Volunteering In India

Front matter

VOLUNTEERING IN INDIA;

OR

AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE OF THE MILITARY SERVICES

Dedication

In Memoriam

DEDICATED TO THE BELOVED MEMORY

OF

Preface

PREFACE.

In the following narrative an attempt has been made to relate the military services of the Bengal Yeomanry Cavalry during the Indian Mutiny, and Sepoy War; and as truth lies in a small compass, so this little volume contains no fiction, nor will any conjectural narration be found in its compressed chapters of unembellished facts.

Parenthetically, it may be recorded in this place that, as the Bengal Yeomanry Cavalry was the parent, or pioneer Corps, of the great Patriotic Force now established and consolidated in England, it is entitled to claim the proud distiniction of having undeniably originated the modern Volunteer movement throughout the British Empire, and this narrative will tend to show that the Corps was worthy of that proud position.

Although more than thirty years have elapsed since the "transitory regiment" passed away with the shifting tide of events, the subjoined narrative is the legitimate offspring of my manuscript journal, kept with diligence and care at the time when the various movements, scenes, and actions it describes occurred.

Nevertheless, the mere fact of my having kept this

journal as a sealed book up to the present day, conclusively proves that I never Intended to publish its contents, nor did I anticipate ever being asked by the gallant survivors (there are, alas! few now left) of my late fellow-volunteers to allow it to be published. They, however, see that a Volunteer Age has dawned upon the world since the eventful year 1857; and lest in the gigantic strides of the general movement the eminent services they rendered to their country in the darkest days of the Mutiny fade into oblivion, and be lost to them altogether, they naturally seek a descriptive record — an authoritative biography, as it were — to perpetuate the military operations in which they were engaged. I have accordingly traced an unassuming sketch of those familiar operations; and my readers must never lose sight of the fact that the Government Gazetted records — which are quoted in this plain, unvarnished narrative — substantiate, in every detail, the veracity of every paragraph I have written. And as regards all that concerns the rough composition of my pages, I have to ask some forbearance, for they but reflect, as in a glass, the contents of a journal penned not merely in the days of my youth, but also amid the interminable stir of a Mutiny never likely to be forgotten by those who bore the first shock of it, and passed through its fearful horrors.

London, 1893.

Chapter 1

VOLUNTEERING IN INDIA.

CHAPTER I.

1857 are figures indelibly dyed in blood, and their sanguinary impression stamps one of the most cruel, and sorrowful pages in the history of the world.

In that disastrous year of the Indian Mutiny — which even to the present day continues to furnish authentic material for the revelation of almost unknown episodes appertaining to that memorable period — the following abstract of Notification No. 931, dated July 23rd, 1857, was published by the Government of India:-

“The Governor-General in Council has reason to know that there are in Calcutta, Bengal, and the North-West Provinces many Englishmen whose peaceable avocations have been interrupted by the disturbed state of the country, and who, although in no way connected with the Government, are willing and eager to give an active support to its authority at the present time by sharing service in the Field with the troops of the Queen, and of the East India Company.

“The Governor-General in Council has thorough confidence in the loyalty, courage, and enterprising zeal of the community to which he refers, and he is satisfied that service rendered in the spirit in which they are ready to give it will be most valuable to the State.

“With the view of availing himself of such service in the most effectual manner, his Lordship in Council directs that a Volunteer Corps of cavalry be formed, to be called the Bengal Yeomanry Cavalry, and to be equipped and prepared for duty in the disturbed districts," etc., etc.

At this critical time of national gloom, when there was mourning throughout the length and breadth of England, and Upper India was saturated with the innocent blood of our hapless fellow-countrymen, Volunteers — amid great demonstrations of enthusiasm — cheerfully responded to the appeal contained in the above-quoted notification, and within a week of its publication a cavalry regiment — composed not of “European adventurers and Eurasians,” as was at first surmised, but of young military officers recently arrived from England, or those left idle by the mutiny of their regiments, of clerks in the Government and mercantile offices, of midshipmen belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental and other companies' ships, of indigo planters, of some unemployed Europeans and Eurasians, of young men related to the best families in the country; and most of these were excellent riders, good shots, and keen sportsmen — was actually formed, mounted, equipped, and ready for service in the field.

Accordingly, on an appointed day, at an early hour the Corps rode forth, and drew up on the Calcutta esplanade for inspection by the Governor-General.

