THE CITY OF PALACES.
“Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no
other.”
FRANKLIN.
For my own part I remained on board till the deck had assumed a
less chaotic appearance, when I resolved to migrate temporarily to
one of the hotels. This, however was not to be; for an old friend,
anticipating my resolve, and bent on frustrating it, suddenly appeared
on board with the welcome information that he had hired a room for me
at his quarters. Nothing loth, I bundled my traps into the boat, and
prepared to accompany my friend, bidding _au revoir_ to the officers
with no little regret; they had throughout the voyage treated me with
the utmost courtesy, and I had almost grown to look upon the old ship
as my home. Nor was the City of Palaces just then calculated to impress
a new arrival very favourably, or to raise his spirit-barometer.
Darkness was coming on apace, as it always does in the East, and the
dim, weird light afforded by the few oil lamps scattered about was
considerably obscured by the dense mist that was rising from a large
open space, through which we drove in my friend’s “buggy.” This sombre
picture was completed by the dusky figures that flitted hither and
thither; and, taken altogether, I found it gruesome and depressing.
The house in which my friend resided was a boarding-establishment (with
_table d’hôte_), very convenient for temporary sojourners of the male
persuasion; we sat up till a very late, or rather, early hour, as there
was much to chat about; and eventually my friend consigned me to the
care of his own special valet, with the most detailed instructions—for
I knew not a word of the language—and wished me “Good night.” With
sundry misgivings, I followed my swarthy attendant, who glided
noiselessly in front of me. The room that had been assigned to my use
was evidently very spacious—one can tell somehow when one is in a large
room, even in total darkness—but as it was only very dimly illuminated
by a small wick steeped in oil, I was unable to ascertain its exact
dimensions until the next morning. I remember that it also struck me as
chilly and damp, and I wished myself back in the cosy cabin in which
I had enjoyed many an uninterrupted night’s rest for the last four
months. In the middle of the apartment I discerned a bed, surmounted by
an enclosure of netting; on one side was a strip of carpet, and close
at hand stood a chair. Now, my friend had particularly impressed on
me that the mosquitoes were just now very strong on the wing, and as
hungry as hunters; also that on the manner in which I got under the
netting depended all my chances of sleep. He further instructed me to
sign to the “bearer” when I was ready, who would, he said, just raise
the edge of the curtain, when I must jump in. The eventful moment
arrived: I signed to the “bearer,” and pointed to the bed, whereupon
he commenced beating the air around with a kind of switch, and lifted
a corner of the net.
By this time I began to realize in the whole proceeding a pleasurable
element of excitement, and as he raised the net, I darted in. Alas!
it was but to fall out the other side. I felt myself going, and as
a drowning man will clutch at a straw, I held on to the bedclothes,
dragging them along with me, curtains and all. When I had at length
got clear, there was the “bearer” staring at me as if I were a wild
beast or a lunatic; then he fled—returning shortly afterwards with
another set of curtains, after which he once more made the bed. This
_entrée_ was successfully accomplished; but my troubles did not end
here. The fact was, I felt uncommonly cold; suddenly a happy thought
occurred to me, and stealthily thrusting out an arm from under the
curtains, I dragged in my clothes and the strip of carpet. I slept
soundly, but woke betimes—as who, indeed, even of the Seven Sleepers,
would not have?—for of all the discordant uproars I had ever heard,
the _réveille_ of the feathered tribe—crows, minahs, and other
villains—certainly stood first.
Shortly afterwards the “bearer” entered, noiseless as a tiger, and
proceeded to open the shutters and admit the morning light. He next
advanced to my couch with the evident intention of rousing me, but
seeing the additions that I had made in my bed-clothing, stopped short.
I pretended to be asleep, but watched him carefully. The poor fellow
opened his eyes to their widest, looked round the room, thought for a
moment, and then fled as before; returning this time in the company
of my friend, who glanced at the bed, and immediately roared with
laughter. It was all very funny, no doubt; but, not being quite able
to appreciate the joke, I took refuge in pretended sleep. Later on,
at breakfast, I gave a detailed account of what had happened, which
my friend supplemented with the “bearer’s” version. Poor bearer! In
spite of repeated explanations, he avoided me as much as possible, and
evidently considered me dangerous. A day or two after I was claimed
by a relation, and that domestic at least was greatly relieved by my
departure! There is, gentle reader, a right and a wrong way of getting
INTO bed as well as OUT OF it, as I found to my cost on more than one
occasion; as, for example, the first stormy night at sea, when I made
use of my swing-cot.
Ignorance both of the language of the country and of the vast
vocabulary of Anglo-Indian expressions was a sad drawback to anything
like real enjoyment in those early days; as, besides feeling a bore of
the first-water, having to ask so many questions, one felt more or less
at every one’s mercy.
