The Land of Ind; or, Glimpses of India

Chapter I. First Impressions

— MADRAS. PAGE I. Arrival -------- l II. Landing. — Crossing the Surf 4 III. The Landing. — First Night in India - - - 6 IV. Town of Madras. — Native School - - - 8 V. Evening Drive. — Armenian Priest. — Beautiful Mornings - - - - - - -12 VI. The Natives.— Chocapah Chitty 15 VII. The Natives and Christianity. — Missionary Schools. — Enghsh Education - - - - - - 18 VIII. The Climate.— Heat.— The Sea Breeze- - - 21

Chapter II. First Impressions

— GLIMPSES OF THE INTERIOR. IX. To Arcot and Vellore ----- 26 X. To Bangalore - 30 XI. To Salem -------- 34 XII. To Trichinopoly and Tanjore - 39 XIII. To Myaverani and Cuddalore 45 XIV. To Pondicherry and the Seven Pagodas - - 48 XV. Return to Madras, and General Remarks - - 51 XVI. To Pulicat -------- 56 XVII. To Ongole -------- VI CONTENTS.

Chapter III. European Morality And Religious Life At Madras

PAGE XVIII. General View.— Bishop Wilson - 64 XIX. Madras.— Bishop Corrie 69 XX. Madras. — Rev. John Tucker 72

Chapter IV. First Impressions

— CALCUTTA. XXI. Arrival ------- §3 XXII. Various Nationalities. — Bazars 85 XXIII. Native Town ------ 90 XXIV. European Town ------ 92 XXV. Our Domestic Arrangements. — Native Servants ----- ..gg XXVI. Our Houses ------- 99 XXVII. Punkas in Church - - - - - 100 XXVIII. Evening Drive ------ 102 XXIX. Tanks -------- 104 XXX. The River ------- 103 XXXI. Native Education - - - - - 107 XXXII. The Hindoo College - - - . - - 112

Chapter V. First Impressions

— GLIMPSES OF THE INTERIOR. XXXIII. To Midnapore - - - - - -120 XXXIV. To Cuttack - - - - - - - 128 XXXV. To Juggernath and Pooree - - - - 136 XXXVI. To Burdwan ------ 141 XXXVII. To Burdwan.— Concluding Remarks - - 145 XXXVIII. Just beyond the Ditch. — To Barrackpore - 150 XXXIX. To Chinsurah ------ 154 XL. To Dacca ---____ 2.57 CONTENTS. VII

Chapter VI. Mofussil Memories

PAGE XLI. The Mosquito.— The Flying Bug - - - 162 XLII. The Cockroach.— The Ant - - - - 164 XLIII. The Flycatcher.— The Chameleon - - - 167 XLIV. The Squirrel - - - - - - 171 XLV. The Kite ------- 173 XL VI. The Vulture - - - - - - 175 XLVII. The Adjutant ------ 177 XLVIII. The Bat.— The Crow ----- 179 XLIX. The Parrokeet.— The Mina - - - - 181 L. Snakes . - - - - - - - 183 LI. The Jackal.— Wild Animals - - - 185 LII. Toddy Collectors.— Bats - - - - 187 LIII. Jeboon Paul's Garden ----- 189 LIV. Sandbank— Turtles - - - - - 192 LV. Indian Trees ------ 193 LVI. Heat. — Cold. — Atmospherical Phenomena - 198

Chapter VII. Mofussil Memories

LVII. Plough.— Harrow - - - - - - 203 LVIII. Vehicles. — Hackery; Keranchee, &c. - - 205 LIX. Mills -------- 208 LX. Water Machines ------ 210 LXI. Cotton Machines.— Small Tools.— Clocks - 213 LXII. Primitive Methods 215

Chapter VIII

M0FUSSIL MEMORIES. — INDIAN ART. — THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PICTURE. LXIII. Wood-carving.— Tile-carving - - - 218 LXIV. Earthenware - - - - - - CONTENTS. PAGE LXV. Hardware ------- 220 LXVI. Textile Fabrics ------ 222 LXVII. Houses.— Ghauts, &c— Choultries - - 224 LXVIII. Pagodas ------- 226 LXIX. Mahomedan Mosques and Tombs - - 232 LXX. Modelling and Sculpture - - - - 235 LXXI. Painting. — General Remarks on Indian Art - 240

