Leave Bhagulpore -- Kunker -- Colgong -- Himalaya, distant view of --
Cosi, mouth of -- Difficult navigation -- Sand storms --
Caragola-Ghat -- Purnea -- Ortolans -- Mahanuddee, transport of
pebbles, etc. -- Betel-pepper, cultivation of -- Titalya -- Siligoree
-- View of outer Himalaya -- Terai -- Mechis -- Punkabaree -- Foot of
mountains -- Ascent to Dorjiling -- Cicadas -- Leeches -- Animals --
Kursiong, spring vegetation of -- Pacheem -- Arrive at Dorjiling --
Dorjiling, origin and settlement of -- Grant of land from Rajah --
Dr. Campbell appointed superintendent -- Dewan, late and present --
Aggressive conduct of the latter -- Increase of the station -- Trade
-- Titalya fair -- Healtby climate for Europeans and children --
Invalids, diseases prejudicial to.
I took as it were, a new departure, on Saturday, April the 8th, my
dawk being laid on that day from Caragola-Ghat, about thirty miles
down the river, for the foot of the Himalaya range and Dorjiling.
Passing the pretty villa-like houses of the English residents, the
river-banks re-assumed their wonted features the hills receded from
the shore; and steep clay cliffs, twenty to fifty feet high, on one
side, opposed long sandy shelves on the other. Kunker was still most
abundant, especially in the lower bed of the banks, close to the (now
very low) water. The strata containing it were much undulated, but
not uniformly so; horizontal layers over or under-lying the disturbed
ones. At Colgong, conical hills appear, and two remarkable
sister-rocks start out of the river, the same in structure with those
of Sultangunj. A boisterous current swirls round them, strong even at
this season, and very dangerous in the rains, when the swollen river
is from twenty-eight to forty feet deeper than now. We landed
opposite the rocks, and proceeded to the residence of Mr. G. Barnes,
prettily situated on one of the conical elevations characteristic of
the geology of the district. The village we passed through had been
recently destroyed by fire; and nothing but the clay outer walls and
curious-looking partition walls remained, often white-washed and
daubed with figures in red of the palm of the hand, elephant,
peacock, and tiger,--a sort of rude fresco-painting. We did not
arrive till past mid-day, and the boat, with my palkee and servant,
not having been able to face the gale, I was detained till the middle
of the following day. Mr. Barnes and his brother proved most
agreeable companions,--very luckily for me, for it requires no
ordinary philosophy to bear being storm-stayed on a voyage, with the
prospect of paying a heavy demurrage for detaining the dawk, and the
worse one of finding the bearers given to another traveller when you
arrive at the rendezvous. The view from Mr. Barnes' house is very
fine: it commands the river and its rocks; the Rajmahal hills to the
east and south; broad acres of indigo and other crops below; long
lines of palm-trees, and groves of mango, banana, tamarind, and other
tropical trees, scattered close around and in the distance. In the
rainy season, and immediately after, the snowy Himalaya are
distinctly seen on the horizon, fully 170 miles off. Nearly opposite,
the Cosi river enters the Ganges, bearing (considering its short
course) an enormous volume of water, comprising the drainage of the
whole Himalaya between the two giant peaks of Kinchinjunga in Sikkim,
and Gossain-Than in Nepal. Even at this season, looking from Mr.
Barnes' eyrie over the bed of the Ganges, the enormous expanses of
sand, the numerous shifting islets, and the long spits of mud betray
the proximity of some very restless and resistless power. During the
rains, the scene must indeed be extraordinary, when the Cosi lays
many miles of land under water, and pours so vast a quantity of
detritus into the bed of the Ganges that long islets are heaped up
and swept away in a few hours; and the latter river becomes all but
unnavigable. Boats are caught in whirlpools, formed without a
moment's warning, and sunk ere they have spun round thrice in the
eddies; and no part of the inland navigation of India is so dreaded
or dangerous, as the Ganges at its junction with the Cosi.
Rain generally falls in partial showers at this season, and they are
essential to the well-being of the spring crops of indigo. The stormy
appearance of the sky, though it proved fallacious, was hailed by my
hosts as predicting a fall, which was much wanted. The wind however
seemed but to aggravate the drought, by the great body of sand it
lifted and swept up the valleys, obscuring the near horizon, and
especially concealing the whole delta of the Cosi, where the clouds
were so vast and dense, and ascended so high as to resemble
another element.
All night the gale blew on, accompanied with much thunder and
lightning, and it was not till noon of the 9th that I descried my
palkee-boat toiling down the stream. Then I again embarked, taking
the lagging boat in tow of my own. Passing the mouths of the Cosi,
the gale and currents were so adverse that we had to bring up on the
sand, when the quantity which drifted into the boat rendered the
delay as disagreeable as it was tedious. The particles penetrated
everywhere, up my nose and down my back, drying my eyelids, and
gritting between my teeth. The craft kept bumping on the banks, and
being both crazy and leaky, the little comfortless cabin became the
refuge of scared rats and cockroaches. In the evening I shared a meal
with these creatures, on some provisions my kind friends had put into
the boat, but the food was so sandy that I had to bolt my supper!