At my first dinner-party I well recollect a gentleman inviting me
to take “simkin” with him; politeness constrained me to accept “with
pleasure”—and also with some secret misgivings; and some coagulated
stuff was shot into my glass, which, on melting, turned out to be
champagne—a word beyond any native’s power of pronunciation, and, in
consequence, corrupted into “simkin” by natives and Europeans alike.
Another friend begged me to call on him at some house in “Mango Lane.”
I promised to do so, but, unfortunately suspecting a practical joke, I
retaliated by telling him that my abode was “Pine-Apple Alley.” Had I
only inquired, matters would have turned out otherwise. As it was, the
poor fellow drove all over the town in search of a place that did not
exist; while I never took the slightest trouble to find out his abode,
though it was situated in one of the most important thoroughfares in
Calcutta, where merchants most did congregate. Shortly afterwards we
met out driving; and after the ensuing explanation, I made the _amende
honorable_.
I have already said that Calcutta did not impress me favourably at
first; and after each subsequent visit I disliked the place more and
more.
The event of the day, to which all looked forward with great eagerness,
was the evening drive up and down a road running parallel with the
river; but its duration was of the briefest. As if by magic, the
place would suddenly swarm with all sorts of conveyances, from the
well-appointed barouche to the modest buggy. The ladies, one and all,
looked cadaverous, so much so that I felt quite concerned about them;
but was somewhat reassured by my friend’s reply to my inquiries: “Oh!
no, they are all ill; they all get like that after they have been out
here a short time.”
As far as I could judge, the aim of each native coachman was to
outdrive his fellow Jehu, for we certainly moved at a break-neck
pace. Consequently, I seldom saw any of my shipmates there. That rapid
transit for a brief hour in an open conveyance, with occasionally an
hour’s visiting and shopping in a closed one, seemed to me all the
outdoor exercise that the ladies had, and this accounted in a great
measure for the extreme pallor of their complexions.
In the way of contrasts, I do not think I ever beheld anything so
pronounced as the fresh, rosy, and yet bronzed complexions of the new
arrivals, and those of the more acclimatized specimens of the gentler
sex; yet at the same time, where there prevailed any redundancy of
colour and tendency to coarseness, the climate appeared to exercise an
ameliorating effect, imparting grace and refinement.
I thought, of course, that every one would be abroad in the early
morning, but the Europeans were conspicuous by their absence; and,
during the colder months at least, the state of the atmosphere was none
too inviting, as a chilly mist invariably hung over the place like a
pall, to be dispersed only when the sun was too high to render going
forth at all agreeable.
Notwithstanding, I used to make my way through it from one end of the
large, open space—the “Maidan”—to the other, returning home with my
hair and moustache covered with dewy moisture.
I used on these occasions to meet with one countryman, who, like
myself, felt bound to have his morning “constitutional” at any price;
and after various stages of recognition we became closely acquainted.
I came across him a year ago—nearly forty years after the time of which
I write—in Richmond; we were both _walking_!
During the day, with the sun shining upon it, the City of Palaces
looked somewhat imposing, especially the business quarters, alive
with people of almost every nationality, and the most heterogeneous
collection of conveyances, foremost among which was the indigenous
“Palkee.” It was pleasant to watch—from a distance; in fact, the
perfumes of Arabia did not predominate; and, as water-carts were an
unknown quantity, the dust and the glare combined to produce headache
and thirst, the latter being temporarily quenched by various American
drinks, in which, as my head told me, rum predominated.
There was an amazing demand for these drinks; and, without wishing to
enlarge on their merits or the reverse, I must say they were honest
drinks, compounded of the best materials, and very unlike those that I
have tasted under similar names at certain of our Exhibitions.
The most appalling thing about the Calcutta of those days was the
nauseating effluvium that arose from all parts of it; this was a
smell _sui generis_, noticeable indeed in and around “Chowringhee,”
the European quarter; still more so in the neighbourhood of the best
shops; and reaching its climax in the China Bazaar, a den of the most
arrant thieves to be met with in any country. I imagine that it was
a peculiar distillation of sewage, brought about by the action of a
hot sun; and I remarked its peculiar intensity at daybreak, and just
after nightfall. On one occasion, I mistook the hour for a funeral,
and arrived a great deal too soon at the rendezvous, which was close to
that exceedingly filthy river the Hooghly; I was, I remember, well-nigh
poisoned—a dissecting-room could hardly come up to it. I had almost
said that, on the part of the residents, familiarity with the odour had
bred contempt; but that would be falling short of the mark, inasmuch as
I believe they had positively learned to like it.
The mention of smells associated with sewers brings to my mind the
“bandicoot” rat, one of which, to my considerable discomfiture, I saw
making its way across my friend’s “compound.” It appeared to me quite
as large as a leveret, and considerably more formidable, nor was I
greatly reassured by the information, “Oh! that’s _only_ a bandicoot;
plenty of them about.” The term “bandicoot” is a corruption of the
native name _pandikoku_, which signifies pig-rat. It is a clean feeder
living on grain and roots, and is said to be as delicate eating as
the porcupine. The internecine “war of the rats,” waged in our country
between the black and the brown, terminated in favour of the former,
those useful scavengers that, for the most part, live in our sewers;
but in the East—from which they were, like most other nasty things,
originally imported—they swarm everywhere, and are most destructive.
