1844, April 1st.—We took a house in Chowringhee, and found soon after that the cholera and small-pox were prevalent in Calcutta: how ill the dampness and the heat of this Bengal climate render me!—they destroy all energy. Calcutta is famous for its tapsi machhī (mango fish), in this month they are in perfection. “Mangoes and fish meet of necessity[44];” they come in at the same season, and the unripe mango is also used in cooking fish: the dāndīs bring them in small baskets fresh from the boats to the Course of an evening, and sell them twenty for a rupee, at the time a khansaman charges his master one rupee for five of them. Parties are made, to Fulta and Budge-Budge, down the river, to eat mango fish,—after the fashion of white-bait parties in town; they are excellent—smoked in the same manner as anwarī fish—for breakfast.

28th.—A fine fall of rain,—perhaps it will clear the air, and drive off the cholera, which is raging strongly at present.

May 24th.—Mango fish fifty per rupee. The weather very hot, the nights most oppressive, from the heavy mist and great heat. We left our horses at the Cape, which we regretted on our arrival in Calcutta; we have been looking out for a pair of carriage horses for some time. This is the cheapest season of the year in which to make the purchase, but they are very dear; those for sale at eight hundred rupees are vile, those at one thousand indifferent,—you cannot get a good pair under fourteen or sixteen hundred rupees; it would not answer to bring riding horses from the Cape for sale, but carriage horses would answer well, they are in such great demand in Calcutta.

29th.—Rain having fallen on the Queen’s birthday, the display of fireworks was postponed until to-day; it was a failure, with the exception of one bouquet, which was good. They would not bear a comparison with the jeux d’artifices that I witnessed in Paris on the day of the King’s fête; I never saw any colours that equalled those in brilliancy and variety. The last firework, a bouquet of rockets of divers colours, was superb; and sometimes a composition was burnt, that threw a red glare over the landscape; then came a glare of blue lights, casting a spectral appearance on the houses, the river, and the sky, after which another tint was thrown forth, and the effect was excellent.

June 16th.—Lord Ellenborough recalled,—deposed by the Court of Directors.

July 18th.—Visited the livery stables to see some fresh Arabs, among which some very good ones were pointed out to me. There was not a horse that I would have selected for my own riding whose price was less than from twelve to sixteen hundred rupees; and for those likely to turn out good racers they asked two and three thousand.

31st.—Lord Ellenborough quitted Calcutta, and returned to England.

Aug. 22nd.—A very heavy gale, and a deep fall of rain; the next day the natives were catching fish all over the maidān in front of the Government House; they say the fish fell with the rain, which is now a foot deep on the ground.

Oct. 1st.—It being our intention to proceed by the river to Allahabad, and the weather becoming daily cooler, we hired a pinnace budgerow for ourselves, a large olāk for the baggage, and a cook-boat, sent them to Prinsep’s Ghāt, and prepared for the voyage.

That branch of the Ganges that quits the main stream at Gopalgunj, flowing by Sooty to Moorshedabad, is called the Bhagirathī until it reaches Nuddea, at which place it is joined by the Jellinghy, and they flow on, passing Calcutta, to the island of Sāgor, under the name of the Hoogly. Only that part of the Ganges which lies in a line from Gangoutrī to Sāgor island is considered holy by the Hindūs, and named the Ganga or Bhagirathī. The Hoogly river, therefore, of Europeans, is considered as the true Ganges.

The Bore commences at Hoogly Point, Sāgor, where the river first contracts itself, and is perceptible above the town of Hoogly: so quick is its motion, that it scarcely employs four hours in running up from the one to the other, although the distance is nearly seventy miles. It does not run on the Calcutta side, but along the opposite bank; whence it crosses at Chitpūr, about four miles above Fort William, and proceeds with great violence. On its approach boats must immediately quit the shore, and go for safety into the middle of the river; at Calcutta it sometimes occasions an instantaneous rise of five feet. The tide is perceptible as far as Nuddea.

10th.—Quitted Calcutta with a foul wind and heavy rain,—damp, gloomy, and rheumatic weather.

