1837, Aug.—A gentleman who had been paying us a visit quitted us for Agra just before his baggage boat arrived, in which were two immense German dogs, one striped like a tiger,—most warlike animals; they eyed me fiercely, and pulled impatiently on their chains when brought into the verandah; they will be good guards at night, but their arrival at Agra will be a little too late;—like locking the door when the steed has been stolen. Mr. H— went out to dinner, and did not return home that night: some thieves took out a pane of glass, opened the door, carried off his two gun-cases and a writing-desk. A short distance from the house they broke open the cases, which they threw away, and made off with the guns, a gold watch, three seals, and a guard-chain. No traces have been discovered of the thieves, and our friend must resign himself to the loss, with the comfort of remembering that I told him several times he would lose his guns, unless he locked them up in some heavy, unwieldy chest, that could not readily be carried away.

Solitary confinement in the Fort of Allahabad, a punishment inflicted on rebellious sipahīs, is dreaded by them more than any other. The cells for prisoners in the Fort of Chunar are really solitary; you can neither see out of the window nor hear the sound of a human voice; both of which they contrive to do at Allahabad; therefore Chunar is held in all due horror.

Sept.—The fever, which, like the plague, carried off its thousands at Palee, has disappeared; the cordons are removed, the alarm is at an end, the letters are no longer fumigated, and the fear of the plague has vanished from before us.

On the 22nd of July, this year, the river had only risen eight feet above the usual mark; last year, at the same period, late as the rains were in setting in, the Jumna had risen twenty-four feet above the usual level; showing the great deficiency of rain this season.

24th.—The Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī has been reappointed minister in Oude; how happy the old man must be! He has been living at Fathīgar, pining for a restoration to the honours at Lucnow. The Nawāb quitted for Oude; on the first day of his march, the horse that carried his nakaras (state kettle-drums) fell down and died, and one of his cannon was upset;—both most unlucky omens. The Camp and the Minister were in dismay! To us it is laughable, to the natives a matter of distress. The right to beat kettle-drums, and to have them carried before you, is only allowed to great personages. Therefore the omen was fearful; it will be reported at Lucnow, will reach the ears of the King, and perhaps produce a bad effect on his mind;—the natives are so superstitious.

The Maharaj of Gwalior, the Bāiza Bā’ī’s adopted son, who drove her out of the kingdom, announced a few days ago that a son and heir was born unto him. The Resident communicated the happy news to the Government; illuminations took place, guns were fired, every honour paid to the young heir of the throne of Gwalior. The Bā’ī sent her grand-daughter on an elephant, in an amārī (a canopied seat), attended by her followers on horseback, to do pooja in the Ganges, and to give large presents to the Brahmāns. As the Gaja Rājā passed along the road, handfuls of rupees were scattered to the crowd below from the seat on the elephant. Six days after the announcement of the birth of a son, the King sent for the Resident, and, looking very sheepish, was obliged to confess the son was a daughter! The Resident was much annoyed that his beard had been laughed at; and, in all probability, the King had been deceived by the women in the zenāna: perhaps a son had really been born, and having died, a girl had been substituted;—the only child procurable, perhaps, at the moment, or approved of by the mother. A zenāna is the very birth-place of intrigue.

30th.—I am busy with preparations for a march; perhaps, in my rambles, I shall visit Lucnow, see the new King, and my old friend the Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī in all his glory. I should like very much to visit the zenāna, for, although the King be about seventy, there is no reason why he may not have a large zenāna, wives of all sorts and kinds,—“the black, the blue, the brown, the fair,”—for purposes of state and show.

Oct. 3rd.—At this moment a large fire is blazing away, and throwing up volumes of smoke at no great distance from our house. In this country they chop up straw very finely, as food for bullocks; an Hindū having collected a large quantity of bhūsā (this chopped straw), has of late been selling it at a very high price; in consequence, some one has set fire to the heap, and has destroyed some hundred mŭns. My khansaman, looking at it, said very quietly, “He has of late sold his bhūsā at an unfairly high price, therefore they have secretly set it on fire; of course they would, it is the custom.” The natives have curious ideas with respect to justice.

12th.—Called on the Bāiza Bā’ī;—really, the most agreeable visits I pay are to the Mahratta Camp.

