road below are conveyed in a very peculiar way to one particular spot in the orchard, near the entrance gate, a circumstance which lovers of the marvellous,—and I acknowledge myself decidedly one,—regard as very agreeable. Carpenters, masons, and workmen of all descriptions were set to improve our dwelling. Our garden, to my opinion, was enriched beyond expression with shrubs and flowers from the grounds of Stanford Court, sent as a gift by the late lamented Sir Thomas Winnington, who kindly called upon us, with the friendliness and hearty affection his family have ever shown to ours. Behold us, then, domesticated in this lovely place, Mr. Sherwood and myself, our five children, Mary, or, as we now called her, Henrietta, Lucy, Emily, Henry, and Sophia, our two Indian orphans, Mary and Sally, and the motherless Elize. My mother’s young attendant and her old housekeeper were left to our protection and support, which they deserved for their fidelity to our lamented parent. These, with two indoor servants and our pupils, made up our rather large party for a few months. As soon as we had settled ourselves Captain Sherwood began a little Sunday-school; and our young ones had a few poor children to teach on a Sunday in one of the cottages, which belonged to the estate, at the bottom of our orchard at Wick. But we had not been in our new home many months before fresh troubles came on us; for my poor brother lost his wife, my early friend, Miss Congreve, at the birth of her eighth child, who lived just long enough to be christened by the sweet name of Theophilus by his mourning father. There is death and sorrow in England, I thought, as I stood beside my sister-in-law’s dying bed, as well as in the East Indies. Fever rages here in these cool climates not less terribly, though more slowly, than in the burning South. But with the dying one there was no self-righteousness, no clinging to hopes of her own merits, no desire to remain on earth, and no anxious cares for her children. Her whole, sole reliance was on her Saviour; and beautifully and holily, notwithstanding her feverish fancies, her pious asseverations804 were poured forth for the benefit of the sorrowing relatives and friends. On the Sunday following her death, the whole family being collected at evening prayer, this passage was read, “She that hath borne seven languisheth; she hath given up the ghost whilst it is yet day.” Jer. xv. 9. Did I not think of the cold, pale corpse in darkness and solitude in the chamber above? It was eventually settled that my sister should take charge of our three little nieces, whilst our four nephews were removed to our house at Wick. 356

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My sister and myself this year received a legacy from our lamented friend, Mr. Hawkins Browne, of Badger, who never forgot my father’s pious instructions; for they were blessed by the Divine Spirit. “The garlands wither on the tomb, Then boast no more thy mighty deeds; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.”805 It was shortly after we took up our residence at Wick, that it pleased my God to bless me for a time with my little George, my youngest born, a free gift of my Heavenly Father, bestowed upon me here for awhile, but ever mine in glory. My babe was fair as the fairest flower, with every meandering vein visible through the transparent skin, with eyes of deep blue, and dove-like softness. Alas, my George! On his christening day, the Bishop of Calcutta, Daniel Wilson, spent the evening at our house with a party of friends. This was a most blessed day: no unpleasant thing occurred. My charming boy looked smilingly upon all around him, springing gently from one friend’s arms to another. We were getting on so well in pecuniary matters that Captain Sherwood, at this time, bought a little cottage and orchard at Powick, our next parish, and it was in the month of September that we had a most delightful walk; my husband and myself, our own darlings, including my sweet little George (in arms of course) and all the beloved young ones under our care, went to see this newly bought cottage. “These are the joys He makes us know, In fields and villages below, Gives us a relish of His love, But keeps his noblest feasts above.”806 Wherefore should an event so unimportant as this be traced long years afterwards on the memory, when matters of life and death are forgotten? May it not be because the Almighty, for some particular purpose of mercy, leaves such sweet, sunny influences to render the shadow of others equally indelible? Hereafter, when we have ceased to understand only after the manner of man’s intellect, we shall know and comprehend the boundless love of our Creator. The image of my baby George is now before me, as, in lifting him over a style, his hat and cap blew off, and the evening breezes played in his silky hair. Was I becoming more worldly then than aforetime? Did God make use of the instrumentality of this lovely babe to renew the almost forgotten lesson, twice learned in India with so much anguish, the motto of which is, “This is not thy rest?”807 In October I had the pleasure of an introduction to Mr. Wilberforce,808 and in his company I visited the china manufactory in Worcester, and afterwards wrote the little tract called “The China Manufactory.”809 But I did not then see clearly that 357

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He who formed the vessel to honour could take of the potsherd of the earth,810 if it so pleased Him, and make it above all its kind. Man is nought, and God is all. We are powerless in our Maker’s hands, and the sum total of all our waking and sleeping dreams is this, that with us all is vanity.811 But yet, as no man was ever taught to know or read the Word of God without visible means, we are led, by parallel conclusions, to understand that the Divine Spirit never puts itself forth to effect aught but that which human exertion cannot attain by natural efforts. For the Almighty apparently, in this material world, works by and through certain means in his dealings with man. This, then, should stimulate us to exertion, whilst with due humility we should feel that one may plant, another may water, but it is God alone that gives the increase.812 Again am I called upon to narrate fresh troubles. Alas! my baby, my little Benjamin,813 my youngest born, my beautiful golden-haired baby! my baby with dove’s eyes, I have lost you for ever in this world. Till the morning of the resurrection, farewell! oh, farewell! Oh! my George, my George! may I love my Saviour more because He is thine also. I had been ill with rheumatic fever, and on recovery I left home for change of air. I had not been gone but a few days when a letter came to say that one of our Indian charges, little Elizabeth, and my own infant George, were indisposed. The next post summoned us home. We found the dear babes both rather better, but, not to dwell on this gloomy period, I will shortly say they both died, my George being the last to depart. When I was led to the side of the cradle where my baby lay, I saw at once that he was much changed. He had become exceedingly pale, his eyes were half closed, and on his delicate wrist was a black patch, which was laid over a place where a vein had been opened. I saw death marked on his sweet face and I knew I was called upon to resign my child. His infant form after death assumed the appearance of the whitest marble, his features seemed restored to what they had been in health, and with his golden hair parted on his brow he remained for several days unchanged. Oh! how beautiful in death! We missed also the sweet little Elizabeth. She had been the darling of the lady who assisted me to superintend the education of our little family, and had lain in her bosom, and been as a little daughter to her. Elizabeth and George were lovely in their lives, and not divided in death; their remains repose side by side in St. John’s churchyard. Sweet babes, we shall be united together again, through yours and my Saviour! Oh, teach me then, Divine Spirit, to kiss Thy rod.814 Soon after the loss of my child, for a little change of scene we visited Paris, stopping on our way in the neighbourhood of St. Valery, so familiar to Captain Sherwood. A little anecdote of our travels I must record. Mr. Sherwood one morning sent for a barber, who came quickly at the call. He was an old man, and appeared a brisk, chattering personage, who, whilst he applied his brush, opened out his political opinions without being desired so to do, taking advantage of the occasion to exhibit his great loyalty and attachment to the reigning family. Whilst 358

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displaying his eloquence with all his national vivacity, Mr. Sherwood suddenly recognised him as a person whom he had known when loyalty was at a very low premium. “Are you not so and so my friend?” he said. “Do I not remember you when the English were in prison in Abbeville?” The poor barber was confounded. He forthwith lost his vivacity, though he pretended to be delighted at seeing an old acquaintance; but having finished his business, and received a handsome fee, he made his bow, and though desired to come again the next day, he returned no more. At Paris we took apartments at the residence of one of my old schoolfellows, a Miss Rowden, who had gone over there with Monsieur and Madame St. Q., our instructors. There Miss Rowden kept a small seminary for young ladies, in connection with Monsieur and Madame St. Q. I had written to her as soon as we had determined on the journey, and we found that she kindly expected us to reside with her whilst at Paris. Miss Rowden’s pupils were little English girls, quite Frenchified in their dresses and appearance. One of them has been celebrated in later years, and is still known by her maiden name of Fanny Kemble.815 It is remarkable how many celebrated ladies have issued from under the tuition of Monsieur St. Q. Miss Mitford,816 Lady Caroline Lambe,817 and Miss Landon818 were also his pupils, not to speak of one or two less known writers. Of all sights at Paris, Pere la Chaise819 made most impression on my mind. The cemetery, though it is not generally known, was called after Father la Chaise, for the ground which it occupies was formerly his property, when he was the confessor to Louis XIV. One little tomb particularly affected me, carrying me back to the graves of my own fair infants, two of which were many thousand miles from where I was, and the third which had been filled so lately. This infant’s tomb at Pere la Chaise exhibited the most gloomy and fruitless, yet most touching proofs of the fresh grief of some poor mother, probably of high degree, from the richness of the artificial roses of white satin which garlanded the urn. “Oh, unhappy mother! how have you been able to commit your baby to the cold grave, without sinking under the pressure of actual despair? You know not a Saviour, in whose keeping to confide your little fair one,—you acknowledge no beloved Redeemer, in whose arms you may lay that cold corpse, in full assurance of its revival in glory, of its rising again clothed with everlasting and unfading beauty. In vain you decorate his tomb with wreathed roses, and wash his urn with your tears. These fruitless services can give no ease, they can administer no balm to the wounds of your heart!” Near to this monument was another to the memory of the daughter of an officer, cut off in budding womanhood. On it was a beautiful bust of the young girl, the hair knotted behind in the Roman style. Some impious hand had in pencil traced upon this tomb in French these words, “Death is an eternal sleep.” From reading these and such like inscriptions, I was induced to write my little story called “Père la Chaise.”820 Afterwards I published, on the same subject, “The Infant’s Grave,”821 and the little tract of “The Blessed Family.”822 359

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Whilst at Paris, Mr. Wilks, the Protestant minister, called upon us, and took a copy of “Henry and his Bearer,” that he might get it translated and dispersed. It has since been ably translated, and sold at a low price. Mr. Wilks read to us a beautiful letter from a friend, of which the following is the substance:—A pious man from Paris was travelling in the mountains of the south of France. His way lay amongst valleys, in which were coal-pits and iron-foundries, and he passed on among scenes of great natural beauty, but much defaced by the manufactories scattered amongst them. One day, having finished his business, he was anxious to get to a town at some distance from the hills, and for this purpose inquired his way through a range of valleys little frequented. These valleys were exceedingly beautiful, and the more so from having been untouched by the miners. In one of the most retired of these valleys he came to a poor village where several women were standing in a window, watching and calling to a little child, who had run into the street, and at the moment in which he came up was in danger of being run over by a cart. Being near the child at that instant, our traveller had the pleasure of rescuing it, and bearing it in safety to its friends. Whilst thus engaged, an elderly woman looked out from some upper window, and thanked him for his kindness in doing that for her child in the instant which she could not have been in time to have done for it herself, had she made the utmost speed. The gentleman made some reply, by which he made it evident that he was one who with piety referred all things to Providence; on which the woman exclaimed with joy, “You are then a Christian, Sir; you speak a language which I have never yet heard from a stranger. It is an inconceivable delight to hear that language. Will you come in and converse with me and my family? I have not a house fit for the reception of a gentleman, but this you will pardon.” Thus invited, he went into the house, which was large and old; there the old woman lived with her daughter and grand-children. Their trade was winding silk. They reared many silk-worms, of which their apartments were full. As he entered the house many of the neighbours came in after him, and they spent two delightful hours in prayer and conversation on religious subjects. The account which these people gave of themselves was, that being deprived of their priests during the revolution, they had endeavoured to establish a little church among themselves, taking the New Testament, of which they had a single copy, as their guide, and reading it in their assembly. They showed this Testament to the gentlemen; it was very old, and worn almost to shreds, but, as they said, “they had long in vain tried to get another.” They requested the gentleman to send them one, saying that they would pay him any money for it. He assured them that he would in a few days send them half a dozen without fee or reward, which saying they seemed to think almost incredible. When he arrived in the evening at the town to which he was bound, he related to his acquaintance there his adventure in the valley, and asked the character of the people of the village. “They are poor, foolish, ignorant people,” answered the acquaintance; “but one thing I must add respecting them, it is never necessary to weigh the silk they bring for sale.” Six copies of the New Testament were forwarded to them next day from Lyons. 360

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“It appears from this and other circumstances,” continued Mr. Wilks to us, after reading the letter, “that there are many persons in France who, in fact, belong to the Church of Christ, though not united to any of the denominations of Christians now existing on earth; and now is the time to bestow on them the Gospels we have printed by our English Bible Societies.” It was whilst on our way returning to England that we stopped at St. Valery, near Abbeville,823 to see the old abbey. When we were near to the place, so connected with the early history of Mr. Sherwood, we alighted from our carriage at a spot where two roads met, and, taking the upper of the two, we sent on our vehicle by the lower to the town. It was our object to learn what we could of the party who now possessed the mansion, though with no purpose of stating that it had ever been Mr. Sherwood’s father’s, for the title deeds were lost by our family during the revolution of the last century. After ascending a hill, over which the road passed, we saw before us a deep and extensive grove, encompassed by a wall, which appeared to have been lately repaired. In the centre of the grove was the Abbey of St. Valery and its domain. We followed by the wall till we came to the front of the mansion, where we entered in by a large gate, and obtained an excellent view of the house. It is an edifice of vast extent, partly of brick and partly of stone, having long ranges of windows, and galleries of immense length, with arcades or cloisters in a ruinous state. On one side is the ancient abbey church, or rather its ruins, for it had been demolished during the revolution. There had been an avenue of linden trees between the garden and the house, but this, too, had been destroyed. These parts of the grounds were nothing but a scene of ruin, in which weeds, flowers, and high grass were mixed confusedly amongst the rubbish. We walked in, and passing to the left of the house, near where the church had once joined it, we were much surprised at the very handsome appearance of the building, and the extent of the garden, which was full of fruit trees in full bearing. Beyond was a thick wood, and, by leave of the gardener, we passed through the garden and looked at this wood, and saw several cool and shady paths, where the man told us the monks used to walk and meditate in the heat of the day. Leaving the garden we returned to the road. My heart was full. I could have liked to have lingered longer there, for it was a place of immense interest to me, and if to me, how much more so to Mr. Sherwood? From the abbey we proceeded towards the church, which looked as old as the days of William the Conqueror. We passed by an ancient gateway, flanked by two round towers, the work of the dark ages, by the side of one of which Mr. Sherwood showed us a sort of cavern, or vault, in which he said his little step-sister, Mercy Sherwood, was buried. This poor child had pined away from the time her parents had brought her to France, and had at length escaped from all present trouble by an early death at St. Valery. How seldom do families reside any time in a place without leaving one of their members behind them in this way! I thought where two of my own babies lay, still more removed from all family connexions than this poor little Mercy. 361

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How warmly were we welcomed home to Worcestershire, and how happy were we to see our family around us again. Some time after this I received a letter from a Mr. Bird, saying that the widow of David Browne, of Aldeen, Calcutta, had died suddenly, leaving it as her request that I would undertake the charge of her two youngest daughters, Lydia and Sarah, which in the end I did. This was in April, and they must have been even then on their passage to England, as they were with us before long. We had a most delightful visit in May from our beloved friends, General and Mrs. Mawby. Mr. Sherwood being called from home, the general read the chapters and prayers in family worship in the mornings and evenings, which he said he found pleasant and profitable. He delighted in our Indian hymns, our small organ, and the youthful company of which our family party was composed. I still remember that spring as a peaceful, happy time. I find in my journal notices of bees swarming, and other such matters as seemed to form delightful varieties to our life. The young people were always seen rushing out whenever the “tinkling frying-pan” gave notice of a movement in the hive,824 and Mr. Sherwood assumed on these occasions a dress in which he looked not unlike an old Oby woman.825 In the dusk of the evening I always told my children a story, and some of these were never forgotten. “Henry Milner,”826 or, as we called him, “the little millennium boy,” was first invented at those hours. During this spring and summer many Christian visitors from distant places came to see us; amongst others, the Rev. Mr. Bickersteth, and Mr. Robertson, the chaplain from Calcutta. Mr. Sherwood bought a boat, in which we used often to go on the Teme, passing through some of the sweetest scenery of my native county, usually taking two of the children each time with us; but we were induced to give this pleasure up, fearing that boating was not quite safe. There is a chapter in “Henry Milner” which refers to one of these little voyages, which I loved exceedingly, as they reminded me of our adventures on the Ganges. We next obtained a little pony-carriage, and no doubt much good did our airings do to our health; but, after a while, we gave this up also, on account of the ill behaviour of our pony, which ran away with us on the Powick road. We had the charge, or, rather, overlooked the education, of more than one Indian family—children of friends still in that beloved country. At this time one of these children, the youngest of our Indian boys of which we had the superintendence and the care during the holidays, fell ill. The poor child languished for some weeks without being decidedly in danger, and Mr. Sherwood and myself watched and tended over him in vain, as far as earthly means for his recovery went. When mourning for his indisposition, I was much struck by Mr. Sherwood’s telling me that he had awoke one night thinking of the child, and these words seemed to be repeated to him: “Little cherub, thou art called from school, Thy father’s house will suit thee better.”827 362

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I have hesitated whether I should copy an account I wrote at the time of certain circumstances relative to the last days of this little boy, but I find that I cannot cancel the original with any satisfaction unless I do so. Some persons have a great delight in narrations of this kind, others place no value on them. The record I refer to is as follows:—“When our beloved little boy first came to us, we found that he had learned much that was amiss at sea. It is impossible that there can be a more fearful school for a child than a ship, unless he is watched by the eyes of an Argus.828 We found it necessary to separate him entirely from a little sister who had been his companion on board, and with whom he could talk of what he had learned amiss. He was still but a dimpled babe, with a soft complexion and light curling hair. We took decided measures to prevent any one ever reminding him of the circumstance of his voyage, and we had reason to believe that he had lost the impression of all that was evil of it some months before his illness. From the time these measures were taken we never saw anything in him which gave us the impression of his having been seriously injured by what he had heard at sea, a baby-like simplicity being ever observable in his countenance, and often a smile of peculiar sweetness. I think he was not more than six when he died. He never made any complaints during the former part of his residence with us, but there was always wanting in him the playfulness of childhood. Since our medical man could not discern the indications of any disease, we hoped that he would gain strength when more accustomed to England. Thus passed a year and a half, during which he became fond of reading, and continued his harmless course, becoming very dear to all about him. The late winter, from its severity, had been the most fatal within the memory of man, especially with little children, few families having been exempt from some bereavement. One comfort, however, we have in the loss of this little child, that we are assured of his present happiness; for, on looking back on his blameless and innocent course, on considering his gentle and lamblike deportment, we can have little doubt but that his Almighty Father was preparing him for his change long before his friends anticipated it. At Christmas last he and his sister had the hooping-cough; his sister was very ill, but he seemed to get through the disorder easily. The measles followed in the beginning of March, and from them he never recovered, but continued to droop and fall away till the 24th of April, when he expired. At the commencement of his last illness he was in a state of high inflammation, but seemed to be scarcely sensible of his sufferings. In the second stage of his illness, when his fever left him, he was perfectly himself, and then we became anxious that such nourishment might be administered to his mind as only suited his dying state. “We placed his Bible and hymn-book by him, and he was enabled to read them himself till within a few hours of his death. “When we saw that he was sinking fast, we were advised, about three weeks before his death, to make trial of mother’s milk, which we did, and the little fellow made no objection, but drew the milk of a healthy young woman as naturally as if he had been as much a new-born babe in body as we had reason to believe he was in spirit. 363

