ARRIVAL IN CALCUTTA—THE “MADAGASCAR.”
Cutwa—Bracelets of the Sankh Shell—Anchor-making at Culwa—The
Dying Bengalī—The Skull—The Tides—The “Madagascar”—Mal de Mer—A
Man Overboard—Mountains of Africa—Wrecks—Wineburgh—Constantia—A
South-easter—Return to the Ship—Emancipation of the
Slaves—Grapes—A Trip into the Interior—Captain Harris—St.
Helena—Prices at Mr. Solomon’s Shop—The Tomb of the
Emperor—Longwood—St. Helena Birds—Our Indian Wars—General
Allard—Letter from Jellalabad—Death of Colonel Arnold—The
Afghāns—Mausoleum of Shah Mahmoud—The Gates of Somnaut—The
Remains of the Ancient City of Ghuznee.
_1839, Jan. 1st._—We flew down the river on a powerful wind, until we
reached Cutwa, where we moored, to purchase a _gāgrā_, a brass vessel
for holding water; _gāgrās_ and _lotas_ are manufactured at this place,
as are also _churīs_, bracelets made of the _sankh_, the conch shell
which the Hindūs blow. These churīs are beautifully white, very prettily
ornamented, and are worn in sets: above them, some of the women wore
immense bracelets of silver or of pewter, according to the rank of the
wearer; those bracelets stand up very high, and the pewter ones shine
like silver, from being scrubbed with sand daily in the river. At this
place a number of people were bathing; one of the Bengalī women was
remarkably well formed, my attention was attracted by the beauty of her
figure; her skin was of a clear dark brown, with which her ornaments of
red coral well contrasted; her dress, the long white _sarī_, hanging in
folds of graceful drapery around her; but her face was so ugly, it was
quite provoking;—so plain a face united to so well-formed a figure.
_2nd._—At Nuddea the tide was perceptible, and the smell of the burnt
bodies on the opposite side of the river most annoying.
_3rd._—Anchored at Culwa, to get the wooden anchor filled with mud and
bound up with ropes; the process was simple and curious, but it took
five hours to accomplish the work. Bamboos were tied to the cross of the
anchor, which was of heavy wood,—a bit of old canvas was put inside, and
filled with lumps of strong clay,—the bamboos were then pressed together,
and the whole bound with ropes; a very primitive affair. I had a new
cable made before quitting Prāg,—a necessary precaution; for unless you
have it done beforehand they will detain you at Culwa to do it, as the
hemp is a little cheaper there than in the up-country, and the mānjhīs
do not care for the annoyance the detention of three or four days may
occasion. At Culwa I saw a shocking sight: a dying Bengalī woman was
lying on a mat by the river side, her head supported by a pillow, and a
woman sitting at her side was fanning her with a pankha. At a certain
time the body is laid in the water up to the waist, prayers are repeated;
and at the moment of dying the mud of the holy Ganges is stuffed into the
nose and mouth, and the person expires in the fulness of righteousness.
My people told me that, if the woman did not die by night-time, it was
very likely they would stuff her nose and mouth a little too soon with
the holy mud, and expedite her journey rather too quickly to another
world! The Hindūs, up-country men, who were with me, were disgusted with
the Bengalee customs, and violent in their abuse. Should she recover she
will take refuge, an outcast in the village of Chagdah.
We anchored at Santipūr. The water of the river at the ghāt was covered
with drops of oil, from its being a bathing-place, and the Bengalīs
having the custom of anointing their bodies daily with oil.
A chaprasī of mine, seeing a skull, struck it with a bamboo and cursed
it.
“Why did you strike and curse the skull?” said I.
“It is a vile Bengalī skull; and those sons of slaves, when we ask a
question, only laugh and give no answer.”
“Perhaps they do not understand your up-country language.”
“Perhaps not, that may be the reason; but we hate them.”
