8. To Bombay, 18th June 1842.
On his arrival in London, Burton, in order to have an hour or two of
peace, coolly told his people that he had been given an extra vacation,
"as a reward for winning a double first." Then occurred a quite
un-looked-for sequel. His father insisted on giving a dinner in honour
of the success, and Burton, unwillingly enough, became the hero of the
moment. At table, however, a remark from one of the guests revealed the
precise truth--with the result of an unpleasant scene; but eventually
it was deemed advisable to let Burton have his own way and exchange
the surplice for the sword. The Indian Service having been selected, a
commission was purchased for L500, and Burton presently found himself
Ensign to the 18th Regiment, Bombay Native Infantry. Delirious with joy,
he applied himself vigorously to Hindustani under a dirty, smoky
Scotch linguist, named Duncan Forbes. While thus employed he made
the acquaintance of two persons who just them enjoyed a remarkable
reputation, namely John Varley [54], the water colour painter and
occultist, and the Rev. Robert Montgomery. [55] An artist of undoubted
genius, Varley usually got fair prices for his pictures, but the
expenses of a numerous family kept him miserably poor. Then he took
to "judicial astrology," and eventually made it a kind of second
profession. Curious to say, some of his predictions came true, and
thanks to this freak of fate he obtained more fame from his horoscopes
than from his canvasses. He "prognosticated," says Burton, "that I was
to become a great astrologer." Straightway Burton buried himself in
astrological and cabalistic books [56], studied the uncanny arts, and
became learned in "dark spells and devilish enginery," but his own
prophecies generally proved to be of the Moseilima type; that is to say,
the opposite invariably happened--a fatality that pursued him to the
end of life. The Rev. Robert Montgomery, with whom also he became
acquainted, was the fashionable preacher and author whom Macaulay
cudgelled so pitilessly in the Edinburgh Review. Burton's aunts, Sarah
and Georgiana, [57] who went with the crowd to his chapel, ranked the
author of "Satan, a Poem," rather above Shakespeare, and probably few
men have received higher encomiums or a greater number of wool-work
slippers.
Having been sworn in at the East India House, Burton went down to
Greenwich, whence on 18th June, 1842, after being "duly wept over," he,
in company with his beautifully built bull-terrier of renowned pedigree,
set sail for Bombay. He divided his time during the voyage, which lasted
four months, between studying Hindustani and taking part in the quarrels
of the crew. This was the year of the murder of Sir William Macnaughten
by the Afghans and the disastrous retreat of the British from Cabul;
consequently the first request of the voyagers on reaching Bombay (28th
October 1842) was for news about Afghanistan. They learnt that the
prestige of the British arms had been restored by Pollack, and that the
campaign was ended.
To Burton, who had counted on being sent to the front, this was a
burning disappointment. He found Bombay marvellously picturesque, with
its crowds of people from all parts of the world, but before many days
had passed he fell ill and had to be transferred to the Sanitarium,
where he made the acquaintance of an old Parsee priest who assisted
him in his Hindustani. Even in these early days we find him collecting
material of the kind that was to be utilised in his Arabian Nights. He
was struck, for example, with the fine hedges of henna whose powerful
and distinctive odour loaded the atmosphere; and with the immense
numbers of ravenous kites and grey-headed crows that swooped down on
dead and even dying animals.
9. Baroda. The Bubu.
After six weeks' rest, having received orders to join his regiment,
which was then stationed at Baroda, he engaged some Goanese servants
and made the voyage thither in a small vessel called a pattymar. It took
them four days to march from the Tankaria-Bunder mudbank, where they
landed, to Baroda; and Burton thus graphically describes the scenery
through which they passed. "The ground, rich black earth... was covered
with vivid, leek-like, verdigris green. The little villages, with their
leafy huts, were surrounded and protected by hedge milk bush, the
colour of emeralds. A light veil, as of Damascene silver, hung over each
settlement, and the magnificent trees were tipped by peacocks screaming
their good-night to the son." The sharp bark of the monkey mingled
with the bray of the conch. Arrived at Baroda, he lodged himself in a
bungalow, and spent his time alternately there with his books and on the
drill ground. He threw himself into his studies with an ardour scarcely
credible--devoting twelve hours a day to Hindustani, and outwearying two
munshis.
At that time it was quite the custom for the officers, married as
well as single, to form irregular unions with the Hindu women. Every
individual had his Bubu; consequently half-caste children were not
uncommon; but Burton was of opinion that this manner of life had
advantages as well as disadvantages. It connected, he says, "the white
stranger with the country and its people, gave him an interest in their
manners and customs, and taught him thoroughly well their language."