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“It was thought right, when all hope was gone, to state to him the truth, that his death was approaching. He received the information without alarm; but this I did not wonder at, being usual with children whose tender minds cannot grasp the mighty ideas suggested by this awful knowledge, however, supposing them to be imbued with pious feelings; for they are more disposed to think of the Saviour as of a tender parent than those to whom the feelings of childhood are more remote. He asked after this for a new Bible, which was procured for him, and from the time he obtained it he employed himself in looking out the verses to which his favourite hymns referred. He particularly loved the 18th verse of the 25th Psalm—‘Look upon my affliction and my pain, and forgive all my sins.’ “A few days before his death he found a verse in the 14th of Hosea which particularly delighted him, and, wonderful to relate, he seemed suddenly to understand and receive all the promises of Scripture, and sometimes he would ask, ‘How may I turn such a promise into a prayer?’ “Thus gloriously was the Divine Spirit opening his young mind to holy impressions, and even to such conceptions of things as were quite above his years. His example, as well as that of many others, taught us that God the Holy Ghost is not bound down in His acts, as the creature is, by the laws of time, but is swift and powerful, and sharper than a two-edged sword.829 This beloved child had all along a very, very deep sense of his own sinful condition and helplessness. He suffered very little apparently during the last few days of his life. “He did not change for death till about four o’clock on the day he died. When it was said to him, ‘Try to look to God,’ he answered, ‘I was trying to make a little prayer, but my cough hindered me.’ “The last words he spoke clearly were, ‘A childlike spirit, Lord, impart, Forgive my sins and cleanse my heart.’830 “The immediate cause of his death was the bursting of some abscess. “He was laid by my own little George, and the young people followed him to his grave. “My gentle and blessed little Alfred, farewell! Thou art another in the heavenly choir! “Whilst still mourning for my youthful Alfred, Miss Grierson, the authoress of ‘Lily Douglas,’831 wrote me a very sweet letter, and afterwards sent me all her works as a present, and a Bible to my boy, because his name was Henry Martyn.” On the 17th of March I had the honour of being summoned to Worcester to meet the celebrated Mrs. Fry.832 We went first to a public breakfast, and afterwards to the gaol.833 In the drive to the prison Mrs. Fry kindly selected me for her companion in the carriage. As we drove along our subject of discourse was, the danger of celebrity, for females especially, and she at once and candidly confessed that she was in a situation of greater temptation than myself, though, as she kindly said, a known personage, as her acts and deeds brought her so much into public. 364

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On arriving at the gaol there was an immense crowd to meet her, and many of the principal county magistrates to hand her out and conduct her through the courts and offices. She was a fine, composed, majestic woman, and it was most interesting to hear her address, which she gave from the chapel, in the preacher’s place, a clergyman of the Church of England standing on each side of her. A few days after this I learnt that my publisher, Mr. Houlston, had had a great part of his premises at Wellington burned down. For years I always had some unprinted manuscript in his house, with the happy exception of this particular crisis. Had I had more time, the third volume of “THE LADY OF THE MANOR”834 would have been there, and the loss to me would have been irreparable, as I keep no copies of what I write. I had several letters at this time from dear Lady John Somerset,835 the sister of my childhood’s friend, Lord Mountnorris, and also some from Lady Elizabeth O’Brien,836 both of which were upon the subject of having my works translated and printed in French. It was when my three elder daughters were just advancing to womanhood that we had an invitation from Major M’Caskill to visit our beloved 53rd regiment, then stationed at Weedon Barracks, and we took these our daughters with us. We found our friends residing in large and elegant quarters in the same building as the colonel, and we were most warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained. What a strange revulsion, what a violent flood of old feelings burst upon my mind! the past, as it appertained to my Indian life, seeming to roll itself into one with the present. On the Friday, in passing through the hall, I found it half filled with officers and as many as eight members of the band, all waiting to see me. The youths stood together, and as I went up to them they gathered round me and formed a circle, their eyes sparkling with pleasure. They were all full grown, tall, military men, finely drawn up, and well acquainted with what was due from themselves to me. For an instant I knew not one of them, but soon I recognised in them the babes I had nursed, and dressed, and lulled to sleep, and the boys I had taught whilst yet scarce able to lisp their letters. The finest, or at least one of the finest among them, for they one and all looked well, came forward and told me who he was, “William Coleman.” Then came Flitcheroft, who had been one of my particular nurselings; Eliott, who had the same especial claim on my regard; Roberts and Ross, Hartley and Botheroyd, and not one of these had even one parent. I cannot say what I felt, but I own I was relieved when the meeting was over, and I could retire to pray and weep for my orphan boys. Our first introduction was in the far off East, our second in England, and once more we shall be united, through our blessed Redeemer, in glory, where together we shall join in one eternal strain of praise. Such a minute is worth many, many petty annoyances. How gratified was I to hear the most favourable account of these boys, and that they did credit to the very great care that had been bestowed upon them. The band played opposite our rooms, for it must be remembered we had the colonel next door, but when “Auld Lang Syne” was played, we knew well that it was addressed to ourselves, and to do us honour. 365

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It was shortly after our return from Weedon that we employed an artist in Worcester to take our five children,837 from a design of a family picture of Lord Gowers’ family.838 I think the design was by West, and in consequence of which the attitudes, &c., far surpass the execution. It is still to me very precious. It was on the very day this picture came home framed that I took up again my needle, and began to use it, after an interval of several years, to the great amazement and amusement of some members of my family. I got a sweet letter from Mr. Corrie, too, about this time, dated from Cawnpore. It was filled with touching reminiscences of days long since past, and he told me of the well doing of many of my former pupils, and the marriage of Mary to a missionary at Madras. But my records of years seem to get shorter and shorter as life was less varied, but like the uneventful periods of history, these uneventful years are, no doubt, the happiest of times. Parents have a second youth in their children, and, alas! they often give themselves up to the beguilement of earthly hopes and earthly vanities which they might have shunned for themselves. This blossom of hope with me was but, however, of short duration. This season of gaiety is gone, never to return again, whilst it possesses a perishable nature, but when youth shall be renewed in glory its blossom shall flower for ever and ever.

CHAPTER XXX. MR. THOMASON’S VISIT—MY DAUGHTER’S MARRIAGE—MR. IRVINE—WE LEAVE ENGLAND— MR. DICKENSON—M. MALAN GENEVA—LADY RAFFLES—THE LITTLE MOMIERE—THE RIOTS AT LYONS—NICEAND THE BRIGADE D’ACQUIS—SIR WALTER SCOTT. AND now, as time rolled on, it was granted me to rejoice and joy exceedingly that my God permitted me, a vessel of clay,839 to receive and convey, as it were, one ray of light that he had graciously bestowed upon me, and with it to lighten the way of some of his chosen ones. The pencil in the hand of the artist has equal right for boasting and vain glory. Such were my feelings when I heard from a Dr. Morrison, in China, that he was translating my little work of “Henry and his Bearer” into the Chinese language, and that he had seen it also in the Cingalese.840 I had a sweet letter, too, at this period, from the mother of the fair little Sophia N*** who appeared to us, who can see no farther than the means employed, to have received early impressions of religion from reading my writings, and had just died in the faith of the Gospel. A few months afterwards I saw the bereaved mother, and one anecdote of the departed one I must record. The little girl used to adorn her head with roses, and then ask her mother “if she would admire those flowers more if placed elsewhere 366

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than on her little person.” Surely the maternal love is great, and yet not equal to the Divine Father’s. It was not long after this that our beloved friend, Mr. Thomason, came to Wick. How paternal was the blessing he bestowed upon his little god-child, my own Sophia! Sweet was his prayer for her. He took her with him to the Pershore Biblemeeting, holding the little girl on his knee on the platform, though the chair of honour was appropriated to him. We old East Indians scorn to do anything like other people; but, oh! the beautiful simplicity of this paternal action. We saw dear Mr. and Mrs. Sherer shortly after this, and their brother, Captain Moyle Sherer,841 the talented writer. Oh, how kindly did he enter into all the amusements of the young ones, his nephews and nieces, and our little girl. His good-natured kindness drew upon him the gentle rebuke of his sister-in-law, so that in the words of the Apostle Paul she was ready to exclaim, “‘All things are lawful, but all things are not expedient.’842 It is not expedient to make the little ones so very merry.” From our Indian friends we learnt sweet accounts of our orphans. And first we heard that my Mary was the happy wife of a missionary living at Palamcotta, and that she had become a very valuable, clever, and pious woman, and most inestimable in her situation. Her brother John was with her, a hopeful boy. Annie, our gentle Annie, had passed in bright faith to glory. Diana was married to a sergeant at Barruckpore, and was conducting herself well. Margaret, my little Meggy, my own nursling, who had been taken by Mrs. Latter, died at seven years old, in a particularly happy state of mind. Before her death she had become a remarkably beautiful child. Our Elizabeth was still a happy, merry girl in the Asylum at Calcutta. A cause of great anxiety opened to me at this time, namely, several of my young people, and, indeed, more than I then knew of, had become objects of attention, and were likely soon to leave the paternal home. I shall say little on the subject of my own children’s marriages, or on the marriages of the orphans under my care, nor even what I thought of them at the time; but as in the course of this life much good is mixed with evil, and much evil with good, to work out the wise arrangements of Providence, so the results of these marriages have proved a twisted thread of both. As Sir Walter so graphically expresses it, from the mouth of the gipsey wife— “Twist ye, twine ye, even so Mingle shades of joy and woe; Hope and fear, and peace and strife Weave the thread of human life.”843 I shall only add that my eldest daughter at this time married a clergyman of the name of Dawes. Mr. Sherwood’s relative, and my father’s friend, Dr. Chapel Woodhouse, then Dean of Lichfield, presented our son-in-law with the small living of Adbaston, near Eccleshall, “for the sake,” said Dr. Woodhouse, “of the 367

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friend of former days.” My child’s marriage was followed, within the course of two months, by the engagement of the eldest of my orphans, Mary Parsons. Most rapid were these arrangements of my children. A few, a very few years, and we, the parents of many, were left, as it were, alone with our youngest one. The only peculiar circumstances in our case were, the changes were more decided, and more quick one upon another, than they are in most families of our rank and station in England. I had not then learned to be alone: to sit often solitary—to miss the voices of my beloved children—to think of them scattered and changed, so that on earth they can never be again to me what they were. I could not then conceive that I could submit to such entire changes and be happy. I am, however, the more happy, because, though I have no hopes of increasing our enjoyments in this present life, I look, I trust, more steadily to a reunion with them in our Saviour above. But I was to be brought to this; and thrice blessed are those whose hopes, being uprooted from the clay, are elevated to where there can be no change844— no winter of darkness after the summer light of truth, no cloud dense enough to obscure the brightness of the eternal sun; for we shall no more need its rainbow of promise.845 Glory be to that God in whom we have this assurance. And I feel, indeed, that, “’Midst changing scenes and dying friends, Thou art my all in all.”846 I experienced much uneasiness at this time from the illness of my second daughter, Lucy. My eldest Indian child was in very precarious health, and drawn by sickness from the gay and busy world, a stricken deer, and suffering from the contrast with what she had been only a few months before. She had a lesson to learn in youth, which even many blessed ones do not learn till advanced age. In January some one had given her a little text-book, called “Daily Bread,”847 and it had been her constant companion ever since, and remained so to the end of her short life. It lay open on her dressing-table when she died. I have found it, and I have it by me. I mention it now for her beloved child’s good, who I trust will love its lessons, the blessed words of Scripture, for their own excellence as well as for her departed parent’s desire. We had formed a resolution to give up our residence in Worcester, and travel abroad. It was the wish of our children, and we thought it might do their health good, for they showed too plainly by their delicate appearance that they were natives of a warmer climate than England. I have said it was only during the first year of our return from India, before my mother’s death, that the taking of pupils, in a pecuniary point of view, was needful to us. But I liked it; my heart was in it, and it was one labour to educate my own children with others. The right and pleasure of educating my own children and my orphan girls I would not willingly have given up to any one whilst life and strength were spared me from on high. But now we gave up our pupils, as I was not as strong as before, and as our daughters missed their young companions, 368

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for they had been accustomed to a large and cheerful family circle, we looked on travelling as a resource. All changes imply some sort of suffering, as either preceding or accompanying them. A transition state can hardly be expected to be easy; though I believe that Almighty love often renders the last most awful change not only easy, but a period of intense happiness to those who are passing through it. So, as I said, we determined to go abroad. Whilst in London, trying to get Mr. Sherwood’s leave of absence, for it must be remembered that he had been put upon the half-pay of the Brunswick Hussars, we went to hear the celebrated Mr. Irving,848 and I was greatly struck with his preaching, though there was a wildness about his manner, and a peculiarity of ideas, which made it impossible thoroughly to understand him by once hearing. One day, we dined with our friend Mr. Kinnard, of Hackney, and there we met Mr. Irving. Very much was I pleased with him. He was a tall man, with a most pleasant expression, though he had a defect in one eye. A more gentlemanlike or courteous person I never saw, and no otherwise spoiled by the excessive adulation of his party, who treated him more as a god than as a man, but that he betrayed some symptoms of too much excitement, especially when he spoke of “THE TONGUES.”849 He also listened to and told many stories of bells in houses ringing of their own accord, which several persons present seemed to consider as warnings of deaths and other dismal events. Mr. Irving, when asked, spoke doubtfully, as if such interruptions of the common arrangements of natural things might be, and most fully expressed his belief in the miracle of tongues; though he then, and ever afterwards, humbly asserted that the gift had never been imparted to himself. In thinking of this excellent man, and of many others who have been much exposed to popular applause, I have often thanked my God for giving me, as he has done, so many domestic cares, which have kept me in the background of life. For even supposing that by Divine grace I might have been withheld from self-conceit, as that humble Christian Mr. Irving was, yet might I not have suffered, as he did, from the effect of perpetual excitement and popular applause, in an exhaustion of the mind, long, long before I arrived at my present age. At this time I was rich in having four daughters on earth, though, may be, now I might account myself far richer in my family in glory, where I have three daughters and two sons; and these dear ones I had instructed in the Old Testament Hebrew, with the view to the types, of which we were about to commence a dictionary. I had long been convinced that the Scripture types, or emblems, or that figurative style which is used almost entirely in the prophetic books, is a complete language.850 We had found it impossible to make anything of this language without looking to the Hebrew; from this circumstance, that the Hebrew and English words do not, and cannot, exactly answer to each other. For example: there are six Hebrew words which are translated earth indiscriminately, whereas these words have all some difference, but necessarily of a very trifling description, to the simple reading of the Bible. These six Hebrew words would describe 369

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land or earth in different degrees of cultivation: hence, taking this land or earth in the typical language of Scripture as the Church, we should find different stages of this Church, as it is far off or approaching nearer to that perfection, all that is one with Him must eventually arrive at. As types, then, were the objects in hand, and as those who have once tasted of the extreme interest of the subject can never lose the sense of the delight which they are calculated to impart, my daughters soon were deeply interested in the Hebrew. After a time Mr. Sherwood also took to the study, and afforded us most useful assistance, for he made for our benefit a Hebrew and English Concordance,851 a work of ten years’ daily labour. But this last I have anticipated. The types, however, have been my study for years, and I still continue at them, though I do not expect to live to see them printed. They form, however, the subject of many sweet thoughts and sweeter conversations. But our movements then were towards the Continent of Europe, and for awhile these studies were partially but not wholly laid aside. It is not my intention here to enter into a long particular detail of this journey: I shall only say that I have by me a full and accurate account of each day’s travelling and events;852 but here I shall quote only a few anecdotes. Whilst in Paris, dining at the house of an acquaintance, I met a Mr. and Mrs. Dickinson; this lady was a relative of my childhood’s friend, the Earl of Mountnorris, and she kindly told me the following story, which was afterwards confirmed to me from other sources. A lady of the name of Ross had passed through Paris some years before to go to Italy: she was a person of large fortune. In Italy she adopted a little Italian girl, and caused her to be instructed in English. Among other books she gave her “THE LADY OF THE MANOR,” “THE TWO LAMBS,” and “ANNA ROSS.”853 The little girl read these with her master, and they were so blessed to her, by Him who can make the weakest means effectual, that she not only became decided in seeking the truth herself, but instantly set herself to lead her mother by adoption to the same course, and for this purpose immediately commenced the translation of these three little volumes into Italian. In the progress of these works she became very ill; she had half finished the history of Mrs. Danzy,854 in “The Lady of the Manor,” her favourite story of all, when she was incapacitated for further exertion. She made it her dying request, however, that this story should be finished, and printed in Italian, with the others above mentioned. Her patroness could not refuse her last request; so she caused the translations to be completed and printed at her own expense, though she was obliged first to obtain permission from the ecclesiastical rulers.855 Being a woman of fortune and spirit, she succeeded so far as to print the books, though forbidden to sell them. On leaving Italy she thoughtlessly gave some remaining copies to a bookseller, I think in Rome, which circumstance being made known to the authorities, all the books were seized, with the exception of a few which she had reserved, and with which she was leaving the country; these were however preserved, though an officer was sent after her to examine her luggage. This officer was provided with a document in which he was directed to examine the 370

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trunks of a certain Madame Ross, but in this legal instrument the R looked so like a P, that when he had overtaken the lady he was so confounded by the mistake that he let her pass the frontier without interruption; probably neither his heart nor his interest were much engaged in the matter, so the books were spared. This anecdote, as may be supposed, was deeply interesting to me. At Geneva we boarded in the house of a M. Wolff Haulock, in the Pre l’Eveque, next door to Dr., or, as we then termed him, Monsieur, Malan’s domain called Pre Fleuri. The same day of our arrival we went to his chapel, which stands in a garden. The service was in French, to which our ears were not then sufficiently accustomed to enable us to follow. We were greatly pleased with the appearance and manner of M. Malan.856 He appeared to be more than fifty, having white hair hanging in natural curls over the collar of his coat, most benevolent eyes, and every mark to prove that in his youth he must have been more than commonly handsome. I have never heard singing superior, though in India I heard equal to that in M. Malan’s chapel. His daughter played the organ most exquisitely. On the Tuesday I accompanied a Mr. Lloyd, the member for Limerick, who was then boarding with M. Wolff, to call on M. Malan. He resides in the remains of the old episcopal palace, though there are no remains of antiquity, that I saw, about the place. We met M. Malan at his garden-gate; he received us with a smile of beaming kindness, and addressed us in English, which he spoke exceedingly well. He took us into a parlour, which was hung with an arras of landscapes in oil colours, wrought by his own hands; for he is highly skilled in painting and music. When we were seated, after awhile he told me that he knew me well by name; and he told me also that he objected to a passage in my “Church Catechism Stories,” in which I had asserted “that Christ, instead of acting according to the will of the Father, had, as it were, by interposing himself between the Father and the sinner, compelled him to have mercy.”857 How kindly, and yet how decidedly, did this enlightened Christian point out my error, proving to me that our Saviour is the exponent of his Father’s love, not the procuring cause of it; for what saith the Witness—“God so loved the world, that he himself gave us his Son for our salvation.”858 I recalled to mind that once before I had been told that my views of the Father were very defective, and I prayed that, if I were blind as to the truth, my eyes might be opened. M. Malan lent me a little book called “Theogenes.”859 That same evening we attended Divine service in his chapel, and sat on the strangers’ bench860 exactly opposite the reading-desk, and when the hymn was given out he found the place and handed the book himself to me. How sweet and refreshing were the holy discourses I then often had with M. Malan—that true servant of God—and how parentally did he speak to my children, calling them his children in the faith. One of my daughters informed me that, for some time past, the idea of the day of judgment had filled her with terror, that she felt she could never stand the judgment of an all-pure and all-seeing God, and that above all things she wished to hear what M. Malan would say on the subject. I had ever taught my child that the Lord the Saviour would preserve her in judgment if she trusted in Him; but as I had very imperfect views myself at that time of 371