17th.—The Padshah Begam and Moona-jah, the young Prince of Oude, whom she attempted to put on the throne, have arrived at Allahabad, state prisoners; they remained a day or two, their tents surrounded by double guards night and day. The Begam wished to remain here, but she was forced to march at last, and has proceeded to Chunar, where she is to remain a prisoner of state.

The preparations for a march up the country to visit my friends are nearly completed; my new tents have just arrived from Cawnpore, they are being pitched and examined, that I may have no trouble en route.

The Camp going to meet Lord Auckland at Benares passed through Allahabad yesterday; two hundred and fifty elephants, seven hundred camels, &c.,—a beautiful sight; they encamped very near our house, on the banks of the Jumna.

Nov. 23rd.—The Bāiza Bā’ī came down to go on board the steamer, which she was anxious to see. The vessel was drawn up to the ghāt, and enclosed with kanats (the canvas walls of tents). A large party of English ladies attended the Bā’ī, and several English gentlemen went on board with Appa Sāhib, after the return of her Highness, who appeared greatly pleased.

Dec. 1st.—The Governor-General Lord Auckland, the Hon. the Misses Eden, and Captain Osborne, arrived at Allahabad with all their immense encampment. The gentlemen of the Civil Service and the military paid their respects. Instead of receiving morning visits, the Misses Eden received visitors in the evening, transforming a formal morning call into a pleasant party,—a relief to the visitors and the visited.

7th.—I made my salām to Miss Eden at her tents; she told me she was going to visit her Highness the Bāiza Bā’ī with the Governor-General, asked me to accompany her, and to act as interpreter, to which I consented with pleasure.

8th.—The Gaja Rājā Sāhib went on an elephant in state, to bring the Misses Eden to call on the Bāiza Bā’ī. They arrived with Lord Auckland in all due form: his Lordship and Appa Sāhib sat in the outer room, and conversed with her Highness through the parda. I introduced the Misses Eden to the Bāiza Bā’ī and her grand-daughter, with whom they appeared pleased and interested. Twenty-two trays, containing pairs of shawls, pieces of cloth of gold, fine Dacca muslin, and jewels, were presented to the Governor-General; and fifteen trays, filled in a similar manner, to each of the Misses Eden. They bowed to the presents when they were laid before them, after which the trays were carried off, and placed in the treasury for the benefit of the Government.

15th.—I quitted Allahabad on my road to the Hills, under the escort of our friend Mr. F—, near whose tents my own were to be pitched: the country was swarming with robbers; they follow the camp of the Governor-General, wherever it may be.

16th.—Arrived at my tents at Fathīpūr; the scene in the camp was very picturesque; the troops were drawn out before the tents of the Governor-General, and all was state and form, for the reception of the Chiefs of Bandelkhand; the guns were firing salutes; it was an animated and beautiful scene.

18th.—I mounted my black horse, and rode at daybreak with some friends. From the moment we left our tents, we were passing, during the whole march, by such numbers of elephants, so many strings of camels, so many horses and carts, and so many carriages of all sorts, attendant on the troops, and the artillery of the Governor-General and his suite, that the whole line of march, from the beginning to the end, was one mass of living beings. My tents were pitched near the guns of the artillery, outside the camp at Mulwah: a Rājā came to call on Lord Auckland, a salute was fired; my horses, being so near, became alarmed; the grey broke from his ropes, fell on the pegs to which he was picketed, and lamed himself; another broke loose; a camel lamed himself, and we had some difficulty in quieting the frightened animals.

19th.—I was unwell from over-fatigue, most uncomfortable. In the evening I roused myself to dine with Lord Auckland to meet Prince Henry of Orange. His Royal Highness entered the navy at eight years of age, and has been in the service ten years, in the “Bellona” frigate. Accompanied by his captain, he came up dāk to spend a few days with Lord Auckland. The Prince is a tall, slight young man, and, apparently, very diffident.

21st.—Arrived at Cawnpore, and paid a long promised visit to a relative. As the Misses Eden were at home in the evening, I accompanied Major P— to pay my respects. We lost our way in the ravine from a dense fog: when we reached the tents the whole station was assembled there, quadrilles and waltzing going forward.

