SKETCHES ON THE RIVER FROM CALCUTTA TO COLGONG.
Calcutta—Mango Fish—Lord Ellenborough recalled—Fall of Fish—The
Hoogly—The Bore—Quitted Calcutta—Ishapūr—Chagdah—Happiness
of Dying in Sight of the Ganges—Quitted the
Tropics—Cutwa—Plassey—Berhampūr—Morus Indica—Jungipūr—Quitted
the Bhagirathī—Night Blindness—Sikrī-galī—Herd of
Buffaloes—Patturgatta Hill—Rocks of Colgong—An Ajgar—A Wild and
Singular Scene.
_1844, April 1st._—We took a house in Chowringhee, and found soon after
that the cholera and small-pox were prevalent in Calcutta: how ill the
dampness and the heat of this Bengal climate render me!—they destroy all
energy. Calcutta is famous for its _tapsi machhī_ (mango fish), in this
month they are in perfection. “Mangoes and fish meet of necessity[44];”
they come in at the same season, and the unripe mango is also used in
cooking fish: the dāndīs bring them in small baskets fresh from the
boats to the Course of an evening, and sell them twenty for a rupee,
at the time a khansaman charges his master one rupee for five of them.
Parties are made, to Fulta and Budge-Budge, down the river, to eat
mango fish,—after the fashion of white-bait parties in town; they are
excellent—smoked in the same manner as anwarī fish—for breakfast.
_28th._—A fine fall of rain,—perhaps it will clear the air, and drive off
the cholera, which is raging strongly at present.
_May 24th._—Mango fish fifty per rupee. The weather very hot, the nights
most oppressive, from the heavy mist and great heat. We left our horses
at the Cape, which we regretted on our arrival in Calcutta; we have been
looking out for a pair of carriage horses for some time. This is the
cheapest season of the year in which to make the purchase, but they are
very dear; those for sale at eight hundred rupees are vile, those at
one thousand indifferent,—you cannot get a good pair under fourteen or
sixteen hundred rupees; it would not answer to bring riding horses from
the Cape for sale, but carriage horses would answer well, they are in
such great demand in Calcutta.
_29th._—Rain having fallen on the Queen’s birthday, the display of
fireworks was postponed until to-day; it was a failure, with the
exception of one bouquet, which was good. They would not bear a
comparison with the _jeux d’artifices_ that I witnessed in Paris on the
day of the King’s fête; I never saw any colours that equalled those in
brilliancy and variety. The last firework, a bouquet of rockets of divers
colours, was superb; and sometimes a composition was burnt, that threw a
red glare over the landscape; then came a glare of blue lights, casting
a spectral appearance on the houses, the river, and the sky, after which
another tint was thrown forth, and the effect was excellent.
_June 16th._—Lord Ellenborough recalled,—deposed by the Court of
Directors.
_July 18th._—Visited the livery stables to see some fresh Arabs, among
which some very good ones were pointed out to me. There was not a horse
that I would have selected for my own riding whose price was less than
from twelve to sixteen hundred rupees; and for those likely to turn out
good racers they asked two and three thousand.
_31st._—Lord Ellenborough quitted Calcutta, and returned to England.
_Aug. 22nd._—A very heavy gale, and a deep fall of rain; the next day the
natives were catching fish all over the maidān in front of the Government
House; they say the fish fell with the rain, which is now a foot deep on
the ground.
_Oct. 1st._—It being our intention to proceed by the river to Allahabad,
and the weather becoming daily cooler, we hired a pinnace budgerow for
ourselves, a large _olāk_ for the baggage, and a cook-boat, sent them to
Prinsep’s Ghāt, and prepared for the voyage.
That branch of the Ganges that quits the main stream at Gopalgunj,
flowing by Sooty to Moorshedabad, is called the Bhagirathī until it
reaches Nuddea, at which place it is joined by the Jellinghy, and they
flow on, passing Calcutta, to the island of Sāgor, under the name of the
Hoogly. Only that part of the Ganges which lies in a line from Gangoutrī
to Sāgor island is considered holy by the Hindūs, and named the Ganga or
Bhagirathī. The Hoogly river, therefore, of Europeans, is considered as
the true Ganges.