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what the Saviour had done, my instructions had failed of giving her satisfaction. In fact, I may say, I fear with truth, that I was then very unable to give a reason for the hope that was within me; for I was clinging to one great and general error— that man had some condition to fulfil, on the non-fulfilment or fulfilment of which his salvation must depend.861 M. Malan was scripturally grounded in his views of the perfection of the Divine work, as it regarded the elect, and of the perfect and entire safety of those individuals who are adopted into the body of Christ, and of the total impossibility of their ever being suffered finally to fall away, and hence of the absolute duty of entertaining the doctrine of assurance.862 On this point, that is, in showing the fullness of Christ as regards His own chosen ones, and the perfect confidence such should place in Him, M. Malan worked hard to instruct my young ones, and what he said was blessed not only to them but to me. Never shall I forget his playful address to my young daughter, when next we met. “Eh, bien! ma petite demoiselle, vos oiseaux de nuits le sont ils volés.”863 In measure, as I see the non-conditionality of salvation to the child of God864—a non-conditionality wholly built upon the fulfilment of all conditions by the second Adam, Christ, there is a cessation in my feelings, of what in former years had almost filled them. I find no longer any references to those weary and fruitless searchings for any good in myself, which are recorded in my old journals as accruing day after day, and year after year, almost from my youth, till I was far advanced in middle age, with occasional strong expressions of hopelessness because I found it not, or sometimes those of self-satisfaction when any flatterer told me that I had found what I was searching for. But when I was blessed by clearer views of the work of the Saviour, and of the demerits of man—which views were first conveyed to my mind with clearness through the ministry of M. Malan—all these expressions of self-seeking, harassing fears and doubts, suddenly disappeared from my diary. Though I know that human agency unassisted can do nothing, yet I must ever believe and say that M. Malan was, by the Divine blessing, made decidedly useful to me, and also to my dear daughters; and to this hour such as are left with me on earth will bear witness to the same. Whilst staying at Geneva we had a visit from a Lady Raffles.865 This lady is the widow of Sir Stamford; her history is sad. In the year 18—she was living, with her husband and five children, in great happiness in Ceylon; within six months four of these children were taken from her, and the baby, a little girl, only left. The infant was immediately despatched to England, and the parents followed as soon as they could. The ship in which they sailed took fire, and they lost a valuable collection of rarities. Sir Stamford died when he had been less than half a year in England,866 and his widow was then residing at Geneva, with her daughter Ella and a nephew, Charles Raffles, whom she has adopted. This bereaved lady has long now mourned her lovely girl, her beautiful Ella. At the house of Lady Raffles we met a Lady Charlotte Hamilton867 and a Madame I’Ivernois,868 a Geneva lady of some consequence, and a Captain Hawker of the royal navy,869 and his lady, leading Christians of the day at Geneva. 372

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We had desired to live unknown at Geneva, but it seems that some of the principal religious Genevese and English ladies, who were then residing there, had a little scheme in view, and so, contrary to the etiquette of the place, Lady Raffles was put forward to call upon us as soon as our arrival was known. This scheme was, that I should write a book on the subject of a very curious custom existing in Geneva, which is fully detailed in the little work. The Christian ladies who wished this done, at my desire sent me written documents on the subject, which, being received, I wrote the story entitled “The Little Momiere.”870 From Geneva we went to Lyons, where we remained a month in the Hôtel du Parc, in the Place Terraux. We observed at Lyons, what we had not noticed before, that the young ladies of our party,—and these were four,—could not walk out without being followed. The words “Les Anglois”871 were whispered and then spoken loudly, and the people would gather together and follow us. There were no other English girls then at Lyons, we knew, and we put this notice down to that circumstance, and to the particularly Saxon appearance of our daughters. But I believe that these symptoms indicated more than we then apprehended, and were strong tokens of the lawless condition of the people at that epoch. On the 25th October was the fête day of the Cordoniers,872 and in consequence we had a grand procession, the principal of the body going first in his carriage. This was nothing extraordinary in itself; but what was peculiar was, that the military walked with them, and multitudes of the lowest of the mob, four abreast, to the amount of some hundreds, which kept on increasing in number all the day. The workmen, it seems, had insisted on their masters raising their wages, and had carried their point. Parties of other workmen had come forward to show their satisfaction, and thus the excitement was ever increasing. But, like the man who persisted in remaining in his bed when the house was on fire, because he was only a lodger, we looked out at all this from our windows, and thought it did not concern us, because we were only visitors at the place. One day, however, we set out to walk to the Place Belle Cour; but, when we arrived there, we found the square full of the riotous populace, and the cry of “Les Anglois” annoyed us so much, and the noise and confusion were so great, that we did not think it prudent to stay out any longer on that day. Twice after this, when we attempted to walk in the streets, we found the town in such a disorderly state that we thought it best to return, yet still we anticipated nothing alarming. In the middle of the night of Sunday, October 30th, a party of officers and soldiers stationed themselves in a restaurateur looking into the Place Terraux, near to our hotel, whilst their band struck up “the Marselloise,” and other revolutionary airs, the populace encouraging them with great applause, and encoring the bloody Marselloise. It is wonderful that we were not more alarmed at these symptoms of turbulence amongst these people, but we knew not how much to attribute to the common customs of the city, and how much to extraordinary excitement. It was on the 4th of November, in the evening, that we first heard alarming sounds under the windows in the Place Terraux; there was tramping, and shouting, 373

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and scolding, and fearful oaths uttered. Looking out, we saw a mob collecting, and found that it was a regular rising of the populace. The National Guard had dispersed the people once or twice during the day, and we had taken little notice of it; but now they were collecting in greater numbers. The dragoons soon came up, and we, strange to say, were much amused by the manner in which the crowd was driven back. Men with flambeaux873 stood between the National Guards and dragoons and the mob, and as the military advanced the flambeaux were pushed in the faces of the rioters, and they retreated till they were backed out of the square. One party went down the street with the torches flaring in their hands under the side window of our sitting-room. Still we took no alarm, but some young French ladies with us were dreadfully agitated, as they knew better than we did what might ensue. They kept calling on the name of God, in a way, I grieve to say, usual with Frenchwomen, even on much lighter occasions than this. We tried to give them courage, and after this scene were no longer strangers to each other. From the papers, we afterwards learnt that the gates of Lyons were closed the very evening we left, and were not opened again till twelve hundred persons were murdered or seriously wounded. Many buildings were burnt down, and the general and some other officers and persons of distinction were detained by the people, as hostages for such of their own party as were taken prisoners. It was also said the unruly populace had possessed themselves of much money. What might have been our fate we cannot say, had we remained only a day longer at the Hôtel du Parc, in the most central portion of the city, so marked as we had been, so followed, and so called after, with the spirit which we now may imagine was felt against us; for the English were then injuring the trade of the city.874 Humanly speaking, we have to thank our landlord, who hurried us away under the pretence that the voiturin875 we had hired to drive us to Nice was obliged to be off that very morning. Most probably both these men knew the state of the town, for it is a curious fact, we afterwards recollected, that our host was very urgent with us to take a drive with our whole party, as he said, to try our new carriage, the day before we really left Lyons. He sent his little son Paul, a child of four years old, with us. In our first drive with the child, who was well known, we passed the barriers, and thus the people, who saw us go and return from our drive, let us go out again the next day, without any suspicion, probably, that we might not return, for we had luggage with us both times. But though to M. Levrat we owe great gratitude, let us not forget to return thanks to the Fatherly care that put that pity into his mind for us. We were the only English family then in Lyons, and we may guess what was in the minds of some by an extraordinary paragraph, which first appeared in the French and afterwards in the English papers, saying that the whole of the family of a Captain S. had been brutally murdered on such a day, I forget the date, during the riots in the city of Lyons, pointing to about the time when we left the city. Our sudden disappearance, no doubt, aided the supposition that we had been massacred. 374

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This paragraph found its way into England, and not a little distressed some of our friends. But, poor Lyons, we were hardly clear of the city when the smouldering fire broke forth into a flame. We wintered at Nice, and took a house in the Croix de Marbre, a quarter of the suburbs where the English congregate. And here I must relate an adventure that befel us, prefacing it with this remark, that our part in the affair was, to say the truth, a part that we took in ignorance, and if the matter was to come over again we should have learnt experience. One day, whilst all the family were out, I was somewhat startled by the information that M. le Comte de **** and M. le Baron de ****, aide-de-camps to his Majesty the King of Sardinia, of a corps denominated the Brigade d’Acquis, were in the house, desirous of seeing me, and that they had been ushered into the saloon on the first floor. What is so rapid as thought? What did I not think of as I walked up the stairs? for I was reading on the ground floor. I asked myself what I had done or said which might have offended the higher authorities; and what could they want with me, a British subject? “Courage,” I said to myself, “courage; it may after all be nothing: but what could have brought the aide-de-camps of the King of Sardinia to call on a person like myself, who could have no knowledge of them?” As soon as Joseph, our man-servant, in great form had lifted the curtain which hung over the door of the saloon, and I had stepped in, three officers in blazing uniform came forward and bowed very low, and we begged each other to be seated. The usual compliments then followed which pass when strangers meet; after which the superior of the three, a fine middle-aged officer, put forward a petition, which I granted at once when I understood it, all my fearful prognostics flying away at the same instant. The officers of the Brigade d’Acquis were, it seems, going to give a ball to the English at Nice. They had hired a large house on our left, and also one on our right, and had come to ask permission to use our terrace on the occasion. I gave the permission for our marble terrace to be used, without much thought, and under the idea that it was churlish to refuse it; but to make my consent more excusable, if excuse is necessary, I must explain the situation of our residence. The house we had hired is withdrawn from the road, whilst those on each side advance so forward that the hinder walls of the projecting ones are almost on a level with the front of the one in which we lived. To prevent this from being an eyesore, the middle house possesses a splendid marble terrace, or balcony, of extent sufficient for a handsome saloon, on which opens three doors or windows of our house, and a door from each of the neighbouring houses, forming thus a communication for the three houses, showing clearly that they are the property of one and the same individual. Now it so chanced that the houses on our right and left were both empty, hence they were just convenient for the military ball. When it was explained to me that there was no communication from the one to the other but by our terrace, and that communication was needed, as the supper was in the house on our right at the hour of midnight, I perhaps too thoughtlessly said, “You are welcome to pass along our terrace;” for, I added to myself, “we shall all 375

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be in our sleeping-rooms at that hour of the night, and of what use is our terrace to us?” Had it been a question of right or wrong about balls it would have been another matter;876 the ball was to be held in those houses, and a way would have been made in the street under the terrace if not on it, and we could not have said nay. Therefore, as I said, I hesitated not a minute; but told them it was entirely at their disposal. They bowed and I bowed, and they then expressed their hopes that I and my family would attend their ball, on which I bowed again, as also did they. Whilst these ceremonies were in progress in came the young ladies, admitted by Joseph, who, in a manner as alarming as mysterious, told them they must on no account enter the saloon, that Madame was engaged there with some officers, and as they turned into their sleeping-rooms he turned the keys upon them, to speculate at their leisure upon these inexplicable doings. However, as the merriest of my young ones remarked, “Joseph was not a match for us, mamma; for, if we had chosen, as there are three glass-doors opening on the terrace, what was to hinder us stepping out of one and stepping into the room where the strangers were, had we been so minded, just to show that where there is a will there is a way?” My daughter would never have thought of using the glass-door had she not heard the lock turned; and, let me ask, is there not a moral in this? But now listen how we were taken in, and made to suffer for our consent. On the Saturday they began to make preparations for the ball on our terrace. And, first, they covered it with an awning, which extended from above our windows to the balustrade in front. Whilst we were at dinner the Count, who was also the colonel of the regiment, sent to ask leave to close the awning at the farther end, which would have reduced our front rooms to total darkness, though it was then like twilight. We begged a delay till after Sunday; but, as the ball was to take place on Monday, we were obliged during the whole of Sunday to be contented to live in the light that owls do. The process of preparation had been going on for several days, the doors on each side of the terrace had been thrown open, and a constant thoroughfare established for all descriptions, workmen and supervisors, officers, gentlemen and ladies: and now and then a monk, in cowl and cord, came in and peered and looked about with as much apparent interest as the rest. We were too curious to see what was going on, and too much entertained to keep our venetians decidedly closed. On Saturday we went out to walk upon our terrace, all the officers having disappeared, and, as we believed, gone to their mess. While there, our landlord came; he was the owner of all three houses, and invited us to view the preparations in the house on our left, telling us it was then vacant; so we went. Having passed through several rooms, we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by the officers. The Colonel, my late principal guest, immediately came forward and repeated his request to me, that I would attend the ball with all our demoiselles, urging the request in the name of the brigade. I only recollect answering, “that my young people were not accustomed to go into public;”—a plea which seemed to make the officers more desirous to see them at the ball; for such is human nature, that it is always most desirous of obtaining that which is withheld. I was vexed that we had been persuaded to go into the house; but I have no doubt 376

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that the landlord had been sent to get us there. Not one of my young people wished to give way to the solicitations of the officers; but I advise all parents not to take either son or daughter on the continent, unless they are sure of their obedience and of their Christian principles. I am myself not certain whether the utmost effort of intellectual improvement does not consist in simply impressing pious, beautiful, and exalted associations on the young mind. On the Sunday, as we might have anticipated in Italy, the workmen in the neighbouring houses continued their preparations for the ball; and, on the Monday, the appearance of our terrace was wholly changed. They had covered it, as I said, completely, with an awning of sail-cloth, lined with some sort of striped cotton. Along the sides they had arranged orange trees in large pots, loaded with flowers and golden fruit; and amongst the leaves, they had inserted coloured lamps. There were festoons and garlands and draperies on either side the trees, which only needed the blaze of the lamps to produce a fine effect. Whilst walking in the garden after dinner, the Colonel sent a message to us, saying “that the apartments were all finished, and that he hoped to have the pleasure of showing them to Madame and the demoiselles. We were led by an elderly and most courteous officer over our transmographied877 terrace into the large house on the left, where after crossing several passages, and descending some stairs, he conducted us through a suite of seven rooms, the last of which was destined for the orchestra. These apartments were decorated with garlands of roses and myrtles, and festoons and draperies of muslin: the lamps, which were in the form of balls, being inserted among the flowers; and all showing that the officers had spared neither trouble, nor labour, nor expense in their decorations. Our terrace was appropriated as a card-room, and also as a passage to the restaurateurs on the right-hand. The two doorways were ornamented with the same description of garlands as those in the grand suite. It was also very nicely carpeted, and tables arranged all along the apartment. The Colonel again repeated his entreaties for my young people to be permitted to attend the festivities. I replied “that there were many Protestant families who did not approve of public amusements for their daughters;” but all I could say had no effect, and before we got back to our quarters a number of young officers joined our train, all urging the same petition, that we would make our appearance at the ball. At eight o’clock, just as the officers assembled to receive their company, we received another and final message of entreaty, the ambassadors seeking admittance through one of the glass-doors of our saloon, the Count and one or two other officers coming in also in full uniform. It was painful to say no, so repeatedly; but I did so as often as required. Two mornings after the ball I was called upon to receive a deputation from the regiment in general. Two of the officers presented themselves, bowing low. The Colonel we knew well; a fine-looking elderly man, who seemed to have enjoyed his share of the good things of this life. We met with great and grave decorum. The second officer was very deaf; so that, from being obliged to speak loud, the refined compliments we paid to each other sounded rather amusing. After a series 377

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of polite speeches upon the brilliant success of the ball, the Colonel inquired after the demoiselles, and expressed his final regret for their absence at the entertainment. He profusely poured out compliments and flatteries—and disclaiming of compliments next ensued, with great vivacity on all sides; the militaires insisting, that if their entertainment went off well, it was owing to the accommodation which we had afforded them, and at the same time adding, “It was cruel not to give the last finish to the adornments of their rooms by our presence.” “And wherefore,” said the Count, “even if the demoiselles did not choose to dance, why would they not come to be looked at?” He then arose, and bending on one knee, presented me with a box, which, he told me, was a small tribute of respect from the officers of the Brigade d’Acquis to the demoiselles under my care. The deputation then withdrew with the same ceremonies with which they had entered; and, soon after, the young people came in, and we opened their tribute. It was a green octagonal box, edged with silver in vandykes;878 on the lid was a coloured enamelled device, representing a young girl, who had just overturned a hive from the summit of an altar, and breaking a bow across her knee. The altar belongs to Cupid; and the winged urchin is seen flying over the altar, if possible to stop the destruction. We could not but smile at the allusion. The box was divided into compartments, and filled with all sorts of bon-bons, comfits, hearts, and knots of ribbon; and thus finished the episode of the ball at Nice. Our next adventure that I shall relate here is one of a much more gloomy kind. Mr. Sherwood took our passage home for us in “The Batavier,” from Rotterdam; and our voyage was a memorable one, as our vessel brought home to his native land the dying author of Waverley.879 Sir Walter Scott was returning with his son and daughter from Naples, where he had received such honours as are only paid usually to crowned heads. They had given a masquerade, to which he was invited, in which all the characters were personifications of his own heroes and heroines. The cup of adulation had been tendered to him, filled to the brim and running over. Report said that he had been taken ill at Nimeguen on the Rhine, and the conducteur of the vessel, which had brought us to Rotterdam, had been up and down again, and had brought down his party now. When we were on our way to the steamer that was to take us to “The Batavier” we first saw Sir Walter. On the beach was a wooden pier; the packet was drawn up close to this pier, whereon was the barouche in which lay the invalid, from which they had taken the horses, and boards had been placed, so as it could be wheeled on deck without disturbing the sufferer. The hood of the carriage was up behind, and the front open. A bed had been spread in it, on which lay Sir Walter; his fine head, that head aforetime the seat of high conceptions and glorious imaginings, being covered by a black velvet cap. What were our thoughts, and those of all who possessed feeling and reflecting minds on board the packet, as we stood looking on the helpless inmate of that carriage! Is this, then, the end of that fine mind, whose imagination and powers have for the last twenty years employed and charmed the attention, I may say, of thousands of the human race, ay, and of its most intellectual members? Oh, 378

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how should this solemn example of the perishable nature of all earthly endowments lead one, and those especially in the decline of life, to inquire, How have I employed the gifts which the Almighty has thought fit to bestow upon us? I believe that the illness of this honoured writer was less painful to himself than to his sorrowing relatives and admirers; but, no doubt, He who does all for the best has sent this affliction in love, as a lesson to the children of his creation. Let us by it learn, however, never to pay deference to the human intellect, in forgetfulness of Him who is the source of all intelligence. When the carriage was placed on board there was a solemn silence for some minutes. The gayest, the most thoughtless amongst us, seemed struck with awe; and I really think we should have felt less, if an actual corpse had been brought before us on its bier. On a nearer view, we all thought that we should have recognized the face from the many portraits which have made the world familiar with the features; but, alas! the light which even those inanimate representations conveyed, where was it now? That dire disease,880 which was soon to bring him to the tomb, left only the outline of what that face had once been; whilst the dark plaster, fixed over where leeches had lately drawn the blood from the temples, contrasted sadly with the general paleness. He seemed to lie awhile in total unconsciousness, his eyelids falling heavily; but at length he raised them, and spoke to a very attentive servant who was ever near him; but still there was no animation in those eyes;—there was no play in those pale features, but a stiffness and rigidity, which gave no hope of more than a very temporary recovery. One anecdote will show to what an extent the illness then afflicted him. A sudden squall coming on, the umbrella, which had been placed to protect him from the gusts of wind or spray, was suddenly blown into the sea and floated away out of our sight; but of this, he appeared not aware, nor did he seem to feel the inconvenience that resulted, though it took some minutes to provide another. Strange to say, that before we left the vessel for “The Batavier,” poor Sir Walter seemed to be totally forgotten, though deep had been the sensation at his first appearance. “How soon the herd forsake the stricken deer.”881 But “He who was wounded for our transgressions,”882 He knows and feels, yes, ever feels for us. The fatigue of the moving, it seems, however, distressed Sir Walter; and when he was lifted from his carriage, and borne in a chair to his cabin in “The Batavier,” it was said he was ill again; and a Russian physician on board was applied to, who administered with success for the time a soporific draught. On awaking, he called for pen and ink; and it is in vain for me to try to paint my feelings, when it was asked of me to give up the implements I was using at the moment, for the benefit of the eminent invalid. It was a high gratification to be able to meet his wishes.

