RESIDENCE IN CALCUTTA.
1825.—A Day in March—The Furlough and Pension Funds—Bandicote
Rats—The Strand—The Cutting System—Harrow-on-the-Hill—Sickness
in Arracan—The Golden Feet—Arrival of Lord
Combermere—Bhurtpore—La Pucelle—Marsh Fever—Change of Residence
to Middleton Row, Chowringhee—Fogs up to the Second Story—Burrā
Bazār—Seed Pearl.
_January_, 1825.—The cold weather is delightful, and a Persian carpet
pleasant over the Indian matting, but a fire is not required—indeed, few
houses in Calcutta have a fire-place. Ice is sent from Hoogly, and is
procurable in the bazaar during the cold weather; it is preserved in pits
for the hot season.
_March 23rd._—I will describe a day at this time of the year. At 6 A.M.
it is so cold that a good gallop in a cloth habit will just keep you
warm. At 9 A.M.—a fine breeze—very pleasant—windows open—no pankhā.
3 P.M.—Blue linen blinds lowered to keep off the glare of the sunshine,
which is distressing to the eyes; every Venetian shut, the pankhā in full
swing, the very musquitoes asleep on the walls, yourself asleep on a
sofa, not a breath of air—a dead silence around you.
4 P.M.—A heavy thunder-storm, with the rain descending in torrents; you
stop the pankhā, rejoice in the _fraîcheur_, and are only prevented from
taking a walk in the grounds by the falling rain.
5 P.M.—You mount your Arab, and enjoy the coolness for the remainder of
the day;—such is to-day.
_April 11th._—The hot winds are blowing for the first time this year.
We understand that after twenty-five years’ service, and _twenty-two_ of
actual residence in India, we of the Civil Service are to retire upon an
annuity of 1000_l._ a year, for which we are to pay 50,000 rupees, or
about 5000_l._ This, on first appearance, looks well for us and generous
in the Company; but I should like first to know, how many will be able
to serve their full time of bondage? secondly, what the life of a man,
an annuitant, is then worth, who has lingered two and twenty years in a
tropical climate?
_May 9th._—The heat is intense—very oppressive. I dare not go to church
for fear of its bringing on fits, which might disturb the congregation;
you have little idea of the heat of a collection of many assembled in
such a climate—even at home, with all appliances and means to boot for
reducing the temperature, the heat is sickening. You in England imagine a
lady in India has nothing to do. For myself, I superintend the household,
and find it difficult at times to write even letters, there is so much
to which it is necessary to attend. At this moment I would willingly be
quiet, but am continually interrupted. The coachman, making his salām,
“Mem sāhiba, Atlas is very ill, I cannot wait for the sāhib’s return;
I have brought the horse to the door, will you give your orders?” The
durwān (gate-keeper), “Mem Sāhiba, the deer have jumped over the wall,
and have run away.” The sirdar-bearer, “Mem sāhiba, will you advance me
some rupees to make a great feast? My wife is dead.” The mate-bearer then
presented his petition, “Will the mem sāhiba give me a plaister? the rats
have gnawed my fingers and toes.” It is a fact that the lower part of the
house is overrun with enormous rats, they bite the fingers and feet of
the men when they are asleep on the ground.
The other evening I was with my beautiful and charming friend, Mrs. F⸺,
she had put her infant on a mat, where it was quietly sleeping in the
room where we were sitting. The evening darkened, a sharp cry from the
child startled us—a bandicote rat had bitten one of its little feet!
It is reported the Burmese war is nearly finished. I hope it may be true;
it is a horrible sacrifice of human life, a war in such a climate! I
hear much of all the hardships of fighting against the climate endured by
the military, from friends who return to Calcutta on sick leave.
When we arrived in Calcutta the only drive was on the Course, which was
well-watered; a fine broad road has since been made along the side of
the river, about two miles in length; it is a delightful drive in the
evening, close to the ships.
The Course is deserted for the Strand.
_June 25th._—The Furlough and Pension Fund for the Civil Service has been
established; we subscribe four per cent. from our salary, for which we
are allowed by Government six per cent. interest, towards the purchase
of an annuity of 1000_l._ after twenty-five years service. A very strong
inducement this to economy—yet human nature is very contrary.
“J’avois juré d’être sage,
Mais avant peu j’en fus las.