At night the storm lulled a little, and I proceeded to Caragola Ghat
and took up my dawk, which had been twenty-eight hours expecting me,
and was waiting, in despair of my arrival, for another traveller on
the opposite bank, who however could not cross the river.
Having accomplished thirty miles, I halted at 9 a..m. on the
following morning at Purnea, quitting it at noon for Kishengunj.
The whole country wore a greener garb than I had seen anywhere south
of the Ganges: the climate was evidently more humid, and had been
gradually becoming so from Mirzapore. The first decided change was a
few miles below the Soane mouth, at Dinapore and Patna; and the few
hygrometrical observations I took at Bhagulpore confirmed the
increase of moisture. The proximity to the sea and great Delta of the
Ganges sufficiently accounts for this; as does the approach to the
hills for the still greater dampness and brighter verdure of Purnea.
I was glad to feel myself within the influence of the long-looked-for
Himalaya; and I narrowly watched every change in the character of the
vegetation. A fern, growing by the roadside, was the first and most
tangible evidence of this; together with the rarity or total absence
of _Butea, Boswellia, Catechu, Grislea, Carissa,_ and all the
companions of my former excursion.
Purnea is a large station, and considered very unhealthy during and
after the rains. From it the road passed through some pretty lanes,
with groves of planted Guava and a rattan palm (_Calamus_), the first
I had seen. Though no hills are nearer than the Himalaya, from the
constant alteration of the river-beds, the road undulates remarkably
for this part of India, and a jungly vegetation ensues, consisting of
the above plants, with the yellow-flowered Cactus replacing the
Euphorbias, which were previously much more common. Though still 100
miles distant from the hills, mosses appeared on the banks, and more
ferns were just sprouting above ground.
The Bamboo was a very different species from any I had hitherto met
with, forming groves of straight trees fifteen to twenty feet high,
thin of foliage, and not unlike poplars.
Thirty-six miles from Purnea brought me to Kishengunj, when I found
that no arrangements whatever had been made for my dawk, and I was
fairly stranded. Luckily a thoughtful friend had provided me with
letters to the scattered residents along the road, and I proceeded
with one to Mr. Perry, the assistant magistrate of the district,--a
gentleman well known for his urbanity, and the many aids he affords
to travellers on this neglected line of road. Owing to this being
some festival or holiday, it was impossible to get palkee-bearers;
the natives were busy catching fish in all the muddy pools around.
Some of Mr. Perry's own family also were about to proceed to
Dorjiling, so that I had only to take patience, and be thankful for
having to exercise it in such pleasant quarters. The Mahanuddee, a
large stream from the hills, flows near this place, strewing the
surrounding neighbourhood with sand, and from the frequent
alterations in its course, causing endless disputes amongst the
landholders. A kind of lark called an Ortolan was abundant: this is
not, however, the European delicacy of that name, though a migratory
bird; the flocks are large, and the birds so fat, that they make
excellent table game. At this time they were rapidly disappearing; to
return from the north in September.
I had just got into bed at night, when the bearers arrived; so
bidding a hurried adieu to my kind host, I proceeded onwards.
_April_ 12.--I awoke at 4 a.m., and found my palkee on the ground,
and the bearers coolly smoking their hookahs under a tree (it was
raining hard): they had carried me the length of their stage, twelve
miles, and there were no others to take me on. I had paid twenty-four
pounds for my dawk, from Caragola to the hills, to which I had been
obliged to add a handsome douceur; so I lost all patience. After
waiting and entreating during several hours, I found the head-man of
a neighbouring village, and by a further disbursement induced six out
of the twelve bearers to carry the empty palkee, whilst I should walk
to the next stage; or till we should meet some others. They agreed,
and cutting the thick and spongy sheaths of the banana, used them for
shoulder-pads: they also wrapped them round the palkee-poles, to ease
their aching clavicles. Walking along I picked up a few plants, and
fourteen miles further on came again to the banks of the Mahanuddee,
whose bed was strewn with pebbles and small boulders, brought thus
far from the mountains (about thirty miles distant). Here, again, I
had to apply to the head-man of a village, and pay for bearers to
take me to Titalya, the next stage (fourteen miles). Some curious
long low sheds puzzled me very much, and on examining them they
proved to be for the growth of Pawn or Betel-pepper, another
indication of the moisture of the climate. These sheds are twenty to
fifty yards long, eight or twelve or so broad, and scarcely five
high; they are made of bamboo, wattled all round and over the top.
Slender rods are placed a few feet apart, inside, up which the Pepper
Vines climb, and quickly fill the place with their deep green glossy
foliage. The native enters every morning by a little door, and
carefully cleans the plants. Constant heat, damp, and moisture,
shelter from solar beams, from scorching heat, and from nocturnal
radiation, are thus all procured for the plant, which would certainly
not live twenty-four hours, if exposed to the climate of this
treeless district. Great attention is paid to the cultivation, which
is very profitable. Snakes frequently take up their quarters in these
hot-houses, and cause fatal accidents.
Titalya was once a military station of some importance, and from its
proximity to the hills has been selected by Dr. Campbell (the
Superintendent of Dorjiling) as the site for an annual fair, to which
the mountain tribes resort, as well as the people of the plains. The
Calcutta road to Dorjiling by Dinajpore meets, near here, that by
which I had come; and I found no difficulty in procuring bearers to
proceed to Siligoree, where I arrived at 6 a.m. on the 13th.