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CHAPTER XXXI. OUR

RETURN TO WICK—VISIT MY BROTHER AT BRIDGENORTH—OUR TEA PARTY—DEATH

OF MY DAUGHTER EMILY—HENRY AND LUCY’S MARRIAGES—MY LUCY’S DEATH—MY

YOUNGEST DAUGHTER’S MARRIAGE AND RESIDENCE WITH US—OUR HAPPY HOME—THE

PARCEL FROM AMERICA—MY STATE OF MIND—CONCLUSION.

IT was in the month of June that we returned to England after our travels, and it seems that for some time I wrote no journal. I have then nothing but memory to assist me in filling up the void for months and months. But this little chasm in my diary admonishes me how impossible it would be for the most correct person to recover and set in order the events of a life of more or fewer years with perfect accuracy, if a few months are so impossible to remember. And oh, how infinitely awful must it be to believe, as the conscience-stricken legalist must do if he is not an infidel, that every idle word that he has ever spoken is recorded against him; the infinite mind being thus brought in terrible array against the finite. Thank God, however, that to me the veil of goatshair883 has been removed from the face of the Sun of Righteousness.884 But now for the course of events. It was quite the decline of day when we first saw the Malvern Hills and the lovely vale of the Severn from Broadway; the scene would do even after Switzerland, as fertile and as rich, but of course much tamer. We speedily settled down into a mode of life which endured for some length of time with no very great variety. Memory tells me that it was a sweet period, and I have no records by which to recal the many interruptions to peace which infallibly disturb the most happily constituted earthly arrangements. I caused the old desk and bookcase, which my grandfather had given me, to be placed alongside the window in what we called our little parlour; a low room in the front of the house, which commanded a view along the green sward under the trees of the orchard, but no farther—a quiet, shady scene, which I have always connected with my first ideas of the millenium. Alas, during that period, how was I surrounded by my children and my young people, and what then were my anticipations. Oh, how unlike the realities which followed; and yet, in the most important points, there is a brightness, a glory often attending my present feelings, of which then I had no idea. We were all working at my “TYPE DICTIONARY,”885 with very, very small aid from books. Cruden886 and Buxtorf887 were our best: and now, though only a few years afterwards, I have every help from every sort of work. But I have often thought, what a kind arrangement of Providence it was that two of my daughters should have been employed in examining the Scriptures so incessantly during the last months of their lives. All that my God does is well and kind; all is love. It was at this time that, finding Captain Sherwood wanted an object to employ his mind, I engaged him to 380

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investigate a few words in Hebrew for me. He commenced in the spirit of kindness and courtesy, and as I was prompted to draw him on, he, after awhile, fairly started to make a Hebrew concordance, which has prevented him from spending many and many a weary hour. He has worked at it now for many years, and is going through it the second time for correction. It was in March, the year following our return from the Continent, that I went to visit my brother at Bridgenorth, where a circumstance happened that I shall now relate. I have mentioned, in the early part of my diary, that my sister and myself had a Sunday-school in our youthful days at Bridgenorth, and now it so fell out, that one evening, whilst staying at my brother’s, I was called to speak to a poor woman, called Elizabeth Hughes, formerly one of our old scholars. In truth, she had been under my sister’s tuition, not mine; but she remembered me with affection, and came to see me. I engaged her to take the management of a tea party, in some house, in which she was to invite all my own and my sister’s old pupils who could be found. March 24th was the day fixed for this meeting, and my kind sister-in-law, Mrs. Butt, had some large cakes made; and provided with these, properly conveyed before us as signs of our approach, she guided me to Mrs. Hughes’ house, which is in a row on a ledge of the rock on which the town stands, at the entrance of that elegant place called “the Cartway.” We knew the house from seeing a pyramid of tea-cups arranged in the window, indicating the gathering of the clans then and there assembled. Mrs. Butt went with me to the door, and witnessed the meeting; for the company had already arrived. Be it remembered that those I then met had all been in the freshest bloom of childhood and youth when I had seen them last, and as bright and sparkling girls I had remembered them all. But I confess I received a shock when I found myself encompassed by a number of elderly, nay, in some instances, really old-looking women. I was thrown aback, touched with some sad reflections, from which I did not immediately recover. But if the officers had difficulty to restrain their feelings when they saw my meeting with those fine young men of the band in the hall at Weedon, youths whom I had nursed and fed in their orphan infancy, this meeting with these poor women was quite too much for Mrs. Butt, who turned away weeping, though not in sorrow. My hands were caught and kissed, whilst every eye ran down with tears. I could not let it so pass, and, though some may blame me, I acknowledge that I kissed them all; though for me to recognize the individuals present was impossible, and I did not pretend to do it. At length we were seated, I with my pupils about me, though some of these, having lived lives of hardship, unquestionably appeared older than I did; for age had then dealt gently by me, and I looked, as many told me, much younger than I really was. My first questions, when we were all placed, was to ask “who was who?” and, as the answers were given, I tried to discern the resemblance of the persons then presented to me to the fair girls recorded in my memory, and eminently fair some at least had been. There were only eight present, all that could be found from our once large school. The scene was most affecting. We spoke of days long past, and of former trials incident to youth, in which the Almighty had led us on through dangerous paths, 381

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and in much darkness, into that glorious light, in which, as far as I could ascertain, most of us were then standing, through Infinite mercy. I inquired after many who were not with us, and Elizabeth Hughes, who was the principal speaker, assured me, the others vouching for the truth, that none of the whole school remembered by me had fallen from that virtue which is the glory of females, with one only exception, a very fair girl, whose name was Margaret. She had been misled by a gentleman, who took her to London; but had returned to her home, and died in deep repentance. Elizabeth also told me, that after my sister and myself had left Bridgenorth, never to live there again, the girls of the first classes had often gone, on a Sunday evening, to a round hill, which may be seen on the right from the castle, and there prayed for us, and prayed that they might never forget the things which we had taught them. She told me, too, that often when at Malta she had looked towards the east, and thought of me and prayed for me. Oh! how does piety ennoble the lowest individual; how does it bestow an elegance of mind in the most unpromising conditions. But, I ask, in what consisted the power of the instructions which we gave those young people? In reply, I should say that the strength of the impression which our instructions made was owing, with the Divine favour, to the hold which we were enabled to take on the affections of the children. The love of us, inferior as it was, becoming a law to them in a very decided sense; for, as the poor women told me, all agreeing in the same tale, it was a constant habit amongst them, after we were gone, when called to trial, to say, “We must not do so and so, because it would grieve our ladies.” If, then, the love with which one human being is able to inspire another is so superior in its efficacy to any legal motive, how much more is that love which is divinely inspired predominant, and efficacious in producing good feelings and acts of moral righteousness? Is not love, even between man and man, the fulfilment of the law? The scene that evening was most affecting; we sang many hymns, which I have ever loved, in strains which, awakened now, have power to carry me back to years long gone by. We spoke, too, of pleasures past; of delights that had left no thorns on the brow, or in the heart. At seven o’clock we parted, assuredly never more to meet again on earth. It was on the next day a lady brought her little son to see me, whom she had christened Henry Milner. The child brought me two ornamented pens wherewith to write another volume of the work from whence he had received his name. In the evening many religious friends assembled, and we had an interesting party, and, amongst other things, this curious subject was discussed:—As the animal world suffered with man at his fall, is it quite certain that they will not benefit by the same means which are used for his salvation? Some said much one way and some another; none of our party using the strongest arguments in favour of the pleasant side of the question, if I understood rightly, but myself. My brother, however, being very warm against me, I took an opportunity of moving next to him on the sofa, and whispered “Cæsar,” the name of the poor, large, yellow dog which had been the companion of our childhood. He 382

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turned round and gave me a smile, which acknowledged he was conquered. I do not say this was a proof that I was really scripturally right; but if it silenced my adversary, for he did not say another word against me, it at least showed the tender affection of my brother to the companions of his boyhood; and is our God less tender? Oh! no, no! for “God is love.”888 The next day I parted for ever, in this life, from my own and only brother; then and there all personal intercourse closed with him who had been my cradle-fellow. My beloved brother, I thank my God there was a light from on high resting on his head, and he is blessed for ever and ever. I looked back and back from the carriage to gaze on him as long as I could see him; he was walking on under the rock, Mrs. Butt holding his arm. He came quickly; as if to see me, too, as long as he could, his person was bent, and the wind agitated his thin white hair. The carriage turned a corner of the road, and then that thread of my existence, which consisted in intercourse with my Maker, snapped to be rejoined on earth no more; though, through Divine tenderness, I knew not then that it had done so. We went on from Bridgenorth, it being a cold rainy day, and arrived at Snedshill about five o’clock, and found, together with my sister’s family, Mr. M‘Leod, the son of Lady Arabella M‘Leod, once Annesley. He was the nephew, and eventually the heir, of my youthful friend, Lord Mountnorris, my father’s pupil. I may say that the friendship of the noble family of Annesley has ever been shown towards us unbroken, from the days when my brother and myself and the then youthful heir and last male representative of that ancestral house were beloved companions in the woods of Stanford. To the Lady Catharine Annesley,889 now the Lady John Somerset, have I dedicated, by permission, one of my latest works, “THE GOLDEN GARLAND,”890 as a remembrance of the gratitude I feel to one whose rank, though far above us, has never deterred her from the kindest notice of me and mine. The name of Lucy, too, is obtained by our children from the same source, “the good Lady Lyttleton;” hers from connexion, mine from reverence of her goodness; and is used in that work, together with that of Frances, in compliment to the beloved daughters of my honoured, honourable friend.891 At Snedshill, I find we were all very busy in making white tippets892 for some grand gala at their Sunday-school. I put on my thimble, and we worked away as diligently as possible, and we were very merry together and very happy. Families are never more happy than when engaged, in this sort of way, in one common object; that is if that object be a useful one, though only in a small way. And now, once again, I am called upon to record one of those domestic bereavements with which this life must ever be saddened; and, first, I would ask, who has not experienced that unaccountable unapprehensiveness which so often foreruns any severe affliction. Oh, my Emily. Alas! my precious one! your mother needs no notes, no written memorandums, to bring to memory all that relates to you, to record on paper your early death. Yet she did not anticipate that the time would come when in this world she would have nothing left of you but this memory. Oh, my Emily I again repeat, and ask, were those happy days when you were 383

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still with me but only dreams? was so sweet a babe as you were ever mine? was I your guardian through your blameless infancy? did I watch your growth till you bloomed in unrivalled beauty, and in all that holy elegance of mind and manner which formed the reality of the fairest pictures I ever drew in my many little narratives? Some there are now, who, never having known my Emily, inquire of me, “Where I ever found the original of those lovely portraits of childhood and youth with which I have adorned many a tale?” Some assert “that such characters are but the creation of an enthusiastic fancy.” These inquiries call in question the power of God to inspire man in the flesh with a Divine nature, and know not the beauty of the result, when such inspiration is brought to bear upon bloooming and lovely youth. But to abandon these reflections, which lead only to melancholy, I will proceed with my memorandums. Though my beloved child was losing strength from day to day, I saw it not. She had ceased even from appearing at meals; but she was calm and happy, and suffering little. But am I the only mother, by thousands and tens of thousands, who have experienced such bereavements as these? Was not the first mother called upon to deplore her Abel, under circumstances of the most aggravating woe?893 Did not the virgin mother see her blameless child suffer all the agonies of the cross?894 What am I, then, that I should be excused the sufferings common to all the human kind? But let me rather remember that God doth “not willingly afflict the children of men;”895 that is, He does it not wantonly, but for some great purpose hereafter to be revealed. My Emily was for some time still able to read, and she seemed really to enjoy life. Her affliction was indeed short, and shrinks to nothing in comparison with the glory that was secured to her by her Saviour’s death and resurrection. She was very cheerful, too. One day, when I returned to her after a short absence, she said, “I have been making a little story, mamma, about a fly; one came in just now, and after flying about the room, and settling on one gilt frame and then another, it came buzzing in my ear. I drove it away, and then it danced about again and came buzzing back, resolved to have my attention. I thought how like gay insects we are, buzzing about the world, attracted by what looks bright, and filling the ears of others with our impertinences. Mamma, you must make a story of that.” Once, looking towards a mirror we had long possessed, “Mamma,” she said, “that was my ‘beauty glass;’ how often have I admired myself in that glass; but those things are passed.” Ah, beauty! beauty! As to that which is of infinitely more importance than all else, the hymn which she was perpetually repeating must be the answer to those who would ask the state of her mind:— “Jesus, Saviour of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly, While the roaring billows roll, While the tempest still is high.”896 384

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This hymn expresses better than I can do the consolations experienced by my lovely daughter while passing through those sufferings which, during the last few weeks of her life, were very severe, undoubtedly, for she was in a state of constant fever and excitement. On Sunday, October the 6th, thinking my child better, I went to church, as my diary says, “being eased in heart.” Thus, through Divine mercy, are we often relieved from the bitterness of many hours by hopes which, as to their earthly fulfilments, are often delusive; but when stretched forward by faith into a future state are never liable to deceive. The next morning my Emily was dressed as usual, and laid on the sofa; she was easy and perfectly cheerful. She remarked the chimney-piece of white marble, and the alabaster ornaments upon it. She noticed also the painting of the family group above it, and said, “It was the prettiest chimney-piece in the world.” She spoke, too, of how she had fallen away; but still I was not alarmed. Early, very early on the Tuesday, a violent ringing of the bell in her room made me hasten to my child. I found her dying, flushed with the effort to draw her breath. I stood till her spirit had departed. I saw her last sweet, solemn smile. Then I remembered nothing more for some hours, but seeing all weeping through the house. *

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“Eheu! Emily! my Emily!” *

“Like leaves on trees The race of man is found.”897 At this solemn period—those few days when we were shut up in deep affliction—whilst the precious remains were still under the paternal roof, her sorrowing friends found no relief but in the study of the Bible, and particularly in those passages which treat of the state of the departed. Ah! proud mothers, learn of me; and may God give us grace to dwell on higher forms of beauty than such as belong to earth. My Emily lies beside her little brother George, in the church-yard of St. John’s, near Worcester. I shall go to them; these eyes shall weep for them for awhile, then shall they have that unfading sight bestowed upon them to behold the ransomed ones898 glorified. “Oh, let our hopes ascend on high, And triumph o’er the grave.”899 Why is it that marriages and deaths so often go hand in hand? The experience of many will say that such is the case. When the mourning garments were laid aside for our Emily, my son Henry and shortly afterwards my daughter Lucy were married and left the paternal home. 385

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Then was I left with my youngest daughter; I, who had been so rich in children. Yet still for awhile I had these beloved ones on earth. It was at this period that I instructed Sophia in the art of composition; for, with a mother’s partiality, I fancied she inherited a portion of that talent which I had got from my father. So I spent much time with her alone, teaching her as my own beloved father had taught me. Since then we have often published together, and hence it is that to her I have left these papers of my life, with many and many a direction what to do should the public desire the publication of these memoirs. May she be guided aright, so that nought may be recorded that will hurt or pain the feelings of any. My Lucy was married to a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Birmingham, but was only a wife for ten months, and a mother for as many days. Oh! what joy did we feel when it was announced to us that another little precious one was added to our family, and that the young mother was doing well, after unusual sufferings. Ah! I have often since thought my Lucy was ordained to have a taste of anguish, that the memory of it in the contrast might enhance her sense of everlasting ease. A few days of hope were given us, and even for such glimpses of light, between the paroxysms of earthly darkness and woe, we should be deeply thankful; but the blow at length was struck, and though I staggered under it, yet was I upheld. And now, for the fifth time, I mourn a child, my Lucy dear. And though all earthly hope is swallowed up in the grave of my beloved one, yet that which is Divine is bright for my precious child; aye and it was bright too, even in the hour of death, and it becomes brighter and still more bright through Divine mercy. As days, and months, and years roll on, the period of our reunion becomes nearer in proportion as our separation recedes farther into the background of time. It was thought advisable that the infant should be immediately baptized, and her uncle, the Rev. Henry Bagnall, performed the rite. The mother had wished her to be called Emily; but the father said, “Let Lucy be the first name.” Too well I read his thoughts when he expressed this. But a few hours more and my own Lucy entered into glory. I, though bereaved, am consoled; yes, consoled through Christ our Ransomer. I must just add that a young and fair girl was in the house, preparing caps to be worn by my Lucy, had she recovered. This young creature wept most bitterly, when she found that she was making preparations in vain. So blessed was the lesson to her, that, when within that very year she herself departed, she died in a most happy frame, attributing her change of heart to a work wrought at that solemn period, in which she had been made to see that there is no consolation in death but that derived from and through the Saviour. It may not, at first, be seen how this last heavy blow at once and decidedly changed the tenor of my existence on this earth, causing the past order of things to retire wholly into the background, and to produce another set totally different. Our house at Wick had been a gathering-place for young people ever since we had returned from the Continent, not only of our own family and connexions, but of those also who had been as dear pupils under my care. The death of my lovely Emily had shaken, but not annihilated, this order of things; but I never returned to 386

