Wanderings of a pilgrim in search of the picturesque, Volume 2 (of 2)

A KAFIR WARRIOR.

1843, Aug.—The portrait of the Kafir warrior in the sketch represents him with his shield of leather, of which the proper height when placed on the ground is to reach to the chin; his assegai or spear is in his hand, high feathers adorn his head, and we will suppose he has left his kaross in his hut, it being the only, and the garment usually worn by the Kafirs. This sketch of an African Warrior may prove acceptable, as the war now being carried on excites so much interest in England. I heard that the dragoons were much disgusted at being forced to ride down and shoot the Kafirs; who,—although they fight well,—if they are overtaken in flight, throw themselves on the ground, and plead for life. They are tall, fine, and powerful men, and their colour a good clear brown. I have heard it asserted that the Kafirs never eat salt; if it be true, it is a most remarkable singularity. The only garment worn by them is the kaross: for one made of the skin of the wild-cat, consisting of fourteen skins, they demand in Cape Town three pounds fifteen shillings; for one of the skin of the red jackal, containing sixteen skins, and very large, four pounds. A riding-whip of the rhinoceros or hippopotamus hide, called a sjambok, costs three shillings and sixpence, which, considering that the price on the frontier is fourpence halfpenny, is a tolerably good per centage. At least, this is the price demanded from Indians, who appear to be the natural prey of the people at the Cape, who are leagued together to pluck the Hindūs. There is one price for the English, one for the Dutch, and one for the Africanders.

The manner in which the skins of the red jackals are prepared by the Kafirs is remarkable; the skin, which is originally very thick and coarse, is rubbed down with a stone until it becomes very thin, soft, and delicate; and the way in which the skins are sewed together to form the kaross or mantle is excellent, the workmanship is so neat and so good. The Kafir wears the fur of this garment next to his own skin during the winter, and in the summer he wears the fur outside for the sake of coolness.

The corassa nut, or vegetable ivory, is unknown in Cape Town. In London they told me it was brought from America, and also from the Cape; I took a specimen with me and showed it to the people, but found it was utterly unknown there.

13th.—Very cold, rainy, and windy weather,—the middle of the Cape winter—thermometer 53°,—very sharp and bitter, after heavy rains for some days; rheumatic and nervous complaints prevalent.

19th.—Collected shells off the second lighthouse at Green Point; sea eggs, of all colours and most brilliant tints, were in large quantities; the waves beat beautifully over the rocks, and the shore was delightful.

21st.—Very much warmer weather, quite the heat of an Indian hot wind,—by far too hot to venture out in the sun.

22nd.—What can be more suddenly changeable than the weather at the Cape? yesterday a burning sun, to-day a south-east wind covering the mountain with a shroud, the wind howling and roaring round the house, a heavy gale blowing, and the street filled every minute with blinding clouds of dust and fine stones, that, whirling up, cut against your face, as with shut eyes you strive to make your way. The houses are thinly built, unfitted for the climate; the chimneys smoke, and nothing can be more disagreeable than a residence here at present. The ships in the harbour had need look well to their anchors, to prevent their being driven out to sea in such a fierce gale.

26th.—A quiet day, after a south-easter that has blown for three days.

Sept. 28th.—Went to the races, which took place by the lighthouse at Green Point. Having heard a great deal respecting the beauty of the Dutch girls, I was induced to go to the race-ball to see them, and was much disappointed in my expectations.

Oct. 7th.—We quitted Cape Town, and went to reside at Newlands. This place was formerly the residence of Lord Charles Somerset, the Governor of the Cape: the house is situated in the midst of fine woods, and noble avenues of oak; the roses and geraniums are most luxuriant. The Table Mountain, seen through the avenues at the back of the house, is calm and beautiful: the view in front extends across fine woods, terminated by the Blueberg Mountains. This is a delightful place,—the avenues offer perpetual shade, and the flowers are a luxury. Newlands is well situated as a residence; the walks around are numerous and beautiful,—I enjoyed those especially around the back of the Table Mountain, where there are a profusion of wild flowers. On the road to Paradise the view of the opposite mountains and Simon’s Bay to the right is very interesting; there is still a garden at Paradise, but the house is in ruins.