Ah! raison, c’est bien dommage,
Que l’ennui suive tes pas.”
Nevertheless, we will return home as soon as we can.
Our friend Mr. C⸺ is going down to Bulloah, a savage spot, where he is
to make salt; he takes down three couple of hounds to assist him in his
labours.
Provided there is a good bulky dividend at the end of the year upon
India Stock, the holders think the country flourishing in the greatest
security. Every governor who is sent out is told that the principal
thing to be considered is economy. Lord Moira, who had a becoming horror
of such _petitesses_, and who saw the political danger of carrying the
cutting system into practice, in several instances refused to adopt the
measures he was intrusted to execute. Yet India was never in a more
flourishing state; dividends on India Stock never _looked up_ more
cheerfully. Lord Amherst has applied the paring-knife, and much good it
has done;—the military ran riot[22], the civilians were inclined to grow
rusty, and India Bonds were very dismal and _looking down_.
A letter appeared in the Gazette the other day, in which the Harrow boys
were spoken of in an irreverend manner, which elicited the following
answer from the _sāhib_[23]:—
“_To the Editor of the Government Gazette._
“June, 1825.
“SIR,
“In one of your late papers I was much amused by a report of
the proceedings of a ‘Morning at Bow Street,’ during which
the behaviour of the Harrow boys was brought to the notice of
that worthy magistrate, Sir R. Birnie. To suppose that these
young gentlemen are accustomed to parade the streets with
sticks charged with lead, searching for snobs with heads to
correspond, and carrying pistols loaded with the same metal
in their pockets to confer the _coup-de-grâce_ upon these
unfortunates, would be to believe, what
‘Nec pueri credant, nisi qui nondum ære lavantur.’
Excuse Latin, the English proverb is somewhat coarse.
“I recollect the operative artisan Jones: he succeeded an
excellent farrier, who emigrated with Sir Bellingham Graham,
one of our worthies. Unless Jones had in the first instance
made himself obnoxious to the boys, which from W. L.’s account
is more than possible, they would not have interfered with him.
The whole account I know to be sadly exaggerated; you are,
perhaps, an advocate for the publicity of these reports, so
should I be, were they not for the most part so outrageously
_surchargés_. The ‘Gentlemen of the Press’ think truth needs
the aid of foreign ornament, for in this particular instance
neither pistols nor sticks, loaded or unloaded, were seen,
or afterwards discovered to have been in the possession of
the boys, but were gratuitously conferred upon them by the
reporters.
“Shall such fellows as these be allowed to bespatter an
institution which reckons Sir William Jones, Lord Byron, Parr,
and others ‘dear to memory and to fame,’ among her mighty
dead—and Lord Teignmouth, the Marquis of Hastings, Messrs.
Peel, Barry Cornwall, and myself, among her mighty living[24]?
“You will, I know, excuse me. I am by nature modest, even as an
American, but having been hitherto particular as to my society,
if I am to be damned to everlasting fame, it must be in good
company!
“We are so few and far between in this country, that we
cannot form a corps to show our _esprit_, yet even in this
wilderness will I upraise my solitary voice in praise of
Harrow-on-the-Hill.—_Floreat in æternum!_—Hoping that I have
said enough ‘to Harrow up your soul,’
“I am, your’s,
“ONE OF THE OLD SCHOOL.”
“Jungle Mehals.”
_August 6th._—The natives, especially the Hindūs, are dying by hundreds
daily in the damp and marshy part of Calcutta; 410 died in one night of
cholera and fever, both of which are raging fearfully. They sleep in such
swampy places, in the open air, it is only surprising they are not all
carried off. Last month a fever amongst the Europeans was universal, many
died of it; it has disappeared, and Calcutta is tolerably healthy; the
cholera has not attacked the Europeans.
_September 18th._—We now consider ourselves fairly fixed in Calcutta;
the climate agrees with us; and though we hold existence upon a frailer
tenure than those in England, we still hope to see many happy years.
“’Tis in vain to complain, in a melancholy strain,
Of the money we have spent, which will never come again.”
Furlough and the pension must make amends.
The cold season is the only time in which we live, and breathe, and have
our being, the rest of the year is mere “leather and prunella,” and we
“groan and sweat under a weary life.”