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Wick after I lost my Lucy. The cares of a young and numerous family kept my eldest daughter at her own parsonage-house in Staffordshire. My son and his wife were travelling in Wales, previous to his taking orders, and I was left now solely with my youngest child, whose delicate state of health not a little alarmed her bereaved parents, threatening them with the idea, that her sisters’ early fate would be hers also; for, like them, her constitution had been affected by our residence in India. We therefore took a house close to Worcester, in a square called Britannia Square. Here we resided some time, during which few are the incidents I shall have to record. The most important event which here happened to me was the marriage of the last and youngest living of my children, and the receiving her and her husband, Dr. Streeten, to our house; for it was the warmest wish of my heart to have them always to myself. After the marriage of our Sophia things settled down, events gradually became fewer and farther between. As the weakness of age approached her parents the Almighty bestowed upon us a peace, and reliance, and full confidence in Him and our Saviour’s atoning goodness, which removed all fears of what must befall us—the common lot of the children of Adam.900 To us was given that peace, which is the gift of God, which passeth all understanding.901 Oh then, my God, “Through all eternity to thee A joyful song I’ll raise; But, oh! eternity’s too short To utter all thy praise.”902 But to go back a little. Oh, how joyfully did I welcome back my child to our home, to feel that, through the Divine tenderness, I have the constant sweet consciousness that I am not alone; that I have a living daughter near me, perhaps in the next room, or only gone to take the air. I generally find this consciousness that I have my Sophia enough for my happiness. Then occasionally we spend a day at our son’s, at first in his rural parsonage of Rushock, near Kidderminster, and afterwards at White Ladies, Aston, near Worcester, where he now is. We interest ourselves in his school, his church, and all the elegant pleasures of the country clergyman’s lot on earth. My eldest daughter, too, and her young children—for I have lived to pray for blessings to descend upon nine young creatures who call me grandmother—we see often, and the one or the other is with us perpetually. And I must not forget also, amongst other gifts bestowed upon me, my once motherless grandchild, my Lucy Emily, now blest with the very tenderest of stepmothers, a lady to whom I must ever feel indebted for her kindness to my own Lucy’s Lucy. Then I have my two favourite orphans also settled near me, and they each have families who love me. I have the kindest and dearest of friends and connexions in Dr. Streeten’s widowed mother and aunt, and his brothers and sisters. Thus my lines are placed in pleasant pastures, and days and months pass, and old age steals on so gently, that now, in my seventy-fourth year, I can read the smallest print, write four or five hours a day, sleep with unbroken rest at night, and declare myself, with grateful heart, one of the very happiest old women that ever cumbered this earth. 387

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Oh, how often, in India, has dear Mr. Martyn made me sing to him the praises of our God. I had then a most powerful and, I may say it now, sweet voice, and I never had any other instructor than him. Now, as I walk about my room, for my daughter laughingly accuses me of being only still when I am asleep or writing, I cannot help often singing the sweet tunes I learnt in India, from very thankfulness of heart to Him who has done so much for me. So, henceforth, instead of taking half a quire of paper or more for a month, to describe my life, I shall hardly, I anticipate, find events enough to fill a sheet. I believe that it does not often answer for two families to be so completely thrown together as we are. I can, however, say that I have found increasing comfort in it; but, no doubt, we owe much of our domestic happiness, first, under God, to our religious feelings, and, secondly, to our bookish turns; for Dr. Streeten is the editor of a medical publication, well known amongst a certain class as “THE PROVINCIAL MEDICAL AND SURGICAL JOURNAL,”903 which at one time was published weekly, and afterwards fortnightly, in our own little town of Worcester. How swiftly and how noiselessly has the wheel of time rolled on during those few years. How few are the traces it has left in its course; so that, without the aid of written memorandums, I could give almost as small account of what has passed as I could of the dreams which have presented themselves on my bed during that period. But to proceed to such facts as my diary records; the principal one of which, for it added much to our cheerfulness, is, that after my daughter’s marriage, in the middle of the following April, Mrs. Streeten and her sister-in-law, Miss Streeten, with the youthful members of their family, took the house next door to us; so that when we met, which was very often—two or three times a week—we made a large and cheerful party. Thus, again, the domestic charities were warming and cheering us by their sweetest influences. It was whilst we were living in Britannia Square, Worcester, a very large parcel arrived from America, containing many splendidly bound volumes, as a present to me. The books were from a numerous party in America, called the “Universalists,”904 from which I disclaim all connexion, as I believe their doctrines, as far as I know them, are a denial of the Holy Scriptures, as they say that the mercy of God is bestowed upon man without the ransom being obtained by Christ. These persons, in their journals, have declared me, and also my daughter Sophia, members of their body; but we wrote at once to disclaim it, though I have reason to think our letters were never published. The works sent, though finely got up, were hateful to us from their sentiments; and Dr. Streeten closed the parcel up again, and forwarded them to a gentleman in Bristol who had dealings in America, who promised to return them from whence they came; and so it was done. It was for the purpose of declaring that my whole trust and confidence are on the righteousness of my Divine Saviour that I then set to work to write a statement of my belief, which I did in the story of Evelyn,905 in the third volume of “THE FAIRCHILD FAMILY.” My son-in-law, Dr. Streeten, and his wife, and my beloved husband, all studied together with me the original languages of the Scriptures, and sweet, most sweet, 388

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were the beautiful promises that were daily unfolded to one or the other of us, from the exquisite metaphors, or types, of which the Eastern languages are such rich wells of holiness and love—living waters which never fail. I find that every year, as it passes, after a certain age, impairs the strength and weakens the mind; though, at the age of seventy-four, I have every reason to praise my God in that when left to my own quiet way I feel no infirmity of mind or body whatever. I have reason to account myself, too, as one of the highly favoured amongst the daughters of the human race, for I see the companion of many past years still keeping on his way by my side, with the same bright object extended and opening before his eyes, and surely this is a source of added joy indeed. I am still capable of writing; and I am spared much of the drudgery by the assistance of Dr. Streeten, who corrects the proof sheets of my works, and by my daughter writing with me. As my natural strength slowly falls off, this last is of vast comfort to me; so that, as in other matters of my previous life, there is enough, and more than enough, to prove to me the unbounded love of my Heavenly Father. Although what we write together may, or may not, be acceptable to the little public to whom we address ourselves—though, by-the-by, we have no cause to distress ourselves on this point—yet assuredly we have received much delight, and I may add improvement, I trust, from the efforts which by these exercises we have been led to make in arranging our thoughts, and, with the Divine grace, endeavouring to set forth the truths of religion in the clearest, most inviting forms. But these are the sweetest hours which I have spent with my child, and I can truly say with Cowper, “How sweet their memory still.”906 And now what more have I to add, but that, “In the sweet hope, my Saviour dear, That my poor ways are blest, Why need I shed one anxious tear, Or sink with care oppressed?”907 No; for as I advance onward, and still onward, with these memorials, which commenced in the hazy and indistinct views of early childhood and comparatively blameless infancy, and approach by long steps to the end of my mortal career, I have been taught to feel and say, in the words of the pilgrims in “THE THEOPHILUS” of my brother,908 “Distinct, and more distinct, and clear, Canaan’s purple hills appear, And Zion’s everlasting light Bursts more glorious on my sight.”909 389

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Thus am I arrived at the end of the period which terminated less than a month since. But am I here to close these memorandums? Shall I ever add another year? The question is a solemn, and would be an alarming one, if it had not pleased the Divine Spirit, the Comforter, to assure me that, whether I linger yet some years in this lower world, or enter speedily on another state of being, living or dying, I am in Christ my blessed Saviour, and He in me. Written on the 23rd of January, 1847. Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee.910

CONCLUSION. And now the first part of my mournful and heart-rending task is ended, and the still more painful duty is to be entered upon, the solemn conclusion.911 Does it often fall to the lot of a sorrowing child to record the last moments of a beloved mother’s life, to open, as it were, the wounds afresh, even before the outward garb of mourning is laid aside? My tears too often stop my work, and, alas, how can I even attempt to impart to others, by word, the train of thoughts inspired by the breaking off of my mother’s journal, as is shown in the last chapter. When my mother made that stop, did she suppose, as she seems to hint, that she should never be permitted to add another volume to her little narrative? Did she foresee that chord after chord was to be snapped asunder, till the spirit was freed, and life eternal life was gained? The thorn was poignant to those left behind; but to her the message was her Father’s will, and faith has taught us that the Father’s will is good; for He who gave the best will give us all beside. Oh, that one had strength to look beyond the present moment, holding fast this comforting truth, that if God has made this world so fair, so full of blessings, surely more beautiful than aught we can conceive are the mansions of bliss He has prepared,912 where those e’en now may be found whom sin can no more taint. Oh, my God, how dost Thou honour us, whilst we only dishonour ourselves before Thee. But I must to my task; for I am growing sadder and more sad as I write. Every memory is become painful, every past scene bringing forward the beloved dead, or marking the decay of strength in the living. At the time when my mother concluded that volume of her life, there was not, I should imagine, in all England, a happier and more contented spirit than hers. The storm of active life was over with her, she had nothing more to expect, nothing to desire here below; for she knew that all earthly pleasures are ever mixed with pain, and, through faith, she looked forward with joy to reaching the shore of that land which is very far off, though ever near. There no sorrows mingle with the happiness of home—there no feelings of anxiety ruffle the breast, not even 390

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for the friends who are left behind; for there we shall have strength to behold that from the foundation of the world the child of God has been folded in the bosom of infinite love. As I said, my mother was happy and contented, and would often say, “that she had cause to bless God daily and hourly for his mercies.” Innumerable are the sweet and touching anecdotes I could record, if space were allowed me, especially of her great kindness to the two orphans she had brought to England, and to their respective families. One short fact I must relate, to show that what she had begun in India she failed not to carry on in England. Miss Streeten, the aunt of Dr. Streeten, whom I have mentioned as living next door to us in Worcester, had for years been engaged in a work peculiarly her own, forming landscapes and animals by simple patchwork, somewhat after, though really unlike, worsted-work. This lady, whose death we mourned about a year previously, had left behind her a large collection of what looked like nothing better than the pieces of chintz given to children wherewith to learn sewing at a village dame’s school. This collection being put in a bag together, all that were accounted valuable being used, the bag became a receptacle for rubbish, or, in fact, what is termed in every day language a simple rag-bag. It so happened that my dear mother, being one day not very well—for she had lately completed the third volume of the “Fairchild Family,” at which she had worked a little too hard—she was strictly forbidden by Dr. Streeten from doing any writing for some time, and her pen and ink were removed by me. She was somewhat distressed at this, and remarked, How should she occupy herself, as reading was interdicted also? In this emergency I bethought myself of Miss Streeten’s bag of rubbish; and having obtained it from her niece Ellen, we went together and gave it to my mother. How well now do I remember her delight as she turned out what to us appeared its very useless contents, and how busily did she select and arrange the pieces on the floor with the utmost care and attention; and before the week had passed away how many little articles did she show us that she had made from them with her own hands for the children of her orphans; neither had she forgotten the little daughter of our man-servant, and other young ones. Some of these articles were useful, some were of the doll or toy kind; but two large housewives913 still remain of the regular old-fashioned description, whose value to those who now possess them is, I believe, of countless price. Once in a year, and sometimes oftener, my mother spent an evening with her orphans and their families, finishing with reading a chapter from the Bible, and singing with them the hymns they had learnt originally in India from Annun Musseeh, Henry Martyn, and Daniel Corrie. But at home especially, what was she to me—what was she to my father, to us all! If that love which makes the individual forget self for others is an evidence of the Divine life, in whom among the mere children of Adam did it ever burn brighter than in my mother? And though an earthly vessel must ever be imperfect, yet the Divine light is pure and cannot be contaminated by that in which it condescends to place itself. Ah, why do the recollections of the memories of small 391

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joys in the past histories of our families cause the tears to gush, when we can recal deeper griefs without a moistened eye? But He who looked upon his mother from the cross, and beheld her sorrow with Divine compassion, surely then remembered many a token of her love to him from infancy, and was touched by tender memories. In all things He has suffered like unto us. “Lord, what is man,”914 that he should be capable of feelings of such exquisite refinement as one often experiences? Is he not made for eternity? and hast Thou not, oh Divine Father, secured to Thy chosen ones the perfect enjoyment of that eternity? But I hasten over this part of my sad task; my heart is paralyzed when I think of thee, my mother. I must press forward in the holy way, to where with the eye of faith I now behold thee. A few words shall sum up the story. In the year 1847, as my mother wrote, we were a happy family party in our house, consisting of my father and mother, Dr. Streeten, and his sister, Miss Ellen Streeten, who had come to reside with her brother, and myself. We had had months and months without sorrow. Life was bright, and—strange fondness of the human heart—the magic power of this world, that costs us so much pain, hung over us, and we were contented; nay, coveted length of days for all of us. Man is always anxious to be longer spared. He ever recoils from life’s best hour, the celestial life above, which he cannot realize whilst a tenant pent up in mortal clay. And yet what beauty should command our love as the beauties of our heavenly home? But to go back awhile. My father, in one of the summer months of 1846, had intended to accompany my mother in a drive to Abberley, where she was to pay a visit to an old friend, while he stopped at the house of a tenant to arrange some little matter of business, arranging that she should look out for him on her return. Whether the tenant was from home or not I cannot exactly say, but it so happened that my father, who was then a good walker, without thinking that accident might detain my mother, set off to walk to Worcester, a distance of eight or ten miles. It was a very hot day, and my father, who was then in his sixty-ninth year, soon got very weary; but he was too warm to think it advisable to rest by the roadside. The carriage not overtaking him, he walked the whole distance, arriving at home flushed and fainting. He lay down for an hour or two; but, as he was always in the habit of taking a great deal of exercise, we thought, on his joining the family party at dinner a few hours after, all was right. That was on a Wednesday, and on the Thursday night following, about twelve or one at midnight, he had his first attack of illness, so that it was considered almost a miracle that he survived the night. We were all up with him, expecting every moment would be his last; and whilst Dr. Streeten and Dr. Hastings, who was called in instantly, were attending to their patient, I did my best to console, as I thought, my mother, and prepare her for the worst. Strange and most wonderful to relate, my mother, who was the tenderest of wives, appeared perfectly calm and composed. My father was gasping fearfully and awfully for breath. It was the gloomy midnight hour, and the two medical gentlemen could not, nor did not, think it right to disguise the imminent danger. 392

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Yet, as I said, my mother was as calm and composed as if there was nothing going on, although perhaps the next moment might make her a widow, and her children fatherless. The next day all bad symptoms passed away, and it was not till two years had gone over, that he had a second attack, on the night of the 28th of April, 1848. The disease had not taken, even on this second attack, a decided form. But, oh, my mother, what was it that made her seem, when all around were in the deepest alarm, apparently so insensible to all our fears? What was it made her appear so unmoved, as it were, when I pointed out to her tremblingly, with the deep feelings of a child, but carefully, our cause of sorrow? My mother was older than my father. She was then in her seventy-first year, an age beyond the allotted time of man on earth.915 I have myself no doubt now that she felt too deeply for utterance, and that those two nights of suffering were too much for her; and though, thank God, I knew it not, then it was that first the axe was laid to the root of the tree that had been one of the fairest of its kind. But my father was spared for awhile, and we saw him once again amongst us, and once again he was to be met with in his usual haunts at the Worcester Library, at the reading rooms, and in our beautiful cathedral. Here, then, was a calm, but it was a false calm, a little breathing space for strength to be given us, and prepare our minds for that which was to follow. During this interval my mother and myself commenced our last work together, a book entitled “THE MIRROR OF MAIDENS;”916 but ah, none knew but myself how altered had become the manner of our writing together. At first the principal ideas were all her own, and the most important composition, also the revising and the correcting. Little by little this had become reversed, as age came on with her, and maturity of mind with me; in this our last great work together our relative positions were altogether changed. What words can describe the sadness even of such reflections? But those were sweet times, when I had my mother still; yet are not our sorrowful times often the sweetest, not only in the present, but to memory? and shall we not account them often most precious when, in ages to come, this present state of being exists only in memory? But adversity can only be sweet when it is sanctified by the Divine influence. After this second attack my father allowed himself to be considered somewhat of an invalid; and as Dr. Streeten bestowed much care and attention upon him we fondly hoped that his days might even be prolonged by his second illness, instead of shortened, as it was of a milder kind than the former. Gradually, yet peacefully, does one door close after another, shutting out one scene of busy life after its fellow, and thus was it with us; but to the Christian, closing his pilgrimage, other doors are opening, revealing the glories of that realm of love where sorrow is unknown. For one of our party, though we knew it not, the path had been cleared. The messenger was on his way, bearing the heavenly summons to depart to that land which no mortal may know. For the aged of threescore years and ten we trembled; we saw not that the fiat had gone forth for another; but so it was. In the month of November, 1848, Dr. Streeten was attacked by the influenza, from which he never really recovered, though he appeared to rally for a time just about Christmas. 393

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It was but a cold we thought, a cold that would pass away with the winter months; for he was still in the prime of life, only forty-eight, and we were told to hope. But the winter passed, and the month of April came, and as with the spring he did not gain strength, we were recommended to try the air of Devonshire, and thither we went to the house of his brother, the Rev. Edmund Streeten, then residing at Torquay. It was in vain that all care and attention was bestowed upon him there; he only seemed to get worse, and after a fortnight’s stay, on the 16th of April we returned to Worcester. He was pleased at once again being at home. His medical friends, who often kindly visited him, told us not to fear, but still to hope, and so they said at nine o’clock on the evening of the 10th of May, for they could not detect any disease. It was about that hour he walked up without assistance to his bed-room, turning back on the head of the stairs to request me to fetch his Bible and lay it on the dressing-table. I did so, but he expressed no desire to read it, or for me to read it to him. He took a light supper, sitting by the fire in his chamber, which he said was more agreeable to him than usual, and rising, he stood before the fire to warm himself, saying, “I think I shall get well now; I feel a change for the better.” The next moment he was seized with cramp, and uttering but one exclamation, “Oh, hold me,” he fell a lifeless corpse upon the ground. There was but one momentary contraction of the mouth, the eyes closed, and all was over. We had been alone, but my mother came rushing in, and my poor father, who was in bed in the next apartment, hearing and guessing the cause of that heavy fall, tried with his aged trembling hands to hurry on his clothes, to go for help; but a medical friend, who lived opposite, was with us in an instant. He could not help the patient for whom he had been summoned. He made no attempt, it was too evident that death reigned there. But once again came on one of those fearful attacks of want of breath upon my afflicted and sympathizing parent, and the sad hours of that night were spent in watching beside his couch. There are times in which the shadow of death is so heavy that we cannot discern the deliverance beyond. What floods of bitter memories roll over the depressed mind! Oh, day of misery! Oh, paths of utter gloom, which lead to scenes of dazzling light! I must hurry over weeks. It would be impossible to enter into particulars, but whilst memory lasts, kindnesses of friends at such times can never, never be forgotten. It became necessary to leave the large house we inhabited, to part with some of our numerous servants, to retrench, in fact; for now we were again but one family, and my invalid father the head. The stay, the support of the household was no more. Once again, instead of the wife of the ruler of the family, I was the widowed child in my father’s home. When that beloved parent, under the illusion of illness, forgot that it had been ever otherwise with me, then I know were the moments that my mother most felt her trials, then were her tears shed in agony for her widowed and shortly to be fatherless child. These, and such feelings as these, made me, alas! motherless, but removed her to where she could realize the promise, “I 394