11th.—The rides are most agreeable; how happy I am to be on horseback again! I look with regret on the months I lost by spending them in Cape Town, shut up in Roeland-street; it is so delicious in the country,—we are about six or seven miles from the town, an agreeable distance. Bought two handsome Cape riding horses; they carried me pleasantly at times, but were both very timid; they tell me timidity is the general fault of the horses at the Cape,—it was absurd the trouble these horses gave ere you could induce them to pass a flock of sheep. They would make a handsome pair for a carriage, and would sell well as such in Calcutta, besides paying their passage.

Nov. 26th.—Drove to Wynberg; saw an arum in Mrs. Usher’s garden that I thought remarkable. On the large bright green leaf were white transparent marks; the length of the flower thirty inches, the breadth eight inches; the inside of the flower was of a deep, beautiful, and rich claret colour. How profuse of beauty is nature to the flowers at the Cape! There was also an aloe at the same place of such enormous size, it was quite a sight,—a gigantic plant. I regret very much I did not sketch or measure it; it was the finest aloe I ever beheld.

Never did I meet with such servants as those at the Cape,—drunkards, thieves, and liars,—the petty annoyances these people give are enough to destroy the pleasure of living in this fine climate and beautiful country; had it not been for the plague of the servants I should have felt sorrow in quitting Africa. A Malay man-servant of ours, speaking of his family, said, “My father was only a lieutenant, but the father of my wife’s eldest son, he was a very great man!—he was a colonel! he gave her the cottage. Though the son is but a boy he has so much English spirit in him, that I am afraid of beating him; don’t you think the other children are very like me? The friends of many women are only captains or lieutenants; my wife’s friend was a colonel!—we are all like this!”

In India, if a man is ashamed of his poor relations, the following is applied to him: “The mule was asked, ‘Who is your father?’ He said, ‘The horse is my maternal uncle[41].’”

My Malay servant had no shame at all: “There is no physic for false ideas[42].” To have attempted to have enlightened his mind on the subject in which he took pride, would have been as useless as “To pound water in a mortar[43]”—that is, it would have been labour in vain.

We were supplied from Wynberg with most excellent bread, very good mutton and poultry, vegetables, and fruits.

1844, Jan. 6th.—For the last week we have had days of burning heat—almost Indian heat, with very chilly evenings after sunset; heavy rain has cooled the air to-day, and rendered the atmosphere delicious. Newlands is at present the property of a Dutch gentleman, Mr. Crugwagen.

The servants are very cool at the Cape; my Malay cook came to me in Christmas week, to say she could not dress my dinner on three days in the coming week, as she was going out to dinner parties herself at the houses of some of her friends. I objected to going without dinner to oblige her, and at last was forced to dine on those days at an early hour, that she might be off at 4 P.M. to her parties.

Two of my white muslin gowns came from the wash with the sleeves split open, and a very deep tuck in the skirt; I found they had been lent or hired out to an Africander, who was shorter than myself, and had very robust arms. The people are extremely fond of balls and gaieties, which they attend dressed out in the gayest colours; and you sometimes see a fine French cambric handkerchief bordered with deep lace in the black fist of a floor-scrubbing Hottentot, as she walks grinning along to join a dancing party. The Africanders are very dirty in their persons, and they rub their bodies with a vile-smelling oil; the presence of a musk-rat is quite as agreeable as that of a Hottentot in a room. They appear to have a taste for music, judging from the correct manner in which I have heard the children singing various airs on the mountain.

I do not particularly admire the shops in Cape Town. I was taken to a store, as they call it, and bought a quantity of Irish linen; as soon as the linen was washed, after having been made into jackets, it fell into holes and was useless. At a shop in the Heerengratch I purchased two pieces of mousseline-de-laine; it was quite rotten, and soon became like tinder. Perhaps the people buy damaged goods at auction, and retail them in the shops. Certainly, the Hindūs—as they here denominate gentlemen from India—meet with little mercy from the Capers of a certain class.

8th.—The “Robarts” having arrived, we determined to sail in her, and came into Cape Town, to prepare for our departure; what a contrast was the extreme heat of the town to the shade, the quiet, the coolness of the country!

11th.—Having secured the stern poop cabin below and the cabin next to it, we came on board; we were much pleased with the ship, and more so with the captain and officers,—they were anxious to render us every assistance, and save us all trouble and annoyance.

12th.—At 5 P.M. a breeze sprang up, and we quitted Table Bay. The view of the bay was beautiful, the mountains were darkly set against a bright sky, the sun streaming between the Lion’s Head and the Table Mount, shone with yellow and red gleams upon the hot dust that enveloped Cape Town; the mountains were dark and misty, the sea a deep blue, with white-crested waves; and the houses near the water standing out of a brilliant white. The wind was high, the sun bright, the clouds were flying quickly, and the white sheet was beginning to gather on the mountain.