Hitherto I bad not seen the mountains, so uniformly had they been
shrouded by dense wreaths of vapour: here, however, when within eight
miles of their base, I caught a first glimpse of the outer
range--sombre masses, of far from picturesque outline, clothed
everywhere with a dusky forest.
Siligoree stands on the verge of the Terai, that low malarious belt
which skirts the base of the Himalaya, from the Sutlej to
Brahma-koond in Upper Assam. Every feature, botanical, geological,
and zoological, is new on entering this district. The change is
sudden and immediate: sea and shore are hardly more conspicuously
different, nor from the edge of the Terai to the limit of perpetual
snow is any botanical region more clearly marked than this, which is
the commencement of Himalayan vegetation. A sudden descent leads to
the Mahanuddee river, flowing in a shallow valley, over a pebbly
bottom: it is a rapid river, even at this season; its banks are
fringed with bushes, and it is as clear and sparkling as a trout
stream in Scotland. Beyond it the road winds through a thick
brushwood, choked with long grasses, and with but few trees, chiefly
of _Acacia, Dalbergia Sissoo,_ and a scarlet fruited _Sterculia._
The soil is a red, friable clay and gravel. At this season only a few
spring plants were in flower, amongst which a very sweet-scented
_Crinum,_ Asphodel, and a small _Curcuma,_ were in the greatest
profusion. Leaves of terrestrial Orchids appeared, with ferns and
weeds of hot damp regions. I crossed the beds of many small streams:
some were dry, and all very tortuous; their banks were richly clothed
with brushwood and climbers of Convolvulus, Vines, _Hiraea, Leea,
Menispermeae, Cucurbitaceae,_ and _Bignoniaceae._ Their pent-up
waters, percolating the gravel beds, and partly carried off by
evaporation through the stratum of ever-increasing vegetable mould,
must be one main agent in the production of the malarious vapours of
this pestilential region. Add to this, the detention of the same
amongst the jungly herbage, the amount of vapour in the humid
atmosphere above, checking the upward passage of that from the soil,
the sheltered nature of the locality at the immediate base of lofty
mountains; and there appear to me to be here all necessary elements,
which, combined, will produce stagnation and deterioration in an
atmosphere loaded with vapour. Fatal as this district is, and
especially to Europeans, a race inhabit it with impunity, who, if not
numerous, do not owe their paucity to any climatic causes. These are
the Mechis, often described as a squalid, unhealthy people, typical
of the region they frequent; but who are, in reality, more robust
than the Europeans in India, and whose disagreeably sallow complexion
is deceptive as indicating a sickly constitution. They are a mild,
inoffensive people, industrious for Orientals, living by annually
burning the Terai jungle and cultivating the cleared spots; and,
though so sequestered and isolated, they rather court than avoid
intercourse with those whites whom they know to be kindly disposed.
After proceeding some six miles along the gradually ascending path, I
came to a considerable stream, cutting its way through stratified
gravel, with cliffs on each side fifteen to twenty feet high, here
and there covered with ferns, the little _Oxalis sensitiva,_ and
other herbs. The road here suddenly ascends a steep gravelly hill,
and opens out on a short flat, or spur, from which the Himalaya rise
abruptly, clothed with forest from the base: the little bungalow of
Punkabaree, my immediate destination, nestled in the woods, crowning
a lateral knoll, above which, to east and west, as far as the eye
could reach, were range after range of wooded mountains, 6000 to 8000
feet high. I here met with the India-rubber tree (_Ficus elastica_);
it abounds in Assam, but this is its western limit.
From this steppe, the ascent to Punkabaree is sudden and steep, and
accompanied with a change in soil and vegetation. The mica slate and
clay slate protrude everywhere, the former full of garnets. A giant
forest replaces the stunted and bushy timber of the Terai Proper; of
which the _Duabanga_ and _Terminalias_ form the prevailing trees,
with _Cedrela_ and the _Gordonia Wallichii._ Smaller timber and
shrubs are innumerable; a succulent character pervades the bushes and
herbs, occasioned by the prevalence of _Urticeae._ Large bamboos
rather crest the hills than court the deeper shade, and of the latter
there is abundance, for the torrents cut a straight, deep, and steep
course down the hill flanks: the galleys they traverse are choked
with vegetation and bridged by fallen trees, whose trunks are richly
clothed with _Dendrobium Pierardi_ and other epiphytical Orchids,
with pendulous _Lycopodia_ and many ferns, _Hoya, Scitamineae,_ and
similar types of the hottest and dampest climates.
The bungalow at Punkabaree was good--which was well, as my
luggage-bearers were not come up, and there were no signs of them
along the Terai road, which I saw winding below me. My scanty stock
of paper being full of plants, I was reduced to the strait of
botanising, and throwing away my specimens. The forest was truly
magnificent along the steep mountain sides. The apparently large
proportion of deciduous trees was far more considerable than I had
expected; partly, probably, due to the abundance of the _Dillenia,
Cassia,_ and _Sterculia,_ whose copious fruit was all the more
conspicuous from the leafless condition of the plant. The white or
lilac blossoms of the convolvuluslike _Thunbergia,_ and other
_Acanthaceae_ were the predominant features of the shrubby
vegetation, and very handsome.