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will be a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.”917 I said that it became necessary to look about us for a smaller house, more suited to my father’s retired habits, and we looked about us in the city of Worcester in vain; and my mother and myself were not sorry that such was the case, for we felt that the place was but too full of painful associations. Two of Dr. Streeten’s brothers were settled in town, and matters of business calling me there, from circumstances that arose, it was eventually settled that we should take a house in Twickenham, close to Richmond, in Surrey, for three years. The air of Richmond is considered good for cases like my father’s, but I now believe it was an error of judgment to remove him, at his advanced age, from the neighbourhood where he had resided for years. Could we have got a comfortable place in Worcester he never would have been so moved; but we had no choice of residences there. It was necessary we should leave the house in which we were, and he himself preferred Richmond to any of the houses we could procure in Worcester, so in the end we moved, and he bore the journey well, and continued in comparatively good health for two months after his arrival. The first three weeks of his stay in the neighbourhood of Richmond was at Isleworth, in the residence of our friends the Miss Coxons, who, whilst they were abroad, kindly left their comfortable house at our disposal, that the moving should be rendered as easy as possible to my parents. From his fearful attack on the night of our loss, my poor father was liable to occasional fits of illness of more or less intensity; but he took to his bed on the 20th of October, 1849, and never left his room again alive. From that time to his death, December the 6th, all was suffering, intense suffering. Occasionally he had spasmodic attacks, and his efforts to breathe could be heard all over the house. He could no more lie down, and he hardly ever slept; for one of the most distressing symptoms of his complaint was a constant wakefulness. He required to be perpetually moved from his bed to an easy chair and back again, for in no position could he find ease. At night as well as day were we with him, for he was constantly calling for us to pray beside him, to read to him, or to soothe him after one manner or another. His voice became changed; he never finished his words, though he talked incessantly. Then it was, by a merciful arrangement of Providence, my mother, whose hearing was slightly defective, was unable to comprehend my father’s wishes. We were enabled to keep her much from the room, as she felt her own deficiency in hearing rendered her very inefficient as a nurse. Disease had weakened my father’s intellect in some few things, but in others he was perfectly rational. Days passed with only a variety of woes. My poor father grew more incoherent in his delirious ramblings. All efforts were made to compose and soothe him by his medical attendant, Dr. Barry, who was devoted in his efforts to give him ease; but as he was no more the same to my mother, as at times he scarcely knew her, we persuaded her occasionally to stay with our friends at Isleworth; for it was very evident, that if the illness of my father was much prolonged, she would be the first whose death we should have to mourn. Her heart seemed, as it were, to die within her, and yet her thankfulness and composure of 395

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manner might have led some who did not know her intimately to suppose she was scarcely conscious of her trouble. To me she would say, “I can bear my affliction calmly at any hour but the dusk of evening.” But expressions that fell from her at intervals, and little attacks of illness, showed me what she really felt. Once she said, “Your dear father has no fear of death, but rather hopes and prays for it; but I am dark, and sad, and confused, and stupid, groaning within the prison of the flesh.” At last a change came over my beloved father. To those who have not gone through scenes of misery such as we then endured—for, for my mother’s sake, we had to hide our grief with cheerful countenances—no language is sufficient to describe the soothing comfort, the blessedness of beholding our beloved parent in the possession of a calm and quiet ease. This change was, that as death approached he was allowed in mercy to breathe with less difficulty. Again, after an interval of three years, his head rested low on a pillow, and he reclined upon his couch. A week, a week of comparative repose, followed, in which, if he did not sleep, he was in a state of unconsciousness. Then came the end, and those who stood beside the couch of death, knew not the precise moment when all was over. One upraised look of exceeding beauty, and he lay so still that all who were gathered round him knew only he was at rest by the entire ceasing of that fearful breathing, a breathing which seemed but a mockery of life. And now, my mother, thou sad survivor;—the sweet companion, the partner of forty-seven years, the husband, the friend, the father of thy children, is no more;—and all that is left to those children is to soothe, to comfort, to make easy the last days of a life which have so long been devoted to all others but thyself. Once again, then, was she removed to Isleworth, to the friends she loved with a mother’s affection, and there all was done that human power could do to make her forget her widowed state. And when the remains of my beloved father were committed to the grave, my kind aunt came to our house, my mother’s own dear and only sister. She was ready to receive her back, to hold holy converse with her, and, by our gentle and deep affection, we tried to show her that many were the blessings still left to her on earth. And, truly, she was not unmindful of our wishes. She was grateful for our consolation, happy in our attentions; and when my beloved aunt was called home, we had the gratification of knowing that my mother’s mind was happier and more at rest. She could now sing to herself my father’s favourite hymns, and read in his Bible from the very place where she had left off reading to him aloud. Generally, I may say, she was cheerful, but, alas! at other times she was very often depressed and timid, and we used to find it almost impossible to bring her back to a tranquil state of mind. I remember well one night when I slept with her in town she was very restless; she had been the day before to Doctors’ Commons,918 to prove my father’s will, and no doubt had been much distressed by it. And in the night she told me that she was happy and content about her departed friends, whom she was assured she should find again in Him who is all in all; that she rejoiced even in her widowed state, and could thank God to think that her beloved husband had gone first, and that he had not been the left 396

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one, as she was. Even for her elder children she was satisfied; but she had one heavy care she could not endure, the thought of leaving me, her youngest child, to mourn her loss, and but for this she was ready to depart and be with Christ. She said that whilst grieving, as it were, in her dreams—for she felt it showed a want of faith in her God—she bethought herself of a little rosebud, which begged its life-giver, the parent tree, not to put any thorns about it, and the parent tree was but too ready to hear its plaint. *

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She could not finish her allegory; it needs it not. Poets have ever made the rose’s thorns its protection. And is it not our Heavenly Father who puts thorns around us? And, though bruised and smarting from their wounds, He can teach His child to say, “Thy will, O my Lord, be done.”919 “I know it is a Father’s will, And therefore it is good; Nor would I venture on a wish To change it if I could.”920 My mother, as was her wont, lived at Twickenham very much by rule. She breakfasted early, and then retired to her study, where she occupied herself with her examinations of the types of Scripture till twelve o’clock, or half an hour after. Then she usually sang a hymn, for her voice was sweet to the last, read a little in her Bible, and occupied herself in anything that did not require close thinking. She dined at two, and lay down with an amusing book till five, when, if it was in the summer, she went out in her Bath-chair. In the winter she read aloud after tea to Miss Streeten and myself till a little before nine o’clock, when the servants came in to family worship, which she conducted. She usually went to bed a little after nine, and seldom was the day that these rules were broken, though many were the friends who sought her out and visited her. Thus passed the winter of 1849–50. The spring, which was a lovely one, made us hope that its fine bright days would give my beloved mother health and strength, the strength again which she had lost from trouble. Our days were quiet, but somewhat sad. My mother’s mind was quite itself. It was the month of April when we were planning to go to spend a few days with Lady M‘Caskell, at Westbourne Terrace; for Lady M‘Caskell was a dear friend of my mother’s, and Sir John and my father had been strongly attached. We were to go on the Wednesday, but on the Tuesday we received a letter to say that a fire had broke out in Lady M‘Caskell’s house, and that in her fearful attempts to save one of her young grandchildren, who had called upon her for help, she and the child had fallen down a flight of stairs of some height; and, though the little one was uninjured, my mother’s friend had since then been confined to her bed. We were shocked at the information; but my mother determined that she would 397

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still go up to town to see dear Lady M‘Caskell, meaning to return the same evening. She was more urged to this as her very dear friend Mrs. Mawby was living within a short drive of Lady M‘Caskell’s, and she longed much to see her and the general. We had a fly921 to the Richmond station, where we met the Miss Coxons, who had kindly promised to accompany us to London, as I had some little anxiety, but I acknowledge very little, on account of the fatigue of my mother. All seemed well; I perceived no cause of fear, and we took our places in the railway carriage; but scarcely had we started, when I thought she fainted. Oh the agony of such a sight. I have witnessed sudden death and lingering death; but assistance and aid could at those times be procured, and some one could move and do what was necessary, and to whom one’s fears could be expressed. But to think you see death in a beloved face, and feel that the rapid motion of the train is perhaps stifling the faint exertions for breath922—to have no means of stopping to give information of what is needed—to feel that everything is wanted, and that nothing can be procured, is distress beyond description. Never can I forget that moment; but, thank God, it was only for a moment. She soon revived; and a young gentleman in the train most kindly sprang out at the first station, and procured her a glass of water. She was too ill to be taken out hurriedly; and we thought that as we should shortly reach London, more comforts could be obtained for her at the London station than at the smaller ones on the line. And thus she was conveyed to London, where some hot wine and water so far recovered her that we were able to remove her in a carriage to Mrs. Darton’s, at Hatton Garden, who had her laid upon a couch, and nursed her with the kindness and tenderness of a daughter. It was a sad and difficult task to remove her home, but we did it that night; and from the 14th of April till the 20th of June, though she was with us even down stairs for awhile, she was no more herself, as it were, amongst us. For full four weeks at that time I had no hope but that we should be called upon to resign her. Oh, memory! memory! But I can have no doubt of the Divine goodness, nor can I believe that our reconciled God would give us one pang which is not needful. But the dark cloud which then hung over us is broken now. The rent is made,923 and the Son of Righteousness will reveal himself in all His glory, when the rain-drops have done their needful work upon this earthly matter. Ah, my Saviour, thy sweetest title is “THE SAVIOUR” of those one loves. From that period my beloved mother often experienced a great lassitude of mind and body, with a nervous anxiety which perhaps is attendant on age, or perhaps is the breaking up of health and strength; but as she struggled against this physical depression, and as her faith was beautifully bright and clear to the last, perhaps none but myself even perceived the occasional sadness of her mind. She would sometimes say, “How can I leave you, my child, without me in this world? Who has love like a mother’s?” And then she would add, “But perhaps I am only a trouble to you, and a care; you might do even better without me. Ah, I am very weak, very helpless. Oh, God, be Thou our guide, my widowed child’s father, husband, friend. Ah, Lord God, I thank thee that I can say as David did, In 398

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Thy hands I have no fear.924 I shrink only at the thorns of this wilderness; not for myself, but for those I love. The death of a beloved infant in the cradle is not a mother’s worst sorrow.” Thus, with a certain depression of spirits and threatening attacks of sickness of more or less severity, passed the one full year of my mother’s widowhood; and thus I find it recorded in her own handwriting: “Friday, December 6th, 1850. I hoped no one remembered this day, and that no one would speak of it; neither did they, though they most kindly managed not to leave me all day, and to amuse me and divert my thoughts to the last. But, oh, my beloved one! not lost, but gone before, I have been parted from you one year, one whole year, and I even miss you more than I ever did. Alas! alas! my heart sinks within me in thinking of the days which are gone. With how much pain do I begin another year, the revolving season reminding me so forcibly of that which has been, and that which was only this time two years, that I have attempted to go on with my diary more than once, and have left it from very sickness of heart.” To relieve this weariness of feeling—the weariness of the spirit—this longing to flee away and be at rest, my mother worked for hours at the scriptural emblems, or, as she termed it, her “Type Dictionary,”925 hoping it would please God to let her life be spared sufficiently long to work out the first rough sketch; and that indulgence was granted to her. In a letter to her kind friend, Lady John Somerset, she thus writes upon this subject at this time:— “I thank God that I am able once again to return to my old and favourite ‘TYPICAL DICTIONARY.’ When I am sad, I find such lovely things concealed under the figures of natural things, that I am ready to weep for very joy; they are like violets hidden under dark leaves, or precious stones buried in the rock. These Divine mysteries, when opened out, show more of the fragrance and splendour of the beloved Lord, than aught which Scripture presents to the outward observation even of the most attentive, yet it is only as through a glass very, very darkly926 that the most humble and persevering student can discern any of these mysteries. Of one thing, however, I am more and more assured, that the deeper we are enabled to look into Scripture, the more we discern of the love of the Saviour, and the more readily and cheerfully to commit the interests connected with our departed ones to his gentle hand. All those we lament had their weaknesses and infirmities when on earth, but He who redeemed them never changes; with him is no spot or stain of sin. He has said, ‘I come not to condemn, but to save the world.’927 Very sweet thoughts are sometimes vouchsafed to me, and when I take a pen in hand, perhaps I sometimes become tedious in recording them.” On Thursday, the 27th March, 1851, my mother finished the first writing of her “TYPE DICTIONARY.” We were sitting together in her study alone at the time when she pronounced that her task—a task of full thirty years’ labour—was actually finished. “When I began this study,” she said, “many years ago, I was in a far off place in India; and now that I have finished it, I could weep very sore at the 399

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associations awakened. Ah me! ah me! what is life! But, God helping me, I will go all over again, and you, my child, shall assist me. Bless us, oh God, in the task, ennoble and purify our minds for and in these studies.” On the 3rd of April this revision began, but was never concluded. It was in June that my mother had a slight attack in one of her eyes, which was getting dim. She said she felt herself weaned from the world, and desirous to depart, but for those dependant upon her. It was the very next month that her tender anxieties for me were put to rest, by my engagement to Dr. Kelly; and then, as she said, she had no more to desire but to see me married before her death. Again and again did she thank God for this. Her spirits, which had been low for some time, now became very cheerful and easy, and she looked forward with great pleasure to the time of her removal to our new home at Pinner. She was to have a private sitting-room there, and a pony carriage to go out in, a luxury she had lately much desired, as she did not like her Bath-chair. She spoke much of the furniture of her rooms, and where her books should stand, and what arrangements could be made for the speedy removal of her manuscripts, that she might not be many days without her writings. To please her, too, I promised her she should be at Pinner the day before ourselves, to welcome us home. Her Cruden, the Cruden given her by Mr. Thomason, now sadly worn, was put aside to be bound, also a little collection of her choice works upon Bible subjects; and for this purpose they were to be transferred to the bookbinders during the removal of the furniture from Twickenham to Pinner. Her work-table—her own especial work-table—my father’s last present, was also to be repaired. By one of those curious and merciful arrangements of Providence it was so ordered that my second niece, Sarah, who had come to see us in rather a delicate state of health, became somewhat worse, and we sent for her mother to be with her, as my time and attention were wholly devoted to my aged parent. Sarah, however, was soon better, though she required nursing and care. But as my sister, who herself had only lately recovered from an attack of illness, did not wish to leave home immediately, it was agreed that, as we found that my niece’s delicate state distressed her grandmother, she should return at once to her own family. This was arranged somewhat hastily, and it so fell out that, owing to the delay of a letter, or something of apparently as slight importance, my sister and her daughter absolutely passed each other on the road, though in these days of railway travelling it will not be an astonishment to any one that they were unconscious that they had done so. Thus, as I said, through the goodness and mercy of God, my sister, by an apparently slight accident, was allowed to be with my mother during the last few weeks of her life, and to be with her alone, her inseparable, hourly companion, an indulgence which, owing to circumstances, I believe she hardly ever enjoyed equally before. This has been gratefully felt by her, and as long as life lasts she will thank God for this mercy; for sweet and precious are “The last words of parents dear.”928 400

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It was feared for my beloved mother that the excitement arising on the day of my marriage might be too much for her. As she was dearly beloved, even as a mother, by all the members of the Streeten family (and myself ever regarded as a sister, not a sister-in-law), the elder surviving brother of the family, Mr. Friend Streeten, most kindly consented to my being married from his house near Hampstead Heath. By this arrangement every possible excitement to my beloved parent was averted. It so fell out then that I, who of late years had very rarely left my mother, was then separated from her for some days, for it was necessary that one of us should remain a given time in the parish in which we were to be married. It was a great comfort to me that my sister was then at Twickenham. My sister felt it so herself, and my mother often expressed to me the pleasure it gave her (for I saw her constantly) saying, that owing to my sister’s time and attention being called upon for years for her young family, it had been long, very long, since they had been so quietly together, enjoying together the holy intercourse of mother and child. It was on the 3rd of September I left her for town, happy and cheerful. Her great work of “TYPES” being concluded in its first rough state, she had put off its revision on account of my engagement; so she now had a little leisure to see how the world would like the subject. In this interval she had got from Mr. Darton some little prints of horses, sheep, and goats, &c., twelve in number, and each day she amused herself by writing a penny book on one subject, which manuscripts she sent to me in town for my perusal, preparatory to their publication. A subject took her a morning, and it was her great pleasure to read each aloud to Mrs. Dawes as she finished it. Thinking that she should shortly remove to Pinner, my beloved mother determined with mournful heart to pay one visit to the tomb of my father in the cemetery at Twickenham. When I next saw her she told me of this visit, and she said, “that there, in all probability, her own mortal remains would be laid—that she had thought so when she stood beside the grave.” But she expressed no wish upon the point, though she also spoke of her removal to Pinner; for often and often has she said, “What matters it were the poor dead body lies. We rise in Christ one with Him, and where He is there shall we be also.” It was on the 14th of September that I saw her last in health. She appeared cheerful and well; quite as well as usual. She spoke happily of the future before us, and asked me again and again to describe our future home, which I had seen, but she had not. She wished it even sketched upon paper, that she might comprehend it better. She came with me to my room to talk to me alone, as was her wont daily; and when I was putting on my bonnet for our return to town, she urged me, in a manner I wholly disregarded then, to hurry on my marriage. “My dear Sophia,” she said, “you know not, you cannot comprehend the strange feelings I have about it. What matter arrangements respecting this or that? do let the ceremony be performed this week. I replied, somewhat carelessly, I now fear, “that I wished my brother’s presence, and that this hasty affair would prevent it, as he could not leave his parish so hurriedly.” 401