27th.—Unpleasant weather: I cannot get over this mal-de-mer, and the attendant miserable feelings.

30th.—The native sailors celebrated the Muharram with single-stick playing, dances, and songs; Captain Elder gave them a fat sheep and a bag of rice to add to their repast, and awarded prizes of gaily-coloured handkerchiefs to the best performers. The crew were Lascars, the officers European.

Feb. 2nd.—It is very rainy and most uncomfortable; the deep sea fog creeps into every bone; long faces are in all directions.

3rd.—A most lovely day: a fair wind, which was also cold and bracing,—bright sunshine, good spirits, and happy looks around us.

4th.—Since I entered the “Robarts” I have never had cause to utter one complaint; Captain Elder is most attentive and kind to all his passengers, and the officers follow his example. The servants are attentive, the dinners and breakfasts excellent, and the steward sends to any one who is inclined to remain in their cabin all and every little luxury so acceptable to a sick person at sea. All this is done willingly and cheerfully,—no pretext that the articles are in the hold, no delay, and no grumbling. The cook is excellent; he bakes the bread, which is also excellent, and in profusion; and every plate and knife is as clean and bright as on shore,—a good proof of a good steward, who will allow of no neglect in those who are under his orders. After the miserable dirtiness and half-starvation of the former vessel, the neglect when ill, and the discomfort, I cannot sufficiently admire the excellent regulations and order on board the “Robarts.”

8th.—A calm. A native jumped overboard, and caught an albatross that was feeding on some pork; the boat was lowered, and the passengers shot five fine albatross that were in large numbers round the vessel.

9th.—Passed near the islands of Amsterdam and St. Paul’s.

THE SOUTHERN CROSS.

10th.—Lat. S. 35° 54′, long. E. 79° 28′. I was called on deck at 10 P.M. to witness an extraordinary appearance at the rising of the moon: it was very dark,—a heavy black cloud spread along the horizon, in the midst of which the half-moon on the edge of the sea shone forth of an ominous dark red colour in the fog, and was reflected on the waves. One solitary bird alone broke the darkness of the sea. Above, in the deep blue sky, the Southern Cross shone in beauty; the Pointers in Centaurus were brilliant, and the black Magellan cloud was distinctly visible between the stars in the Cross, looking like a hollow in the sky. Alluding to the Cross of the South:—“Una croce maravigliosa, e di tanta bellezza,” says Andrea Corsali, a Florentine, writing to Giuliano Medicis, in 1515, “che non mi pare ad alcuno segno celeste doverla comparare. E sío non mi inganno credo che sia questo il crusero di che Dante parlò nel principio del Purgatorio con spirito profetico, dicendo,

It is still sacred in the eyes of the Spaniards: “Un sentiment religieux les attache à une constellation dont la forme leur rapelle ce signe de la foi planté par leurs ancêstres dans les déserts du nouveau monde.”

A lantern was held for me by the chief officer while I took the sketch, to enable me, as he said, to see the stars.

20th.—The thermometer 81° in my cabin, and 84° in the stern cabin above. The new moon was most beautiful. Venus looked of surprising size, and threw her light across the sea like a moon light.

21st.—The trade wind blows calmly and sweetly; we only make about 100 knots a day, and the heat is oppressive; but the starry nights are brilliant, and the air at that time is most luxuriously cool, fresh, and soft.

23rd.—Thermometer 82°—A calm—the boats were lowered, and a purse made for a boat race for the native crew, which afforded amusement—the heat at night was intense.

25th.—Calm again—how much patience is requisite during a voyage at sea!

29th.—A dead calm—the heat excessive, quite overpowering, far beyond the heat of India. Heavy rain, a waterspout seen—a little breeze in the evening—re-crossed the line during the night.

March 1st.—The heat renders all exertion, mental or bodily, almost impossible. A heavy squall at noon, with powerful thunder and lightning followed by a calm. No sooner are we refreshed by a breeze, than torrents of rain fall and the calm returns. When shall we pick up the monsoon?—we creep along at a weary pace.

3rd.—The evening brought the north-east monsoon; it blew very gently, the air was soft and sweet, and the ship in perfect quietude moved beneath the soft moonlight; it was one of those delicious evenings peculiar to the trade winds.