Like the rest, Burton had his Bubu. Still, he was no voluptuary.
Towering ambition, enthusiasm, and passion for hard work trampled down
all meaner instincts. Languages, not amours, were his aspiration, and
his mind ran on grammar books rather than ghazels; though he confesses
to having given whole days and nights to the tender pages of Euclid.
Indeed, he was of a cold nature, and Plutarch's remark about Alexander
applies equally to him: "For though otherwise he was very hot and hasty,
yet was he hardly moved with lust or pleasure of the body." When the
officers were not on the drill ground or philandering with their dusky
loves, they amused themselves shooting the black buck, tigers, and the
countless birds with which the neighbourhood abounded. The dances of
the aphish-looking Nautch girls, dressed though they were in magnificent
brocades, gave Burton disgust rather than pleasure. The Gaikwar, whose
state processions were gorgeous to a wonder, occasionally inaugurated
spectacles like those of the old Roman arena, and we hear of fights
between various wild animals. "Cocking" was universal, and Burton,
who as a lad had patronised this cruel sport, himself kept a
fighter--"Bhujang"--of which he speaks affectionately, as one might of
an only child. The account of the great fight between Bhujang and the
fancy of a certain Mr. Ahmed Khan, which took place one evening "after
prayers," may be read by those who have a taste for such matters in
Burton's book Sind Revisited. [58] When Bhujang died, Burton gave it
almost Christian burial near his bungalow, and the facetious enquired
whether the little mound was not "a baby's grave."
His hero was the eagle-faced little veteran and despot, Sir Charles
Napier, generally known from his Jewish look as "Fagin," and from his
irascibility as "The Devil's Brother," and after the war with Sind, the
chief event of which was the battle of Meeanee (February 21st), where
Sir Charles and Major Outram defeated the Ameer, his admiration grew
almost to worship; though he did not actually see his hero till some
months later. According to Punch the news of the battle was transmitted
to headquarters in one word: "Peccavi." A quarrel then broke out between
the great English leaders, and Western India was divided into the two
opposing camps of Outramists and Napierists, Burton, of course, siding
with the latter. In April, Burton returned to Bombay to present himself
for examination in Hindustani, and having passed with honour [59]
he returned to Baroda, where he experienced all the inconveniences
attendant on the south-west monsoon. The rain fell in cataracts. Night
and day he lay or sat in a wet skin; the air was alive with ants and
other winged horrors, which settled on both food and drink, while the
dust storms were so dense that candles had to be burned in mid-day.
However he applied himself vigorously to Gujarati [60], the language of
the country, and also took lessons in Sanskrit.
"I soon," he says, "became as well acquainted as a stranger can with
the practice of Hinduism. I carefully read up Ward, Moor, and the
publications of the Asiatic Society... and eventually my Hindu teacher
officially allowed me to wear the Brahminical thread." He learnt some
of the Hindu text books by heart, including the Tota-kahani [61],
which gave him a taste for "parrot books," [62] on which he became an
authority; while the study of the Baital-Pachisi led to his writing
Vikram and the Vampire. [63] All this application caused his fellow
officers to call him "The White Nigger."
Although, in after years, Burton often made bitter attacks on
Christianity, and wrote most scathingly against the Roman Catholic
priesthood, and the cenobitic life of the monks, yet at times he had
certain sympathies with Roman Catholicism. Thus at Baroda, instead
of attending the services of the garrison chaplain, he sat under the
pleasant Goanese priest who preached to the camp servants; but he did
not call himself a Catholic. In August he visited Bombay to be examined
in Gujarati; and having passed with distinction, he once more returned
to Baroda--just in time to join in the farewell revels of his regiment,
which was ordered to Sind.
10. Karachi. Love of Disguise.
On board the Semiramis, in which the voyage was performed, he made the
acquaintance of Captain Scott, nephew of the novelist--a handsome man
"with yellow hair and beard," and friendship followed. Both were fond
of ancient history and romance, and Burton, who could speak Italian
fluently and had knowledge of the canalization of the Po Valley, was
able to render Scott, whose business was the surveyal of Sind,
the precise assistance he just then required. Burton also formed a
friendship with Dr. John Steinhauser, afterwards surgeon at Aden. Then,
too, it was at Karachi that he first saw his hero, Sir Charles Napier.