11th.—Started with a fair wind, bought two milch goats for thirteen rupees eight ānās,—a great prize on the river. Moored the vessels at Ishapūr, in order to visit a friend who has charge of the powder-works at that place; his house, which is large and excellent, is situated on the banks of the river; every thing is so cool and fresh around it; it is delightful to be in the country once more.

14th.—The fast of the Muharram ended to-day; the followers of the prophet amongst our servants, wishing to have a great feast, petitioned to be allowed to stay till noon, to worship and to stuff pillāo. Quitted Hoogly with the tide at half-past one P.M.

15th.—Passed the village of Chagdah, on the left bank of the Matabangah, forty-six miles from Calcutta; a village of corpses,—the inhabitants of which, having been brought by their relatives to the river’s side, to die before their time, prefer a debased existence to a righteous end, agreeing therein with the highest authorities. Pope’s Homer makes Achilles in the Elysian fields say,

Solomon deems it better to be a live dog than a dead lion; and Job, called by Byron “the Respectable,” says, “Why should a living man complain?” to which Byron adds, “For no reason that I can see, except that a dead man cannot.” In the face of these grave authorities, as far as I am concerned, I cannot help being of a different opinion: the proverb agrees with my view of the subject,—“It is better to die with honour than live with infamy[45].” These unfortunate people, outcasts from their homes and families, on account of their unexpected recovery, after having been exposed by their relatives to die on the banks of the river, have taken refuge in this village, and are its sole inhabitants.

“The Hindūs are extremely anxious to die in sight of the Ganges, that their sins may be washed away in their last moments. A person in his last agonies is frequently dragged from his bed and friends, and carried, in the coldest or in the hottest weather, from whatever distance, to the river-side, where he lies, if a poor man, without a covering day and night, until he expires. With the pains of death upon him, he is placed up to the middle in water, and drenched with it; leaves of the toolsee plant are also put into his mouth, and his relations call upon him to repeat, and repeat for him, the names of Ramŭ, Hŭree, Narayŭnŭ, Brŭmha, Gŭnga, &c. In some cases the family priest repeats some incantations, and makes an offering to Voitŭrŭnēē, the river over which the soul, they say, is ferried after leaving the body. The relations of the dying man spread the sediment of the river on his forehead or breast, and afterwards, with the finger, write on this sediment the name of some deity. If a person should die in his house, and not by the river-side, it is considered as a great misfortune, as he thereby loses the help of the goddess in his dying moments. If a person choose to die at home, his memory becomes infamous.”

This part of the river is flat and uninteresting; anchored a little below Culna, which is sixty-six miles by water, fifty-two by land, from Calcutta. At night the insects, attracted by the brilliant light of the Silvant lamps, came into the cabin in swarms—like the plagues of Egypt they fall into the wine-cups and fill the plates; they are over my hands, and over the paper on which I am writing, and are a complete pest.

16th.—Very hot during the middle of the day; thermometer 86°. Passed the Dhobah sugar-works, seventy-two miles by water from Calcutta; left the Jellingee river on the right, and anchored at Nuddea, eighty-three by water, and sixty-four by land. The steamers generally arrive at the Dhobah sugar-works in one day, but still we think we have come on quickly in the Budgerow! We did not land to visit the long range of temples on the bank of the river. To this place the Calcutta Sircars come, to eat the air.

At Meertulla, half-way between Nuddea and Dumdumma, we crossed the Tropic of Cancer, which made us fancy ourselves in a cooler climate, in spite of the extreme heat. At noon-day it is almost intolerable, and very oppressive, but the early mornings are cool, and the nights also; moored off Dumdumma.

18th.—Lugāoed on a dry sandbank beyond Dewangunge, one hundred and eighteen miles from Calcutta; it has a large mart, and a fine indigo factory.