4th.—Almost perfectly calm—the boat was lowered, and a blue shark was caught; it measured nine feet and a half,—a most ferocious-looking beast. This shark was most curiously caught in a noose by the third mate. The captain had a bait over the boat, of which the shark was shy; but seeing the naked arms of the mate in the water, he darted towards him and was caught in the noose he had laid for him. After the sailors had dined, a man of the name of Stewart having had too much grog, went in the boat to catch another shark with the third officer and some cadets. The shark took the bait, Stewart gave him a pull towards the boat, the beast gave a spring, Stewart renewed his pull, and into the bows of the boat plunged the shark headlong. The cadets had fired four balls into him, which was fortunate, the creature was rather stunned, but Stewart held him, with the hook in one hand, the fingers of the other hand in his eye, and the body of the fish between his legs! In this fearful position the drunken man and the fish struggled together, the man calling out, “Poor creature, don’t hurt him!” however, in spite of his outcry, the mate chopped off the tail of the shark, which disabled him, after which they pitched him out of the boat and towed him to the ship: he measured six feet. Several sucking fish fell off the shark into the boat: this scene I saw from my port, the boat was but a stone’s throw from the ship. Thermometer 86°—not a breath of air, and a dead calm—a lovely moonlight, and we were cheered at night by the freshening of the monsoon.

10th.—Anchored off Madras about 11 A.M.—On approaching Madras, a range of low hills are first seen, the land lies very low; after a time the town appears at a distance. On the left the church in the fort is visible, the signal staff and the old lighthouse, beyond which is the new lighthouse, and in front of the latter is the evening drive on the beach. A post-office Masulla boat, with her flag flying, was coming off to the ship for the letter bags. The sea was as calm as possible; hundreds of katmirams, or as they are usually called catamarans, were in every direction out fishing. The appearance was most singular; the catamarans sunk in the water were invisible from a distance, and the natives on them appeared to be standing or sitting on the sea—reminding me of the mahout as he appeared when swimming his elephant in the Ganges, standing erect on his back, and guiding him by the strings in his ears.

Some of the catamarans contained only one man, some two; their dark bodies were almost perfectly naked, and their heads adorned by a white or red cloth bound around them.

Three or four rough logs lashed together is all that forms a catamaran: in some a few bits of wood fastened in front form a low bow—very original and simple concerns. Sometimes these singular contrivances carry a triangular sail stuck on a pole. Very good models of Masulla boats and catamarans are to be purchased on the shore at Madras. The Masulla boat is a large high unwieldy boat consisting of thin planks sewed together with cocoa-nut fibres, and the seams filled up inside with the same: they offer little resistance when run on shore through the surf. The crew consists of twelve men. Rafts are employed to bring off carriages to vessels. The accommodation boat, a superior sort of Masulla boat, is fitted up with seats in the stern, and an awning to protect passengers from the surf when landing, as well as from the sun. The crew do not encumber themselves with too much attire; their dresses are generally white, ornamented with some gaily-coloured edging, a vandyke of red or blue. The boats are unsightly, awkward concerns, standing high and clumsily out of the water.

The half-revolving light of the new lighthouse is splendid, flashing and twinkling, appearing in great brilliancy, and then dying away to a speck, then bursting forth again in all its radiance. A light no mariner could mistake.

12th.—A number of boats are alongside with curiosities for sale; the deck is covered with a marvellous collection of extraordinary things, shells, monkeys, parroquets, and ill-stuffed fishes; and there is a great noise created from landing horses and discharging cargo.

13th.—Our friend Mr. R— came in an accommodation boat to take us on shore. The day was quite calm, but the surf, even little as there was of it, was surprising to a stranger; nothing would form a better subject for a picture than landing in the surf at Madras. The Masulla boat went bumping on shore, and her side having been hauled to the beach, the passengers were put into chairs, and landed by the men. The drives are good, and there is much open space around Madras. At the end of three miles, we reached our destination—most glad was I to be out of the ship! The house appeared to rock for some hours after our arrival, which was singular, as the ship we had quitted was perfectly still, and at anchor. Here we enjoyed the luxury of fish, cucumbers, and fresh butter. At Madras they appear only to use the pankha at the time of meals. The fresh sea breeze comes in most agreeably, nevertheless, a pankha constantly going would be very acceptable.