But as the morning had not yet sufficiently brightened for the “review,” I took advantage of the idle moments at my disposal to note on the margin of my shirt-cuff the uniform, or rather “turn-out,” of the Volunteers.

They wore brown corduroy breeches, over which were drawn jack-boots reaching above the knees; loose blue flannel blouses (called “jumpers” by the diggers in Australia); and grey felt helmets enveloped in huge white turbans completed a rough-and-ready uniform, in which they certainly looked a dashing and dare-devil set of fellows. A heavy sabre, light carbine, and formidable revolvers were their arms.

The horses, though untrained, were young, powerful, and splendid animals. for the hard and unceasing work they were destined to encounter. And their trappings were for service, and not for show.

The Governor-General (Lord Canning), having inspected and complimented the Volunteers, bade them a kind farewell — a sincere au revoir. And presently the Corps, numbering two hundred and fifty-eight sabres, under the leadership of Colonel Richardson, C.B., left Calcutta for Upper India.

Two hundred and fifty-eight Volunteers seem a paltry number to have rallied round the Government in so momentous a crisis as that which called them to arms on its behalf; but it must be borne in mind that in those awful days there were but a mere handful of available Englishmen in Bengal, and so far as their numbers were concerned, it was an acknowledged surprise that so many were found to leap forward in

aid of the State. Besides, during the Mutiny, it was not so much the force of numbers as the dreaded calm white face, with the avenging sword in hand, that made its presence terrible, whenever and wherever it appeared before the mutineers. Moreover, the reader must not forget that it was impossible to overvalue the worth of an Englishman in those critical times. His very shadow was a tower of strength. And animated by a thorough sense of patriotism, and relying upon our own personal efforts, with unbounded confidence in each other, we were worth our number ten times told.

Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.

From Calcutta the Corps, having been ferried across the river Hūghly to Howrāh, was conveyed by railway in a few hours to Raneegung, over the first stage on its onward journey.

Raneegung — then the terminus of the East Indian Railway — was at that period a great rendezvous of the army proceeding to the seat of the war, and warlike preparations on a formidable scale were going on there with amazing rapidity. Masses of troops, horses for cavalry and artillery, baggage animals, immense parks of guns, magazine and commissariat stores, countless dolies or hospital litters, camp equipage and innumerable busy followers, demonstrated the unrelenting realities and stern agitation of the times.

But all this bustle and chaos did not trouble us long; for before we could realise — by the warlike scenes around us — our sudden transformation from civilians to soldiers, we were “told off,” to join a force proceeding to the North-West Provinces.

At midnight therefore we stood to arms in readiness to march. In front of all were to move several companies of European infantry, having a troop of horse-artillery in immediate communication with them: they were to be followed by us — and the “us,” I may remark, means, and always will mean in this narrative, the Bengal Yeomanry Cavalry— the whole being covered by a native regiment of the Madras Army as a rear guard. The line of march having thus been formed, the bugles rang out the “advance,” and away we moved.

Our route lay along that famous Grand Trunk Road leading to the North-West Provinces, and on its smooth metallic surface men and animals, fresh from the first cantonment, swung along at a smart pace, and reached the halting ground as the crowing of farm-yard tenantry proclaimed the commencement of dawn. Here to our yet inexperienced eyes the change was striking. Tents were pitched, arms piled, sentries posted, fires kindled, breakfasts served — in short, the whole force, with its long train of camp followers and beasts of burden, settled down at ease; whilst amid the novelty and routine of camp life the day glided away pleasantly enough, and at eventide retiring to rest in good time, men slept soundly and refreshed themselves for the morrow‘s work. So, in a word, began and closed the first march at the opening of our campaign.

At the break of day on the following morning the march of the force began again, and was conducted in the same manner as before, until a portion of it was suddenly detached from the main body in order to pursue mutineers through Sonthalistan. Of course hurried inquiries into the cause of this change in our pre-arranged route at once passed along the line; but as suspicious tidings of disaffection among the Sepoys at Deoghur had reached Raneegung before our departure from thence, we did not receive any very unlooked-for communication when it was told us that the garrison had mutinied at that outlandish cantonment.