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“What does that matter?” she replied. “If you would but listen to my entreaties——” I was called away, the train would be starting shortly to town. I left her, soothing her as well as I could. I thought her anxiety on this affair attributable to the timidity of age. I anticipated nothing. I feared nothing, and I went. To say I was thoughtless would not be true; for I never parted from my mother, even for a few hours, in later years, without a feeling of uneasiness that the occasion often did not warrant. But, thank God, I always felt the privilege of owning such a mother, and rejoiced with humble joy, that the Father of all has said, “The generation of the righteous shall be blessed.” Psalm cxii. 2. But I was to return to her in four days more. Alas! what a return was that! I cannot enter into it. I cannot enlarge long upon it; for it would be but sorrow upon sorrow I should have to recite. Owing to circumstances we could not control, it was nearly four o’clock on the Friday afternoon when Miss Streeten and myself reached our home at Twickenham, as we came from Mr. Streeten’s house at Hampstead. I had left my mother well. Alas! I had no fear, no apprehension of what was to befal us. It was her usual hour for sleep I knew, and we trod the stairs lightly not to disturb her. Ah mother dear! you were lying on that couch as usual, but, though I knew it not, that sleep was not the refreshing sleep of health. My sister met me; her countenance expressed distress. “I am glad you are come,” she said, “mamma does not seem well, and I do not know what to do; for Dr. Barry, her medical attendant, is gone to Ireland. But now you are come you will know how to manage her, and what should be done; she herself too will be more easy.” I found her, as I said, lying on the couch in her own study. She knew me well when I kissed her, and expressed pleasure and satisfaction at my return. She made no complaint of pain; and thinking to please her, we agreed to have our tea beside her couch in her sitting room, a thing we had never had occasion to do before. We began to tell her of those from whom we had come, of Mr. and Mrs. Friend Streeten and their little ones, a subject which of old times always interested her. I believe now, though I did not think so then, that she did not hear one word of our conversation, but, as she lay still and made no complaint, we in our blindness feared not. However, at an early hour, I proposed that we should remove her to bed, and not liking her appearance, it was agreed that as my sister’s room was nearest she should be taken there, and my sister would be her companion for the night. It was then we first saw that the attack she was labouring under was of no slight kind. She had been undressed without being moved just as she lay on the couch; and when I said to her, as she knew my voice best, “Mamma, will you let us help you to the next room?” we saw that, in her attempt to rise, she was seized with fainting or apparent unconsciousness. We urged her, as she revived, to let us move her to bed, but suddenly pointing to the end of the room in which we were, she said, in a most distressing way, “Is it there you want to lay me?” Ah! what were her thoughts then? She alluded to my father; it was in that spot he died, it was there he lay when this life was known to him no more. 402

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I said her usual able physician, Dr. Barry, was in Ireland, and that had caused us, not fearing any danger, to hesitate to send for advice; but now, seeing the case urgent, we sent off at once to Richmond for medical assistance. In the meanwhile we removed her to bed, where she fell into a sleep, so apparently calm and easy, her countenance looking so like itself, that a night of comparative rest was permitted us, and the Saturday morning dawned upon us and we hoped, alas, how falsely! Saturday passed, I must think, in tranquillity to her. I cannot recollect one expression that would lead us to believe she was in pain. On the contrary, she spoke much to me, most cheerfully, respecting my marriage, which was to have taken place the next week, and even expressed her regret that some little things I had purchased in town had not been brought for her to see. “I am getting like a little child again,” she said, “I like to see all you are doing. I like to see parcels opened, and people doing their work, and I like to watch the progress to its completion. I could not have believed, in the palmy days of my strength, I could have so enjoyed these little pleasures.” So Saturday passed, and her mind was clear, and as she lay in her bed contented and cheerful, we went on in our ignorance. Once she said to me, “I wish I could see Dr. Kelly. I very much wish to see him; when will he come?” I replied that he had a patient whom he had promised to see twice on the Saturday, which would prevent his driving over, but I believed that he would be with us after the morning service on the Sunday. She then said “I wish he would come sooner,” but on my informing her that there was no direct post from Richmond to Pinner, so that no letter could reach him, she was content, and did not desire an express messenger to be sent to him. She had become much attached to him, and I believe the desire expressed was a natural one that might have arisen at any time, and I think so from this reason, that she never uttered any wish for my brother to be written to; and I am sure, had she thought herself in danger, she would have much desired the presence of this only and beloved son. The nurse who attended her in the night informed us, however, on the Sunday morning, that my beloved mother once, when alone with her, spoke of her late visit to my father’s grave, and asked the kind woman, for she was a very kind woman, if she would sometimes visit that grave when she was laid within it? But it must be understood that my mother often spoke of death and subjects that are too often shunned by those who do not love the Saviour as she did. It was about three o’clock on the Sunday when Dr. Kelly arrived, and my mother sent for him at once. He saw her, and we were no longer in ignorance of her danger, though we did not then deem it so very urgent as to send by electric telegraph to summon my brother; for we considered that the day being Sunday, he had two services to perform, and he might be actually engaged in performing one when the messenger would reach him. Thus we lingered till four o’clock on the Monday morning; but had we sent at first, it would have been equally unavailable; for had my brother started from White Ladies, Aston, immediately on receipt of 403

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the communication, he would not have arrived in time to have been recognized by his departing parent. Dr. Kelly, however, determined to stay all the night at Twickenham, to watch beside her, and bestow every aid that human power can give at such times. A most careful nurse was with her, and a most faithful attendant, one who has been with us for twelve years, and is still residing at Pinner. As my mother was inclined for sleep, Dr. Kelly would not allow either my sister or myself to sit up, promising he would call us if anything was needed. As I was preparing to leave the room, Dr. Kelly gave her a little draught (chiefly of port wine) to take, which having drank, she returned the glass, kissing his hand as she did so, and then turning to me, she asked his Christian name. On my replying, she took both our hands together in hers. “Hubert,” she said, “you will be my son, my dear son; you will be very kind to my child; you will be her protector, and you will be very tender to her, for she has been used to tenderness. You will love me, too, and I shall be very happy with you at Pinner. God is very good.” And then she added, solemnly and clearly, as she bent more over his hand than mine, “Remember this, my children, that God is love. He that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.”929 These were the last intelligible words I heard her utter; for when I saw her again, at four in the morning, death had began its work, though she called me by name, for she knew me. I am told by those who could observe the scene that her sufferings were not severe, but though present I can remember nothing of it but that its sorrows made me motherless. *

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In the far off East, in long years past, my beloved mother had fondly hoped her dying hour would be soothed and tended by her Indian daughters, her two fair girls, Lucy and Emily. There was a delicacy about these young sisters, probably betokening their early deaths, that made my mother think that such an office would be their appropriate portion. Such was my mother’s wish, I know, and may we with due humility inquire, Was it an improper one, and if not, how far was it gratified? Two daughters did indeed stand beside that couch of death. But what availed it? They could not aid her. Alas! they, in deep grief themselves, could but witness her dying struggles. To the mortal eye, all mortal sight was dead; but who shall dare say that the Divine light had not already begun to dawn upon the spirit in that apparent hour of agony? For the corruptible was putting on incorruption, and the mortal was taking on immortality. Oh, may we have an eye of faith sufficient to see that hope had not deceived her; that hope, which seemed to droop when her lovely ones were gone, was changed to a brighter, more beautiful, more enduring certainty. Surely we can think they were with her then, not as dying creatures still in the flesh, but as sanctified spirits, to welcome her into the glorious futurity opened and opening to her; a futurity in which she should find again all those who 404

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were once lost, but now restored for ever, to be hers through Christ her ransomer and glorifier. But to her the storm is past, and we know that our beloved one has entered into calm waters, bright and beautiful seas, where her eyes are gladdened with fair views of that glorious land into which sin and death can never enter. But for her children; ah! what have we left of our mother now but those lively representations which memory supplies? How sweet is the recollection that memory treasures, for the love of a mother is the purest and most blessed affection man has on earth. Oh, then, let us commit her image, her pure image, with others of our nearest and dearest friends, to the keeping of that memory which from day to day becomes more rich, and which shall hold its treasures until the shadows of the present existence shall have given way to the realities of the next. THE END.

Editorial notes Abbreviations Cutt Darton Hobson-Jobson ODNB OED

M. N. Cutt, Mrs. Sherwood and Her Books for Children (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974) F. J. Harvey Darton (ed.), The Life and Times of Mrs Sherwood (London: Wells Gardner Darton & Co., 1910) H. Yule and A. C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson: A Glossary of Colloquial Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases, ed. W. Crooke (Calcutta: Rupa & Co., 1986). First published 1886 Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Oxford English Dictionary

All Bible references are to the King James Bible.

Notes 1 Sophia Kelly: (1817–c. 1876), Sherwood’s youngest daughter, born in India. From her late teens, she assisted her mother in writing numerous children’s books and novels, and later published at least seven individual works. She married twice, and therefore a variety of names appear on her title pages – ‘Miss S. Sherwood’, ‘Streeten Butt’, ‘Mrs. Streeten’, ‘Mrs Kelly’, and ‘Sophia Kelly’. 2 The love . . . repossess the heart: J. Edmeston, ‘The Departing Spirit’, in J. Edmeston (ed.), Sacred Lyrics (London: B. J. Holdsworth, 1823), p. 65. 3 Rev. Henry Short: Henry Short was vicar of St Eadmer, Bleasdale, from 1846–1851. D. Pratt, A Short History: The Parish of St Eadmer, Bleasdale, undated, available at www.fellsideteam.co.uk/Publications/St%20Eadmer%20History/index.html#p=1. Last accessed June 2018. 4 F. G. West, Esq.: Not identified. 5 Margaret Bacon: Margaret, Lady Butts (c. 1485–1545), wife of Sir William Butts and daughter of John Bacon. She served as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Mary and

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6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23

24 25 26 27

belonged to the circle of Queen Katherine Parr. A chalk and ink portrait of her by Hans Holbein the Younger is in the Royal Collection and a related oil painting is in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston. cedar of Lebanon . . . spiritual temple: See Song of Solomon 5:15; Hosea 4:5–6; Revelation 21. Sherwood is not quoting in this passage; rather she is weaving together a set of Biblical images and allusions scape-goat: See Leviticus 16 for the concept of the scapegoat, an image frequently used by Christians to represent Jesus. hewn tree . . . Marah sweet: See Exodus 15:23–5. rock of refuge . . . living waters: Psalm 94:22; John 7:38. foundation stone: Ephesians 2:20. the precious spices . . . life eternal: Myrrh is used for embalming. See Song of Solomon 5:5; John 10:7–10. noble roe . . . joy and gladness: Song of Solomon 2:9. The phrase ‘joy and gladness’ appears frequently throughout the Old Testament and it is not possible to further identify Sherwood’s use of that phrase here. Hope has changed . . . prayer to praise: A slightly altered version of two lines from the hymn ‘Jesus. I my cross have taken’ by Henry Francis Lyte (1793–1847). The original reads: ‘Hope shall change to glad fruition’. H. F. Lyte, Poems: Chiefly Religious (London: J. Nisbet and J. Burns, 1841), p. 43. Isa.xxxiv.13–17: This is an error. The reference is to Isaiah 33:17: ‘Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty: they shall behold the land that is very far off’. but through . . . dark and misty: See 1 Corinthians 13:12. ignis fatuus: A phosphorescent light seen hovering or flitting over marshy ground; popularly called Will-o’-the-wisp. OED. “The city shall have . . . light thereof.”: A slight paraphrasing of Revelation 21:23. As is common throughout the book, Sherwood has changed the verb tense in the quotation to make it fit more closely with the sense of her paragraph. Emily: Sherwood’s fifth child, born in India (1811–1833). “what is man . . . visitest him!”: Psalm 8:4. George Butt: (1741–95), Church of England clergyman and poet. Lichfield: Medium-sized cathedral city in Staffordshire, England, roughly 16 miles north of Birmingham. my grandfather, Carey Butt: Some of the information in Sherwood’s description of her father and grandfather seems to have been taken directly from R. Valpy, Poems, Odes, Prologues, and Epilogues, Spoken on Public Occasions at Reading School: To Which Is Added Some Account of the Lives of the Rev. Mr. Benwell, and the Rev. Dr. Butt (London: Nichols & Son, 1804), p. 226. Darton, p. 3, suggests that Mrs Sherwood and her brother ‘furnished Dr Valpy with these early details’ when he was working on the memoir. In the fifth year . . . Edward IV: Much of the following two paragraphs is taken directly from J. Strutt, The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England: From the Earliest Period, Including the Rural and Domestic Recreations, May Games, Mummeries, Pageants, Processions (London: Methuen & Sons, 1801), pp. 44–55. As was common to many writers of Sherwood’s day, she does not indicate her source material nor the fact that she is quoting directly from it. “See where he shoteth . . . the knee.”: Strutt, Sports and Pastimes (1801), p. 54. immortalized by the pen of Shakespear: Sir William Butts appears as a minor character in Shakespeare’s Henry VIII. He has no speaking part, but he appears with King Henry in Act V. remarkable picture so well preserved: This is probably Hans Holbein the Younger, Henry VII and the Barber Surgeons, now at the Barber-Surgeons Hall, London. “Sir John Hawkins . . . the great man.”: Sir J. Hawkins, The Life of Samuel Johnson (London: Methuen, 1787), p. 6. See also note 47.

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28 the great Lord Erskine: Thomas Erskine, 1st Baron Erskine KT PC KC (1750–1823), British lawyer and politician. He served as Lord Chancellor from 1806–7. 29 his Excellency Governor Lyttleton: Sir William Henry Lyttelton (1724–1808), Governor of South Carolina in 1755, Jamaica in 1760, and Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Court of Portugal in 1776. 30 “MY DEAREST CARDROSS . . . copied from Mr. Hoar’s.”: Excerpts of letter from W. Jesse, The Life of George Brummell, Esq. (London: Saunders & Otley, 1844), vol. 1, pp. 297–9. 31 Sir Fortunatus D’Warris: Sir Fortunatus William Lilley Dwarris (1786–1860), English lawyer and author, knighted in 1838 for his investigations into the state of the law in the colonies in the West Indies. ODNB. 32 Mr. Salt: Darton suggests that this might be the ‘John Salt of Lichfield . . . to whom Anna Seward wrote an ode’ (Darton, p. 8) but that is incorrect. The ‘Mr. Salt’ referred to by Sherwood is Thomas Salt, who served as a doctor in Lichfield for over 50 years. See ‘Table of Descent’, Chapter I of this volume and J. J. Halls, The Life and Correspondence of Henry Salt Esq. (London: Richard Bentley, 1834), vol. 1, pp. 1–3. 33 It seems my father: As discussed in note 22, much of the information in this and subsequent paragraphs is taken from Valpy, Poems, Odes, Prologues, and Epilogues, pp. 226–9, including some unattributed direct quotation. 34 Dr. Newton: Thomas Newton (1704–1782) became Chaplain to the King in 1756, Canon of St Paul’s and Bishop of Bristol in 1761 and Dean of St Paul’s in 1765. Darton, p. 2. 35 Isaac Hawkins Browne, Esq., M.P.: (1745–1818), MP for Bridgnorth, 1784–1812. His wife was one of Mrs. Sherwood’s godmothers. Darton, p. 4. 36 John Thomas Batt, Esq.: Possibly John Thomas Batt of London and New Hall, Wiltshire (1746–1831), a successful lawyer dealing with many of the most prominent families of the late eighteenth century. See his obituary in The Gentleman’s Magazine, 51 (1831), p. 274. A ‘John Thomas Batt’ subscribed for six sets of Dr Butt’s sermons when they were published in 1791. Darton, p. 4. 37 Francis Burton, Esq.: (1744–1832), MP for three different constituencies in succession (Heytesbury, New Woodstock, Oxford) from 1780–1812; judge of the Welsh Circuit 1788–1816. 38 Dr. Jackson: Cyril Jackson (1746–1819), Dean of Christ Church, Oxford from 1783–1809. 39 “a reason for . . . in him”: See 1 Peter 3:15. 40 Dr. Darwin: Erasmus Darwin (1731–1802), physician and natural philosopher and member of the Lunar Society, a social club and informal learned society in the Midlands Enlightenment which met regularly between 1765 and 1813. His 1789 botanical book, The Loves of the Plants, was designed to introduce a wider public to the Linnaean mode of plant classification through the use of poetic dramatized representations of eighty-three species of plants. Its focus on the reproductive systems of plants caused controversy and many women were forbidden by their husbands or fathers to read it. 41 Miss Seward: Anna Seward (1742–1809), Romantic-era poet and letter-writer and the centre of the Lichfield literary circle in the 1770s. A controversial figure, she later fell out with many of the people mentioned here by Sherwood. See T. Barnard, Anna Seward: A Constructed Life: A Critical Biography (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). 42 Mr. Edgeworth: Richard Lovell Edgeworth (1744–1817), inventor, educational writer and engineer. His best-known work was Practical Education (1798) which advocated the educational upbringing of children within the family from birth to the time when they reached the contemporary standard of a university. 43 his celebrated daughter Maria: Maria Edgeworth (1768–1849), novelist, children’s author and educationalist. Her novels include Castle Rackrent (1800), Ennui (1809), The Absentee (1812), and Ormond (1817). See M. Butler, Maria Edgeworth: A Literary Biography (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972).