The Bore commences at Hoogly Point, Sāgor, where the river first
contracts itself, and is perceptible above the town of Hoogly: so quick
is its motion, that it scarcely employs four hours in running up from
the one to the other, although the distance is nearly seventy miles. It
does not run on the Calcutta side, but along the opposite bank; whence
it crosses at Chitpūr, about four miles above Fort William, and proceeds
with great violence. On its approach boats must immediately quit the
shore, and go for safety into the middle of the river; at Calcutta it
sometimes occasions an instantaneous rise of five feet. The tide is
perceptible as far as Nuddea.
_10th._—Quitted Calcutta with a foul wind and heavy rain,—damp, gloomy,
and rheumatic weather.
_11th._—Started with a fair wind, bought two milch goats for thirteen
rupees eight ānās,—a great prize on the river. Moored the vessels at
Ishapūr, in order to visit a friend who has charge of the powder-works
at that place; his house, which is large and excellent, is situated on
the banks of the river; every thing is so cool and fresh around it; it is
delightful to be in the country once more.
_14th._—The fast of the Muharram ended to-day; the followers of the
prophet amongst our servants, wishing to have a great feast, petitioned
to be allowed to stay till noon, to worship and to stuff pillāo. Quitted
Hoogly with the tide at half-past one P.M.
_15th._—Passed the village of Chagdah, on the left bank of the
Matabangah, forty-six miles from Calcutta; a village of _corpses_,—the
inhabitants of which, having been brought by their relatives to the
river’s side, to die before their time, prefer a debased existence to
a righteous end, agreeing therein with the highest authorities. Pope’s
Homer makes Achilles in the Elysian fields say,
“Rather I’d choose laboriously to bear
A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air,
A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,
Than reign the scepter’d monarch of the dead.”
Solomon deems it better to be a live dog than a dead lion; and Job,
called by Byron “the Respectable,” says, “Why should a living man
complain?” to which Byron adds, “For no reason that I can see, except
that a dead man cannot.” In the face of these grave authorities, as
far as I am concerned, I cannot help being of a different opinion: the
proverb agrees with my view of the subject,—“It is better to die with
honour than live with infamy[45].” These unfortunate people, outcasts
from their homes and families, on account of their unexpected recovery,
after having been exposed by their relatives to die on the banks of the
river, have taken refuge in this village, and are its sole inhabitants.
“The Hindūs are extremely anxious to die in sight of the Ganges, that
their sins may be washed away in their last moments. A person in his last
agonies is frequently dragged from his bed and friends, and carried, in
the coldest or in the hottest weather, from whatever distance, to the
river-side, where he lies, if a poor man, without a covering day and
night, until he expires. With the pains of death upon him, he is placed
up to the middle in water, and drenched with it; leaves of the toolsee
plant are also put into his mouth, and his relations call upon him to
repeat, and repeat for him, the names of Ramŭ, Hŭree, Narayŭnŭ, Brŭmha,
Gŭnga, &c. In some cases the family priest repeats some incantations,
and makes an offering to Voitŭrŭnēē, the river over which the soul,
they say, is ferried after leaving the body. The relations of the dying
man spread the sediment of the river on his forehead or breast, and
afterwards, with the finger, write on this sediment the name of some
deity. If a person should die in his house, and not by the river-side,
it is considered as a great misfortune, as he thereby loses the help of
the goddess in his dying moments. If a person choose to die at home, his
memory becomes infamous.”
This part of the river is flat and uninteresting; anchored a little
below Culna, which is sixty-six miles by water, fifty-two by land, from
Calcutta. At night the insects, attracted by the brilliant light of the
Silvant lamps, came into the cabin in swarms—like the plagues of Egypt
they fall into the wine-cups and fill the plates; they are over my hands,
and over the paper on which I am writing, and are a complete pest.
_16th._—Very hot during the middle of the day; thermometer 86°. Passed
the Dhobah sugar-works, seventy-two miles by water from Calcutta; left
the Jellingee river on the right, and anchored at Nuddea, eighty-three
by water, and sixty-four by land. The steamers generally arrive at the
Dhobah sugar-works in one day, but still we think we have come on quickly
in the Budgerow! We did not land to visit the long range of temples on
the bank of the river. To this place the Calcutta Sircars come, to _eat
the air_.
At Meertulla, half-way between Nuddea and Dumdumma, we crossed the Tropic
of Cancer, which made us fancy ourselves in a cooler climate, in spite
of the extreme heat. At noon-day it is almost intolerable, and very
oppressive, but the early mornings are cool, and the nights also; moored
off Dumdumma.
_18th._—Lugāoed on a dry sandbank beyond Dewangunge, one hundred and
eighteen miles from Calcutta; it has a large mart, and a fine indigo
factory.