_6th._—Two miles above Calcutta:—the day was fine, the wind very heavy,
but favourable: the view of the shipping beautiful; I enjoyed it until I
remembered my crew were up-country men, from Hurdwar, who had never seen
the sea, and knew not the force of the tides. We drifted with fearful
velocity through the shipping; they threw the anchor overboard, but it
would not hold; and away we went, our great unwieldy boat striking first
one ship then another; at length a gentleman, seeing our danger as we
were passing his pinnace, threw a rope on board, which the men seized,
and having fastened it, brought up the vessel. All this time I was on
deck, under a burning sun, and we did not anchor until 12 at noon;
consequently, that night I was very ill, the beating in my head fearfully
painful, and I fainted away three times; but it was of no consequence, I
was in the hands of a kind friend, and soon recovered.
_9th._—The ships lie close to the drive near the Fort, and visiting them
is amusement for a morning. I went on board the “Earl of Hardwicke,”—she
could not accommodate me; thence I proceeded to the “Madagascar,” and
took one of the lower stern cabins for myself, for which I was to give
2500 rupees; and a smaller cabin, at 1300 rupees, for my friend’s three
children, who were to accompany me to England. At the same time I engaged
an European woman to attend upon me and the young ones. Going to sea is
the only chance for the poor boys, after the severe fever they had on the
river, from the effects of which they are still suffering.
The larboard stern cabin suits me remarkably well; it is very spacious,
sufficient to contain a number of curiosities; and before the windows I
have arranged a complete _forest_ of the horns of the buffalo, the stag,
and the antelope.
_20th._—A steamer towed the “Madagascar” down the river, and the pilot
quitted us on the 22nd, from which moment we reckoned the voyage
actually commenced; it is not counted from Calcutta, but from the
Sandheads, when the pilot gives over the vessel to the captain, and
takes his departure. Suddu Khān, my old khansaman, who had accompanied
me thus far, now returned with the pilot: the old man must have been
half-starved, he would eat nothing on board but a little parched grain,
and slept outside my cabin-door; he is an excellent servant, and says he
will take the greatest care of the _sāhib_ until my return.
I suffered severely at the Sandheads from _mal de mer_, on account of the
heavy ground-swell; perhaps no illness is more distressing,—to complain
is useless, and only excites laughter; no concern on the subject is ever
felt or expressed. Why is blind man’s buff like sympathy[38]?
Let no one be tempted to take a lower stern cabin; mine was one of the
largest and best, with three windows and two ports; nevertheless it was
very hot, the wind could not reach it; it was much less comfortable than
a smaller cabin would have been on the poop.
_30th._—Very little wind in the early morning; during the day a dead
calm,—very hot and oppressive. How a calm tries the temper! Give me any
squall you please, but spare me a calm.
_31st._—The ship rolling and pitching most unmercifully; there is
scarcely wind enough to move her; she lies rolling and pitching as if
she would send her masts overboard; thermometer 87°—the heat is most
distressing,—no wind: caught a shark and a sucking fish.
_Feb. 1st._—Thermometer 87°, the heat is distressing: a return
voyage is much hotter than one from England. Captain Walker is very
attentive to his passengers; he keeps an excellent table, and every
thing is done to render them comfortable. We have sixty invalids on
board,—wretched-looking men; one of them, when the ship was going seven
knots an hour, threw himself overboard; a rope was thrown out, to which
he clung, and they drew him in again; he came up sober enough, which it
was supposed he was not when he jumped overboard. Fortunate was it for
the man that the voracious shark we afterwards caught, whose interior was
full of bones, did not make his acquaintance in the water.
_March 4th._—The morning was fine, the sea heavy, and we came in
delightfully towards the Cape: the mountains of Africa were beautiful,
with the foaming breakers rushing and sounding at their base. The
lighthouse and green point, with its white houses, were pleasing objects.
The view as you enter the Cape is certainly very fine: the mountains did
not appear very high to my eye, accustomed to the everlasting snows of
the Himalaya, but they are wild, bold, and picturesque, rising directly
from the sea,—and such a fine, unquiet, foaming, and roaring sea as it
is! The Devil’s Peak, the Lion, and Table Mountain, were all in high
beauty; not a cloud was over them. The wreck of the “Juliana” lay near
the lighthouse; and the “Trafalgar” was also there, having been wrecked
only a week before.