Chapter IX. My Voyage To India

LXXII. Leaving England. — A Storm at Sea - - 245 LXXIII. At Sea.— A Visitor.— Flying Fish.— Meals.— Sunday at Sea ------ 249 LXXIV. The Line.— Sharks.— Tropical Fish - - 253 LXXV. Crossing the Line ----- 255 LXXVI. Continuation of the Voyage - 259 LXXVII. Capetown ------- 263 LXXVIII. Capetown. — Again at Sea - 26S LXXIX. Squalls. — Fine Weather. — Sea Scenery - 271 LXXX. Close of the Voyage. — The Passengers - - THE LAND OF IND; OR, GLIMPSES OF INDIA.

Chapter I. First Impressions

— MADRAS. I. — ARRIVAL. Let me jot down a few notes of what has passed before my eyes since our arrival — first impressions written down on the spur of the moment. We arrived during the night, and in the morning found the " Juliana" riding at anchor in the Madras Roads, a mile or so from the shore. The passengers, all on tire tiptoe of expectation, were on deck early ; but we could only see the distant city, and were not permitted to land till later in the day, after the usual formalities had been gone through. Meanwhile, large native boats came off, shaped like coal-barges, but standing higher in the water, each bringing, besides its naked crew, three or four respectably dressed natives. They arrived one by one until there were as many as ten or twelve of them round the ship. The scene in and around the ship was interesting from its extreme novelty.

Standing on deck and looking over B — MADRAS. the side of the ship, what do we see 1 The large clumsy boats lying alongside are " Masoola" boats, constructed expressly for crossing the raging surf which beats un ceasingly on this coast. Each boat is manned by six or eight natives, of the darkest hue and almost naked. They are sitting in their boats, waiting to take the passengers on shore, in truth, not very patiently, but keeping up an animated conversation. Every now and then a dispute arises, and, starting to their feet, they shake their fists and their oars at one another, and all but come to blows. But to blows they do not come. They chatter and scold, but do not strike. It is a strange sight ; and this is the first impression we receive of the patient Hindoo. And what is that black tiny object struggling to approach us, and tossing on the top of the waves 1 It is too small for a boat, and there is only one man in it.

Up and down it goes, up and down, as the waves rise and fall. Now the spray dashes over it and it sinks out of sight and seems to be lost. Look again, and it is riding on the waves, bobbing up and down in a most lively manner. Gradually it comes nearer, struggling through the waves ; and when quite near it is found to be not a boat, but a black raft, on which sits a man as black as itself, and quite as naked. With a single oar held in both hands he paddles away, now at one side and now at the other. This august personage is the Indian postman, and his letter-bag is a conical cap on the top of his head. Arrived at the ship, he steps on deck, dripping with wet, and without ceremony takes the letters from his skull-cap, and hands them to the captain.* * This is the Catamaran boat, of which all have heard, and which is peculiar to this coast.

It makes its way in the roughest sea and stormiest weather. How the man keeps his seat is a ARRIVAL. Gradually other natives make their appearance, of more civilized aspect and milder features, neatly dressed in clean white tunics of thin cotton cloth, and with white turbans on their heads. No sooner was the ladder lowered from the deck of our ship than a number of these neatly attired Hindoos crowded on board. Some of them were servants seeking employment. One of them carried in his hand printed cards from the English hotel, which he freely offered to all. Others, and these in dress and appearance the most respectable men we saw, were native merchants and money-lenders, who came to see if there was anything to be done in the way of business, and by which they could turn an honest penny. Others still were native hawkers who came with goods to sell, and who kept up an active canvass for purchasers all the morning, penetrating into the recesses of our cabins, and requiring more than once something like force to eject them.

