The day after my arrival at Calcutta I hastened to pay my respects to
the Capsicums. On reaching the portico of the house, I threw myself out
of my palankeen.
“Is the general at home?”
“He is, _khodabund_,” said the servant, and ascended to announce me.
Upon my entering, and making my bow,
“Ha! how are ye, sir; how are ye, sir?” said the old veteran, extending
his hand to me at full length, as he reclined in his easy chair; “glad
to see you again. Well, sir, and how did you lave my son? But I’ve heerd
of all your prosadings.”
Mrs. Capsicum congratulated me on my continued healthy appearance, and
condescended to present me with the “tip of her honourable little
finger.”
I looked around for the dear widow, but she was not there. My pulse sunk
below zero with painful misgivings; ideas of death, matrimony, or some
other misfortune, flashed on my mind: it is the nature of some men
always to fancy things fifty times better or worse than they are, to
which category I belong. I ventured to ask the general after the health
of his daughter, and was greatly relieved by his reply:
“Oh, she’s well, sure—she’s well; but you’ll see her here immediately to
spake for herself.”
Some time before dinner was announced, a carriage drove up to the house;
it contained Mrs. Delaval, who had been absent the whole day in
Calcutta. She soon entered the apartment; it was late in the evening,
the light dim and uncertain, and I seated in a recess near the window.
“Well, Cordalia, my dear, have you seen all your friends and executed
all your commissions?”
Mrs. Delaval kissed her father, and answered in the affirmative, adding,
“the Coppletons have taken their passage home in the _Derbyshire_; young
Scapegrace, of the civil service, is to be married to Letitia Flirtwell
to-morrow, and Colonel Oddfish sends his _bhote bhote salaam_ to you,
and hopes to see you soon in town.”
After some more gossip of this nature, the general directed the
attention of his charming daughter to me, as “a particular friend of
hers,” and I had the satisfaction of seeing a blush of pleasure and
surprise upon her features at recognizing me.
The reader may readily conceive all that passed immediately after this
and at dinner, and that I had to recount the adventures of the last six
weeks, to fight over again the battle of Junglesoor, and to rekill all
the hogs.
As the night wore away, and long after tea, the old general, who had
been for some time in a ruminating mood—indeed, we had sunk into that
thoughtful state which usually precedes the separation of friends—lit
his taper, and rising, though with considerable effort, from his easy
chair, beckoned me to follow him.
We entered his dressing room; he desired me to shut the door, and,
sitting down, bade me be seated likewise.
“My young friend,” said the old man, taking my hand with more feeling
than I had ever yet seen him display, “I wished to say a few words to
you in private before we part, most probably for ever. I loved your
brave uncle, as I have already told you, and I think I should not be
showing a proper respect to his memory, or doing my duty towards his
nephew, did I not offer ye a few words of counsel, the result of long
experience.
“I’m not the hypocrite to preach to you that I have always acted as I
would have you to act; no, ’tis not so; I’d be glad, by G——, if it had
been otherwise; but my exparience, like that of most men, has been
dearly bought. You are young, all the world before ye, and about,
probably, to enter on a long and varied career. Life is a game, and a
few false moves at the outset, it may never be in your power fully to
retrave; it therefore behoves you to be cautious, and to weigh well
every step before you take it.
“When you join your regiment, beware of your associates, for on the
character of these your future prospects will mainly depend. Be slow in
forming intimacies, but at the same time courteous and kind to all.
Observe, but do not appear to do so, for people do not love to have
spies over them. Take your cheerful glass with your friends, but shun
intemperance, the root of gaming and all evil.
“Strive to live within your manes, and let no man laugh you out of your
resolution to be ‘just before you are generous;’ for the time will come,
take my word for it, when you will rape the reward of your self-denial.
Make yourself master of your profession, and acquire a taste for rading
and study; if over wild, ’twill beget a new mind in ye, and is the best
manes ye can adopt to save ye from frivolity and dissipation, of which
ye’ll find plenty here, by G——.
“Indulge moderately in faild sports, for no man in India ever took his
full swing of them that, sooner or later, had not to lament a broken
constitution; the strength of Hercules will not enable Europeans to
brave exposure to an Aistern sun with impunity.