All around, the hills rise steeply five or six thousand feet, clothed
in a dense deep-green dripping forest. Torrents rush down the slopes,
their position indicated by the dipping of the forest into their
beds, or the occasional cloud of spray rising above some more
boisterous part of their course. From the road, at and a little above
Punkabaree, the view is really superb, and very instructive.
Behind (or north) the Himalaya rise in steep confused masses.
Below, the hill on which I stood, and the ranges as far as the eye
can reach east and west, throw spurs on to the plains of India.
These are very thickly wooded, and enclose broad, dead-flat, hot and
damp valleys, apparently covered with a dense forest. Secondary spurs
of clay and gravel, like that immediately below Punkabaree, rest on
the bases of the mountains, and seem to form an intermediate neutral
ground between flat and mountainous India. The Terai district forms a
very irregular belt, scantily clothed, and intersected by innumerable
rivulets from the hills, which unite and divide again on the flat,
till, emerging from the region of many trees, they enter the plains,
following devious courses, which glisten like silver threads.
The whole horizon is bounded by the sea-like expanse of the plains,
which stretch away into the region of sunshine and fine weather, in
one boundless flat.
In the distance, the courses of the Teesta and Cosi, the great
drainers of the snowy Himalayas, and the recipients of innumerable
smaller rills, are with difficulty traced at this, the dry season.
The ocean-like appearance of this southern view is even more
conspicuous in the heavens than on the land, the clouds arranging
themselves after a singularly sea-scape fashion. Endless strata run
in parallel ribbons over the extreme horizon; above these, scattered
cumuli, also in horizontal lines, are dotted against a clear grey
sky, which gradually, as the eye is lifted, passes into a deep
cloudless blue vault, continuously clear to the zenith; there the
cumuli, in white fleecy masses, again appear; till, in the northern
celestial hemisphere, they thicken and assume the leaden hue of
nimbi, discharging their moisture on the dark forest-clad hills
around. The breezes are south-easterly, bringing that vapour from the
Indian Ocean, which is rarefied and suspended aloft over the heated
plains, but condensed into a drizzle when it strikes the cooler
flanks of the hills, and into heavy rain when it meets their still
colder summits. Upon what a gigantic scale does nature here operate!
Vapours, raised from an ocean whose nearest shore is more than 400
miles distant, are safely transported without the loss of one drop of
water, to support the rank luxuriance of this far distant region.
This and other offices fulfilled, the waste waters are returned, by
the Cosi and Teesta, to the ocean, and again exhaled, exported,
expended, re-collected, and returned.
Illustration -- PUNKABAREE BUNGALOW AND BASE OF THE HIMALAYA.
The soil and bushes everywhere swarmed with large and troublesome
ants, and enormous earthworms. In the evening, the noise of the great
_Cicadae_ in the trees was almost deafening. They burst suddenly into
full chorus, with a voice so harshly croaking, so dissonant, and so
unearthly, that in these solitary forests I could not help being
startled. In general character the note was very similar to that of
other _Cicadae._ They ceased as suddenly as they commenced. On the
following morning my baggage arrived, and, leaving my palkee, I
mounted a pony kindly sent for me by Mr. Hodgson, and commenced a
very steep ascent of about 3000 feet, winding along the face of a
steep, richly-wooded valley. The road zigzags extraordinarily in and
out of the innumerable lateral ravines, each with its water course,
dense jungle, and legion of leeches; the bite of these blood-suckers
gives no pain, but is followed by considerable effusion of blood.
They puncture through thick worsted stockings, and even trousers,
and, when full, roll in the form of a little soft ball into the
bottom of the shoe, where their presence is hardly felt in walking.
Not only are the roadsides rich in plants, but native paths, cutting
off all the zigzags, run in straight lines up the steepest
hill-faces, and thus double the available means for botanising; and
it is all but impossible to leave the paths of one kind or other,
except for a yard or two up the rocky ravines. Elephants, tigers, and
occasionally the rhinoceros, inhabit the foot of these hills, with
wild boars, leopards, etc.; but none are numerous. The elephant's
path is an excellent specimen of engineering--the opposite of the
native track, for it winds judiciously.
At about 1000 feet above Punkabaree, the vegetation is very rich, and
appears all the more so from the many turnings of the road, affording
glorious prospects of the foreshortened tropical forests.
The prevalent timber is gigantic, and scaled by climbing
_Leguminosae,_ as _Bauhinias_ and _Robinias,_ which sometimes sheath
the trunks, or span the forest with huge cables, joining tree to
tree. Their trunks are also clothed with parasitical Orchids, and
still more beautifully with Pothos (_Scindapsus_), Peppers, _Gnetum,_
Vines, Convolvulus, and _Bignoniae._ The beauty of the drapery of the
Pothos-leaves is pre-eminent, whether for the graceful folds the
foliage assumes, or for the liveliness of its colour. Of the more
conspicuous smaller trees, the wild banana is the most abundant, its
crown of very beautiful foliage contrasting with the smaller-leaved
plants amongst which it nestles; next comes a screw-pine (_Pandanus_)
with a straight stem and a tuft of leaves; each eight or ten feet
long, waving on all sides. _Araliaceae,_ with smooth or armed slender
trunks, and _Mappa_-like _Euphorbiaceae,_ spread their long petioles
horizontally forth, each terminated with an ample leaf some feet in
diameter. Bamboo abounds everywhere: its dense tufts of culms, 100
feet and upwards high, are as thick as a man's thigh at the base.