_5th._—Breakfasted at the George Hotel; fresh bread and butter was a
luxury. Drove to Wineburgh to see a friend, and not finding him at home,
we consoled ourselves with making a _tiffin_—that is, luncheon,—on
the deliciously fine white water grapes from his garden. Proceeded to
Constantia, called on a Dutch lady, the owner of the vineyard, whose name
I forget; she, her husband, and daughter were very civil, and offered
us refreshment. We walked over the vineyard; the vines are cut down to
the height of a gooseberry bush, short and stumpy; the blue grapes were
hanging on them half dried up, and many people were employed picking off
the vine leaves, to leave the bunches more exposed to the sun; the taste
of the fruit was very luscious, and a few grapes were sufficient, they
were too cloying, too sweet. They told us it took an amazing quantity
of grapes to make the Constantia, so little juice being extracted, in
consequence of their first allowing the bunches to become so dry upon
the vine; but as that juice was of so rich a quality, it rendered the
Constantia proportionably expensive. The old Dutchman took us up a ladder
into an oak tree, in which benches were fixed all round the trunk; he
took great pride in the breadth of it, and the little verdant room formed
of the branches was his favourite place for smoking. The acorns I picked
up were remarkably large, much larger than English acorns. Oaks grow very
quickly at the Cape, three times as fast as in England; but the wood is
not so good, and they send to England for the wood for the wine-casks,
which is sent out ready to be put together; they think their wine too
valuable for the wood at the Cape. There was no wine-making going on at
the time, but the lovers of Constantia may feel some disgust at knowing
that the juice is pressed out by trampling of the grapes in a tub;—an
operation performed by the naked feet of the Africanders, who are not the
most cleanly animals on earth.
How much the freshness of the foliage and the beauty of the country
through which we drove delighted me! The wild white geranium and the
myrtle were both in flower in the hedges. After a sea-voyage we devoured
the vegetables, the fish, and the fruit, like children turned loose
amongst dainties.
Our voyage from Calcutta to the Cape had been a very fine one—forty-two
days; the shortest period in which it has been accomplished was
thirty-one days, by a French vessel. The _mal de mer_ that had made me
miserable from the time the pilot quitted us never left me until we were
within four or five days’ sail of the Cape; then image to yourself the
delight with which I found myself on shore. Eatables—such as sardines,
anchovies, &c.,—are more reasonable than in Calcutta; one shilling is
equivalent to a rupee. Visited a shop where there is a good collection
of stuffed birds; bought a Butcher bird,—it catches its prey, sticks it
upon a thorn, and devours it at leisure: small birds are one shilling
each; but I know not if they are prepared with arsenical soap, like
those to be purchased at Landowr. No good ostrich feathers were to be
had at the Europe shops: there is a shop, kept by a Dutchwoman, near
the landing-place, where the best—the uncleaned ostrich feathers—are
sometimes to be bought; the price about five guineas per pound. My
man-servant gave twenty shillings for eighteen very fine large long
feathers in the natural state, and he told me he made a great profit by
selling them in town.
_6th._—I was just starting to dine with an old friend, when I was told
a South-easter was coming on, and I must go on board at once; there had
been no South-easter for some time, and it was likely to blow three
days. The Table Mountain was covered with a white cloud, spread like
a table-cloth over the summit, and the wind blew very powerfully. My
friend hurried me off, saying instances had been known of ships having
been blown off the land during a South-easter, leaving the passengers
on shore, and their not being able to return for them. A gentleman
offered the boatman who brought us on shore five pounds to take us to the
“Madagascar,”—she was lying three miles from land; the man did not like
the wind, and would not go. A boatman with a small boat said he would
take six of the party for thirty shillings. When we got fairly from land
the little boat pitched and tossed, and the waves broke over her, running
down our backs; it was a very dark evening, we made the wrong vessel,
and as we got off from her side I thought we should have been swamped;
then there was the fear of not making our own ship, and being blown out
to sea. Very glad was I when we were alongside, and still more so when
my feet were on her deck,—the little boat rose and sunk so violently at
the side of the vessel. How the wind roared through the rigging! The
South-easter blew all night, and abated in the morning, when those who
had been left on shore came on board.
A friend came to say farewell, and brought me a large hamper full of the
finest grapes, pears, and apples,—a most charming present. I and the
three children feasted upon them for ten days: how refreshing fine grapes
were at breakfast! and such grapes! I never tasted any so fine before.