_19th._—Arrived early in the day off Cutwa, situated on the right bank of
the Bhagirathī, five miles from Dewangunge; anchored to procure fowls,
fish, and vegetables; it has a coal depôt for steamers. Cutwa is on the
Adgar-nālā: found nothing in the bazār but eggs and plantains, fowls
and _byguns_ (solanum melongena). Purchased twelve sticks of _shola_, or
_sola_, as it is commonly called, for one _paisā_; the dāndīs use it as a
tinder-box, and strike fire into the end of a sola stick with a flint and
steel. A cooler day; the river very uninteresting; moored on a nameless
sandbank.
_20th._—Passed the Field of Plassey, sixteen miles above Cutwa, on the
left bank; memorable for the defeat of Suraja Dowla, by the British
forces under Colonel Clive, June 23rd, 1757. This battle decided the fate
of Bengal, and ultimately of India. Anchored on a fine cool sandbank near
the Company’s _fīl-khāna_ (elephant establishment), on the left bank,
eight miles above Plassey.
_21st._—Arrived at Rangamattī, a village on the right bank, with steep
red banks; the Company’s silk manufactories were here formerly. The place
is celebrated for _sajjī-mattī_, or fuller’s earth: it is six miles from
Berhampūr, one hundred and sixty from Calcutta, and seventy-seven from
Jellingee. Lugāoed at the civil station of Berhampūr, which looks quite
deserted; nothing is going forward; no crowds of natives on the bank with
various articles for sale, and no picturesque boats on the river.
_22nd._—Sent letters to the Dāk—laid in a store of fowls, bread, butter,
charcoal, limes, &c., to help us on to Rajmahāl, as provisions are only
to be procured at the large stations.
_23rd._—Passed the palace of the Nawāb of Moorshedabad: admired the
fanciful boats he uses on state occasions, and the snake boats; the
latter fly with great swiftness when rowed by twenty men, from their
amazing length and extreme narrowness. The state boats are highly gilt,
and ornamented very tastefully with colours and gold; they are light and
airy in the extreme. The river is very shallow; we have great difficulty
in finding the deep parts; in consequence, our progress is slow, but the
scenery is very beautiful. Moored off a small _bastī_ (village) on the
right bank.
_24th._—A little fleet of small boats filled with fire-wood has passed
us; never was there any thing so neatly and regularly stowed away as the
wood. The weather is becoming sensibly cooler and more pleasant: moored
below Jungipūr on a field covered with the _tūt_, (morus Indica, Indian
mulberry,) a shrub which is planted and cultivated in great quantities
as food for the silkworms which are reared in the neighbouring villages.
My goats luxuriated for some hours by moonlight in the fields of tūt,
enjoying the fresh shrubs; they have been cut down, and the young sprouts
are now only about a foot high.
_25th._—Passed Jungipūr; paid the toll which is levied for keeping open
the entrance of the Bhagirathī; anchored at Kamalpūr, a straggling
picturesque village: cows are here in the greatest abundance—the village
swarms with them; they swim the cows over the river in herds to graze on
the opposite bank, and swim them back again in the evening; a couple of
men usually accompany the herd, crossing the river by holding on to the
tail of a cow: the animals take to the water as a thing of course; on
their arrival at the cottages, they are tied up with food before them,
and a smouldering fire is kept up near them all night: the cows enveloped
in the smoke are free from the worrying of the insects. Mr. Laruletta has
a large silk manufactory at Jungipūr; he lives in the Residency, which he
purchased from the Government; it is forty-two miles above Berhampūr. The
villages of Gurka and Kidderpūr are on the opposite bank.
_26th._—Quitted the Bhagirathī and entered on the Ganges: stopped at a
place famous for bamboos, consisting of a few huts built of mats on the
river-side, where bamboos and ardent spirits are sold. My mānjhī bought
nine very large newly-cut bamboos for one rupee five ānās, and complained
of their being very dear! Crossed the river, and anchored above the
village of Konsert, at the Luckipūr indigo factory, a most melancholy
looking place, the bungalow in ruins—the owner resides on the opposite
side of the river. There is a very fine banyan tree on the Ghāt, at
Konsert, and two very fine silk cotton trees (bombax heptaphyllum) in
front of the factory. The _kajūr_ (phœnix dactylifera, common date palm,)
flourishes here,—it is remarkable for its lofty trunk, rugged on account
of the persistent vestiges of the decayed leaves.