Twenty or thirty, species of ferns (including a tree-fern) were
luxuriant and handsome. Foliaceous lichens and a few mosses appeared
at 2000 feet. Such is the vegetation of the roads through the
tropical forests of the Outer-Himalaya.
At about 4000 feet the road crossed a saddle, and ran along the
narrow crest of a hill, the top of that facing the plains of India,
and over which is the way to the interior ranges, amongst which
Dorjiling is placed, still twenty-five miles off. A little below this
a great change had taken place in the vegetation, marked, first, by
the appearance of a very English-looking bramble, which, however, by
way of proving its foreign origin, bore a very good yellow fruit,
called here the "yellow raspberry." Scattered oaks, of a noble
species, with large lamellated cups and magnificent foliage,
succeeded; and along the ridge of the mountain to Kursiong (a dawk
bungalow at about 4800 feet), the change in the flora was complete.
The spring of this region and elevation most vividly recalled that of
England. The oak flowering, the birch bursting into leaf, the violet,
_Chrysosplenium, Stellaria_ and _Arum, Vaccinium,_ wild strawberry,
maple, geranium, bramble. A colder wind blew here: mosses and lichens
carpeted the banks and roadsides: the birds and insects were very
different from those below; and everything proclaimed the marked
change in elevation, and not only in this, but in season, for I had
left the winter of the tropics and here encountered the spring of the
temperate zone.
The flowers I have mentioned are so notoriously the harbingers of a
European spring that their presence carries one home at once; but, as
species, they differ from their European prototypes, and are
accompanied at this elevation (and for 2000 feet higher up) with
tree-fern, Pothos, bananas, palms, figs, pepper, numbers of epiphytal
Orchids, and similar genuine tropical genera. The uniform temperature
and humidity of the region here favour the extension of tropical
plants into a temperate region; exactly as the same conditions cause
similar forms to reach higher latitudes in the southern hemisphere
(as in New Zealand, Tasmania, South Chili, etc.) than they do in
the northern.
Along this ridge I met with the first tree-fern. This species seldom
reaches the height of forty feet; the black trunk is but three or
four in girth, and the feathery crown is ragged in comparison with
the species of many other countries: it is the _Alsophila gigantea,_
and ascends nearly to 7000 feet elevation.
Kursiong bungalow, where I stopped for a few hours, is superbly
placed, on a narrow mountain ridge. The west window looks down the
valley of the Balasun river, the east into that of the Mahanuddee:
both of these rise from the outer range, and flow in broad, deep, and
steep valleys (about 4000 feet deep) which give them their respective
names; and are richly wooded from the Terai to their tops.
Till reaching this spur, I had wound upwards along the western slope
of the Mahanuddee valley. The ascent from the spur at Kursiong, to
the top of the mountain (on the northern face of which Dorjiling is
situated), is along the eastern slope of the Balasun.
From Kursiong a very steep zigzag leads up the mountain, through a
magnificent forest of cbesnut, walnut, oaks, and laurels. It is
difficult to conceive a grander mass of vegetation: the straight
shafts of the timber-trees shooting aloft, some naked and clean, with
grey, pale, or brown bark; others literally clothed for yards with a
continuous garment of epiphytes, one mass of blossoms, especially the
white Orchids _Caelogynes,_ which bloom in a profuse manner,
whitening their trunks like snow. More bulky trunks were masses of
interlacing climbers, _Araliaceae, Leguminosae, Vines,_ and
_Menispermeae,_ Hydrangea, and Peppers, enclosing a hollow, once
filled by the now strangled supporting tree, which had long ago
decayed away. From the sides and summit of these, supple branches
hung forth, either leafy or naked; the latter resembling cables flung
from one tree to another, swinging in the breeze, their rocking
motion increased by the weight of great bunches of ferns or Orchids,
which were perched aloft in the loops. Perpetual moisture nourishes
this dripping forest: and pendulous mosses and lichens are met with
in profusion.
Two thousand feet higher up, near Mahaldiram (whence the last view of
the plains is gained), European plants appear,--Berberry, _Paris,_
etc.; but here, night gathered round, and I had still ten miles to go
to the nearest bungalow, that of Pacheem. The road still led along
the eastern slope of the Balasun valley, which was exceedingly steep,
and so cut up by ravines, that it winds in and out of gulleys almost
narrow enough to be jumped across.
It was very late before I arrived at Pacheem bungalow, the most
sinister-looking rest-house I ever saw, stuck on a little cleared
spur of the mountain, surrounded by dark forests, overhanging a
profound valley, and enveloped in mists and rain, and hideous in
architecture, being a miserable attempt to unite the Swiss cottage
with the suburban gothic; it combined a maximum of discomfort with a
minimum of good looks or good cheer. I was some time in finding the
dirty housekeeper, in an outhouse hard by, and then in waking him.