Their goods consisted of fruit, plantains and pine apples ; others had cheap trinkets, shells, workboxes, and the like, and these they exhibited in the most tempting manner, drawing our attention in soft, insinuating language mystery. In point of fact he is frequently dashed from his raft, and the two are widely separated. But he takes it quite coolly, puts his oar in his mouth, and strikes out with arms and legs to rejoin his lost companion. When closely examined the Catamaran is found to be a more important thing than I have described. It consists of three pieces of wood lashed together, and is eight or nine feet long. The "Malabar" people that we first see on arriving at Madras are not to be regarded as fair specimens of the natives of India. They are the seafaring population, ill fed and not at all clothed ; and the sun and sea together, to which they are constantly exposed, gives a darker shade to their skin than is at all usual, except among the fishermen caste, who alone can vie with them in this respect.

E2 — MADRAS. 4 to the great bargains with which, if so pleased, we might enrich ourselves at the present favourable moment. "This very fine ivory box. This very cheap. This worth twenty rupees. I give to master for ten rupees !" Thus they go on. II. — LANDING. — CROSSING THE SURF. Madras has no harbour, no breakwater, no pier or jetty of any sort. There is one naked continuous sandy beach stretching for miles and miles north and south, and against which a dangerous surf of terrific violence beats continually. The boats used for crossing the surf are the "Masoola" boats mentioned above, the planks of which are sewed together, so to speak, with a fibrous material like hemp, and with thick layers of the same lying between to make them watertight. Thus con structed, rudely but ingeniously, they are yielding and flexible.

The dangerous surf which would break an ordinary boat to pieces and scatter its fragments on the shore, only squeezes the " Masoola" boat, which gently yields to the pressure, and then recovers itself without the slightest damage as if made of India-rubber. In three of these boats following one another in succession the passengers landed about twelve o'clock, the Indian sun in all its splendour blazing over our heads in the hot month of June. On our leaving the ship the sea was comparatively calm, the great glassy waves only heaving slowly with calm and placid surface. Further on the ground-swell became broken and agitated, and a portentous wave, stretching ever so far in length, was seen following in our track, and increasing in volume as it advanced. The boatmen kept an eye upon it, watching its approach, and when it was close at hand raised a wild LANDING. — CROSSING THE SURF. yell of yaloo, yaloo, yaloo ! bending on their oars, and trying their utmost to steady the boat, and prevent its being driven headlong.

Then there was a slight pause when this first wave had passed, and they pulled with might and main to the shore. Well they might, for a second wave, huger and more terrible than the first, was steadily advancing. Soon it overtakes them, and again raising the wild cry of yaloo, yaloo ! they strain every nerve to keep the boat steady and prevent its upsetting. To prevent its rolling, pitching, and tossing was beyond their power ; and the inexperienced passengers, some of them pale as death, held on, clutched at one another, and expected every moment to be thrown into the yawning sea and swallowed up by the waves. But all was not yet over. Presently a third wave approaches ruder and rougher than the rest, and the light boat was borne like a cork on to the sandy beach, against which it struck with a dull thud.

This was the most dangerous moment of all, for huge rough waves came on in regular succession, breaking in spray on the beach, and threatening to over whelm us. The naked boatmen, aware of the danger, immediately jumped into the sea, and by sheer strength of arm dragged the boat up the dry beach beyond the reach of the waves. Now, when standing on the shore, we can view the scene with some tranquillity, and, looking back, here were always the three waves to be seen stretching miles in length, two of them solid and massive, and the third crested with foam, following each other at regular inter vals like regiments of soldiers full of fight, hurrying to the attack. But there was not much time for delay or reflection. Here were the palankeens ready to receive us, and glad we were of the shelter they afforded, for if it was hot in the boat, with the cool waves playing around us, it was — MADRAS. still hotter standing on the bare sand, exposed to the downward ray of that terrible Indian sun.* III. — THE LANDING.

On my way from the shore to a house in the country, some two or three miles distant, everything was new and strange, everything animate and inanimate an object of interest. The palankeen-bearers jogged along to the pleasing tune of hum ho, hum ho, occasionally stopping to shift the pole from one shoulder to the other. As they trotted along in the hot sun the perspiration poured in streams down their bodies, but the poor fellows went on cheerfully as if used to it. The stranger anticipates on arriving in India that he will find everything gay and beautiful, perpetual sunshine gilding the loveliness of nature. And certainly he will find the glorious sun shining in full splendour. Here his anticipations are not likely to be disappointed. He will find warmth and heat enough, fully equal to his most sanguine expectations ; but in other respects there will be a shade of disappointment.