14th.—The evening drive round the island, as it is called, and along the sea-shore, is pleasant; the fine cool sea breeze carries off all the languor produced by the heat of the day. The statue of Sir Thomas Munro, on the Mount road, in the island, is a handsome object: the roads are never watered at Madras, and the carriages appear inferior to those in Calcutta.

16th.—Visited the Mint, and was much interested in the process of coining and assaying. We quitted our friends after sunset, and were taken in a Masulla boat very cleverly through the three ranges of surf, perfectly unwetted, to the “Robarts.” The days are very hot, the evenings cool and delicious: to-night there is not a ripple on the sea.

The fresh sea breeze blowing in upon me made me sleep delightfully, and I was free from the annoyance of musquitoes, whose bites worried me on shore. When we reach Calcutta, how much we shall miss the evening breeze from the sea, which is so delightful at Madras!

17th.—Sunday,—crowds of natives on board, Sunday being the great day of business with them: they brought grapes, which were delicious. I purchased a saw-fish, a sting-ray, or bat-fish, a sea-porcupine, a halfmoon-fish, and some others.

“Mem want some she-asses?” “What?” “She-asses, Mem; many got, Mem buy, I bring she-asses.” They turned out to be sea-horses, which appear to be abundant at Madras, as well as all sorts of monstrous and queer fish. A juggler on board was displaying some of his tricks. He finished by sitting down on the deck, when he passed the blade of a sword down his throat, as far as the hilt, and during the time the blade was in his body, he let off fireworks, which were on the four corners of two pieces of wood that were fixed in the form of a cross on the hilt of the sword, and which spun round upon it. It was a disgusting sight, and an unpleasant one, as it sometimes causes the death of the juggler. Some of the passengers, on their return to the “Robarts,” complained much of the heat, and of the musquitoes on shore, also of the badness of the inns, which are not sufficiently good to aspire to the name of hotels. The daunās or donies, as we call them, are numerous at Madras; they are country vessels, coasters, and traders, and are commanded by a sarhang, who wears the undress of the katmiram men; the crews are native—the vessels are short, thick, clumsy, and marvellously ugly.

It is interesting to trace the descendants of Milton; his grandson was parish-clerk of Fort St. George, at a very remote period. Milton’s youngest and favourite daughter Deborah married a Mr. Clarke; she is said to have been a woman of cultivated understanding, and not unpleasing manners; known to Richardson and patronized by Addison, who procured a permanent provision for her from Queen Caroline. Her only son Caleb Clarke went to Madras in the first years of the eighteenth century, and it appears from an examination of the Parish Register of Fort St. George that he was parish-clerk there from 1717 to 1719, and was buried there on the 26th of October of the latter year.

22nd.—Captain Elder, finding the wind would not answer for getting out beyond the shipping, turned the head of the “Robarts” in shore, and cut through a crowd of donies, country vessels, in great style. We sailed from Madras with a delightful breeze, and were glad to resume our voyage. The captain brought me a present of a remarkably large globe-fish, a globular fish, covered with very sharp prickles; it has the beak of a parrot, and is, I understand, also called the parrot-fish.

23rd.—The ship going nearly ten knots an hour, and as steady as if she were at anchor: how I enjoy the sea breeze! what health, strength, and spirits it gives me!

24th.—At sunset we passed close to Vizagapatam, the range of distant blue mountains was very beautiful, contrasted with the red volcanic-looking hills on the sea-shore.

25th.—Anchored off Pooree: the view of the station from the sea is remarkable: on the left the temple of Jaganāth stands a high and conspicuous object. The houses are built along the shore on the sands, and close to the beach, where the surf rolls for ever with great violence. It is a beautiful sight to watch a Masulla boat rising and sinking as she comes over and through the surfs, of which there appear to be three regular ranges, and which roll with greater violence than the surf at Madras. Few vessels ever anchor at Pooree. I think they told me a ship had not been there for three years. The “Robarts” anchored there to land Colonel and Mrs. G—; they went on shore in a Masulla boat, their carriage and horses were landed on a raft.

THE TEMPLE OF JAGANĀTH.