As he led me up the crazy verandah, and into a broad ghostly room,
without glass in the windows, or fire, or any one comfort, my mind
recurred to the stories told of the horrors of the Hartz forest, and
of the benighted traveller's situation therein. Cold sluggish beetles
hung to the damp walls,--and these I immediately secured. After due
exertions and perseverance with the damp wood, a fire smoked lustily,
and, by cajoling the gnome of a housekeeper, I procured the usual
roast fowl and potatos, with the accustomed sauce of a strong smoky
and singed flavour.* [Since writing the above a comfortable house has
been erected at Senadah, the name now given to what was called
Pacheem Bungalow.]
Pacheem stands at an elevation of nearly 7300 feet, and as I walked
out on the following morning I met with English looking plants in
abundance, but was too early in the season to get aught but the
foliage of most. _Chryosplenium,_ violet, _Lobelia,_ a small
geranium, strawberry, five or six kinds of bramble, _Arum, Paris,
Convallaria, Stellaria, Rubia, Vaccinium,_ and various _Gnaphalia._
Of small bushes, cornels, honeysuckles, and the ivy tribe
predominated, with _Symplocos_ and _Skimmia, Eurya,_ bushy brambles,
having simple or compound green or beautifully silky foliage;
_Hypericum,_ Berberry, Hydrangea, Wormwood, _Adamia cyanea,
Viburnum,_ Elder, dwarf bamboo, etc.
The climbing plants were still _Panax_ or _Aralia, Kadsura, Saurauja,
Hydrangea,_ Vines, _Smilax, Ampelopsis, Polygona,_ and, most
beautiful of all, _Stauntonia,_ with pendulous racemes of lilac
blossoms. Epiphytes were rarer, still I found white and purple
_Caeloynes,_ and other Orchids, and a most noble white Rhododendron,
whose truly enormous and delicious lemon-scented blossoms strewed the
ground. The trees were one half oaks, one quarter Magnolias, and
nearly another quarter laurels, amongst which grew Himalayan kinds of
birch, alder, maple, holly, bird-cherry, common cherry, and apple.
The absence of _Leguminosae was most remarkable, and the most
prominent botanical feature in the vegetation of this region: it is
too high for the tropical tribes of the warmer elevations, too low
for the Alpines, and probably too moist for those of temperate
regions; cool, equable, humid climates being generally unfavourable
to that order. Clematis was rare, and other _Ranunculaceae_ still
more so. _Cruciferae_ were absent, and, what was still more
remarkable, I found very few native species of grasses. Both _Poa
annua_ and white Dutch clover flourished where accidentally
disseminated, but only in artificially cleared spots. Of ferns I
collected about sixty species, chiefly of temperate genera.
The supremacy of this temperate region consists in the infinite
number of forest trees, in the absence (in the usual proportion, at
any rate) of such common orders as _Compositae, Leguminosae,
Cruciferae,_ and _Ranunculaceae,_ and of Grasses amongst
Monocotyledons, and in the predominance of the rarer and more local
families, as those of Rhododendron, Camellia, Magnolia, Ivy, Cornel,
Honeysuckle, Hydrangea, Begonia, and Epiphytic orchids.
From Pacheem, the road runs in a northerly direction to Dorjiling,
still along the Balasun valley, till the saddle of the great mountain
Sinchul is crossed. This is narrow, stretching east and west, and
from it a spur projects northwards for five or six miles, amongst the
many mountains still intervening between it and the snows.
This saddle (alt. 7400 feet) crossed, one is fairly amongst the
mountains: the plains behind are cut off by it; and in front, the
snows may be seen when the weather is propitious. The valleys on this
side of the mountain run northwards, and discharge their streams into
great rivers, which, coming from the snow, wind amongst the hills,
and debouche into the Teesta, to the east, where it divides Sikkim
from Bhotan.
Dorjiling station occupies a narrow ridge, which divides into two
spurs, descending steeply to the bed of the Great Rungeet river, up
whose course the eye is carried to the base of the great snowy
mountains. The ridge itself is very narrow at the top, along which
most of the houses are perched, while others occupy positions on its
flanks, where narrow locations on the east, and broader ones on the
west, are cleared from wood. The valleys on either side are at least
6000 feet deep, forest-clad to the bottom, with very few and small
level spots, and no absolute precipice; from their flanks project
innumerable little spurs, occupied by native clearings.
My route lay along the east flank, overhanging the valley of the
Rungmo river. Looking east, the amphitheatre of hills from the ridge
I had crossed was very fine; enclosing an area some four miles across
and 4000 feet deep, clothed throughout with an impenetrable, dark
forest: there was not one clear patch except near the very bottom,
where were some scattered hamlets of two or three huts each. The rock
is everywhere near the surface, and the road has been formed by
blasting at very many places. A wooded slope descends suddenly from
the edge of the road, while, on the other hand, a bank rises abruptly
to the top of the ridge, alternately mossy, rocky, and clayey, and
presenting a good geological section, all the way along, of the
nucleus of Dorjiling spur, exposing broken masses of gneiss. As I
descended, I came upon the upper limit of the chesnut, a tree second
in abundance to the oak; gigantic, tall, and straight in the trunk.