From a Newfoundland ship near us I purchased several baskets of shells.
There was a little squadron of fishermen’s boats all out together, and
hundreds of birds were following the boats, resting on the water at
times, and watching for the bits of bait thrown away by the fishermen,
which they picked up—it was a pretty sight.
The mountains certainly are very wild and beautiful; there is vegetation
to the top of Table Mountain, 3500 feet. Landowr, on which I formerly
lived, is 7500 feet above the sea; and that is covered with fine trees,
and vegetation of all kinds, all over the summit.
At Constantia, at Mr. Vanrennon’s vineyard, his wife complained greatly
of the emancipation of the slaves: some of them were unwilling to be
free, some of them were glad that freedom procured them idleness; their
wages being high and food cheap, the emancipated people will only work
now and then. The slaves collect in Cape Town, they work for a week, the
wages of seven days will supply them with rice and fish for a length of
time; and until forced by necessity, they will not work again. They will
prepare the land, but when the harvest is to be cut, they will not cut it
unless you give them a sum far beyond their wages; and if you refuse to
submit to the imposition, the crops must rot on the ground. The thatching
on the houses at Constantia is most beautifully done, so correct and
regular, and every thing there looks neat, and clean, and happy.
There are several sorts of grapes at the Cape, the purple, and the white
Pontac grape, of which the Constantia wine is made. The white sweet pod,
a long grape; the sweet water, a round white grape; and a round purple
grape;—they are all very fine. The medical men prescribe nothing to old
Indians but grapes, grapes, as many as they can eat; that is the only
medicine recommended, and the best restorative after calomel and India.
The Hindoos, as they call us Indians at the Cape, approve highly of the
prescription. The Cape horses, which are fine, and the cows, delighted
me; there were some excellent and strong mules also. The delights of
shore after having been cooped up in a ship, only those who have made a
long voyage and have suffered from _mal de mer_ can understand; or the
pleasure of roaming at large on the quiet, firm earth, the sweet smell of
the fields, no bilge water, no tar, no confinement.
A friend of mine, a Bengal civilian, gave a good account of an
expedition he made into the interior for about three hundred miles from
the frontier with a Madras civilian. They got deer in abundance, zebra,
and Guinea fowls, and saw lions in flocks. Fancy twelve of the latter
gambling together near a small pool of water. They travelled in a waggon
drawn by twenty bullocks, and took three Hottentot boys with them as
servants, and fifteen horses, of which they lost all but one by theft or
accident. He did not go, by many hundred miles, as far into the interior
as Mr. Harris, not, in fact, into the hunting ground for elephants and
camelopards: he spoke of Harris’s work, which is very interesting: he
knew Mr. Harris, says he is a fine fellow, and from what he saw believes
his accounts to be unexaggerated. What a brilliant country for sport!
One of the gentlemen of this party broke his collar-bone: they met with
some Italians who came to them for protection; they also met with twelve
lions, upon which they made off and got home again as fast as they could.
My tale is a lame one; I have forgotten their adventures, but suppose the
twelve lions did not eat the twenty bullocks, or how could the party have
got home again?
_7th._—Quitted Cape Town on a fine and powerful wind; we were all in
good spirits; the change had done us good, and we had gathered fresh
patience—the worst part of the voyage was over—for a man in bad health
what a trial is that voyage from Calcutta to the Cape!
_12th._—Very cold weather: this frigate-built ship is going nine knots
an hour, and rolling her main chains under water. In the evening, as I
was playing with the children on deck at oranges and lemons, we were all
thrown down from the ship having rolled heavily; her mizen-top-gallant
mast and the main-top-gallant mast both broke; one spar fell overboard,
and the broken masts hung in the rigging.