A lightly equipped column — formed of European infantry and ourselves — soon therefore entered that wild and uninteresting country of the aboriginal Sonthals, who, although their homes lay in so isolated and apparently tiger-haunted a region, seemed happy and contented with their lot. From stage to stage they cheerfully supplied the Commissariat with ample provisions, and this was all the more surprising as for days together we traversed almost barren hills and dense jungles. Nevertheless the lowlands were exceedingly fertile, while horned cattle and sheep and domestic poultry appeared abundant in many of the villages through which we passed.

The column having at length threaded its way through a considerable portion of this savage-looking country, gained a breakneck road leading to a plateau on which the station of Deoghur stood. And here, for the first time, we beheld and bore witness to the influence of the appalling whirlwind of desolation that was passing over India.

Deoghur itself lay enwrapped in sepulchral silence of death, and all that was once the military cantonments in ruins and ashes; while in a well-kept garden close by, the faithful domestic servants (who had buried their murdered masters) pointed out to us the recent graves of those who had fallen a sacrifice to the relentless fury of the bloodthirsty Sepoys. They also told us that on that fatal spot a few loyal Sepoys actually killed some of the mutineers in defence of their officers.

Although many days had elapsed since the departure of the mutineers from Deoghur, still the hope of intercepting the fiends stimulated pursuit, and onwards we pressed. Over the hilly tracks, along execrable roads, through leafy labyrinths, down deep and broad Ravines, for several wearisome days we traversed long and rapid marches, but all to no purpose. The pursuit proved ineffectual, the expedition fruitless. The start of the fugitives was too great; and unencumbered with baggage or other impedimenta, they easily escaped towards the North-West Provinces.

While struggling to overtake these mutineers, we were attacked by that mortal scourge, curse, and blight of India — and the most terrible enemy in the world — the cholera, and as its assault often begins with death, a few members of the Corps fell victims to its attack.

By this time having fairly spanned Sonthalistan, and pioneered our way along the plains beyond it, we debouched from straggling villages into a lonely road, where a milestone pillar set up at the junction of several zigzag paths indexed the distance to “Holy Gyah,” according to the inscription, four miles; so we marched on, and finally fording a broad and shallow stream, entered that “venerated town” to find that even so “sacred” a place of pilgrimage had not escaped the mischievous villainy of scomidrels, revelling in the wanton destruction of property, and in all kinds of devilry.

Throughout the Bengal Presidency, Gyah is known and reverenced by the Hindus as a holy town, replete with hallowed mythological traditions; and, in a sentence, a “holy town” in India means a place crammed with quaint temples and grotesque shrines, where astounding idolatry reigns supreme, where pilgrims flock in crowds all the year round, and where those insolent and painted vagabonds, the pagan priests, luxuriate and fatten on the superstitious liberality of a bigoted and deluded people, while under pretences of sanctimonious priestcraft, they cloak sensual intrigue and sin with impunity. At the same time, however, they maintain — as numberless priests of other nationalities maintain — that they are not necessarily bound, because they are priests, to live and lead the lives of saints!

Whatever charms of antiquity Gyah may have possessed, we had no time to explore them; for immediately on our arrival there, we prepared to start in pursuit of another body of mutineers hovering about the districts bordering on the frontier of Nipal..

Chapter 3

CHAPTER III.

The necessary arrangements for long marches having been rapidly completed, we turned our backs on the “holy town,” and started for Patna along a pleasant road that lay by the side of vast plains concealed with sprouting corn, and in places fringed with immense belts of trees and evergreen shrubs, which only disappeared when we entered an avenue of miles in extent leading into Patna.

To speak of silvan avenues as stretching miles in extent, would seem to imply that they had been measured with the proverbial “long bow”; but in passing, it may be mentioned that in many parts of India magnificent avenues stretch scores of miles without a break.

The town of Patna, though large, is in no wise very remarkable. It contains, however, an immense population of disloyal Mahomedans, and is one of the great centres of disaffection and intrigue in India. Situated on the right bank of the Ganges, it presents a rather prepossessing panoramic view of an Oriental riverside town; and viewed from the water it is a long, irregular line of countless buildings closely packed together in grotesque shapes of various sizes, while prominently visible in its midst are some picturesque mosques, and a huge bell-shaped building, with a winding outer staircase leading to the top.