“Lay down fixed principles for yourself, and let nothing induce ye to
swerve from them; they are, if I may so say, the helm of our moral
nature; and though the gusts of passion and caprice, or the shoals of
unavoidable difficulties, may sometimes drive us out of our course, if
we have but these we shall regain it; but without them, we become the
sport of every impulse, we drift away to destruction. God knows I’ve
rason to say all this. Acquire courage to say ‘no’ when ye feel ye
ought, and thereby shun that rock of over-aisiness on which so many a
youth has made shipwreck of his fortunes.
“As for religion, I lave ye to judge for yourself; make no joke of any
man’s; whatever has God’s glory and man’s good as its professed object,
however mistaken, desarves a sort of respect even from an opponent.
There’s good enough in most of them, if we would but stick to the
practical part; perhaps, as my old moonshee, Golaum Hyder, used to say,
it may be God’s pleasure to be approached in more ways than one, so that
we do it with honesty of purpose and in singleness of heart.
“Strive to make friends, but of this rest assured, that no friendship
can be lasting that is not based on respect for some one sterling
quality, at laist, to redaim the many waiknesses which we all, more or
less, inherit; when all looks smiling you may think otherwise, and
overlook this essential, but you will find eventually that in resting on
such summer friends, you lean on a broken reed.
“’Till society finds us other manes of obtaining redress for injuries,
and for stopping the tongues of the brawler, the slanderer, and the
bully, than by the d——d tadious and expinsive process by law
established; which, I suppose, if a man spit in your face, would require
you to prove how much soap it would take to wash it off, and give
damages accordingly: I say, till this is done, fight we must
sometimes—but avoid quarrels; ’tis aisier and more honourable to keep
out of them than to back out of them, and ’tis a dreadful thing for a
thrifle (here his voice faltered and he became much agitated) to have
the blood of a comrade on your conscience.
“’Tis a hard matter, I know, to put an old head on young shoulders; but
maybe, nevertheless, you’ll sometimes think of what I’ve now said to ye.
And now,” he added with a smile, “I believe I’ve finished my sermon, and
have nothing more to add, than may God Almighty bless and prosper ye!”
On saying this, the warm-hearted old Irishman, who was evidently
affected, applied a key with trembling hand to a little escritoire, from
which he took an old-fashioned silver snuff-box. This he rubbed with his
sleeve, looking at it wistfully, and then presented it to me, whilst a
tear trembled in his eye—the thoughts of other days rushed upon him.
“There,” said he; “that belonged to your poor departed uncle; forty-five
years ago he gave it to me as a mark of his regard; I now here present
it to you as a proof of mine, and in memento of him, the only man on
earth I’d give it to before I died. I don’t recommend you to snuff
yourself generally,” added he, “but you’ll find a pinch in that,” and he
smiled, “that’ll do you good sometimes, if used with discretion and
sparingly, if you’re ever in want of a further supply, let me know; and
now, if ye plase, we’ll rejoin the ladies.”
I was deeply touched by the general’s kindness, and mentally promised
that I would treasure up his counsel, and make it my future guide. I
fear, however, his estimate, touching that extremely difficult operation
of putting an old head on young shoulders, found little in my subsequent
career at all calculated to invalidate its correctness.
Well, I bade a long farewell to the general. Mrs. Capsicum softened as
she bid me adieu, and the charming widow could scarcely conceal her
emotion.
How dreary—how blank are the first few moments which succeed the parting
with friends! their voices still sounding in your ears, their persons
still vividly before your eyes—sounds and pictures to be impressed on
the sensorium, and carried with you through life, long long, perhaps,
after the originals are departed!—undying echoes! and abiding shadows!
I reached my room at about twelve o’clock, and prepared for rest. My
first act, however, was to take a survey of my uncle’s snuff-box.
It was a singular piece of antiquity, such as might have been handed
round in its time at a meeting of wits at Button’s or Will’s, or tapped
by some ruffled exquisite of the glorious reign of Queen Anne. The
well-known arms of my family were engraven on the back, but almost
obliterated by time and use.
Now, thought I, for a peep at the inside, and a pinch of the general’s
wonderful snuff. I opened the box, but instead of snuff, I found it to
contain, to my great pleasure and astonishment, the following brief, but
highly satisfactory document:—
GENTLEMEN,—
Please to pay to Ens. Gernon, or order, the sum of Rs. 500, on account
of,
Gentlemen, your obedient Servant,
DOMINICK CAPSICUM,
_Lieut.-General_.