25th.—On Christmas-day the old Nawāb Hakīm Menhdī, the minister of Oude, of whom I have so often spoken, breathed his last at Lucnow. His death was announced to me in a very original note from his nephew and heir, the General Sāhib:—

“Dear Madam,—I have to inform you that my poor uncle Nawāb Moontuzim-ood-Dowlah Bahadur departed this life at the decree and will of Providence, at half-past three o’clock A.M., the day before yesterday, Monday, the 25th inst., after a short illness of six days only; consequently seeing him any more in this world is all buried in oblivion. The Begam Sāhiba tenders her kind remembrances to you. With best wishes, believe me to be, dear Madam, yours very faithfully, Ushruff-ood-Dowla Ahmed Ally Khan Bahadur.”

I was sorry to hear of the death of the Nawāb. How soon it has followed on the bad omens of his march!

26th.—Received an invitation to breakfast with the son of the King of Oude (who had arrived from Lucnow), to meet the Governor-General’s party: went there on an elephant: an immense party were assembled in a very fine tent. Shortly after, breakfast was announced: when it was over we returned to the former tent, when the presents were brought forth; they consisted of a fine elephant, with a howdah on his back, and the whole of the trappings of red cloth and velvet richly embroidered in gold. Two fine horses next appeared, their housings of velvet and gold; and the bridles were studded with rows of turquoise. A golden palanquin was next presented. On the ground, in front of the party, were twenty-three trays, the present to Lord Auckland; they were filled with Cashmere shawls in pairs, pieces of kimkhwāb, and necklaces of pearls, emeralds, and diamonds. Fifteen trays of shawls and cloth of gold, with fine pieces of Dacca muslin, were presented to each of the Misses Eden; two of the trays contained two combs set in superb diamonds, and two necklaces of diamonds and emeralds, such as are hardly ever seen even in India. All these fine things were presented and accepted; they were then carried off and placed in the Government treasury. The Government make presents of equal value in return.

26th.—The station gave a ball to the Governor-General and the Misses Eden; the next day Prince Henry of Orange, the Misses Eden, and Captain Osborne, went over to Lucnow for a few days, leaving Lord Auckland at Cawnpore; they returned on the 30th, when the Prince quitted the party, and went off with the Captain of “the Bellona” to visit Agra.

1838, Jan. 1st.—Sir Charles Metcalfe, who had arrived from Agra, resigned his power into Lord Auckland’s hands, and departed for England.

I am very comfortable, every thing being en règle, having a double set of tents, two horses for the buggy, two Arabs for riding, ten camels to carry the baggage, and two bullock-carts for the women. The men servants march with the camels: every thing is required in duplicate. One tent, with the people, starts in the evening, and is pitched at the end of the march, and breakfast is there ready for me early the next morning.

3rd.—A cold day with a high wind: my tents are pitched on a dusty plain, without a blade of grass, the wind and dust careering up and down. My little tent is quite a pearl in the desert, so white and fresh: small as it is, it is too large to take to the hills, and I have this day written for two hill tents and a ghoont (a hill pony) to be bought for me, that they may be ready on my arrival.

4th.—Quitted Chobīpūr, and arrived early at the end of the march; found the tent only half pitched, no breakfast ready; in fact, the servants, leaving every thing about in every direction, had gone to sleep. The thieves, who are innumerable all over the country, taking advantage of their idleness, had carried off my dital harp with the French blankets and the pillows from my charpāī. These things were under the sentry, but he was asleep on his post. The box was found in a field, near the tent, but the dital harp was gone. I had always made a point of pitching my tents near the great camp, for the sake of the protection it afforded. “It is dark under the lamp[22],” was exemplified;—a proverb used when crimes are committed near the seat of authority. Strict orders were of course issued to my people to be more on the alert in future. “When the wolf has run away with the child the door is made fast[23].” In the evening I dined with the Governor-General, and was much gratified with the sight of some of Miss Eden’s most spirited and masterly sketches.

5th.—Arrived at Urowl. Here the famine began to show itself very severely; I had heard it talked about, but had never given it much thought, had never brought the image of it before my mind’s eye. No forage was to be procured for the camels or bullocks, therefore they went without it; it was not to be had for money, but gram was procurable, of which they had a meal. The horses got gram, but no grass; the country was so completely burnt up, scarcely a blade or rather a root of grass could be cut up, and every thing was exceedingly expensive.