_18th._—At 8 A.M. we arrived at St. Helena: the view of the island is
very impressive; it rises abruptly from the sea—a mass of wild rocks,
the heavy breakers lashing them; there appears to be no shore, the waves
break directly against the rocks. The highest point is, I believe, two
thousand feet; the island appears bare and desolate as you approach
it. A white heavy cloud hung over the highest part of the mountain; the
morning was beautiful, and many vessels were at anchor. I sketched the
island when off Barn’s Point. The poles of the flagstaffs still remain,
on which a flag was hoisted whenever the emperor appeared, that it might
tell of his whereabouts, giving him the unpleasant feeling that spies
were perpetually around him. I went on shore in a bumboat that had come
alongside with shells. Landing is difficult at times when the waves run
high; if you were to miss your footing on the jetty from the rising and
sinking of the boat, you would fall in, and there would be little chance
of your being brought up again. There are only two points on the island
on which it is possible to land, namely, this jetty and one place on the
opposite side, both of which are strongly guarded by artillery. Batteries
bristle up all over the rock like quills on a porcupine. The battery on
the top of Ladder Hill may be reached by the road that winds up its side,
or by the perpendicular ladder of six hundred and thirty-six steps. We
went to Mr. Solomon’s Hotel, and ordered a late dinner; the prices at his
shop and at the next door are very high: he asked twelve shillings for
articles which I had purchased for five at the Cape.
Procured a pass for the tomb, and a ticket for Longwood, for which we
paid three shillings each. Next came a carriage drawn by two strong
horses, for which they charged three pounds. We ascended the hill from
James’s Hotel; from the summit, as you look down, the view is remarkably
beautiful; the town lying in the space between the two hills, with the
ocean in front, and a great number of fine vessels at anchor. The roads
are good, and where they run by the side of a precipice, are defended by
stone walls.
The tomb of the emperor is situated in a quiet retired spot at the
foot of and between two hills. Three plain large flag-stones, taken
from the kitchen at Longwood, cover the remains of Napoleon: there is
no inscription, nor does there need one; the tomb is raised about four
inches from the ground, and surrounded by an iron palisade formed at
the top into spearheads. Within the palisade is still seen a geranium,
planted by one of the ladies who shared his exile. The old willow has
fallen, and lies across the railing of the tomb, withered, dead, and
leafless. Many young willows reared from the old tree shade the tomb,
and every care is taken of the place by an old soldier, who attends to
open the gate, and who offers to visitors the water from the stream
which now flows out of the hill by the side of the tomb. Its course was
formerly across the spot where the tomb is now placed; it was turned to
the side to render it less damp: the water is remarkably pure, bright,
and tasteless. It was under these willows, and by the side of this little
clear stream that Buonaparte used to pass his days in reading, and this
spot he selected as his burial-place.
A book is here kept in which visitors insert their names: many pages
were filled by the French with lamentations over their emperor, and
execrations upon the English. Many people have made a pilgrimage from
France to visit the tomb, and on their arrival have given way to the most
frantic grief and lamentations.
Having pleased the old soldier who has charge of the tomb, with a
present in return for some slips of the willow, we went to a small and
neat cottage hard-by for grapes and refreshment. It is inhabited by a
respectable widow, who, by offering refreshment to visitors, makes a
good income for herself and family. We had grapes, peaches, and pears,
all inferior, very inferior to the fruit at the Cape. After tiffin we
proceeded to Longwood, and passed several very picturesque points on
the road. Around Longwood there are more trees, and the appearance of
the country is less desolate than in other parts of the island. We
were first taken to the old house in which the emperor lived; it is a
wretched place, and must ever have been the same. The room into which
you enter was used as a billiard-room: the dining-room and the study
are wretched holes. The emperor’s bed-room and bath is now a stable. In
the room in which Buonaparte expired is placed a corn-mill! I remember
having seen a picture of this room: the body of the emperor was lying
near the window from which the light fell upon the face of the corpse.
The picture interested me greatly at the time, and was vividly brought
to my recollection as I stood before the window, whilst in imagination
the scene passed before me. How great was the power of that man! with
what jealous care the English guarded him! No wonder the women used to
frighten their children into quietness by the threat that Buonaparte
would come and eat them up, when the men held him in such awe. Who can
stand on the desolate and picturesque spot where the emperor lies buried,
and not feel for him who rests beneath? How much he must have suffered
during his sentry-watched rambles on that island, almost for ever within
hearing of the eternal roar of the breakers, and viewing daily the
vessels departing for Europe!