The road is dry and dusty, all vegetation seems withered and burnt up, scarcely a tree to be seen, no green grass in the fields, or none to speak of. After leaving the outskirts of the town and getting more into the open country, there is some improvement ; the palm raises its feathery head, and the graceful * Since these pages were written a pier has been erected at Madras, and I suppose the romance of crossing the surf is now almost a thing of the past ; but in bygone times it was a serious matter. Even in the calmest weather and the stillest sea it was no joke crossing the surf, and in stormy weather it tried the nerves of the strongest. THE LANDING. 7 bamboo with its dark green leaves is seen bending over the road. As for the natives themselves, the swarthy inhabitants of the country, they are swarming everywhere, some of them sitting at the doors of houses, some carrying burdens on their heads, some driving bullock-carts, some in palankeens.

On getting well into the country one of the first objects that strikes the eye is a tall bamboo scaffolding with a naked figure mounted upon it. It appears to be a machine for raising water from the wells, very rude, and constructed wholly of tall bamboos ; and what gives a striking effect and a picturesque singularity to it is, the naked figure seen between you and the sky, a naked Hindoo figure stepping solemnly back and forward, while at each step the water gushes into a wooden trough. The house where 1 am living is a " garden-house," well out in the country, only one story high, but with spacious apartments. Never shall I forget the first night I slept here, if sleep it can be called, that sleep was none. The bedroom is a large apartment scantily furnished, with only a bed, a couple of chairs, a small table, and a washing-stand.

On the table stands a glass with some thick dirty oil in it, on the surface of which floats a night-light, giving only the faintest glimmering of light, barely sufficient to make the darkness visible. What surprised me was, that the windows were standing wide open in this heathen land, and on motioning to a native servant to shut them, he gave me to understand that it was not the custom and could not be done. It was some comfort that a soft, cool breeze was blowing through the apartment ; but what if thieves should enter at night to steal your purse, or cunningly take the sheets from under you, as we have all heard and read, and when you rise to catch them, slipping through your fingers like eels ! What then was to be done 1 Nor was this all. After — MADRAS. lying down, to sleep was impossible, there was such a strange buzzing and croaking outside.

The earth seemed to be alive with insects, which the coolness and stillness of the night awoke to life. Add to this the mosquitoes inside the room, flying about with a sharp, stinging sound, as if saying " bite, bite ! " and, worse than all, some of them have got within the beautiful white gauze bed-curtains where they are doing terrible execution upon the face and hands and every exposed part of the person. To catch them is simply impossible, try what you can, for they fly off light as air before you can touch them, though only again to renew their attack at some more exposed point. Such perseverance, such tenacity of purpose, would excite the highest admiration, if only in your agony you had sufficient coolness and presence of mind to reflect on the subject. IV. — TOWN OF MADRAS. Madras consists of two towns quite distinct from one another — a white town, and a blacktown.

White town is inhabited by Europeans, who live in what are called "garden-houses," not forming streets, but detached from one another and situated each in a garden or park, here called a " compound." They are built very much in the style of houses at home, except that they have mostly an open verandah in front supported by a row of pillars, are without chimneys, and have flat roofs. A stair leads up to the flat roof, to which the inmates, one or more of them, sometimes retire, in eastern fashion, morning or evening, to enjoy the cool air, and take a walk on the house-top.* I have said the dwelling-houses * It is the same with the churches here, which have also flat roofs ; and one of the pleasantest of my recollections is seeing TOWN OF MADRAS. 9 have no chimneys, and for this simple reason, that there are no fires or fireplaces, at least I have not seen one yet.