But then in Calcutta, we do not die of the blue devils, _ennui_, or from
want of medical attendance, as those do who are far removed; and even the
_maladie du pays_ is relieved by the constant letters and news we receive
from our native land.
The Burmese seem to have adopted the plan of the Russians, and left
their infernal climate to fight their battles; it has done it most
wofully—fever has killed more men than the sword. Our troops are now
waiting for the breaking up of the rains, to recommence operations. It
is supposed that they will meet with little difficulty in making their
way to Amrapūrā, the capital; but if they do, it seems that the king
and his court will not wait for their arrival, but start with their
valuables to the mountains. There has been a sad waste of life and money.
Commissioners have now been appointed. Report says that Sir Archibald
Campbell’s spirit is too bellicose; and the deputation (civil) to Rangoon
is to check his warlike excesses. The company profess that they do not
wish for an extent of territory; so that the present war has been entered
into solely for the purpose of avenging the insults that have been
offered to their arms. I wish most sincerely that they had been contented
with holding what they had, instead of proclaiming war; and probably they
may be of the same opinion. The papers say that a truce has been entered
into with the Burmese, for the purposes of negotiation. Within these few
days we have heard that it has been prolonged, in order that our terms
might be submitted to the Golden Feet. It is to be hoped that they will
not trample upon them, and that this most detestable war, which has cost
so many lives and so much money, may be honourably concluded.
Lord Combermere has determined to proceed immediately to the Upper
Provinces, and to have a fling at Bhurtpore. There is no doubt as to the
event being successful, but the natives have a great conceit about it; it
is another Pucelle, as it has never yet been taken. In Lord Lake’s time,
our troops were three times repulsed; but that is a tale of the times of
old, when these matters were conducted on too small a scale. Now there
is to be a fine park of artillery, fully capable of making an impression
on the heart of this obdurate maiden. It will do much service in taking
the conceit out of these people. They have songs, and even caricatures,
in which Europeans are drawn as craving for mercy under their victorious
swords, to the number of three or four to one Mahratta horseman. It is an
old grudge, and our _sipahīs_ fancy the affair hugely. We took Bhurtpore
last night over the whist-table, by a _coup de main_; I trust we shall
be able to play our cards as well when before it. This will be of a
different nature altogether from the vile Burmese war. Those who fall
will die nobly in battle, not by the host of diseases by which our poor
fellows have been sacrificed at Rangoon and Arracan.
The early marriages which take place in India were brought under my eye
this morning. My ayha being ill, sent another to act for her during her
absence; she is a pretty little woman, aged twenty-five, and has been
married fourteen years!
The sickness in Arracan is dreadful; ship-loads of officers and men are
arriving daily, with shaved heads and white faces, bearing testimony of
the marsh fever, considering themselves most fortunate in having quitted
the country alive.
Imagine living in a straw-shed, exposed to the burning sun and the
torrents of rain that fall in this country; the nights cold, raw, and
wet; the fog arising from the marshes spreading fever in every direction.
Where the sword kills one, the climate carries off an hundred.
_Oct._—Lord Combermere intends to render the cold weather gay with balls
and dinner parties. His staff are quite a relief to the eye, looking so
well dressed, so fresh and European. They express themselves horrified at
beholding the fishy hue of the faces on the Course; wonder how they are
ever to stay at home during the heat of the day, and sigh for gaiety and
variety. Speaking of the ladies in the East, one of them said, “Amongst
the womankind, there are some few worth the trouble of running away with;
but then the exertion would be too much for the hot season; and in the
cold, we shall have something else to think about!”
_Dec. 1st._—We changed our residence for one in Middleton-row,
Chowringhee, having taken a dislike to the house in which we were
residing, from its vicinity to tanks and native huts.
The house has a good ground floor and two stories above, with verandahs
to each; the rent 325 rupees per month; the third story consists of
bed-rooms. The deep fogs in Calcutta rise thick and heavy as high as the
first floor; from the verandah of the second you may look down on the
white fog below your feet, whilst the stars are bright above, and the
atmosphere clear around you. The spotted deer play about the compound,
and the mouse deer runs about my dressing-room, doing infinite mischief.
The Barā bazār, the great mart where shawls are bought, is worth
visiting. It is also interesting to watch the dexterity with which seed
pearls are bored by the natives. This operation being one of difficulty,
they tell me seed pearls are sent from England to be pierced in Calcutta.