To Messrs. Princely & Co., _Agents_.
“Generous old man!” I exclaimed, “such snuff as this is indeed useful at
a pinch, though, unlike most snuff, by no means to be sneezed at!”
The next day I devoted to hiring a _bolio_, and some other matters.
A bolio, it may be necessary to inform the reader, is a boat constructed
on a somewhat similar plan to the budgerow, but longer and narrower, and
more confined in its accommodation.
I was to pay Rs. 100, or about £10, for a journey of 700 miles. Tom also
ordered his jewellery, visited his agents, and made sundry arrangements
connected with the coming event.
I sought out some of my old ship acquaintances, and having transacted
all necessary business, and ordered my bolio to Barrackpore, Tom and I
returned in a hired gig by land.
We drove through the native town, alive with its heterogeneous
population—paroquets, fakeers, baboos, palkees, &c., and through almost
an unbroken avenue of trees, to Barrackpore, sixteen miles distant.
The next day I called on Capt. Belfield, with whom I arranged to depart
in two or three days. He proposed that I should take my meals with them
on my way up as far as Dinapore, to which I consented; this, besides
promising to be agreeable in other respects, saved me the expense of a
cook-boat.
The captain introduced me to his sister, who had resided with him for
some time in Java.
Miss Belfield was “a lady of a certain age,” once more briefly expressed
by the term “old maid;” but she was neither an envious old maid, nor a
spiteful old maid, nor an intensely blue old maid, nor a canting old
maid; but she was a cheerful, bland, and intellectual woman of
thirty-five, with a mind deeply imbued with religious feeling, and not
without a dash of sentiment.
Celibacy, which so often in women turns the milk of human kindness to
gall, seemed in her, as sometimes happens, to have had the opposite
effect, and to have given it additional sweetness; in fact, all the
world was her lover, and she had never given her heart to one, from a
feeling, perhaps, that “’twas meant for mankind.”
Having lost her last surviving parent, a clergyman, whose income, though
large, arose almost solely from his preferment, she had been obliged to
change the home of her infancy for a state of galling half-dependence on
distant relatives, who made her _feel_ their kindness in the least
pleasing manner. From this state she was relieved by an invitation from
her only and bachelor brother, Capt. Belfield, to come out and
superintend his establishment in India; and, certainly, a happier or
more amiable pair were never seen together.
Capt. Belfield told me at what ghaut his budgerow, horse, and cook-boat
were lying, and recommended me to send my bolio to the same place, as it
was his intention to quit Barrackpore in a couple of days.
The next two days were busily occupied in paying farewell visits,
packing up my valuables, as also in hiring one or two additional
servants, which swelled my establishment to six.
I here recount the names, occupations, and salaries of the individuals.
First in the list was Ramdial, sirdar-bearer, my _valet de chambre_, an
old Hindoo, with wondrous frail supporters and a grizzled moustache; he
served me for Rs. 6 per mensem; was a truly honest native, and would
never allow anybody to cheat me,—but himself.
Next came Rumjan Khan, khitmutgar, or footman; salary, Rs. 7 per mensem.
Rumjan served me with fidelity till we got about fifty miles above
Calcutta, when, not finding the air of the river to agree with him, he
left me rather suddenly, with the contents of my plate-chest,—to wit,
six silver spoons and a brace of muffineers.
The third in point of rank in my establishment was Nannoo, dhobee, or
washerman; salary, Rs. 6: a hardworking, harmless creature, who pegged
away at his wash-board daily. A pretty wife, a large brazen iron (the
Hibernianism is unavoidable), and three fat naked piccaninies, always on
the crawl at the top of my bolio, seemed to constitute the amount of his
earthly treasures.
Fourthly came Bahadoor Khan, mussalchee, or link-boy; the province of
this servant is to carry the torch, or lantern, and to scour out the
saucepans and tea-kettle, clean knives, fetch milk, &c.; but as I had
not much for him to do in that way, I made him my head chasseur; salary,
Rs. 4 per mensem, or eight shillings, not too much, one would suppose,
for the decent clothing and maintenance of a man and his family.