6th.—At six A.M., when I quitted my tent to mount my horse, it was bitterly cold; the poor starving wretches had collected on the spot which my horses had quitted, and were picking up the grains of gram that had fallen from their nose-bags; others were shivering over a half-burned log of wood my people had lighted during the night. On the road I saw many animals dead from over-exertion and famine; carts overturned; at one place a palanquin garī had been run away with, the wheels had knocked down and passed over two camel drivers; one of the men was lying on the road-side senseless and dying.

On reaching the Stanhope, which had been laid half way for me, the horse gave some annoyance while being put into harness; when once in, away he went, pulling at a fearful rate, through roads half way up the leg in sand, full of great holes, and so crowded with elephants, camels, artillery, cavalry, and infantry, and all the camp followers, it was scarcely possible to pass through such a dense crowd; and in many places it was impossible to see beyond your horse’s head from the excessive dust. Imagine a camp of 11,000 men all marching on the road, and such a road!

Away rushed the horse in the Stanhope, and had not the harness been strong, and the reins English, it would have been all over with us. I saw a beautiful Persian kitten on an Arab’s shoulder; he was marching with a long string of camels carrying grapes, apples, dates, and Tusar cloth for sale from Cabul. Perched on each camel were one or two Persian cats. The pretty tortoise-shell kitten, with its remarkably long hair and bushy tail, caught my eye;—its colours were so brilliant. The Arab ran up to the Stanhope holding forth the kitten; we checked the impetuous horse for an instant, and I seized the pretty little creature; the check rendered the horse still more violent, away he sprang, and off he set at full speed through the encampment which we had just reached. The Arab thinking I had purposely stolen his kitten, ran after the buggy at full speed, shouting as he passed Lord Auckland’s tents, “Dohā’ī, dohā’ī, sāhib! dohā’ī, Lord sāhib!” “Mercy, mercy, sir! mercy, Governor-General!” The faster the horse rushed on, the faster followed the shouting Arab, until on arriving at my own tents, the former stopped of his own accord, and the breathless Arab came up. He asked ten rupees for his kitten, but at length, with well-feigned reluctance, accepted five, declaring it was worth twenty. “Who was ever before the happy possessor of a tortoise-shell Persian cat?” The man departed. Alas! for the wickedness of the world! Alas! for the Pilgrim! She has bought a cocky-olli-bird!

The cocky-olli-bird, although unknown to naturalists by that name, was formerly sold at Harrow by an old man to the boys, who were charmed with the brilliancy of its plumage,—purple, green, crimson, yellow, all the colours of the rainbow united in this beautiful bird; nor could the wily old fellow import them fast enough to supply the demand, until it was discovered they were painted sparrows!

The bright burnt sienna colour of the kitten is not tortoise-shell, she has been dyed with hinnā! her original colour was white, with black spots; however, she looks so pretty, she must be fresh dyed when her hair falls off; the hinnā is permanent for many months. The poor kitten has a violent cold, perhaps the effect of the operation of dyeing her: no doubt, after having applied the pounded menhdī, they wrapped her up in fresh castor-oil leaves, and bound her up in a handkerchief, after the fashion in which a native dyes his beard. Women often take cold from putting hinnā on their feet.

ANCIENT HINDŪ RUIN.

My tents were pitched near Merunkee Sarā’e: in the evening, as I was riding into Kanauj, at the tomb of Bala Pīr, I met Captain C— on an elephant, and accompanied him to see the remains of a most ancient Hindū temple. Of all the ruins I have seen this appears to me the most remarkable and the most ancient: the pillars are composed of two long roughly-hewn stones, placed one upon the other, and joined by a tenon and mortise; no cement of any sort appears to have been used. The style of the building is most primitive, and there is a little carving—and but a little—on some of the stones; the structure is rapidly falling into decay. I regret exceedingly I cannot remember the marvellous stories that were related to me connected with this ruin and its inhabitants.

On my return to the tents, my ayha complained bitterly of the annoyance she had experienced on the long march of thirteen miles and a half, over bad roads; she had been upset in her bailī, a native carriage, drawn by two bullocks, and her serenity was sadly discomposed.