In the grounds by the side of the house are some oak-trees planted by
his own hands; there is also a fish-pond, near which was a birdcage. The
emperor used to sit here under the firs, but as he found the wind very
bleak, a mud wall was raised to protect the spot from the sharp gales of
the sea. After the death of Napoleon the birdcage sold for £175.
We quitted the old house and went to view the new one, which was
incomplete at the time of the death of the emperor; had he lived another
week he would have taken possession of it. The sight of this house put
me into better humour with the English; in going over the old one, I
could not repress a feeling of great disgust and shame. The new house
is handsome and well finished; and the apartments, which are large and
comfortable, would have been a proper habitation for the exiled emperor.
The bath daily used by him in the old dwelling has been fitted up in the
new; every thing else that could serve as a relic has been carried away.
In the grounds were some curious looking gum-trees covered with long
shaggy moss. The heat of the day was excessive; we had umbrellas, but
I had never before been exposed to such heat, not even in India. The
sea-breeze refreshed us, but the sun raised my skin like a blister; it
peeled off after some days quite scorched.
We returned to dinner at Mr. Solomon’s Hotel. Soup was placed on the
table. Dr. G⸺ said, “This soup has been made of putrid meat.” “Oh no,
Sir,” said the waiter, “the soup is very good; the meat smelt, but the
cook took it all out before it came to table!” A rib of beef was produced
with a flourish; it was like the soup,—we were very glad to send it out
of the room. We asked to see the landlord; the waiter said he was over
at the mess: we desired him to be sent for, of course supposing he was
sending up dinner to the officers of a Scotch regiment, whose bagpipe
had been stunning our ears, unaccustomed to the silver sound. What was
our surprise when we found the hotel and shopkeeper was dining with the
officers of the regiment! King’s officers may allow of this, but it would
never be permitted at the mess of a regiment of the Honourable Company;
perhaps his being sheriff formed the excuse. It was too late to procure
dinner from another house; the boatmen would wait no longer, and our
hungry party returned on board to get refreshment from the steward.
The night was one of extreme beauty—the scene at the jetty under the
rocks was delightful; the everlasting roar of the breakers that at times
dash over the parapet wall, united with the recollections awakened by the
island, all produce feelings of seriousness and melancholy. There is a
cavern in the rock which is nearly full at high water, and the rush into
and retreat of the waves from that hollow is one cause of the great noise
of the breakers.
_19th._—Birds were offered for sale in the street; they appeared very
beautiful; the St. Helena red birds, the avadavats, Cape sparrows, and
green canaries were to be purchased. I dislike birds in a cage, although
I took home four parrots from Calcutta, two of which died off the Cape
during the rolling and pitching of that uneasy sea. Quitted St. Helena at
10 A.M.
Our Indian wars, propped up by the old bugbear of a Russian invasion,
and the discovery of one thing, at least, the intrigues of Russian
emissaries, seem to have excited more than usual interest in England,
Her Most Gracious Majesty having been pleased to notice our preventive
movements to the north-west in her speech on the prorogation of the
House. The 16th Lancers are amongst the fortunate who are actually to
return. All speak of the campaign as most distressing from climate
and privation of all sorts, and the popular king, the beloved of his
subjects, turns out to be as popular as Louis le Desiré. In February
1839, M. le Général Allard, that most agreeable and gentlemanlike man,
died at Peshawar. How much I regretted that circumstances prevented
my accepting his escort and invitation to visit Lahore! I should have
enjoyed seeing the meeting between the Governor-General and the old
Cyclops Runjeet Singh.
We have received a letter from a friend in the 16th Lancers; he says, the
thermometer is 108° in tents; that they have suffered greatly, both man
and horse, for want of supplies; that camp followers are on quarter, and
the troops on half allowance, receiving compensation for the deficit. The
army set out on their march from our provinces in the highest spirits,
dreaming of battle, promotion, and prize-money,—they are now to a man
heartily sick of a campaign which promises nothing but loss of health—no
honour, no fight, no prize-money, no promotion.
The following are interesting extracts:—
“Jellalabad, Oct. 28th, 1839.