Next (hired for his special utility on a river journey) came Hyder Bux,
bhistie, or water-carrier, a terrible thick-set fellow; a devout
Mahomedan, with a beard so bushy and luxuriant, that, with his hooked
nose and large eyes, he always reminded me of an owl looking out of an
ivy-bush.
Last on the list, but not least in importance, at least to me, was
Nuncoo, matar, my master of the buckhounds.
I shall draw a veil over some of the peculiar duties of Nuncoo, but
others I shall particularize; they were, the care of Hector the
bull-dog, and Teazer the—I was going to say _soi-disant_—terrier, in
preparing daily for them a very large mess of rice and turmeric, with a
few small bits of meat interspersed.
Poor Bull, this Gentoo fare, I suspect, but ill agreed with your
Whitechapel constitution, and seemed to hasten your end.
The prospect of a change was highly agreeable to me, though mingled with
a regret at the necessity it involved of a separation from my friend
Tom, for whom I had a very warm affection.
Rattleton was equally sorry to part with me, particularly as he wished
me to be present at his marriage, in the capacity of bridegroom’s man,
and which event was to take place in ten days.
“Frank, we must pass the last evening cosily together,” said he; “I must
be with Julia till half-past seven, but for the remainder of the evening
I am yours.”
It is needless to trouble the reader with any account of what passed
between Tom and me, in this the last evening of our sojourn together;
past hours were revived and future pleasures anticipated. Tom spoke in
rapture of his approaching happiness, and of the liberality of the young
lady’s uncle, who had already presented them with a new bungalow.
“She’s an angel, Frank,” said he, “if ever there was one on earth; may
you find just such another! and if you do, and can, by exchange or
otherwise, find your way back to the Zubberdust Bullumteers, we shall
make the happiest quartet in the country. ’Twill be so pleasant to pass
our evenings together, won’t it? a little music, and chess, and so
forth.”
Battleton accompanied me to Captain Belfield’s budgerow, where we took
an affectionate farewell of each other, he promising to write to me a
full, true, and particular account of the wedding.
Poor Tom! the next time we met was some years after; he ascending the
Ganges, I going down. It was by mere accident we discovered each other,
not having for some time communicated, and cordial was our greeting.
There was still a dash of sadness in it, like a gleam of wintry
sunlight. The joyous anticipations of the lover had long since subsided
into the cares, the anxieties, and the troubles of the husband and
father.
The predictions of the caustic captain had been in some sort realized.
The quarter-mastership had, it is true, in due time, become vacant; but,
in the interim, “another king had arisen, who knew not Joseph,” and Tom
had in consequence failed to obtain it.
Thought and moody care sat on the brow of the once joyous Rattleton, for
debts were accumulating, children coming fast, and the fair Julia’s
health was beginning to fail: to send her “home,” at the expense of some
thousand rupees, or see her die before his eyes, were the painful
alternatives between which he would shortly have to choose.
Even Tom himself complained of hepatic derangement—_vulyò_, the
liver—and could not take his quantum of beer-shrob as of yore; a
springtide of crosses and difficulties, in fact, had set in upon him.
Just before we met, he had sustained a not uncommon river disaster; his
horse-boat had been upset by a whirlwind, by which he had lost his
buggy, two horses, and other property, to the value of Rs. 1,500, for
which he could claim no compensation. Three of his servants went down
with the boat, as if to verify the old adage.
He had barely recovered from the shock occasioned by this misfortune,
when he had to sustain another, though of a different kind. He had
discovered that his child’s _dhye_, or native nurse, was in the habit of
dosing his infant with opium, that it might not disturb her slumbers.
Tom threatened; madam took huff, and marched off; the delicate Julia was
in despair. The only succedaneum that might have been rendered
available, a goat, had accompanied the horses to the shades below.
Ye who send sons and daughters to India, imagine not that they are
always reposing on beds of roses.
Alas! poor Tom, thou hadst a gallant spirit, but heavy was the sigh
which ever and anon escaped thee, as thou didst detail thy difficulties
to me during the brief hour we then spent together!
Much hadst thou to tell of the trials of a married sub, on small means,
and kept much on the move; but I must reserve it for some other
occasion, “with the rest of Tom’s story,” as Corporal Trim would say,
“for it forms a part of it.”