26th.—Mr. S— came off to the “Robarts,” and we returned with him in the Masulla boat to his house, where we breakfasted and enjoyed fresh strawberries. The sun was extremely powerful, but I could not resist going in a palanquin to see the temple of Jaganāth. It is built of stone, and surrounded by a very high wall of the same material, enclosing a large space of ground, and it has four great gateways. In front of the grand entrance is a column of one entire piece of stone, and elegant in form. Two monsters frown on either side the gateway. A wheel ornaments the top of the dome, surmounted by a staff, on which three flags are flying; the staff was bent during a hurricane. I got out of the palanquin, and went into the gateway to look at the temple; the Brahmans were extremely afraid my unholy footstep might profane the place, and would scarcely allow me even to look into the interior, otherwise I would have sketched it. A number of those idle rascals were about, and they appeared annoyed when I expressed a wish to enter the enclosure, which is around the temple.

One of the Hindoo poets, in answer to the question, “Why has Vishnŭ assumed a wooden shape?” (alluding to the image of Jaganāth) says, “The troubles of his family have turned Vishnŭ into wood: in the first place he has two wives, one of whom (the goddess of Learning) is constantly talking, and the other (the goddess of Prosperity) never remains in one place: to increase his troubles, he sits on a snake; his dwelling is in the water, and he rides on a bird. All the Hindoos acknowledge it is a great misfortune for a man to have two wives; especially if both live in one house.”

Krishnŭ is a descent of Vishnŭ, and the bones of Krishnŭ are Jŭgŭnat’hŭ.

I made the circuit of the wall, and then visited the swing of the idol. Once a year Jaganāth is brought forth, and put into this swing. The arch is of black marble, and has the appearance of richly-carved bronze: the ropes are supported by iron rings fixed into the arch. It stands on a platform, to which you ascend by a flight of steps, which are crowned by two monsters, couchant. From the temple I returned to tiffin, and on my way I thought of the description of the plains covered with human sculls; therefore, I kept a sharp look out for them, but not one could I see. The god was shut up in his temple; we were not fortunate enough to land there during the celebration of the rites, or when he is brought forth once a year at the festival called Rat’-ha-jattra, or the festival of the Chariot. The height of the ruth is forty-two feet, supported on sixteen wheels; the four horses in front of it are of wood: ropes are attached to the bars below, and the car, with the monstrous idol within it, is drawn by 20,000 frantic devotees. On this occasion Krishnŭ is worshipped as Jaganāth’ha, or Lord of the universe: the Lord of the World, from jugŭt, the world, and nat’hu, lord.

“In some period of Hindū history he was accidentally killed by a hunter, who left the body to rot under the tree where it fell. Some pious person, however, collected the bones of Krishnŭ, and placed them in a box, where they remained: a king, who was performing religious austerities, to obtain some favour of Vishnŭ, was directed by the latter to form the image of Jŭgŭnnathŭ, and put into its belly these bones of Krishnŭ, by which means he should obtain the fruit of his religious austerities. The king inquired who should make this image; and was commanded to pray to Vishnŭ-kŭrmŭ the architect of the gods. He did so, and obtained his request; but the architect at the same time declared, that if any one disturbed him while preparing the image, he would leave it in an unfinished state. He then began, and in one night built a temple upon the blue mountain in Orissa, and proceeded to prepare the image in the temple; but the impatient king, after waiting fifteen days, went to the spot; on which the architect of the gods desisted from his work, and left the god without feet or hands. The king was very much disconcerted; but on praying to Brŭmha, he promised to make the image famous in its present shape. The king now invited all the gods to be present at the setting up of this image: Brŭmha himself acted as high priest, and gave eyes and a soul to the god, which completely established the fame of Jŭgŭnnathŭ. This image is said to lie in a pool near the present temple of Jŭgŭnnathŭ in Orissa.” After many ceremonies have been performed within the temple, the god is drawn forth in his car; at the expiration of eight days he is conveyed back to the place from which he came. The festival is intended to celebrate the diversions of Krishnŭ and the Gopīs, with whom he used to ride out in his chariot. The image of Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ the brother of Jŭgŭnnat’hŭ almost always accompanies him. Some place the image of Révŭtee by the side of her husband, Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ; she was a singular personage, that maiden lady, for at the time of her marriage she was 3,888,000 years old! Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ saw her for the first time when ploughing; notwithstanding her immense stature (which reached as high as a sound ascends in clapping the hands seven times), Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ married her, and to bring down her monstrous height, he fastened a ploughshare to her shoulders.

JAGANĀTH.

