1852
Bengal Horse Artillery--Incidents of the journey--New Friends
When I went to India the mode of travelling was almost as primitive
as it had been a hundred, and probably five hundred, years before.
Private individuals for the most part used palankins, while officers,
regiments, and drafts were usually sent up country by the river route
as far as Cawnpore. It was necessarily a slow mode of progression--how
slow may be imagined from the fact that it took me nearly three months
to get from Dum-Dum to Peshawar, a distance now traversed with the
greatest ease and comfort in as many days. As far as Benares I
travelled in a barge towed by a steamer--a performance which took the
best part of a month to accomplish. From Benares to Allahabad it was a
pleasant change to get upon wheels, a horse-dâk having been recently
established between these two places. At Allahabad I was most kindly
received by Mr. Lowther, the Commissioner, an old friend of my
father's, in whose house I experienced for the first time that profuse
hospitality for which Anglo-Indians are proverbial. I was much
surprised and amused by the circumstance of my host smoking a _hookah_
even at meals, for he was one of the few Englishmen who still indulged
in that luxury, as it was then considered. The sole duty of one
servant, called the _hookah-bardar_, was to prepare the pipe for his
master, and to have it ready at all times.
My next resting-place was Cawnpore, my birthplace, where I remained
a few days. The Cawnpore division was at that time commanded by an
officer of the name of Palmer, who had only recently attained the
rank of Brigadier-General, though he could not have been less than
sixty-eight years of age, being of the same standing as my father.
From Cawnpore I went to Meerut, and there came across, for the first
time, the far-famed Bengal Horse Artillery, and made the acquaintance
of a set of officers who more than realized my expectations regarding
the wearers of the much-coveted jacket, association with whom created
in me a fixed resolve to leave no stone unturned in the endeavour to
become a horse gunner. Like the Cavalry and Infantry of the East India
Company's service, the Artillery suffered somewhat from the employment
of many of its best officers on the staff and in civil appointments;
the officers selected were not seconded or replaced in their
regiments. This was the case in a less degree, no doubt, in the Horse
Artillery than in the other branches, for its _esprit_ was great, and
officers were proud to belong to this _corps d'élite_. It certainly
was a splendid service; the men were the pick of those recruited by
the East India Company, they were of magnificent physique, and their
uniform was singularly handsome. The jacket was much the same as that
now worn by the Royal Horse Artillery, but instead of the busby they
had a brass helmet covered in front with leopard skin, surmounted by
a long red plume which drooped over the back like that of a French
Cuirassier. This, with white buckskin breeches and long boots,
completed a uniform which was one of the most picturesque and
effective I have ever seen on a parade-ground.
The metalled highway ended at Meerut, and I had to perform the
remainder of my journey to Peshawar, a distance of 600 miles, in a
palankin, or doolie.
This manner of travelling was tedious in the extreme. Starting after
dinner, the victim was carried throughout the night by eight men,
divided into reliefs of four. The whole of the eight were changed at
stages averaging from ten to twelve miles apart. The baggage was
also conveyed by coolies, who kept up an incessant chatter, and the
procession was lighted on its way by a torch-bearer, whose torch
consisted of bits of rag tied round the end of a stick, upon which
he continually poured the most malodorous of oils. If the
palankin-bearers were very good, they shuffled along at the rate of
about three miles an hour, and if there were no delays, forty or
forty-five miles could be accomplished before it became necessary to
seek shelter from the sun in one of the dâk-bungalows, or rest-houses,
erected by Government at convenient intervals along all the principal
routes. In these bungalows a bath could be obtained, and sorely it was
needed after a journey of thirteen or fourteen hours at a level of
only a few inches above an exceedingly dusty road. As to food, the
_khansamah_, like 'mine host' in the old country, declared himself
at the outset prepared to provide everything the heart of man could
desire; when, however, the traveller was safely cornered for the rest
of the day, the _menu_ invariably dwindled down to the elementary
and universal 'sudden death,' which meant a wretchedly thin chicken,
caught, decapitated, grilled, and served up within twenty minutes of
the meal being ordered. At dinner a variety was made by the chicken
being curried, accompanied by an unlimited supply of rice and chutney.