The heat is such all the year round that we can well dis pense with fires in our sitting-rooms, which in this climate would be like painting the lily or adding perfume to the violet. The house where I am living is situated in one of these " compounds," which is fenced round with tall bamboo bushes. It is only one story high, but the floor is raised considerably above the level of the ground ; and on entering you have to walk up a flight of six or seven steps, at the top of which is the never-failing, the inevitable verandah and white pillars. Just opposite the verandah is the sitting-room, and behind it the dining-room, while the bed-rooms are ranged on each side. The verandah is open in front, and it is pleasant to sit here in the cool of the evening, with the fresh breeze blowing upon you from the sea, and the starry host of heaven in full view in the clear sky, impressing you as nothing else does with the majesty of the Great Creator.

It may so happen that your meditations are disturbed in an unexpected manner. In this very house, not long ago, a gentleman was walking in the verandah in the evening at dusk, and inadvertently set his foot upon a snake which had crept up the steps unobserved from the grass in the compound. You may imagine his horror ! Blacktown, where the natives live, differs entirely from the quarter inhabited by Europeans. The houses are closely packed together in long, narrow streets, turning a revered and valued friend, the Rev. John Tucker, always on Sunday mornings walking on the top of his church. There he walked every Sunday morning, and those who heard him preach in his own inspired manner might well believe that he derived some of his inspiration from the associations of that sacred spot. — MADRAS. and twisting in every conceivable direction.

They are built, the better class of them, of bare brown brick, and in a style of their own, with narrow door andnarrow windows, if any, dark within and dismal without. These constitute the better class of native houses. But in addition to these there is an immense number of native huts, built some of clay and others only of coarse mats. In this Blacktown are a few pagodas or Hindoo temples, but none of very great importance. Madras is by no means a favourite seat of Hindoo worship. Near the centre of the town there is a pagoda insignificant in point of height, but occupying a considerable extent of ground, and surrounded and half concealed from view by a high brick wall. What passes inside we have small means of knowing, for we are debarred from entering within the sacred precincts ; but frequently in the evenings may be heard the sound of torn toms, as if the priests were celebrating some rude kind of worship.

Sometimes, also, we may see them, from the tops of neighbouring houses, hard at work blowing their trumpets and carrying their idols shoulder high in procession, and then throwing them into the tank in front of the pagoda. These are occasions of high ritualistic revelry, and the noise they make with their cymbals and trumpets and horns is some thing wonderful.* * There are a few European houses in Blacktown, chiefly mercantile offices. One or two, huge massive buildings, are in the heart of the town ; but the most remarkable of them consist of a long range of white-pillared buildings stretching along the beach, facing the sea and almost close to it. Here is the courthouse and some of the leading mercantile houses. At some distance also, close to the sea, is Fort St. George, with its flagstaff and English church, and its lofty walls, on the top of which I have walked often and often, round and round, in the beautiful TOWN OF MADRAS. 11 In walking through the narrow streets of Blacktown early in the morning, you will see everywhere natives lying sleeping in the open air in the small verandahs in front of their houses, with only a thin muslin covering over their head and face.

It is a wonder they can stand it, for their noses are within a few inches of the gutter. They are utterly ignorant of sanitary science, but a natural instinct has' taught them to wrap their cotton scarfs round their faces, which protects them from the night air, and perhaps, on the principle of Davy's safety-lamp, has some slight effect in warding off the rank smell. One of the sights that most strike you morning or evening, and by which you are most attracted, is the native school, where young Hindoo pupils are receiving instruction. The school-room is an open verandah where you can see all that goes on, even when driving rapidly through the streets. A score or so of half-naked boys are repeating their lesson viva voce and simultaneously, taking extreme delight in the free exercise of their lungs and screaming out in the most uproarious manner and at the full pitch of their voice.

They are probably repeating the multiplication-table, which with the Hindoos is a more formidable affair than with us, including a greater number of figures, and to which they are indebted, it is thought, for their proverbial quickness in calculation. cool pure mornings, when the stars were going out, and the clear blue sky was just catching the first rays of the rising sun. One morning, when taking a walk with a friend on our way to the Fort, the flag was streaming from the flagstaff, and a young officer came spurring along on his dapple gray at a rapid pace. My companion, who was in the secret, smiled as he galloped past, and whispered in my ear that he was " flying on the wings of love." An English ship had arrived during the night, and his lady-love (his wife to be) was one of the passengers.