7th.—This day, being Sunday, was a halt,—a great refreshment after toil; and Divine Service was performed in the tent of the Governor-General; after which, at 3 P.M., I went, on an elephant, to see two most ancient and curious specimens of Hindū sculpture, the figures of Rām and Lutchman, which are about five feet in height, carved on separate stones, and surrounded by a whole heaven of gods and goddesses: the stones themselves, which are six or seven feet high, are completely covered with numerous images; and a devi (goddess), rather smaller, is on one side.

Passing through the bazār at Kanauj was a fearful thing. There lay the skeleton of a woman who had died of famine; the whole of her clothes had been stolen by the famished wretches around, the pewter rings were still in her ears, but not a rag was left on the bones that were starting through the black and shrivelled skin; the agony on the countenance of the corpse was terrible. Next to her a poor woman, unable to rise, lifted up her skinny arm, and moaned for food. The unhappy women, with their babies in their arms, pressing them to their bony breasts, made me shudder. Miserable boys, absolutely living skeletons, pursued the elephant, imploring for bread: poor wretches, I had but little money with me, and could give them only that little and my tears: I cannot write about the scene without weeping, it was so horrible, and made me very sick. Six people died of starvation in the bazār to-day. Lord Auckland daily feeds all the poor who come for food, and gives them blankets; five or six hundred are fed daily;—but what avails it in a famine like this? it is merciful cruelty, and only adds a few more days to their sufferings; better to die at once, better to end such intolerable and hopeless misery: these people are not the beggars, but the tillers of the soil. When I was last at Kanauj the place was so beautiful, so luxuriant in vegetation,—the bright green trees, the river winding through low fields of the richest pasture: those fields are all bare, not a blade of grass. The wretched inhabitants tear off the bark of the wild fig tree (goolèr), and pound it into food; in the course of four or five days their bodies swell, and they die in agonies. The cultivators sit on the side of their fields, and, pointing to their naked bodies, cry, “I am dying of hunger.” Some pick out the roots of the bunches of coarse grass, and chew them. The people have become desperate; sometimes, when they see a sipahī eating they rush upon him to take his food; sometimes they fall one over the other as they rush for it, and having fallen, being too weak to rise, they die on the spot, blessed in finding the termination of their sufferings. The very locusts appear to have felt the famine; you see the wings here and there on the ground, and now and then a weak locust pitches on a camel. Every tree has been stripped of its leaves for food for animals. The inhabitants of Kanauj, about a lākh of people, have fled to Oogein and to Saugar. The place will be a desert; none will remain but the grain merchants, who fatten on the surrounding misery. There is no hope of rain for five months; by that time the torments of these poor wretches will have ended in death;—and this place is the one I so much admired from the river, with its rich fields, and its high land covered with fine trees and ruins!

I returned to the ancient Hindū building that had so much interested me, to sketch it at leisure, and was thus employed, when I was surrounded by numbers of the starved and wretched villagers. I performed my task as quickly as possible, and whatever errors there may be in the performance, must be attributed to the painful scene by which I was surrounded; some of the poor people flung themselves on the ground before me, attempting to perform pā-bos, that is, kissing the feet; wildly, frantically, and with tears imploring for food; their skeleton forms hideously bearing proof of starvation; the very remembrance makes me shudder. I quitted the ruin, and returned to my tents. To-morrow we quit Kanauj, thank God! It is dreadful to witness and to be unable to relieve such suffering.

I picked up a curious piece of ancient sculpture, Mahadēo, with Pārvatī in the centre, and a devi on each side, which I brought to my tent on the elephant. Considering it too heavy to carry about on the march, we buried it at night under a peepul tree, and shall take it away on our return home, if it will please to remain there.

At this place I learned the following legend. In the olden time, Kanauj was a great city. There were giants in those days, men of enormous stature, who dwelt at Kanauj, and with three steps could accomplish the distance hence to Fathīgarh. En passant, be it remarked, it took the feeble mortals in the camp of the Governor-General three long marches, during three long days, to pass over the same ground. The women were also very powerful; on brushing their houses of a morning, it was their custom to pitch the dirt a stone’s throw from the door. Now, the women being as strong as the men, the dirt was thrown as far as Fathīgarh in a heap; and on the rising ground produced by these dirt-throwing damsels was afterwards erected the Fort of Fathīgarh.