“Soon after the army left Shikerpūr in the end of February,
our difficulties commenced; and we no sooner got on the limits
of what is laid down in the maps as a _marshy_ desert, than we
suffered from a very great scarcity of water, and were obliged
to make long and forced marches to get any: through the Bolan
Pass we got on tolerably well; the road winds a great part
of the way up the shingly bed of a river, and the halting
places were like the sea-beach. But no sooner had we arrived
at Quetta, in the Valley of Shawl, than the native troops and
camp followers suffered in earnest; the former were placed
on an allowance of half a seer, and the latter of a quarter
daily; and grain was selling at two seers for a rupee. In this
manner, proceeding more like a beaten army than an advancing
one, the cavalry not supplied with any grain, and falling by
tens and twenties daily, we reached Candahar. It has always
appeared to me a mercy that we had up to this point no enemy
to oppose us. We remained two months in Candahar, where we
recruited a good deal in the condition of our horses, but the
heat was excessive, 110° in our tents, and the men became
unhealthy. From Candahar to Ghuznee we got on better, and the
storm and capture of that fort had a wonderful effect on our
spirits. Ghuznee, naturally and by art made a very strong
fortification, was most gallantly carried, and with very
trifling loss; the cavalry of course had nothing to do, nor
have we through the campaign, though we have been harassed and
annoyed more than at any period of the Peninsular War. As to
the country we have passed through from the Sir-i-Bolan to the
boundary of the hot and cold countries, two marches from this
nearer Cabul, there is a great sameness, with the exception
of the outline of the mountain scenery, which has always been
wild, rugged, and magnificent; but the total absence of trees,
and almost entire want of vegetation, excepting near the towns
of Quetta, Candahar, and Cabul, and some very few villages
situated near a stream, give an appearance of desolation to
the whole country we have passed through. It may be described,
with a few excepted spots, as a howling wilderness. With the
people I have been much disappointed: from what I had read in
Elphinstone and Burnes, I had expected to meet a fine brave
patriotic race, instead of which, to judge from what we have
seen, they are a treacherous, avaricious, and cowardly set
of people; even as bands of robbers and murderers they are
cowardly, and in the murders of poor Inverarity of ours, and
Colonel Herring, it appears they did not venture an attack,
though both were unarmed, till they had knocked their victims
down with stones. If these rascals had been endowed with
courage and patriotism, we never should be here. I should
describe the Afghāns as mean, avaricious, treacherous,
cowardly, filthy, generally plunderers and thieves, and
universally liars, and withal extremely religious. No one
has ever visited Cabul without speaking with delight of its
streams, and mountains, and gardens extending for miles, and
the endless quantities of delicious fruit and flowers displayed
in shops through the bazārs, with a degree of taste that would
be no discredit to a Covent Garden fruiterer. Cabul itself is
situated in a valley, or rather a hole in a valley, surrounded
on three sides by hills; the scenery in all directions is
beautiful, but least so towards Hindostan. In the city there
are four pakka bazārs, arched, and the interior decorated with
paintings of trees and flowers so as almost to resemble fresco.
The surrounding country is prodigiously fertile and excellently
cultivated; the fields are divided by hedges of poplar and
willow-trees; and for the first time since leaving England, I
have seen the European magpie. On the 20th of August we lost
Colonel Arnold, who had long remained almost in a hopeless
state: his liver weighed ten pounds; I do not think he ever
recovered the attack he had when you were at Meerut. At Colonel
Arnold’s sale, sherry sold at the rate of 212 rupees a dozen;
bottles of sauce for 24 rupees each, and of mustard for 35
rupees. At Colonel Herring’s sale, 1000 cigars, or about 1 lb.,
sold for upwards of one hundred guineas!—this will tell you how
well we have been off for such little luxuries. We left Cabul
on the 15th inst., and the following morning, passing through
a defile, was as cold a one as I ever felt in my life; from
the splashing of a stream the ice formed thickly on our sword
scabbards and the bottoms of our cloaks; and now the heat is
as great in the day as at Meerut,—such are the vicissitudes of
climate in this country!
“The Afghāns, in their own traditions, claim descent from Saul,
King of Israel, and the ten tribes; they invariably allow
the beard to grow, and shave a broad stripe down the centre
of the head; the beard gives an appearance of gravity and
respectability to the lowest of the people. The Afghāns are
good horsemen, and appear to have fine hands on their bridle;
and they never tie their horses’ heads down with a martingale.