Hence his anxiety to be on board ! — MADRAS. However this may be, they repeat it over and over again, simultaneously and heartily, the teacher, also naked almost, standing cane in hand, and occasionally bringing it down on the head of some poor sinner who is not bawling loud enough. But they are not always screaming either, or engaged in simultaneous instruction. You may sometimes see young beginners tracing with the finger the letters of the alphabet on sand strewed on the floor. In this way they learn the alphabet by writing the letters, and not merely looking at them, and it is said to possess some advantages over our method. In another corner a more advanced set are sitting writing words on palm leaves instead of paper. There they sit, punching and scratching the palm leaves with an iron pen, and writing with amazing rapidity.

The sight is most interesting, and strikes the stranger at once by its extreme novelty. V. — EVENING DRIVE. — ARMENIAN PRIEST. — BEAUTIFUL MORNINGS. The fashionable evening drive is along the beach of the west of the fort, in a retired gap between it and the "garden-houses." The air from the sea is here cool and refreshing. On one side is the parched land, on the other a wide expanse of ocean with its great waves following each other in solid masses and at last breaking on the shore in surf and foam. In this favourite drive along the beach may be seen every evening the (Hie of English society, in carriages or on horseback, wooing the breeze which blows softly over the wide expanse of waters. Here they go drinking the cool air, like Homer's hero, para-thina poluphloisboio thalasses. It is good for the health and most refreshing to the jaded spirits, this beautiful evening drive, within hearing of ocean's solemn music.

Suppose EVENING DRIVE. — ARMENIAN PRIEST. you extend your drive to the east of the fort in the direction of Blacktown, you have still a fine open road along the shore, less frequented by the Mite and showy part of society, but yet not without its attractions. You have still the music of the sea, though more interrupted by vulgar traffic, and the cool air still invites you to linger on till the evening twilight is over and darkness sets in. If you happen to pass this way early in the morning before sunrise, all is hushed and still. The natives have not yet begun their daily toil, and scarcely one is to be seen. But one figure you never fad to see at the very entrance of Blacktown, an old Armenian priest with long white beard, pacing up and down, counting his beads, and engaged in silent prayer, looking the very picture of devotion.

He is clothed in a long blue gown, and paces up and down, up and down. The sun is not yet risen, but as the harbingers of day beautiful streaks of light are spreading over the sky, pencils of the most delicate blue and some of a warmer colour. All nature is hushed, all is purity and peace. And here is this old priest already at his devotions, his spirit holding communion with the Father of spirits. A little further on you come again to the beach. There is the sea before you looking so calm and beautiful in the still morning. Not a sound is heard save the solemn surf breaking ever on the shore. A few and only a few European gentlemen, early astir, may be seen, some riding and some walking, enjoying the fresh morning air. Perhaps you extend your drive in another direction, and seek the open country.

You find the scenery around Madras by no means remarkable for its beauty. You are surprised to find the soil far from fertile, in fact sandy and barren. The general aspect of the country too is extremely disappointing, with no boldness and — MADRAS. little variety in the landscape. Still it is not entirely without interesting features that strike the eye of a stranger. The trees are some of them beautiful and quite unlike what we see in our fields at home, par ticularly the palm, bamboo, and plantain, all of which grow here in wild luxuriance. The coconut palm (for there is more than one species) is tall, straight, and branchless up the entire stem, with a full bushy top. Go where you will, you see this palm tree which loves a sandy soil. Wherever you go, morning or evening, you see its stately figure and picturesque feathery top stand ing out in bold relief against the clear sky.

The bamboo is a very different sort of tree. A number of tall, slender stems rise from a common root, and spread out like a sheaf of corn at the top, rising to the height of fifty or sixty feet, generally not quite straight but bending by common consent gracefully to one side. When seen hanging over a cottage, with their golden stems and dark green leaves, they are very beautiful, and form one of the most picturesque as well as characteristic and pleasing features of the Indian landscape. The plantain tree (if so it may be called) is also very common here, and is a very striking object. It is more like a huge vegetable than a tree, with its short thick stalk, and its long flapping leaves of the darkest green. The fruit, and it seems to produce fruit perpetually, grows in great clusters, hanging from stout spurs spring ing abruptly from the parent stalk.