In Julia—the shawled, be-capped, and languid invalid—I could scarcely
think that I was indeed looking on the belle of Barrackpore, truly the
“light of the ball-room.”
I had nearly omitted to mention a circumstance which occurred on the
previous day, with which it is of importance that the reader should be
made acquainted—to wit, an unexpected visit I had from my friend
Chattermohun Ghose.
On going into Tom’s verandah, to order the despatch of some chattels to
my bolio, I observed a Bengalee at one extremity of it, his head going
like that of a Chinese mandarin.
I discovered that these profound salaams were intended for me. I
advanced towards the automaton, and immediately recognized the
patriarchal proprietor of “five effective children of various
denominations,” Chattermohun Ghose.
“Hah! Chattermohun, my fine fellow, is that you?” said I. “What brought
you to Barrackpore?”
“I came, sair, for argent private affair; two, three gentilman owe me
little bill here, and accidentally I have learn by chance that master
was ishtaying here; therefore I think my duty to pay respect; master
make me great obligation; master is my father, to whom my everlasting
gratitude will be due.”
“As for being your father, Chattermohun,” said I, laughing, “no one
would suspect that, for if I am not mistaken, you are old enough to be
mine; and why you should be so grateful towards me, I cannot imagine.”
Some writer has well observed, that “gratitude is too often but a lively
sense of favours to come;” to Asiatics, or natives of India, at all
events, this remark applies with more force than to Europeans in
general. That my friend Chattermohun’s gratitude partook largely of this
prospective character, soon became abundantly apparent.
“Master I understand will shortly go ope contree?”
“Yes, Chattermohun, I’m off to-morrow—please the pigs; have you any
commands?”
“No, sair, command not got; but——”
Here was a pause; after which, Chattermohun resumed his plan of
operations in the usual wily style of the Bengalee; any one of whom I’ll
pit against any Jew in the Minories.
“Does master know,” said he, with an air of perfect unpremeditation,
“one gintleman name Captain Belfil, who was shortly go Danapore?”
“Oh, yes,” said I, falling into the trap; “to be sure I do; we’re going
up together.”
“Master go up contree with Captain Belfil? I not know that” (the
vagabond had come up on purpose to make his approaches through me);
“then that will be good bis’ness for master; master very clever
gintleman, but little too much young to go up river by ownself. I think
Master Belfil will be in paymaster bis’ness—got good ’pointment up
contree?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I believe he has—paymaster of invalids, somewhere or
other. But now, Chattermohun, my good fellow, make yourself scarce, if
you please, for I’ve a plaguy deal to attend to, and must be very busy.”
Chattermohun raised his hand, enveloped in its snowy, muslin drapery,
slowly to his forehead, and made me a profound salaam, but stirred
not—there was evidently something in the background. At last, out it
plumped.
“Will master please to _ishpik_ in my favour?”
“To whom? for what? what the d——l do I know of you, Chattermohun?”
“Captain Belfil, I learn by proper intelligence, have need of ’spectable
writer. I won’t go back old army bis’ness, Calcutta—bis’ness not make
too much pecuniary profit—therefore, master please to give me
recommendation, I shall, _plis_ God, get that place.”
“Oh, oh!” said I, “Mr. Chattermohun; and this is the object of your
visit to me, eh!—of your everlasting gratitude, and my newly-dubbed
paternity?”
“No, sair, ’pon my honour, not for that only, but master I think have
great benevolence to do me favour.”
I liked Chattermohun; those who cannot carry it by storm, must try it by
sap; so I promised to certify on paper all that I knew in his favour,
and a little more.
To my surprise, it produced the desired effect. Chattermohun got the
_writership_, joined the fleet, and became our _comapagnon de voyage_.
They say there is no word for _gratitude_ in the native language, and
consequently that the quality is unknown; certainly, Chattermohun was
grateful to me, poor fellow, for the service rendered him, as far as was
in his power to be so. Gratitude is certainly more easily professed than
felt amongst black and white; but to deny that it can exist, is to libel
human nature.
Capt. Belfield and his sister gave me a most kind and friendly
reception; as an agreeable earnest of the pleasure of the voyage,
breakfast was on the table when I entered the budgerow, Miss Belfield
presiding over its arrangements with English neatness and propriety,
just as she had been accustomed to do, no doubt, for many a happy year,
at Long Somerton.