19th.—Arrived early in the day off Cutwa, situated on the right bank of the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to procure fowls, fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depôt for steamers. Cutwa is on the Adgar-nālā: found nothing in the bazār but eggs and plantains, fowls and byguns (solanum melongena). Purchased twelve sticks of shola, or sola, as it is commonly called, for one paisā; the dāndīs use it as a tinder-box, and strike fire into the end of a sola stick with a flint and steel. A cooler day; the river very uninteresting; moored on a nameless sandbank.

20th.—Passed the Field of Plassey, sixteen miles above Cutwa, on the left bank; memorable for the defeat of Suraja Dowla, by the British forces under Colonel Clive, June 23rd, 1757. This battle decided the fate of Bengal, and ultimately of India. Anchored on a fine cool sandbank near the Company’s fīl-khāna (elephant establishment), on the left bank, eight miles above Plassey.

21st.—Arrived at Rangamattī, a village on the right bank, with steep red banks; the Company’s silk manufactories were here formerly. The place is celebrated for sajjī-mattī, or fuller’s earth: it is six miles from Berhampūr, one hundred and sixty from Calcutta, and seventy-seven from Jellingee. Lugāoed at the civil station of Berhampūr, which looks quite deserted; nothing is going forward; no crowds of natives on the bank with various articles for sale, and no picturesque boats on the river.

22nd.—Sent letters to the Dāk—laid in a store of fowls, bread, butter, charcoal, limes, &c., to help us on to Rajmahāl, as provisions are only to be procured at the large stations.

23rd.—Passed the palace of the Nawāb of Moorshedabad: admired the fanciful boats he uses on state occasions, and the snake boats; the latter fly with great swiftness when rowed by twenty men, from their amazing length and extreme narrowness. The state boats are highly gilt, and ornamented very tastefully with colours and gold; they are light and airy in the extreme. The river is very shallow; we have great difficulty in finding the deep parts; in consequence, our progress is slow, but the scenery is very beautiful. Moored off a small bastī (village) on the right bank.

24th.—A little fleet of small boats filled with fire-wood has passed us; never was there any thing so neatly and regularly stowed away as the wood. The weather is becoming sensibly cooler and more pleasant: moored below Jungipūr on a field covered with the tūt, (morus Indica, Indian mulberry,) a shrub which is planted and cultivated in great quantities as food for the silkworms which are reared in the neighbouring villages. My goats luxuriated for some hours by moonlight in the fields of tūt, enjoying the fresh shrubs; they have been cut down, and the young sprouts are now only about a foot high.

25th.—Passed Jungipūr; paid the toll which is levied for keeping open the entrance of the Bhagirathī; anchored at Kamalpūr, a straggling picturesque village: cows are here in the greatest abundance—the village swarms with them; they swim the cows over the river in herds to graze on the opposite bank, and swim them back again in the evening; a couple of men usually accompany the herd, crossing the river by holding on to the tail of a cow: the animals take to the water as a thing of course; on their arrival at the cottages, they are tied up with food before them, and a smouldering fire is kept up near them all night: the cows enveloped in the smoke are free from the worrying of the insects. Mr. Laruletta has a large silk manufactory at Jungipūr; he lives in the Residency, which he purchased from the Government; it is forty-two miles above Berhampūr. The villages of Gurka and Kidderpūr are on the opposite bank.

26th.—Quitted the Bhagirathī and entered on the Ganges: stopped at a place famous for bamboos, consisting of a few huts built of mats on the river-side, where bamboos and ardent spirits are sold. My mānjhī bought nine very large newly-cut bamboos for one rupee five ānās, and complained of their being very dear! Crossed the river, and anchored above the village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo factory, a most melancholy looking place, the bungalow in ruins—the owner resides on the opposite side of the river. There is a very fine banyan tree on the Ghāt, at Konsert, and two very fine silk cotton trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in front of the factory. The kajūr (phœnix dactylifera, common date palm,) flourishes here,—it is remarkable for its lofty trunk, rugged on account of the persistent vestiges of the decayed leaves.