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44 Mr. Hayley the poet: William Hayley (1745–1820), poet, biographer and playwright. He was a close friend of, among others, the poet William Cowper and the artist Joseph Wright, and was a patron of William Blake. 45 Mr. Day: Thomas Day (1748–1789), author, children’s writer, and political campaigner. A member of the Lunar Society, he was deeply influenced by the educational philosophy of Rousseau. He campaigned against slavery and for the independence of the American colonies. 46 David Garrick: (1717–1779), one of the best-known and most successful actors and theatre managers of the eighteenth century. 47 Samuel Johnson: (1709–1784), author and lexicographer. His 1755 A Dictionary of the English Language, which introduced the innovation of illustrating the meanings and usage of words through literary quotation, was tremendously influential. 48 The society at that period in Lichfield: See E. V. Lucas, A Swan and Her Friends (London: Methuen & Co., 1907) for a detailed, although biased, description of the Lichfield circle. 49 Mary Woodhouse: Little information has been found on Mary Woodhouse. She is listed in J. Burke, A Genealogical and Heraldic History of the Commoners of Great Britain and Ireland Enjoying Territorial Possessions or High Official Rank, But Uninvested with Heritable Honours (London: Henry Colburn, 1836), p. 614, as having ‘died young’. Darton (p. 13) quotes Sherwood as saying that Mary Woodhouse had ‘died of a decline’ and goes on to say that at that point, her two grandfathers ‘made up a marriage between my father and my mother’. 50 whose brother Chappel: John Chappell Woodhouse (1750–1833), Dean of Lichfield 1807–1833. There is a wall tablet to his memory in the north transept of the cathedral. 51 Mr. Hawkins Browne: See note 35. 52 “‘How can I . . . sin against God?’”: Genesis 39:9. 53 “The grave rebuke . . . how lovely.”: J. Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IV, lines 844–8. 54 living: A position as a vicar, rector, or other church official, conferring property or income or both; a benefice. OED. The assigning of the living was done by patrons. Some of the benefices belonged to the Crown, to Oxford and Cambridge colleges and to bishops and cathedral chapters. Around 60 per cent were owned by the gentry and the aristocracy, who were then able to appoint the clergyman of their choice. Most great families had at least one or two livings at their disposal. 55 Sir Walter Bagot: Sir Walter Wagstaffe Bagot (1728–1798), 5th Baronet in the Baronetcy of Blithfield. He succeeded his father Sir Edward Bagot in 1712. He served as Member of Parliament for Newcastle under Lyme from 1724–1727, for Staffordshire from 1727–1754, and for Oxford University from 1762–1768. 56 Sir Edward Winnington: Sir Edward Winnington (c. 1727–1791), 1st Baronet of Stanford Court, Worcestershire. He was Member of Parliament for Bewdley, 1761–1774. 57 Lord Camarthen: Probably Francis Osborne (1751–1799), fifth duke of Leeds, styled Marquess of Camarthen until 1789 when his son George took the title. He served as an MP from 1774–1775 and as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs from 1783–1791. 58 “kick against the pricks”: Acts 9:5; Acts 26:14. 59 Stanford: Also called Stanford-on-Teme, a village in Worcestershire, England. Stanford Court, first built in the reign of King James I and extended in the eighteenth century, is the ancestral home of the Winnington baronets; see note 56. George Butt, Sherwood’s father, was rector of Stanford 1771–1795, and the rectory was built during his incumbency. Mary Butt (married name Sherwood), her older brother John Marten, and her younger sister Lucy were all born at Stanford. 60 Glendower: Between 1402–1409, Owain Glyndŵr (Owen Glendower), the Prince of Wales, carried out a guerilla campaign against English rule in Wales. According to many eighteenth- and nineteenth-century sources, in 1405 the armies of Henry IV

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61 62 63 64 65

66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82

83 84

were encamped on Abberley Hill, while those of Glendower occupied Woodbury Camp. In his 1793 book of poems, George Butt, Sherwood’s father, wrote of ‘Woodbury hills, where Glendower had his camp’. G. Butt, Poems (Kidderminster: printed for the author, 1793), p. 22. Abberley Lodge: Abberley Hall, Abberley, Worcestershire, the family seat of the Walsh family from 1531–1708. The house was pulled down and rebuilt in the nineteenth century. William Walsh: (1662–1708), poet, critic and friend of Joseph Addison and John Dryden, and friend and mentor to Alexander Pope. Roger de Coverley: See note 136. Severn: The river Severn runs from the Cambrian Mountains of mid-Wales through Shropshire, Worcestershire, and Gloucestershire, finishing at the Bristol Channel. a large coloured . . . his gaze: This was a copy of the original Raphael cartoon, given by Butt to All Saints Church around 1790. The picture remained in the church until 1850 when it was replaced by a stained glass window. See N. Aston, Art and Religion in Eighteenth-Century Europe (London: Reaktion Books, 2009), p. 130; J. R. Burton, A History of Kidderminster (London: Elliot Stock, 1890), p. 88. Kidderminster: Large town in Worcestershire, England, approximately 17 miles southwest of Birmingham. “not a sparrow . . . to the ground,”: Paraphrase of Matthew 10:29. sown in corruption . . . incorruption!: 1 Corinthians 15:42. “hearing ear of man was planted.”: A reference to, but not a direct quotation from Psalm 94:9, which reads ‘He that planted the ear, shall he not hear?’ Hygeia: In Greek mythology, the goddess of health; health personified. OED. “the imaginations . . . evil continually.”: Genesis 6:5. “The Fairchild Family.”: The History of the Fairchild Family, a three-volume children’s novel published serially by Sherwood in 1818, 1842, and 1847. It was extremely popular and remained in print into the twentieth century. faith, which . . . things not seen: Hebrews 11:1. but because . . . manifest to them: See John 14:21. “Unless ye be . . . kingdom of God.”: Slight paraphrase of Matthew 18:3. St Anthony’s fire: Probably erysipelas, a streptococcal skin infection. John Bunyan: Author of The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678), a book which was a significant influence on Sherwood throughout her lifetime and which formed the basis for two of her published works, The Indian Pilgrim (1818) and The Infant’s Progress (1821). Strada Balbi: Large street in Genoa, Italy, lined with seventeenth-century palaces, gardens and churches. East Indiaman: A ship (typically a large sailing ship) engaged in the East India trade. OED. slough of flesh and sin: In Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, the hero, Christian, falls into the Slough of Despond, a fictional, deep bog into which he sinks under the weight of his sins. clad in . . . righteousness: See Revelation 7:14: ‘And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’ Whitsuntide: The week beginning with Whitsunday, the seventh Sunday after Easter, observed as a Christian festival in commemoration of the events described in Acts 2, when the Holy Spirit descended on the disciples. OED. It was traditionally a time of holiday and festivities, including fairs, pageants, and Morris dancing. Man is truly . . . field: Psalm 103:15. lords and ladies: The wild arum, Arum maculatum, also called cuckoo-pint and wakerobin. OED.

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85 Mr. B****y: Robert Bromley of Abberley Manor who died in 1803 without leaving any heirs. 86 King William’s bib: ‘In the reign of William III, the cravat was worn extremely long by men of fashion, the ends being occasionally passed through the button-holes of the waistcoat.’ J. R. Planché, A Cyclopaedia of Costume or Dictionary of Dress (London: Chatto & Windus, 1876), vol. 1, p. 143. 87 spatterdashes: Tong gaiters or leggings of leather, cloth, etc., used to keep the trousers or stockings from being spattered. OED. 88 “Robert and the Owl”: Mrs Sherwood, Little Robert and the Owl (Northampton: John Metcalf, 1836). 89 “Henry Milner”: Mrs Sherwood, The History of Henry Milner, a Little Boy Who Was Not Brought Up According to the Fashions of This World (London: Hatchard & Son, 1823). 90 “The Mountain Ash”: Mrs. Sherwood, The Mountain Ash (Berwick: Thomas Melrose). Sherwood states that this 36-page tract ‘first came out in 1834’ but Cutt gives the date as 1830 as does the Boston Public Library, and the copies in the National Library of Scotland and the Victoria and Albert Library are both second editions, published in 1832. 91 dingle: A deep dell or hollow; usually one that is closely wooded or shaded with trees. OED. 92 Dr. Hume: John Hume (1743–1818) held the post of Dean of Derry from 1783–1808. 93 Lord Valentia: Arthur Annesley (1744–1816) was an Irish peer, holding the titles of 1st Earl of Mountnorris and 8th Viscount Valentia. 94 the good Lord Lyttleton: George Lyttelton, 1st Baron Lyttelton PC (1709–1773) was an author, MP for Okehampton from 1735–1756, and a patron of the arts. His eldest son Thomas (1744–1779), referred to by Sherwood here, was a notorious profligate and libertine, often called ‘the wicked Lord Lyttelton’ to distinguish him from his father. 95 on whom . . . monody was written: George Lyttelton, ‘To the Memory of a Lady lately Deceased. A Monody’. This poem, written after the death of his first wife and published in 1747, was Lyttelton’s most admired poem. It became a popular anthology piece, although it was later cruelly parodied by Tobias Smollett. 96 Lady Jane Grey: (1537–1554), noblewoman and claimant to the English throne. In his 1570 book, The Schoolmaster, Roger Ascham, tutor to Princess Elizabeth, recorded a conversation he had had with Lady Jane Grey when he visited her home in 1550. In that conversation, Lady Jane spoke of her severe treatment by her parents: For when I am in the presence either of father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand or go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing anything else, I must do it as it were in such weight, measure and number, even so perfectly as God made the world; or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea presently sometimes with pinches, nips and bobs and other ways . . . that I think myself in hell. (R. Ascham, The Scholemaster (London: John Daye, 1579), pp. 11–12) 97 backboard: Throughout the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, backboards and iron collars were commonly used to improve girls’ posture, to prevent slouching and to encourage them to sit up straight and walk with straight backs. Sherwood therefore was not unusual among her contemporaries in having to do her lessons in this uncomfortable position. 98 George Annesley: (1770–1844), 2nd Earl of Mountnorris, MP, and travel writer. He was MP for Yarmouth from 1808–1810. Between 1802–1806 he travelled to India, Abyssinia, and Egypt, accompanied by Sherwood’s cousin, Henry Salt. Salt’s pictures illustrated Annesley’s three volume Voyages and Travels to India, Ceylon, the Red Sea, Abyssinia and Egypt (1809). Annesley’s obituary in the Gentleman’s Magazine refers

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99

100

101

102 103

104 105

106 107

to him living with Dr Butt and his family ‘until he reached his fourteenth year’ when he was sent to Rugby School. The Gentleman’s Magazine 22 n.s. (1844), p. 425. “The Little Female Academy”: Sarah Fielding, The Governess, or The Little Female Academy (London: Printed for the author, 1749) is generally agreed to be the first full-length novel for children, and the first aimed specifically at girls. Set in a boarding school, the daily experiences of Mrs. Teachum and her nine pupils are interwoven with fables and fairy tales illustrating the book’s underlying educational principles. Sherwood published a revised edition with some new material in 1820. “The Suitor . . . Princess of Shiraz,”: Sherwood seems to be thinking here of Scheherazade, the storyteller in One Thousand and One Nights who avoided being beheaded by leaving each night’s story unfinished, so that the king, her husband, had to let her live so that he could find out the end of the story. After 1,001 nights, the king agreed to spare her life. In some translations, Scherezade’s name is rendered as Shirazad and this may be behind Sherwood’s reference. St. Michael’s Church in Coventry: The second of Coventry’s three cathedrals. The first, dedicated to St Mary, was part of the Benedictine community founded by Leofric, Earl of Mercia, and his wife Godiva in 1043. It fell into decay after the dissolution of the monasteries in 1539. It is thought that St Michael’s originated as a castle chapel in the twelfth century, ‘built for the personal use of the earls of Chester, a lord’s private foundation, and which, like many others, came to function as a parish church’. St. Michael’s gave particular prominence to stained glass and ‘involving some of the country’s finest medieval glass painters, the glazing at St. Michael’s was characterised not only by quantity, but also by the diversity of its subject matter and, in parts, the exceptional quality of its execution’. When the church was refurbished during the eighteenth century, however, medieval glazing was seen as unfashionable and much of it was, as Sherwood says here, ‘thrown away as mere rubbish’. It was some of this medieval glass that Sherwood’s father rescued and placed in his study in 1782. G. Demidowicz and H. G. Scott, St Michael’s Coventry: The Rise and Fall of the Old Cathedral (Coventry: Coventry Cathedral, 2015), pp. 15, 99–100. glebe: A portion of land assigned to a clergyman as part of his benefice. OED. Lady Godiva: Lady Godiva, wife of Leofric, Earl of Mercia, is a legendary/semihistorical figure, said to have ridden naked through the streets of Coventry, in order to persuade her husband to alleviate the harsh taxes on the town’s poor. She is mentioned in various ancient records, including the Domesday survey of 1085. The story was retold in a thirteenth-century Latin text, the Flores Historiarum, by Roger of Wendover. “The Spanish Daughter.”: G. Butt, The Spanish Daughter (London: Knight & Lacey, 1824). Mrs Sherwood revised and edited it before publishing it after her father’s death. the Church called Trinity: Holy Trinity Church, Coventry, a Norman church which is thought to have originally been established next door to the Priory to act as a side chapel to the priory church and for the use of the priory’s tenants. All but the North porch burnt down in 1257 and the rest of the church was entirely rebuilt during the fourteenth century. St. Mary’s Hall: A guildhall in Coventry, built 1340–1342 and much altered and extended at the end of the fourteenth century. the beautiful Honora: Honora Sneyd (1751–1780) was an eighteenth-century English writer, a close friend of Anna Seward’s and the subject of several of Seward’s poems. Sherwood would have known her in Lichfield. As a teenager, she was briefly engaged to John André. André became a British officer in 1771 and was hanged as a spy by the Americans during the Revolutionary War. Sneyd subsequently became the second wife of Richard Edgeworth, becoming stepmother to his children including Maria Edgeworth.

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108 Coventry Fair: Through the eighteenth and first half of the nineteenth centuries, a fair and procession was held each year at Coventry. Someone portraying Lady Godiva (originally a boy but later a woman) would lead the procession, followed by the mayor, magistrates, local dignitaries, St George and the Dragon, bands, buglers, city guards and local societies and companies. The procession died out in the mid-nineteenth century but was revived in the 1990s. 109 Peeping Tom: According to the legend of Lady Godiva (see note 103), the townspeople agreed not to look at Godiva as she passed by. A tailor named Tom, however, broke that trust and spied on her. Peeping Tom does not appear in early accounts and may well be an eighteenth-century invention. By 1773, there are references in the Coventry city accounts to an effigy of Tom being fitted with a new wig and paint and it is this effigy that Sherwood refers to here. The effigy is currently displayed at Coventry’s Cathedral Lanes Shopping Centre. 110 whirligig: Carousel or merry-go-round. OED. 111 Dr. L*****r: Darton gives the name as Dr Larnder. It is not known why Sophie Kelly decided to hide the name of the family that Sherwood visited. Darton, p. 40. 112 Dr. Andrews: Gerrard Andrewes (1750–1825), dean of Canterbury from 1809–1825. His wife was Elizabeth Maria Ball, daughter of Thomas Ball, rector of Wymondham. 113 Princess Amelia: Princess Amelia (1783–1810), the sixth daughter of George III (1738–1820) and Queen Charlotte (1744–1818) and the youngest of their fifteen children. She was christened at the Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace by John Moore, Archbishop of Canterbury, on 17 September 1783. 114 Erskine: Not identified. 115 Potter: Potter is described in Valpy as ‘the intelligent and nervous translator of the Greek Tragedians’. This was probably the Reverend Robert Potter (1721–1804), a clergyman, translator, poet and pamphleteer. His translations of the plays of Aeschylus, Euripides and Sophocles remained in print through the nineteenth century. R. Valpy, Poems, Odes, Prologues, and Epilogues, p. 241. 116 Warren: Not identified. 117 Townley: This might be Charles Townley (1737–1805), collector of antiquities. According to Valpy, Butt called him ‘the British Maecenas’, and, on seeing an ‘exquisite bust of Homer’ in Townley’s house, exclaimed extempore: ‘Thy genius in thy Sculptor lit the flame, Which almost made his skill eclipse thy fame’. R. Valpy, Poems, Odes, Prologues, and Epilogues, p. 241. 118 Paoli: Possibly Filippo Antonio Paoli (1725–1807), the Corsican politician, who spent the years 1769–1790 in exile in Britain. 119 Fuseli: Henry Fuseli (1741–1825), Swiss-born writer and artist who moved to England in 1779. 120 Sterne: Probably Laurence Sterne (1713–1768), writer and clergyman, author of Tristram Shandy. 121 Lavater: Probably Johann Kaspar Lavater (1741–1801), Swiss writer and Protestant pastor. He was a promoter of physiognomy, the belief that one can assess character and personality from a person’s outer appearance, especially the face. 122 M. De Pelevé: Robert Pellevé, a former merchant seaman from Normandy who served as a spy during the American Revolution. An announcement of Charlotte Butts’ marriage to Robert Pellevé appeared in the Annual Register for 1774, p. 179. 123 an umbrella . . . ever seen: Umbrellas were little used in England until the end of the eighteenth century and, as can be seen from Sherwood’s comment, remained uncommon into the nineteenth century. See W. Sangster, Umbrellas and Their History (London: Effingham Wilson, 1855), Chapter 3. 124 pomatumed: Pomaded. OED.

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125 balloon hat: A hat designed to look like a hot air balloon, with a huge pouf or padded crown and a wired wide brim trimmed with lace. The first passenger air balloon took flight in 1783 and the event led to a widespread enthusiasm for all things balloon in both France and England – balloon-themed clothing, balloon hats, balloon skirts, and hair styles that resembled balloons. See P. Keen, ‘The “Balloonomania”: Science and Spectacle in 1780s England’, Eighteenth Century Studies 39:4 (2006), pp. 507–35; B. Chico, Hats and Headwear around the World: A Cultural Encyclopedia (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-Clio, 2013), p. 36. 126 tiffany: A kind of thin transparent silk; also a transparent gauze muslin or cobweb lawn. OED. 127 Marlbrook: ‘Marlbrough s’en va-t-en guerre’, a French folk song based on a false rumour of the death of John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough (1650–1722) during the War of the Spanish Succession. It became very popular around 1780 and the story of the peasant woman singing it to the young dauphin, Louis XVII, can be found in a number of sources. 128 Ludlow: Middle-sized market town in Shropshire, England. 129 Dr Valpy’s school: Richard Valpy (1754–1836), schoolmaster and author of Poems, Odes, Prologues, and Epilogues, Spoken on Public Occasions at Reading School referred to in note 22. 130 “Susan Grey”: Mrs. Sherwood, The History of Susan Grey (Bath: Samuel Hazard, 1802). This was the first publishing of this novel, although no copies seem to have survived. It was republished as a ‘revised, corrected and, it is hoped, in some parts essentially improved’ edition in 1815 by F. Houlston & Son. According to Cutt, ‘Since its publication in 1802, the book had been much pirated (largely because of its sentimental plot) and [the 1815] edition was, in Mrs. Sherwood’s own words, ‘evangelized’. The resultant ‘improved’ Susan thus became a mouthpiece for Scripture, while Susan unimproved – who continued to be pirated – kept her place on cottage shelves beside Pamela and Maria Monk.’ Cutt, p. 118. 131 “Aveugle de Spa”: This was probably a play, ‘The Blind Woman from Spa’, a comedy published in Paris in 1780. de Genlis, Théâtre à l’usage des jeunes personnes, 4 vols (Paris: M. Lambert & F. J. Baudouin, 1780). A translation of the French text was published in London in 1781 as The Theatre of Education, translated from the French of the Countess de Genlis, 4 vols (London: T. Cadell and P. Elmsley, 1781). 132 the “Tatler”: A British literary, society gossip, and news periodical, published three times a week by Richard Steele from 1709–1711. 133 Miss Bickerstaff: The Tatler was written by Richard Steele, who assumed the persona of Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq. There were occasional references to Jenny Distaff, Bickerstaff’s half-sister, her husband, Tanquillus, and her three sons. Jenny initially substitutes for Isaac as editor, and subsequently becomes the subject of several Tatler essays. Kathryn Shevelow argues that ‘Through its representation of Jenny Distaff, the Tatler illustrated the development of an exemplary woman explicitly through her changing relationship to writing. Jenny develops from the writing subject of her own essays to the object of Bickerstaff’s essays.’ K. Shevelow, Women and Print Culture: The Construction of Femininity in the Early Periodical (London: Routledge, 1989), pp. 116–7 and ff. 134 the celebrated Walsh: See note 62. 135 Abberley Lodge: See note 61. 136 those papers . . . which are dated “Worcestershire.”: The Spectator was a periodical published by Joseph Addison and Richard Steele from 1711–1712. One of the fictional characters who featured in many articles was the stereotypical antiquated country gentleman Sir Roger de Coverley, ‘a Gentleman of Worcestershire’. 137 Barclay his “Arjenis,”: J. Barclay, Argenis, first published in English in 1625.

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138 “Don Belianis of Greece,”: A sixteenth-century Castilian chivalric romance novel. An abridged English translation was published in 1598 as The Honour of Chivalry. 139 Sir Phili