At this festival all castes eat together: the pilgrims to this shrine endure excessive hardships from fatigue, want of food, and exposure to the weather; sometimes a devotee will throw himself under the wheels of the car, and be crushed to death, believing, if he sacrificed his life through his faith in Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, the god would certainly save him. Every third year they make a new image, when a Brahman removes the original bones of Krishnŭ from the inside of the old image to that of the new one; on this occasion he covers his eyes, lest he should be struck dead for looking on such sacred relics. The Rajah of Burdwan expended twelve lākh of rupees in a journey to Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, including two lākh paid as a bribe to the Brahmans to permit him to see these bones; but he died six months afterwards for his temerity. A number of women belong to the temple, whose employment is to dance and sing before the god. Jŭgŭnat’hŭ, his brother, Bŭlŭ-Ramŭ, and their sister, Soobhŭdra, are placed together in the car.

In the plate entitled Jaganāth is a brass idol, (Fig. 5,) which was given me at Pooree; it may probably represent the three personages above mentioned; but why the brother and sister should have stumps instead of arms, and why they should have no legs, I cannot imagine. Is Jaganāth in himself a trinity, as this idol would lead one to suppose?

Fig. 1, in the same plate, is a fac-simile of a little wooden model of the god; it has no legs, and only stumps as arms; the head is very large, as are also the great circular eyes. At the festivals the Brahmans adorn Jaganāth with silver or golden hands; and an offering of a pair of golden hands to the image is considered an act of great devotion. This model was presented to me at Pooree, as was also the seal (Fig. 2), with which the priests stamp the worshipper on the breast and on the arms; it is covered with various holy emblems: the tika of bhabūt or ashes is also placed on the forehead of the pilgrim by the ministering Brahman. The Uchchat tilak is the ceremony of putting a few grains of boiled rice on the forehead of an image when addressed, or of a Brahman when invited to an entertainment.

The āsan, the sacred mat, used by the Hindūs in worship, is made of the kashŭ grass (saccharum spontaneum), and sold at different prices, from a penny to one rupee each.

I saw a small model of the ruth, or car, which was ornamented with flags and red linen. At Allahabad I wished to inspect one which was passing along the road, but was deterred from so doing, being told it was covered with indelicate paintings.

During the melā, or great fair, at the sacred junction of the rivers at Allahabad, I have often seen worship performed before an image of Jaganāth, as described Vol. I. page 262.

A carved stone was presented to me, brought from the ruins of a city of great extent, about forty miles from Pooree; its name has escaped my memory, but it appeared from the account I received to be full of curiosities; few persons, however, had ventured to visit the ruined city, deterred by the probability of taking a fever, in consequence of the malaria produced by the thick jangal by which it is surrounded. The stone is white, and upon it is carved the figure of some remarkable personage, above which is an emblem of Mahadēo. A very fine tiger’s skin was also added to my collection. I carried off my prizes with great delight, and they now adorn my museum.

In the evening our party returned on board in a Masulla boat through a very fine surf that flung the boat right on end, and carried her back many times towards the beach ere we could make our way through it; the foam dashed over the boat as every surf rolled upon her; it was a beautiful sight,—I enjoyed extremely the passing through those magnificent surfs. The countenance of the captain of the “Robarts,” who was with us, was grave and anxious; he eyed the horizon intently, and appeared not to like the look of the sky. He weighed anchor instantly on reaching the ship, and said to me afterwards, “I did not like the appearance of the weather as we came on board, and was thinking whether I should lay my bones there.” With a wind on shore a ship off Pooree must be in an awkward position.

27th.—At 8 P.M. arrived off the floating light, a brig, anchored at the Sandheads; it was a beautiful night,—our signal-lights burnt brightly, and we were guided from time to time as we approached the vessel by the half-hour lights burnt on board her; the last light we had seen had been pretty distant, and steering by it, we suddenly perceived the brig on our quarter, about one hundred yards off,—her sails, masts, cordage, and hull glancing out in the darkness, and from the deep shadow, by the lurid glare of her blue light; the sight was beautifully spectral. A pilot came immediately on board; with a fine breeze and a press of sail we proceeded towards Saugor, anchored, and reported our arrival at the Sandheads.

28th.—A fine breeze bore us on until we anchored off the Bishop’s Palace, at which time a north-wester came on, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and heavy rain.

29th.—Arrived off Baboo Ghāt, Calcutta, after a most agreeable voyage from the Cape, which, I believe, was enjoyed by every one on board.

The “Robarts” was a fine vessel, one of the old teak Indiamen. With regret we saw the following extract in a newspaper in 1847:—