_27th._—Passed Dulalpūr and saw the factory of Chandnī Kotī in the
distance, where I met with so much hospitality on my expedition to the
ruins of Gaur. Heard of Mr. Sinclair’s death, which took place about a
year ago, most likely from the jungle fever. After a pleasant sail with a
fair wind, had the first sight of the Hills; anchored on a cool, clear,
and fresh sandbank in the middle of the Ganges—the moon high, the night
quiet and agreeable. I took a camera lucida on deck, and was much amused
with the delight of the crew when they looked into it. They called it a
_Kompās_, and were very anxious to have their own likenesses taken.
_28th._—Thermometer 82° in the cabin at noon; not a breath of air, the
river very broad and shallow; it is hardly possible to find water enough
to float the budgerow. We are just passing a steamer with a cargo flat
in tow; she has grounded, and there she is in the midst of the river
burning with heat, whilst the little pilot boats are trying to find some
channel deep enough for her. Like the hare and the tortoise in the fable,
we shall reach the goal first. Imagine the heat of the iron steamer, the
bright river giving back the sun’s rays, and looking like unruffled glass
around her; the inside of the vessel must resemble a well-heated iron
oven. Lugāoed off Husseinpūr. The woolāk (baggage-boat) came up late; for
the second time she has run foul of the budgerow, and has done her some
damage. The mānjhī of the woolāk cannot see after sunset, having what
the natives call _rāt andhā_, or night blindness: he can see well enough
during the day time;—this is rather a disagreeable affliction for the
master of a vessel.
_29th._—Passed the steamer and flat with passengers for Calcutta—very
hot and oppressive—arrived near Rajmahāl, and found a large portion of
the bank of the river had fallen in;—it was a little land-slip. The
palm-trees on the fallen land were in most picturesque disorder. Moored
off the ancient palace of Rajmahāl: the river, which formerly washed its
walls, has deserted it, and the deep current is on the opposite side,
leaving an almost dry bed before the ruins. Visited the old _baolī_
(well), which is beautified by age: down the centre of it hang long
pendant shoots of the banyan, and the roots of trees: thence I proceeded
to the tombs of the Europeans, and to the gateway. Several cows were
quietly ruminating under the black marble arches of the verandah of the
palace that overlooks the river. The steamers take in their coal a mile
below, and therefore do not destroy the beauty of the old ruins with
their smoke, and steam, and Birmingham appearance. The Hills are distant
about five miles inland. Myriads of minute insects are in great number;
they fill my nose like snuff, and get into my eyes and ears, and torment
me so much, I find it almost impossible to write; they fill my teacup,
and absolutely are giving forth a vile odour from the numbers that have
found death around the flame of the candle.
_30th._—The early morning was delightful—the weather much cooler and more
agreeable. Laid in fresh stores—found remarkably fine fowls and good
yams—sailed at 4 P.M., lugāoed at 7, on a sandbank—here the insects are
but few, and do not annoy me as they did last night. Crocodiles abound,
and are showing themselves continually, swimming low in the water. We
passed near this place a village full of a caste of people who live on
crocodile flesh. My dāndīs say they understand it smells rank, and is
very hard. Twice this evening I heard a shrill peculiar scream, and on
remarking it to the men, they said it was the cry of the crocodile.
Twenty-one miles above Rajmahāl and two miles below Sikrī-galī Hill and
Point, says the “Calcutta Directory,” is the beautiful Mootee Jhurna
waterfall; it is visible on the eastern side of the Hills. I neither saw
nor visited it.
_31st._—Anchored at sunset at Sikrī-galī—landed and walked to the
bungalow. The French indigo planter had quitted the place; the house was
uninhabited; had he been there, he would have exclaimed,
“Voilà Madame, qui arrive
Pour encore visiter mes tigres!”
Walked on a short distance to have a view of the Hills, and to recall
the memory of the Hill-man and his _terī_ (wife): saw some beautiful
goats in the village, which the people refused to sell, although I bribed
them high. Wood and charcoal was cheap and plentiful; nothing else was
to be procured. A number of jackals were roaming and howling in the
village. The point of Sikrī-galī is very picturesque from the river. The
indigo factor’s bungalow would be an excellent shooting box. It is said
the Jharna waterfall and the Himalaya mountains are visible at times
from Rajmahāl; I have never seen either. Bears, tigers, rhinoceroses,
leopards, hogs, deer of all kinds, abound here, and feathered game in
the Hills. Steamers pass in ten days and a half in the dry season from
Calcutta.