Though his ferocious temper repelled some, and his Rabelaisisms and
kindred witticisms others, Sir Charles won the admiration and esteem of
almost all who knew him. It was from him, to some extent, that Burton
acquired the taste, afterwards so extraordinarily developed for erotic,
esoteric and other curious knowledge. Napier intensely hated the East
India Company, as the champions of his detested rival, Major Outram, and
customarily spoke of them contemptuously as the "Twenty-four kings of
Leadenhall Street," while Burton on his part felt little respect for the
effete and maundering body whose uniform he wore and whose pay he drew.
Karachi [64], then not much better than a big village, was surrounded
by walls which were perforated with "nostril holes," for pouring
boiling water through in times of siege. There were narrow lanes, but
no streets--the only open place being a miserable bazaar; while owing to
the absence of sewers the stench was at times unendurable. Near the
town was a great shallow artificial pond which abounded in huge sleepy
crocodiles, sacred animals which were tended by a holy fakir, and one of
Burton's amusements was to worry these creatures with his bull terrier.
Tired of that pastime, he would muzzle a crocodile by means of a fowl
fastened to a hook at the end of a rope, and then jump on to its
back and take a zig-zag ride. [65] The feat of his friend, Lieutenant
Beresford, of the 86th, however, was more daring even than that. Here
and there in the pond were islets of rank grass, and one day noticing
that the crocodiles and islets made a line across the pond, he took a
run and hopped from one crocodile's back on to another or an islet until
he reached the opposite side, though many a pair of huge jaws snapped
angrily as he passed.
Burton presently found himself gazetted as Captain Scott's assistant;
and having learnt the use of the theodolite and the spirit level, he
went on December 10th (1844) with a surveying party to Hyderbad [66] and
the Guni River. The work was trying, but he varied it with hawking; and
collected material for a work which he published eight years later
with the title of Falconry in the Valley of the Indus. He then made
the acquaintance of three natives, all of whom assisted him in his
linguistic studies, Mirza Ali Akhbar [67], Mirza Daud, and Mirza
Mohammed Musayn. Helped by the last he opened covertly at Karachi
several shops with the object, however, not of making profit, but of
obtaining intimate knowledge of the people and their secret customs.
Then he put on long hair and a venerable beard, stained his limbs with
henna, and called himself Abdullah of Bushire, a half-Arab. In this
disguise, with spear in hand and pistols in holsters, he travelled the
country with a little pack of nick-knacks. In order to display his stock
he boldly entered private houses, for he found that if the master wanted
to eject him, the mistress would be sure to oppose such a measure.
All his life he loved to disguise himself. We shall see him later as a
Greek doctor, a Pathan Hakim, and an Arab shaykh. His shops had plenty
of customers, for he was in the habit of giving the ladies, especially
if they were pretty, "the heaviest possible weight for their money,"
though sometimes he would charge too much in order to induce them to
chaffer with him. He learnt most, however, from the garrulity of a
decayed beauty named Khanum Jan, who in her springtide had married a
handsome tailor. Her husband having lost the graces of his person, she
generally alluded to him affectionately as "that old hyena." This couple
proved a Golconda for information. Burton had not long studied these and
other persons before coming to the conclusion that the Eastern mind is
always in extremes, that it ignores what is meant by the "golden mean,"
and that it delights to range in flights limited only by the ne plus
ultra of Nature herself. He picked up miscellaneous information about
magic, white and black, Yoga [68], local manners and customs such as
circumcision, both female and male, and other subjects, all of which
he utilised when he came to write his Notes and Terminal Essay to The
Arabian Nights, particularly the articles on Al Islam and woman. Then,
too, when at Bombay and other large towns he used to ransack the bazaars
for rare books and manuscripts, whether ancient or contemporaneous.
Still, the most valuable portion of his knowledge was acquired orally.
11. A Dangerous Mission, 1845.
About this time it was reported to Sir Charles Napier that Karachi,
though a town of only 2,000 souls, supported no fewer than three houses
which were devoted to a particular and unspeakable vice [69] which is
said to be common in the East. Sir Charles, whose custom it was to worm
out the truth respecting anything and everything, at once looked round
for someone willing to make enquiries and to report upon the subject.
Burton being then the only British officer who could speak Sindi,
the choice naturally fell upon him, and he undertook the task, only,
however, on the express condition that his report should not be
forwarded to the Bombay Government, from whom supporters of Napier's
policy "could expect scant favour, mercy, or justice." Accompanied by
his Munshi, Mirza Mohammed Hosayn Shiraz, and disguised as a merchant,
Burton passed many evenings in the town, made the required visits, and
obtained the fullest details, which were duly dispatched to Government
House. But in 1847, when Napier quitted Sind "he left in his office
Burton's unfortunate official." "This," says Burton, "found its way
with sundry other reports to Bombay, and produced the expected result. A
friend in the secretariat informed me that my summary dismissal had been
formally proposed by one of Sir Charles Napier's successors, but this
excess of outraged modesty was not allowed." [70] A little later,
however, Burton had to suffer very severely for this unfortunate
occurrence. Of course he heard regularly from home. His father was still
immersed in blow-pipes and retorts, his mother still mildly protesting.