I was glad to be able to break the monotony of this long journey by
a visit to a half-sister of mine, who was then living at the
hill-station of Mussoorie. The change to the delightful freshness of a
Himalayan climate after the Turkish-bath-like atmosphere of the plains
in September was most grateful, and I thoroughly enjoyed the few days
I spent in the midst of the lovely mountain scenery.
My next station was Umballa. There I fell in with two other troops of
Horse Artillery, and became more than ever enamoured with the idea of
belonging to so splendid a service. From Umballa it was a two nights'
journey to Ludhiana, where I rested for the day, and there met a
cousin in the Survey Department, who had been suddenly ordered to
Lahore, so we agreed to travel together.
The next halting-place was Jullundur. To make a change, we hired a
buggy at this place, in which to drive the first stage, sending our
palankins on ahead; when we overtook them, we found, to our surprise,
that their number had increased to six. We were preparing for a start,
when it struck us that we ought to make some inquiries about the
additional four, which, from the luggage lying about, we assumed to
be occupied, but which appeared to be stranded for want of bearers to
carry them on. The doors were carefully closed, and it was some time
before we could get an answer to our offers of assistance. Eventually
a lady looked out, and told us that she and a friend, each accompanied
by two children and an _ayah_,[1] were on their way to Lahore; that
the bearers who had brought them so far had run away, and that they
were absolutely in despair as to how they were to proceed. It turned
out that the bearers, who had been engaged to carry the ladies on
the second stage towards Lahore, found it more amusing to attend the
ceremony of the installation of the Raja of Kaparthala, then going on,
than to fulfil their engagement. After discussing the situation, the
ladies were persuaded to get out of their palankins and into our
buggy. We divided the baggage and six doolies between our sixteen
bearers, and started off, my cousin, the _ayahs_, and I on foot. It
was then 10 p.m. We hoped relays of bearers for the whole party
would be forthcoming at the next stage, but we were doomed to
disappointment. Our reliefs were present, but none for the ladies.
We succeeded, however, in inducing our original bearers to come on a
further stage, thus arranging for the carriage of the _ayahs_, while
we two men trudged on beside the buggy for another ten or twelve
miles. It was a heavy, sandy road, and three stages were about as much
as the horse could manage.
Soon after daybreak next morning we reached the Bias river. Crossing
by a bridge of boats, we found on the other side a small one-roomed
house with a verandah running round it, built for the use of the
European overseer in charge of the road. On matters being explained,
this man agreed to turn out. The ladies and children were put inside,
and my cousin and I spent the day in the verandah; in the evening,
with the assistance of the overseer, we were able to get a sufficient
number of bearers to carry us all on to Mian Mir without further
adventure. In the course of conversation we found that one of the
ladies was the wife of Lieutenant Donald Stewart,[2] of the 9th Bengal
Infantry, and that she and her friend were returning to join their
respective husbands after spending the summer months at Simla. This
meeting was the beginning of a close friendship with Sir Donald and
Lady Stewart, which has lasted to the present day.
At Mian Mir (the military cantonment of Lahore) I stayed a few days
with another half-sister, and from there, as the weather was beginning
to get cooler, I travelled day and night. One evening about eight
o'clock I was disappointed at not having come across the usual
rest-house; lights could be seen, however, at no great distance, and
I proceeded towards them; they turned out to be the camp fires of a
Cavalry regiment which was halting there for the night. Being half
famished, and fearing that my craving for food was not likely to be
gratified unless someone in the camp would take pity upon my forlorn
condition, I boldly presented myself at the first tent I came across.
The occupant came out, and, on hearing the strait I was in, he with
kindly courtesy invited me to enter the tent, saying, 'You are just
in time to share our dinner.' My host turned out to be Major Crawford
Chamberlain,[3] commanding the 1st Irregular Cavalry, the famous
Skinner's Horse, then on its way to Peshawar. A lady was sitting at
the table--Mrs. Chamberlain--to whom I was introduced; I spent a very
pleasant evening, and in this way commenced another equally agreeable
and lasting friendship.
[Footnote 1: A Native woman-servant.]
[Footnote 2: Now Field Marshal Sir Donald Stewart, Bart., G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 3: Now General Crawford Chamberlain, C.S.I., a brother of
General Sir Neville Chamberlain.]
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