We crossed the Ganges at Patna. The river was at its lowest level; still the passage, beginning with dawn glimmering upon our difficulties, continued the whole of the day, and did not terminate before the shadows of eventide compelled us to bivouac on its bank opposite the town. And here we endeavoured to make ourselves as comfortable for the night as circumstances would allow, in a wretched encampment teeming with mosquitoes and frogs, and reeking with malaria exhaled from putrid vegetation on the margin of the river.

But now no more sombre thoughts, for sleep cradled in the arms of fatigue had lulled dull care to rest; while all life, too, reposed in the quietude of a serenely lovely night, and nothing but the monotonous clink of the sentinels‘ scabbards, trailing along the ground as they paced to and fro, stirred the profound silence of the slumbering camp.

On the following morning as the sun rose, we rose too, and the forward movement began through a country in general feature similar to that we had recently traversed, but apparently without any signs of anarchy in it. In fact, there was nothing to indicate a hostile country ; and in proof of its tranquillity, over the vast expanse of the plains, as far as the scope of vision, on every side corn was sprouting in the greatest exuberance; and commissariat supplies were found in abundance at every stage. Without therefore encountering any obstacle on our line of march, we reached the little town of Pusah — worthy of notice only on account of the enormous stud of horses it contained.

Meanwhile the alarming rumours relating to the mutineers — of whom mention has already been made — rendered it necessary for us to halt at Pusah, until reliable intelligence could be received in place of the numerous and exaggerated reports that were in circulation within and around the neighbouring districts. Some rumours asserted that the revolted troops were on their way to loot the Government stud; others declared that they had broken away through the adjoining country; while a few maintained, and with truth, as the sequel will show, that they were in a “fix” for want of boats on the impetuous river that barred their way to the Upper Provinces.

Our “forced halts” at Pusah afforded an opportunity for re-organising the transport train, which was found defective for forced marches. And instead of that “awful machine,” the country cart, yoked to crawling bullocks that ordinarily averaged a “motion” of two or three miles an hour, and accomplished a distance of three or four leagues a day, and that only under the influence of perpetual and tremendous shouting, barbarous castigation, and tails twisted into corkscrews until the joints cracked, elephants and those hardy animals the pack-ponies were substituted for the conveyance of the baggage.

While we remained encamped at Pusah, among other means adopted to beguile the weary hours, races and steeplechases were “got up”; and as the place had an excellent course, and the weather was delightful and exhilarating, the pastime helped to dispel grumblings, and in some instances imaginary grievances which inaction had commenced to sow.

So passed a few days, each of which brought with it both its amusements and its anxieties. Before a week had terminated, however, it was evident by the hurry-skurry prevailing in the striking of tents and packing of baggage that an immediate headlong rush to the Nipal frontier was in store for us. So we started at once, and jogged along throughout the night, and by daylight, finding the baggage animals keeping well up, we marched on for a few hours longer, and then halted for the day amidst a fertile country verdant with waving crops of several kinds.

I shall pass rapidly over the stages travelled during the ensuing few days, as their monotony was only dispelled on our entering the district of Purneah. Here the features of the country changed alternately from rich cultivated fields, to immense grass plains; and from those again to enormous crops of ripening scarlet chillies, which gave the whole landscape a bloodshot appearance of a singular and — as times were — very appropriate effect.

We also passed incalculable acres of poppy fields, and their variegated bloom of red, white, and purple in the golden sunlight adorned a sublimely pretty floral scene of many miles stretching along our route. And as we gazed on these fascinating fields, which in their beauty looked as if brilliantly bespangled with swarming butterflies, it was strange to realise the curious fact that in so beautiful a bloom lurked also a deadly poison. For is it not a notable fact in the opium trade that the poppy blossom not only fascinates India with its product, but demoralises, if not kills, China with its venom? while the Government piles up mountains of gold rising from the plains of “Opiumana” — to coin a name in a flowery and figurative sense — as memorial monuments typical of gratitude to both! Hence no apology is needed for my turning aside from our line of march to bestow this apparently eccentric, and perhaps frivolous panegyric on those whom it may concern. But let us hope that the day may come, when the opium revenue will cease to fill the coffers of a Christian Government, at the expense and demoralisation of a heathen empire, like that of China.