27th.—Passed Dulalpūr and saw the factory of Chandnī Kotī in the distance, where I met with so much hospitality on my expedition to the ruins of Gaur. Heard of Mr. Sinclair’s death, which took place about a year ago, most likely from the jungle fever. After a pleasant sail with a fair wind, had the first sight of the Hills; anchored on a cool, clear, and fresh sandbank in the middle of the Ganges—the moon high, the night quiet and agreeable. I took a camera lucida on deck, and was much amused with the delight of the crew when they looked into it. They called it a Kompās, and were very anxious to have their own likenesses taken.

28th.—Thermometer 82° in the cabin at noon; not a breath of air, the river very broad and shallow; it is hardly possible to find water enough to float the budgerow. We are just passing a steamer with a cargo flat in tow; she has grounded, and there she is in the midst of the river burning with heat, whilst the little pilot boats are trying to find some channel deep enough for her. Like the hare and the tortoise in the fable, we shall reach the goal first. Imagine the heat of the iron steamer, the bright river giving back the sun’s rays, and looking like unruffled glass around her; the inside of the vessel must resemble a well-heated iron oven. Lugāoed off Husseinpūr. The woolāk (baggage-boat) came up late; for the second time she has run foul of the budgerow, and has done her some damage. The mānjhī of the woolāk cannot see after sunset, having what the natives call rāt andhā, or night blindness: he can see well enough during the day time;—this is rather a disagreeable affliction for the master of a vessel.

29th.—Passed the steamer and flat with passengers for Calcutta—very hot and oppressive—arrived near Rajmahāl, and found a large portion of the bank of the river had fallen in;—it was a little land-slip. The palm-trees on the fallen land were in most picturesque disorder. Moored off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which formerly washed its walls, has deserted it, and the deep current is on the opposite side, leaving an almost dry bed before the ruins. Visited the old baolī (well), which is beautified by age: down the centre of it hang long pendant shoots of the banyan, and the roots of trees: thence I proceeded to the tombs of the Europeans, and to the gateway. Several cows were quietly ruminating under the black marble arches of the verandah of the palace that overlooks the river. The steamers take in their coal a mile below, and therefore do not destroy the beauty of the old ruins with their smoke, and steam, and Birmingham appearance. The Hills are distant about five miles inland. Myriads of minute insects are in great number; they fill my nose like snuff, and get into my eyes and ears, and torment me so much, I find it almost impossible to write; they fill my teacup, and absolutely are giving forth a vile odour from the numbers that have found death around the flame of the candle.

30th.—The early morning was delightful—the weather much cooler and more agreeable. Laid in fresh stores—found remarkably fine fowls and good yams—sailed at 4 P.M., lugāoed at 7, on a sandbank—here the insects are but few, and do not annoy me as they did last night. Crocodiles abound, and are showing themselves continually, swimming low in the water. We passed near this place a village full of a caste of people who live on crocodile flesh. My dāndīs say they understand it smells rank, and is very hard. Twice this evening I heard a shrill peculiar scream, and on remarking it to the men, they said it was the cry of the crocodile. Twenty-one miles above Rajmahāl and two miles below Sikrī-galī Hill and Point, says the “Calcutta Directory,” is the beautiful Mootee Jhurna waterfall; it is visible on the eastern side of the Hills. I neither saw nor visited it.

31st.—Anchored at sunset at Sikrī-galī—landed and walked to the bungalow. The French indigo planter had quitted the place; the house was uninhabited; had he been there, he would have exclaimed,

Walked on a short distance to have a view of the Hills, and to recall the memory of the Hill-man and his terī (wife): saw some beautiful goats in the village, which the people refused to sell, although I bribed them high. Wood and charcoal was cheap and plentiful; nothing else was to be procured. A number of jackals were roaming and howling in the village. The point of Sikrī-galī is very picturesque from the river. The indigo factor’s bungalow would be an excellent shooting box. It is said the Jharna waterfall and the Himalaya mountains are visible at times from Rajmahāl; I have never seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses, leopards, hogs, deer of all kinds, abound here, and feathered game in the Hills. Steamers pass in ten days and a half in the dry season from Calcutta.

Nov. 1st.—Quitted Sikrī-galī early; the river very rapid, nothing but dreary sandbanks, with a distant view of the Hills. Porpoises gambolling in plenty.