I arrived at Dorjiling on the 16th of April; a showery, cold month at
this elevation. I was so fortunate as to find Mr. Charles Barnes
(brother of my friend at Colgong), the sole tenant of a long,
cottage-like building, divided off into pairs of apartments, which
are hired by visitors. It is usual for Europeans to bring a full
establishment of servants (with bedding, etc.) to such stations, but
I had not done so, having been told that there was a furnished hotel
in Dorjiling; and I was, therefore, not a little indebted to Mr.
Barnes for his kind invitation to join his mess. As he was an active
mountaineer, we enjoyed many excursions together, in the two months
and a half during which we were companions.
Dr. Campbell procured me several active native (Lepcha) lads as
collectors, at wages varying from eight to twenty shillings a month;
these either accompanied me on my excursions, or went by themselves
into the jungles to collect plants, which I occupied myself in
drawing, dissecting, and ticketing: while the preserving of them fell
to the Lepchas, who, after a little training, became, with constant
superintendence, good plant-driers. Even at this season (four weeks
before the setting in of the rains) the weather was very uncertain,
so that the papers had generally to be dried by the fire.
The hill-station or Sanatarium of Dorjiling owes its origin (like
Simla, Mussooree, etc.) to the necessity that exists in India, of
providing places where the health of Europeans may be recruited by a
more temperate climate. Sikkim proved an eligible position for such
an establishment, owing to its proximity to Calcutta, which lies but
370 miles to the southward; whereas the north-west stations mentioned
above are upwards of a thousand miles from that city. Dorjiling ridge
varies in height from 6500 to 7500 feet above the level of the sea;
8000 feet being the elevation at which the mean temperature most
nearly coincides with that of London, viz., 50 degrees.
Sikkim was, further, the only available spot for a Sanatarium
throughout the whole range of the Himalaya, east of the extreme
western frontier of Nepal; being a protected state, and owing no
allegiance, except to the British government; which, after the Rajah
had been driven from the country by the Ghorkas, in 1817, replaced
him on his throne, and guaranteed him the sovereignty. Our main
object in doing this was to retain Sikkim as a fender between Nepal
and Bhotan: and but for this policy, the aggressive Nepalese would,
long ere this, have possessed themselves of Sikkim, Bhotan, and the
whole Himalaya, eastwards to the borders of Burmah.* [Of such being
their wish the Nepalese have never made any secret, and they are said
to have asked permission from the British to march an army across
Sikkim for the purpose of conquering Bhotan, offering to become more
peaceable neighbours to us than the Bhotanese are. Such they would
doubtless have proved, but the Nepal frontier is considered broad
enough already.]
From 1817 to 1828 no notice was taken of Sikkim, till a frontier
dispute occurred between the Lepchas and Nepalese, which was referred
(according to the terms of the treaty) to the British Government.
During the arrangement of this, Dorjiling was visited by a gentleman
of high scientific attainments, Mr. J. W. Grant, who pointed out its
eligibility as a site for a Sanatarium to Lord William Bentinck, then
Governor-General; dwelling especially upon its climate, proximity to
Calcutta, and accessibility; on its central position between Tibet,
Bhotan, Nepal, and British India; and on the good example a
peaceably-conducted and well-governed station would be to our
turbulent neighbours in that quarter. The suggestion was cordially
received, and Major Herbert (the late eminent Surveyor-General of
India) and Mr. Grant were employed to report further on the subject.
The next step taken was that of requesting the Rajah to cede a tract
of country which should include Dorjiling, for an equivalent in money
or land. His first demand was unreasonable; but on further
consideration he surrendered Dorjiling unconditionally, and a sum of
300 pounds per annum was granted to him as an equivalent for what was
then a worthless uninhabited mountain. In 1840 Dr. Campbell was
removed from Nepal as superintendent of the new station, and was
entrusted with the charge of the political relations between the
British and Sikkim government.
Once established, Dorjiling rapidly increased. Allotments of land
were purchased by Europeans for building dwelling-houses; barracks
and a bazaar were formed, with accommodation for invalid European
soldiers; a few official residents, civil and military, formed the
nucleus of a community, which was increased by retired officers and
their families, and by temporary visitors in search of health, or the
luxury of a cool climate and active exercise.
For the first few years matters went on smoothly with the Rajah,
whose minister (or Dewan) was upright and intelligent: but the
latter, on his death, was succeeded by the present Dewan, a Tibetan,
and a relative of the Ranee (or Rajah's wife); a man unsurpassed for
insolence and avarice, whose aim was to monopolise the trade of the
country, and to enrich himself at its expense. Every obstacle was
thrown by him in the way of a good understanding between Sikkim and
the British government. British subjects were rigorously excluded
from Sikkim; every liberal offer for free trade and intercourse was
rejected, generally with insolence; merchandise was taxed, and
notorious offenders, refugees from the British territories, were
harboured; despatches were detained; and the Vakeels, or Rajah's
representatives, were chosen for their insolence and incapacity.