When we had advanced thus far towards the confines of Nipal, the indomitable ponies began gradually to yield to the toil they had hitherto, sustained stoutly, and in considerable numbers, as they staggered along under their loads, dropped by the wayside and perished; the baggage would in consequence have to be divided among that carried by yet vigorous animals, and they being thus overweighted would straggle up hours after we had bivouacked; and then the time usually occupied in serving out and cooking the rations was the most disagreeable part of the day’s work; for m addition to being already well tired and desiring repose, exhausted and famished men had to superintend the preparation of unsavoury meals, and postpone rest found in sleep of which they stood sorely in need.

In this unsatisfactory way we continued to push on from one day to another, until at length the beasts of burden having been fairly beaten down, we were compelled to part with our baggage, and “stow away” upon our horses, and about our own persons some indispensable things for our use on the road. And that night, after receiving many uneasy salutations — in the way of salams — from our servants and camp followers, whose countenances showed apprehension at being forsaken , without even a guard, to follow us as best they could, we struck into a well-trodden path running over low, sterile lands in a south-easterly direction.

Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.

Although at this period disaffection lurked in almost every corner of the Bengal Presidency, and the greater part of Northern India was in open rebellion, and in Oudh (except the ground at the Ahlum Bagh, in the suburbs of Luknow, on which a British force stood), not a vestige of the Government authority had yet been re-established, arid albeit we were daily nearing a body of revolted troops, there were no signs of anarchy, nor any manifest feelings of hostility discernible among the people of these districts.

It is true there could be no confidence, and there was none; but the friendly disposition of the inhabitants may be considered sufficiently apparent, when the fact is stated that the rustic food and fodder supplied by them at every halt, amply provided for the pressing wants of the Corps.

It were tedious, however, to relate the untoward difficulties we encountered in these flying marches, and to recount the rough-and-ready way in which we were compelled to meet the troubles of our position — to hint at each volunteer personally attending to his horse; to tell of our “sleeping accommodation” for weeks together being the bare ground, screened some against the heavy dews of December by leafy canopies of trees, the projecting roots of which served as extemporised pillows; to speak of the novel or unique spectacle presented in joints of mutton spitted on sabres — with which the sheep had had their heads struck off — grilling over huge green-wood fires, and then, half raw and well smoked, devoured without salt or sauce with a relish, not to say gusto, that Soyer himself, or even genuine cannibals, might have envied; to note that roasted rice pounded into powder with the butt-end of our carbines proved an acceptable substitute for tea or coffee; and, finally, to remark that breakfasting on parched grain, and boiled milk, was certainly not very unusual with us during these fast and furious rides.

English readers may be slightly surprised at our finding time, while rushing headlong over the country, to indulge in the oceans of boiled milk to which we were treated at these hurried al fresco breakfasts. But the Hindus who supplied us never use milk — not even for making butter — unless it is thoroughly boiled, like water for making tea. In its raw state they consider it little better than the animal morbid matter, and often call it, by way of execration, “white blood,” and believe that if it is used without undergoing purification by fire, its virus is sure to inoculate the human body with some virulent disease, or develop some malady to which it may be predisposed. Apart, however, from the open confession that, in upholding the opinion of these Hindus, I would as soon eat raw beef as drink raw milk, it may be appropriate to mention here that in all my experience of neariy thirty years in India I never knew, or heard of, a single case of diphtheria in man, woman, or child who used boiled milk; while, at the same time, I have known several Europeans, who were in the habit of taking milk as it is generally used in Europe, to die of the disease, when not a native among whom they were living, and who numbered in proportion at least a thousand to each European, showed a sign of the disease at all.

Some days having passed in the manner mentioned above, we at length gained a sandy tract, on the banks of the Kose river, where the savage scenery was impressively grand. Taking its rise among the Himalaya Mountains, the Kose, deep and impetuous, winds its course through, and emerges from, the sombre recesses of well-nigh utterly impenetrable jungle. This sub-mountain jungle is called the Terai, and it stretches along parallel to the base of the Himalaya Range, and varies in breadth, on a rough average, from ten to twenty miles.

Without noticing, however, the insignificant bit of it at present before us, I will here briefly speak of its prominent features as they appear interspersed throughout the whole of that wondrous region; so that the reader may form some idea of the nature of the country in which we were at this time employed.

Roughly though correctly sketched, either by pen or pencil, the Terai is a vast trackless belt of forest covering hundreds of miles with almost every variety of luxuriant tropical vegetation; and in innumerable localities it is intersected by rivers, mountain-torrents, and frightful ravines choked up with thorny under-wood, and interlaced with bamboos, ratans, and other rope-like plants and creepers ; and in places it is diversified with savage-looking hills densely draped in dark foliage, and timber of stupendous size; while in its midst are enormous abysses filled with putrid water and interminable swamps, which eject the poisonous streams that silently and invisibly glide like mythological serpents through this enormous jungle-entangled region.