2nd.—Fish in abundance for sale on the bank at Kantnagar; a dreary day; anchored on a sandbank,—insects detestable,—the thermometer at ten A.M. only 70°.

3rd.—Saw a herd of buffaloes swimming the river—about one hundred head; the men swam with them, each holding on by a buffalo’s tail, with his clothes carried high in the air in one hand. Some of the men had bamboos, with which they beat and urged the animals to swim. When I first caught sight of them I took them for a reef of low black rocks, the black heads were so numerous and so mixed together. Late in the evening saw the rocks of Colgong; tracked up the left bank of the river, aided by a good breeze; the force of the stream here is excessive, and it was a great piece of good fortune we had a fair wind to aid us; anchored in darkness about a mile below Kuhulgaon—that is, Colgong.

The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles above Rajmahāl, on the left bank of the river, is the junction of the Koosie river. On the Nepaul part of the Himalaya, nearly opposite, is the Patturgatta Hill, with one or two temples, and is noted in native tradition for a cave (only a small hole), into which, it is said, a Rajah, with an immense suite, and one lakh of torch-bearers, entered, and never returned;—such is the story of the attending fakīr. Hence are beautiful views of isolated hills, and the tips of the Colgong Rocks. The Southern or Patturgatta passage up to Colgong has some very dangerous rocks, where, if a boat touches, not a soul can be saved.”

4th.—At daybreak arose to get a view of the rocks; made the mānjhī cross over to the Colgong side, to enable me to take a sketch from that bank. These rocky islands are very singular and beautiful, and there are four of them; rocks on rocks, covered with fine foliage, they rise straight out of the centre of the river, which runs like a mill-sluice, and is here extremely broad; we came up the left passage, which is navigable after the rains. They say no one lives upon these rocks; that a fakīr formerly took up his abode there, but having been eaten by a snake (an ajgar), one of enormous size, and an eater of human flesh, the people became alarmed, and no holy or unholy person has since taken up their residence on these rocky islands. Here we bought two very fine rohū fish (cyprinus denticulatus) for six ānās, but could not procure any of the rock fish: small boats were under the rocks fishing, and snakes, they say, abound upon them.

“The village of Colgong is sixty-eight miles above Calcutta, and eighteen below Bhagulpūr; it is on the right bank of the river, has a fine nālā and shelter for boats: it is a coal depôt for steamers. The left passage should never be attempted by either steamers or boats in the rains, as the currents and eddies between the main and the rocks make it certain loss for any native boats, and too dangerous for steamers; boats, in attempting it, must be careful to have very strong tracking lines low down on their prows, with plenty of trackers, and two bowlines as guys to the bank, and he kept close in. Rock fish are procurable here, also fowls, kids, eggs, &c.”

I longed to have a gun fired, to awaken the echoes, and to startle the myriads of birds that inhabit these singular rocks. We have just passed a most enormous crocodile; it was basking in the sun on a sandbank, looking like the stem of a dry tree, and, but for a peculiar shine and polish, and the shade cast on the bank, you would not have supposed it a living animal: some dāndīs, tracking near it, aroused the enormous beast, and it took refuge in the river; it was one of the largest I ever saw. Birds were around in innumerable flights. The river presents a singular picture; the expanse of water is very great, interspersed with low sandbanks in every direction. Three crocodiles are on the banks,—one at full length out of the river, on the top of the bank, the other two half out of the water, and lying flat upon it. One of the native charpāīs, on which a corpse has been brought down to be burned, and which, from being reckoned unclean, is always left on the spot, is on a sandbank; it is upset, the feet in the air, and seated inside is an enormous vulture, gorged from his horrible feast. Storks, with their long legs and white bodies, are numerous in the water; and some very soft-plumed birds, looking like large doves, are on the sands; whilst countless birds, in flocks, are flying in every direction. We anchored on a fine open clean sandbank, and enjoyed the coolness of the evening and the quietude around us; no human habitations were to be seen,—nothing but the expanse of the broad river, and its distant banks.