In this country there is a strong useful description of horse,
which reins up well, and appears to go pleasantly, but the best
of these are brought from Herat. Here they shoe their horses
with a broad plate of iron, covering the whole sole of the
foot, with the exception of the frog.
“What I have said of the Afghāns of Candahar will apply
to all we have seen; but perhaps at Cabul the men may be
shorter and more thickly set. I have never seen a more hardy,
sturdy-looking, or more muscular race, and the deep pomegranate
complexion gives a manly expression to the countenance. Of the
women we have seen nothing, but hear they are beautiful; those
taken at Ghuznee were certainly not so; they are frequently
met walking in the city, or riding on horseback seated behind
a man, but universally so closely veiled that you cannot
detect a feature of the face, or in the slightest degree trace
the outline of the figure. It is a pity Dost Muhammad was
not selected as our puppet king, for Shah Sūjah is neither a
gentleman nor a soldier, and he is highly unpopular among his
subjects, who—but for our support—would soon knock him off his
perch.
“My squadron was on picquet near a village surrounded with
gardens, with a clear rapid stream of water running through
it; and in this village, between two or three miles north-east
of Ghuznee, is the tomb of the great Shah Mahmoud, which has
stood upwards of eight hundred years, and which is an object
of particular veneration to all true believers. The entrance
from the village is by a low coarse doorway, which leads to a
small garden; a paved footway conducts to an arched building,
undeserving of notice: on either side the footpath are hollowed
figures of sphinxes in white marble, and seemingly of great
antiquity, and through these sphinxes water used to flow from
the mouth; above them also, there were other small fountains.
From the building I have mentioned, a rudely constructed vault
or passage—a kind of cloister—leads to another small garden, at
the end of which stands the mausoleum of the Sultan Mahmoud,
the doors of which are said to have been brought by the Sultan
as a trophy from the famous Hindoo temple of Somnaut, in
Guzerat, which he sacked in his last expedition to India; they
are of sandal-wood, curiously carved, and, considering their
very great age, in fine preservation, although they have in
two or three places been coarsely repaired with common wood.
These doors are, I should think, about twelve feet high and
fifteen feet broad; and are held in such estimation, though it
is upwards of eight hundred years since they were removed from
Guzerat, that, it is said, Runjeet Singh made it one of his
conditions to assist Shah Sūjah in a former expedition, that he
should give up the sandal-wood gates; but this was indignantly
rejected. In truth, I saw nothing particular about these doors,
and if I had not been told of their age, and of their being of
sandal-wood, I should have passed, taking them for deal, and
merely observed their carving. Over the doors are a very large
pair of stag’s horns (spiral), and four knobs of mud, which
are the wonder of all true Musalmāns, who firmly believe in
the miracle of their having remained uninjured and unrepaired
for so many centuries. The mausoleum itself can boast of no
architectural beauty, and is very coarsely constructed. The
tombstone is of white marble, on which are sculptured Arabic
verses from the korān, and various coloured flags are suspended
over it, so as to protect it from dust. Against the wall at the
head of the tomb is nailed up the largest tiger’s skin I ever
saw, though it had evidently been stretched lengthwise. When
the picquet was relieved I rode into Ghuznee by the Cabul road,
by the side of which, at some distance from each other, are
two lofty minarets,—one, I should think, one hundred, and the
other one hundred and twenty feet in height: these are built of
variously-shaped bricks, elaborately worked in various devices:
the base of both these pillars is octangular, and rises to half
the height, looking as if it had been built round the pillar
itself, which is circular; or as if the pillar had been stuck
into this case: the easternmost pillar is the highest and most
elaborately decorated. I think I before observed that these
minarets at a distance look like prodigious eau-de-cologne
bottles. The mausoleum of Sultan Mahmoud, and these minarets,
are now the only remains of the ancient city of Ghuznee; and
nothing further exists to show the magnificence of the Ghuznee
kings, or to mark the former site of a city which eight
centuries ago was the capital of a kingdom, reaching from the
Tigris to the Ganges, and from the Jaxartes to the Persian
Gulf. The present town is computed to contain about six hundred
miserable houses. So much for greatness!—Such in the East is
the lapse of mighty empires.”