His sister, who had won to herself for her loveliness the name of "the
Moss Rose," was married to General Sir Henry Stisted [71], his brother
Edward was practising as an army doctor; his Grandmother Baker was dead.
[72]
12. The Persian Beauty.
During one of his rambles he formed the acquaintance of a beautiful
olive, oval-faced Persian girl of high descent. We are told that her
"eyes were narcissi, her cheeks sweet basil," her personal charms
together with her siren voice and sweet disposition caused him to
fall in love with her; but he had scarcely learnt that his passion was
reciprocated before she died. We are told also that for many years he
could never think of her without pain; and that when, some time after,
he narrated the story to his sister he revealed considerable emotion.
Miss Stisted thought she could see references to this episode in
Burton's poem The Kasidah, portions of which were written some three
years later: "Mine eyes, my brain, my heart are sad--sad is the
very core of me." This may be so, but the birth of a litter of pups,
presented to him by his beloved bull terrier, seems to have taken the
edge off his grief; and his tribute to one of these pups, which received
the name of Bachhun, is really affecting.
The "Acting Commissioner" of the time was General Jacob of the Sind
Horse, who wore a helmet of silver and a sabre-tache studded with
diamonds. This, however, was not from pride or love of display, but
because he held it policy in those who have to deal with Hindus not
to neglect show and splendour. "In the eyes of Orientals," he used to
remark, and Burton endorsed the saying, "no man is great unless he is
also superbly dressed." As Jacob stuttered, one of his correspondents
thought his name was J. J. J. J. J. Jacob, and terribly offended
the testy General by writing it so. A brave and self-confident, but
rancorous old man, Jacob by his senseless regulations brought the Indian
army to the verge of ruin. This peccadillo was passed over, but a more
serious offence, his inability to play whist, was remembered against him
by his brother officers right to the day of his death. [73]
13. A Simian Dictionary.
When the Sikh war broke out Burton resigned his post under Scott in
order to take part in the campaign in the Punjab, but peace being
proclaimed a few weeks later, after the battle of Sobraon, Burton had no
opportunities of distinguishing himself. So he returned to his studies,
and now became ambitious to understand not only the people but also the
monkeys of India. Consequently he collected some forty of them, made
them live and eat after the manner of humans; and studies them as they
mowed and gibbered. He would then talk to them and pronounce the
sounds they made, until at last they could conduct quite a conversation
together. Burton never divulged this talk, which, of course, may have
been of a confidential nature, but he compiled a Simian Dictionary,
and thus to some extent anticipated the work of Mr. R. L. Garner.
Unfortunately the dictionary was some years later destroyed by fire.
14. Duality.
We shall often notice in Burton's life what Burton himself called his
dual nature. In the tale of Janshah in The Arabian Nights we read of a
race of split men who separated longitudinally, each half hopping
about contentedly on its own account, and reuniting with its fellow at
pleasure. If Burton in a pre-existent state--and he half believed in
the Pre-existence of Souls--belonged to this race, and one of his halves
became accidentally united to one of the halves of somebody else, the
condition of affairs would be explicable. In any circumstances, he was
always insisting on his duality. For example--a kind-hearted man, who
detested cruelty to animals, nevertheless he delighted, as we have seen,
in the sport of cocking; an ambitious man, who wore himself out with his
studies yet he neutralised all his efforts to rise by giving way to an
ungovernable temper. He would say just what he thought, and no man could
have exhibited less tact. Thus he managed to give offence, and quite
unnecessarily, to his superior officer, Colonel Henry Corsellis, and
they were henceforth at handgrips.
Among his favourite books was Jami's Beharistan. The only pity is that
he did not take the advice proffered in the Third Garden:
"If Alexander's realm you want, to work adroitly go, Make friends more
friendly still, and make a friend of every foe."
Other instances of opposing qualities will be noticed as this work
proceeds. Late in life, when he took to glasses, Burton used to say
"My duality is proved by my eyes alone. My right eye requires a No. 50
convex lens, my left a No. 14." His assiduous application to his
studies now brought about an illness, and, having returned to Bombay, he
obtained two years' leave of absence to the salubrious Neilgherries.