For the sake of the grain, which my sheep would turn out of their
troughs, each in his eagerness to obtain the lion’s share, they
positively honeycombed my field. Having in vain tried extermination
by means of drowning and smoking, I bethought me as a last resource of
phosphorescent paste, and by spreading it on pieces of native bread and
placing it near their holes, I killed heaps of them, which were buried
under my vine with good effect.
I thoughtlessly tried the same experiment in my bungalow; this time,
however, instead of coming out to die as they had done in the field,
the rats preferred to die in retirement. I consequently had to vacate
the house for six weeks, during which time it was thoroughly dismantled
and purified. They not unfrequently show fight. On one occasion, going
to a cupboard late at night, in search of some supper for a friend and
myself, I found everything in the possession of rats. We drove them off
for a time, but they returned to the charge, and even came on the table
in numbers, literally fighting with us for the mastery. Carving-knives,
however, gained the victory, but not until a dozen or so had been
disposed of. Fortunately the bandicoot is not aggressive, otherwise not
knives but swords would be necessary.
During the first few weeks at Calcutta I had occasion to make a few
purchases in the way of light clothing, and boldly dived into that
unsavoury locality the China Bazaar. The dealers recognized the novice
by their own inherent instinct, and set to work accordingly.
No. 1 informed me that he was an honest man, the only one indeed to be
found in the place; would I step inside his shop and see the wares,
that were very good and ridiculously cheap; he also very kindly and
emphatically warned me against dealing with the man over the way, “one
d—— big thief!” No. 2 came up and vituperated No. 1: told me that the
articles offered were worthless, but that _his_ shop, &c., &c. No. 3
next arrived on the scene, and in a patronizing tone vilified Nos. 1
and 2; they were both thieves, and in league to cheat me. At length,
sick at heart, I took refuge in my conveyance and drove home, sending
my servant for the articles I required, a thing that I ought to have
done at first.
The whole thing was on a par with the mercantile qualifications of a
native who once sold a bird to a friend of mine on the Upper Congo, and
who, by way of summing up all the warbler’s good qualities, exclaimed,—
“Father cock, mother cock, sing from three in the morning till late at
night—so help me!”
All Calcutta was wrapt at night time in impenetrable gloom; I
occasionally drove to the Barrackpore end of the town, the deserted
streets only lit by the faint glimmer of an occasional oil lamp, and
the stillness broken now and again by a troop of jackals yelling, and
then scampering off, as if pursued by the Prince of Darkness. On such
occasions one of the troop is supposed to say—and it certainly sounds
remarkably like it—“I smell the body of a dead Hindoo,” when the rest
join in with, “Whe-re, whe-re, whe-re!” in a very shrill voice.
Of places of amusement, theatres and the like, there seemed
absolutely none. I soon discovered too that _everything_ in the East
was diametrically opposed to our Western notions, and, among other
instances, it was customary for new arrivals to call on the residents,
instead of _vice versa_, as at home.
I derived much amusement from the spectacle afforded by a ball, where
the dancers of both sexes partook for the most part of the “shadowed
livery of the burnished sun.” White dresses and gay colours contrasted
rather strangely on the female form divine, though evening dress was
not altogether unbecoming on the males. The women were, on the whole,
remarkably good-looking, and displayed faultless figures, as well as
being very graceful dancers. They also had an eye to the main chance,
and were somewhat less reserved on such matters than is sanctioned
by the usages of society elsewhere; and an old chum told me that a
coloured beauty, with whom he had danced several times during the
evening, without being aware of having held her more tightly than
usual, murmured to him, as she was leaving, “Why for you squeeze my
chumrah (skin) and not propose me matrimony?”
Bad as Calcutta was from a sanitary point of view, it would have been
ten times worse but for the huge army of nature’s scavengers that
swarmed in the atmosphere, chief among which were the kites and crows.
But the most dignified was the _Argala_, or “Adjutant,” a wading bird,
not unlike the stork, especially in its preference for human society.
This species particularly affected the roof of Government House. They
are about five feet high, and their head and neck almost destitute
of feathers; and the beak is so large as to enable them to seize and
swallow a dead cat or bandicoot.
* * * * *
The new arrival in the East has, it will be seen, much to see
and learn, and still more to unlearn. He buys his experience at a
considerable cost, for, although the sky may change, the mind is too
indelibly stamped with old impressions for them to be easily effaced.
For some time he is a very helpless being, tossed about in a sea of
trouble, and dependent for assistance on those around him.
I most unexpectedly came across kind friends, else I should indeed have
felt a fish out of water. They have joined the great majority—peace to
their souls!