Though the inexhaustible profusion of vegetation is the most striking and impressive feature of the Terai, its exuberance in animal life is certainly not much less characteristic ; and in numbers and variety, it may be said to exhibit greater richness in the department of zoology, than any other region on the globe.

Passing over its insignificant hordes of the wild animal kingdom, I shall cursorily notice only in passing some of its more prominent denizens; and among the prolific category, enumerate the buffalo, the samber, the lilgye, and deer of several species in incalculable numbers. Then the deeper recesses of the Terai have their appropriate occupants: there the elephant, the rhinoceros, the tiger, — leopards, bears, hyenas, etc., may be computed literally by thousands and thousands. The serpent species, from the formid

boa-constrictor to the dangerous cobra, abound. Among the venomous reptiles there are many varieties of huge lizards, and alligators of enormous size swarm in the streams and marshes. The feathered tribe, from the magnificent golden eagle to birds unknown in ornithology, are also numerous; while insects, infinite in variety, infest these regions in endless myriads.

The malarial climate of the Terai, however, is so deadly to Europeans that they are prevented from tarrying in its fever-breeding jungles. Were it otherwise, sportsmen in search of big game would astonish, with their “bags,” the most ardent hunters in any part of the world.

Behind the Terai are the lower hills and their subsidiary dells, also covered with evergreen woods, and timber of such gigantic size that the very sight of it fills one with astonishment beyond conception, — trees of from twenty to thirty feet in girth, and, although centuries old, upright as pillars, straight as darts, and growing to a height of two hundred feet or more. Beyond, stretching like a huge irregular barrier, rise the noble Himalaya, and the lofty and fantastic peaks of the mountains enveloped in everlasting winter. To associate tropical India with the North Pole would seem ridiculously fictitious; nevertheless there, before our very eyes, tower the ice-bound giants of wonderland, which even in the height of summer freeze all the day through, despite the sun, and look down from their perpetual frozen abode upon the poor broiling creatures on the fiery plains below. While farther to the north, far above the others, to an elevation of more than twenty-eight thousand feet above sea-level, Kunchin Junga, with its majestic head right away in endless space, distinct and well defined under the clear blue canopy of heaven, looks in its incomparable grandeur like an isolated mountain of molten silver, towering to the skies from an aerial worid of eternal glaciers and snow.

The spot from whence this view is obtained, and from which we were not very far bivouacked, commands the most magnificent prospect of the dazzling Snowy Range visible from any place in India. Nothing in Nature on her grandest scale can be conceived more awe-inspiring, or awfully sublime. Talk about Mont Blanc, why, that lofty snow-capped peak in Europe is, by comparison, a mere hillock to the giant Kunchin Junga in High Asia. And so prominent and stupendous is this wonderful monarch of mountains, that the indigenous mountaineers actually believe its geographical position to be — as expressed in their own words — the centre of the terrestrial worid, and its summit, towering up to heaven, they say is half-way to the celestial realm above, whereon rests the hallowed footstool of the Great God of Heaven! Just as under the influence of similar superstitious nonsense, the inhabitants of the Peshawur valley, about a thousand miles or perhaps more away in the Punjab, call a snow-capped peak Tukht-i-Suleiman, or “Solomon’s throne”! The Viceroy of India has also a throne on these incomparable mountains; and in consequence Simla has been the regular summer residence of Government for far more than half a century. It is, therefore, astonishing to note how little this delightful salubrious region has been opened up, and how little we really know of this vast mountainous world within itself. Now, as the atmospheric temperature on the plains of Upper India for about half the year may be compared with that of a veritable glowing furnace, it is quite distressing to find that the charms of the Himalaya — with their invigorating climate, suggestive only of the most lovely “cool summer” in England — should remain so neglected, and little better than a trackless wilderness in Africa. And that, too, when even the present wretchedly laid out and badly built old hill stations (to wit, Simla, Mussoorie, Nyne-Tal, and others) of the “dark ages,” so prominently indicate the feasibility with which this Asiatic paradise might be transformed into a flourishing European colony.