The conduct of the Dewan throughout was Indo-Chinese; assuming,
insolent, aggressive, never perpetrating open violence, but by petty
insults effectually preventing all good understanding. He was met by
neglect or forbearance on the part of the Calcutta government; and by
patience and passive resistance at Dorjiling. Our inaction and
long-suffering were taken for weakness, and our concessions for
timidity. Such has been our policy in China, Siam, and Burmah, and in
each instance the result has been the same. Had it been insisted that
the terms of the treaty should be strictly kept, and had the first
act of insolence been noticed, we should have maintained the best
relations with Sikkim, whose people and rulers (with the exception of
the Dewan and his faction) have proved themselves friendly
throughout, and most anxious for unrestricted communication.
These political matters have not, however, prevented the rapid
increase of Dorjiling; the progress of which, during the two years I
spent in Sikkim, resembled that of an Australian colony, not only in
amount of building, but in the accession of native families from the
surrounding countries. There were not a hundred inhabitants under
British protection when the ground was transferred; there are now
four thousand. At the former period there was no trade whatever;
there is now a very considerable one, in musk, salt, gold-dust,
borax, soda, woollen cloths, and especially in poneys, of which the
Dewan in one year brought on his own account upwards of 50 into
Dorjiling.* [The Tibetan pony, though born and bred 10,000 to 14,000
feet above the sea, is one of the most active and useful animals in
the plains of Bengal, powerful and hardy, and when well trained
early, docile, although by nature vicious and obstinate.] The trade
has been greatly increased by the annual fair which Dr. Campbell has
established at the foot of the hills, to which many thousands of
natives flock from all quarters, and which exercises a most
beneficial influence throughout the neighbouring territories.
At this, prizes (in medals, money, and kind) are given for
agricultural implements and produce, stock, etc., by the originator
and a few friends; a measure attended with eminent success.
In estimating in a sanitory point of view the value of any
health-station, little reliance can be placed on the general
impressions of invalids, or even of residents; the opinion of each
varies with the nature and state of his complaint, if ill, or with
his idiosyncracy and disposition, if well. I have seen prejudiced
invalids rapidly recovering, in spite of themselves, and all the
while complaining in unmeasured terms of the climate of Dorjiling,
and abusing it as killing them. Others are known who languish under
the heat of the plains at one season, and the damp at another; and
who, though sickening and dying under its influence, yet consistently
praise a tropical climate to the last. The opinions of those who
resort to Dorjiling in health, differ equally; those of active minds
invariably thoroughly enjoy it, while the mere lounger or sportsman
mopes. The statistical tables afford conclusive proofs of the value
of the climate to Europeans suffering from acute diseases, and they
are corroborated by the returns of the medical officer in charge of
the station. With respect to its suitability to the European
constitution I feel satisfied, and that much saving of life, health,
and money would be effected were European troops drafted thither on
their arrival in Bengal, instead of being stationed in Calcutta,
exposed to disease, and temptation to those vices which prove fatal
to so many hundreds. This, I have been given to understand, was the
view originally taken by the Court of Directors, but it has never
been carried out.
I believe that children's faces afford as good an index as any to the
healthfulness of a climate, and in no part of the world is there a
more active, rosy, and bright young community, than at Dorjiling.
It is incredible what a few weeks of that mountain air does for the
India-born children of European parents: they are taken there sickly,
pallid or yellow, soft and flabby, to become transformed into models
of rude health and activity.
There are, however, disorders to which the climate (in common with
all damp ones) is not at all suited; such are especially dysentery,
bowel complaints, and liver complaints of long standing; which are
not benefited by a residence on these hills, though how much worse
they might have become in the plains is not shown. I cannot hear that
the climate aggravates, but it certainly does not remove them.
Whoever is suffering from the debilitating effects of any of the
multifarious acute maladies of the plains, finds instant relief, and
acquires a stock of health that enables him to resist fresh attacks,
under circumstances similar to those which before engendered them.
Natives of the low country, and especially Bengalees, are far from
enjoying the climate as Europeans do, being liable to sharp attacks
of fever and ague, from which the poorly clad natives are not exempt.
It is, however, difficult to estimate the effects of exposure upon
the Bengalees, who sleep on the bare and often damp ground, and
adhere, with characteristic prejudice, to the attire of a torrid
climate, and to a vegetable diet, under skies to which these are
least of all adapted.
It must not be supposed that Europeans who have resided in the plains
can, on their first arrival, expose themselves with impunity to the
cold of these elevations; this was shown in the winter of 1848 and
1849, when troops brought up to Dorjiling were cantoned in
newly-built dwellings, on a high exposed ridge 8000 feet above the
sea, and lay, insufficiently protected, on a floor of loosely laid
planks, exposed to the cold wind, when the ground without was covered
with snow. Rheumatisms, sharp febrile attacks, and dysenteries
ensued, which were attributed in the public prints to the unhealthy
nature of the climate of Dorjiling.
The following summary of hospital admissions affords the best test of
the healthiness of the climate, embracing, as the period does, the
three most fatal months to European troops in India. Out of a
detachment (105 strong) of H.M. 80th Regiment stationed at Dorjiling,
in the seven months from January to July inclusive, there were
sixty-four admissions to the hospital, or, on the average, 4-1/3 per
cent. per month; and only two deaths, both of dysentery. Many of
these men had suffered frequently in the plains from acute dysentery
and hepatic affections, and many others had aggravated these
complaints by excessive drinking, and two were cases of delirium
tremens. During the same period, the number of entries at Calcutta or
Dinapore would probably have more than trebled this.