_Nov. 1st._—Quitted Sikrī-galī early; the river very rapid, nothing but
dreary sandbanks, with a distant view of the Hills. Porpoises gambolling
in plenty.
_2nd._—Fish in abundance for sale on the bank at Kantnagar; a dreary day;
anchored on a sandbank,—insects detestable,—the thermometer at ten A.M.
only 70°.
_3rd._—Saw a herd of buffaloes swimming the river—about one hundred head;
the men swam with them, each holding on by a buffalo’s tail, with his
clothes carried high in the air in one hand. Some of the men had bamboos,
with which they beat and urged the animals to swim. When I first caught
sight of them I took them for a reef of low black rocks, the black heads
were so numerous and so mixed together. Late in the evening saw the
rocks of Colgong; tracked up the left bank of the river, aided by a good
breeze; the force of the stream here is excessive, and it was a great
piece of good fortune we had a fair wind to aid us; anchored in darkness
about a mile below Kuhulgaon—that is, Colgong.
The “Directory” says, “Fifty-eight miles above Rajmahāl, on the left bank
of the river, is the junction of the Koosie river. On the Nepaul part
of the Himalaya, nearly opposite, is the Patturgatta Hill, with one or
two temples, and is noted in native tradition for a cave (only a small
hole), into which, it is said, a Rajah, with an immense suite, and one
lakh of torch-bearers, entered, and never returned;—such is the story of
the attending fakīr. Hence are beautiful views of isolated hills, and
the tips of the Colgong Rocks. The Southern or Patturgatta passage up to
Colgong has some very dangerous rocks, where, if a boat touches, not a
soul can be saved.”
_4th._—At daybreak arose to get a view of the rocks; made the mānjhī
cross over to the Colgong side, to enable me to take a sketch from that
bank. These rocky islands are very singular and beautiful, and there
are four of them; rocks on rocks, covered with fine foliage, they rise
straight out of the centre of the river, which runs like a mill-sluice,
and is here extremely broad; we came up the left passage, which is
navigable after the rains. They say no one lives upon these rocks; that a
fakīr formerly took up his abode there, but having been eaten by a snake
(an _ajgar_), one of enormous size, and an eater of human flesh, the
people became alarmed, and no holy or unholy person has since taken up
their residence on these rocky islands. Here we bought two very fine rohū
fish (cyprinus denticulatus) for six ānās, but could not procure any of
the rock fish: small boats were under the rocks fishing, and snakes, they
say, abound upon them.
“The village of Colgong is sixty-eight miles above Calcutta, and eighteen
below Bhagulpūr; it is on the right bank of the river, has a fine nālā
and shelter for boats: it is a coal depôt for steamers. The left passage
should never be attempted by either steamers or boats in the rains, as
the currents and eddies between the main and the rocks make it certain
loss for any native boats, and too dangerous for steamers; boats, in
attempting it, must be careful to have very strong tracking lines low
down on their prows, with plenty of trackers, and two bowlines as guys
to the bank, and he kept close in. Rock fish are procurable here, also
fowls, kids, eggs, &c.”
I longed to have a gun fired, to awaken the echoes, and to startle the
myriads of birds that inhabit these singular rocks. We have just passed a
most enormous crocodile; it was basking in the sun on a sandbank, looking
like the stem of a dry tree, and, but for a peculiar shine and polish,
and the shade cast on the bank, you would not have supposed it a living
animal: some dāndīs, tracking near it, aroused the enormous beast,
and it took refuge in the river; it was one of the largest I ever saw.
Birds were around in innumerable flights. The river presents a singular
picture; the expanse of water is very great, interspersed with low
sandbanks in every direction. Three crocodiles are on the banks,—one at
full length out of the river, on the top of the bank, the other two half
out of the water, and lying flat upon it. One of the native charpāīs, on
which a corpse has been brought down to be burned, and which, from being
reckoned unclean, is always left on the spot, is on a sandbank; it is
upset, the feet in the air, and seated inside is an enormous vulture,
gorged from his horrible feast. Storks, with their long legs and white
bodies, are numerous in the water; and some very soft-plumed birds,
looking like large doves, are on the sands; whilst countless birds, in
flocks, are flying in every direction. We anchored on a fine open clean
sandbank, and enjoyed the coolness of the evening and the quietude around
us; no human habitations were to be seen,—nothing but the expanse of the
broad river, and its distant banks.