The windows or venetians were up on both sides, affording an agreeable
view of the river and its banks; under one, there was a grand scene of
bathing, praying, and filling of water-pots. Many a dark eye of a Hindoo
girl stole furtive glances at the strange meal and paraphernalia of the
terrific European, while the sharp aspirations from the lungs of
numerous _dhobees_, or washermen, banging their clothes, sounded along
the shore.
The _dandies_, or boatmen, now drew on board the _seree_, or plank
connecting us with the shore, threw water over the figure-head, touched
their foreheads, shouted “_Gunga gee ke jy!_”—“Success, or victory to
the holy Ganges”—leaped on board, and our whole fleet was soon under
weigh: beginning act the third of my griffinage.
This mode of travelling in India though extremely tedious or perhaps
rather, I should say, occupying a vast deal of time, and, when the river
is swollen by the periodical rains and the melting of the snow, attended
with considerable danger, is, nevertheless, in some respects,
exceedingly pleasant and convenient.
The sitting-room in a good-sized budgerow is as large as a small
parlour, seven or eight feet in height, and, when fitted up with table,
chairs, couch, book-shelves, &c., is as comfortable as an apartment on
shore. The venetians open inwards, and may be raised and hooked to the
ceiling along both sides of the rooms or cabins, of which there are
usually two, one a dormitory, affording, as you glide along, a pleasant
view of bathers, boats, temples, ghauts, and the other various
picturesque objects which generally adorn the banks of Indian rivers.
The _dandies_, or boatmen (not quite such dressy fellows as their
namesakes at home, a rag or waistcloth constituting their working suit),
tow the boats at the rate of fourteen or sixteen miles a day; each man
has a stout piece of bamboo, with a string attached; the latter he
attaches to the towing line, placing the former over his shoulder.
In ascending, the oars are seldom made use of, excepting in crossing the
river, or in passing long lines of moored boats, when they are sometimes
deemed preferable to passing the towing line over each separate
masthead, which is a troublesome operation, and productive of infinite
squabbling and abuse between the crews.
The term _budgerow_ is a corruption of the word _barge_, and the idea of
those in common use in India has evidently been taken from the state
barges, once more used by colonial governors than at present, as a state
appendage, and which once also in London, in the olden time, served the
purposes of transit amongst the great which coaches do at present.
Specimens of them still survive in the Lord Mayor’s barge and those of
public companies.
We soon left Barrackpore behind us, and the pretty Danish settlement of
Serampore opposite—the Bengal city of refuge for the fugitives of John
Doe and Richard Roe—and in a little time passed the French possession of
Chandernagore, and the Dutch factory of Chinsurah.
In the evening we reached Bandel, an ancient Portuguese settlement,
celebrated for its cream cheeses, which are rather so-so, and a pretty
Roman Catholic chapel and convent, coeval, I imagine, with the earliest
settlement of the Portuguese in Bengal.
The shades of evening were gathering around as we slowly brought to and
moored our boats for the night. Lights from many a nook and ghaut on the
river began to shed their trembling rays across its surface. The
crescent moon, in silver sheen, like a fairy of light, was just rising
above the tops of the cocoa-nut trees; and the clash of gongs and
cymbals resounded from the neighbouring bazaars, telling it was the hour
of joy and relaxation.
Captain Belfield proposed a saunter before tea, to which his sister and
myself gladly assented; and it was agreed that we should explore the
little paraclete before us, which, in its pure and modest whiteness,
seemed, as it were, tranquilly reposing in the mingled moon and
twilight.
The captain took his stick, a stout shillelagh of some Javanese wood, on
the merits of which he afterwards often expatiated; Miss Belfield,
bonneted and scarfed; I tendered my arm, like an attentive young man,
and followed by a chaprassee and the captain’s black terrier, _Thug_, we
commenced our first evening’s ramble.
“How delightfully tranquil is your evening hour in India!” said Miss
Belfield. “As far as my experience goes, I should almost say it
compensates for the fiery sun of the day.”
“It is a relief, certainly,” said the captain. “Old Phœbus’
disappearance below the horizon in this country, and the effect produced
by it on man and beast, remind me of that which usually followed the
exit of my old preceptor from the school-room—a general uproar and
rejoicing.”