RESIDENCE AT ALLAHABAD.
1828.—Sinking a Well—Hurriannah Cows—Delhi Goats—The
Jumnapār—Doomba Sheep—Buffalo Humps—Water-cresses—Marrowfat
Peas—Carrots—The Chatr—The Oleander—The Ice-pits—Cream Ice, how
to freeze—Burdwan Coal—Indian Fevers—Mr. Bayley, Viceroy—Fear
of the Invasion of the Russians and Persians—Intense
Heat—Deaths in the Farm-yard—Chota Jehannum—The Verandah at
Noon—Mad Pariah—Trelawny—Châteaux en Espagne—Height of the two
Rivers—Death of the Bishop of Calcutta—An Hummām—The first
Steamer at Prāg.
_Jan., 1828, Leap Year._—I before mentioned we had accomplished one-third
of our way to heaven, by planting an avenue; we now performed another
portion of the journey, by sinking a well. As soon as the work was
completed, the servants lighted it up with numerous little lamps,
and strewed flowers upon its margin, to bring a blessing upon the
newly-raised water. From Hissar we received six cows and a bull, very
handsome animals, with remarkably fine humps, such as are sold in England
under the denomination of buffalo humps, which are, in reality, the humps
of Indian cows and oxen.
Tame buffaloes are numerous at Prāg. The milk is strong, and not
generally used for making butter, but is made into ghee (clarified
butter), useful for culinary purposes. Some most beautiful Barbary goats
arrived with the cows; they were spotted brown and white or black and
white, and almost as beautiful as deer. The Bengālee goats yield a much
larger portion of milk. I had also a Jumnapār goat, an enormous fellow,
with very broad, long, thin, and silky ears, as soft as velvet. The
Jumnapār are the best adapted for marching. Unless they can go into the
jungle and browse, they become thin and lose their milk. These goats,
bred on the banks of the Jumna, thence called “Jumnapār,” are remarkably
fine, and of a large size.
We had a Doomba ram at Prāg. The Doomba sheep are difficult to keep alive
in this climate. Their enormous tails are reckoned delicacies; the lambs
are particularly fine flavoured.
_Jan._—Our garden was now in good order; we had vegetables in abundance,
marrowfat peas as fine as in England, and the water-cresses, planted
close to the new well, were pearls beyond price. Allahabad is famous for
the growth of the finest carrots in India. At this time of the year we
gave our horses twelve seer each daily; it kept them in high health, and
_French-polished_ their coats. The geraniums grew luxuriantly during this
delightful time; and I could be out in the garden all day, when protected
by an enormous chatr, carried by a bearer. The up-country chatr is a very
large umbrella, in shape like a large flat mushroom, covered with doubled
cloth, with a deep circle of fringe. Great people have them made of silk,
and highly ornamented. The pole is very long, and it is full employment
for one man to carry the chatr properly.
The oleander (kanér), the beautiful sweet-scented oleander, was in
profusion,—deep red, pure white, pink, and variegated, with single and
double blossoms. I rooted up many clusters of this beautiful shrub in
the grounds, fearing the horses and cows might eat the leaves, which are
poisonous. Hindoo women, when tormented by jealousy, have recourse to
this poison for self-destruction.
THE ICE-PITS.
_Jan. 22nd._—My husband has the management of the ice concern this year.
It is now in full work, the weather bitterly cold, and we are making ice
by evaporation almost every night. I may here remark, the work continued
until the 19th of February, when the pit was closed with 3000 mann,—a
mann is about 80lbs. weight. There are two ice-pits; over each a house is
erected; the walls, built of mud, are low, thick, and circular; the roof
is thickly thatched; there is only one entrance, by a small door, which,
when closed, is defended from the sun and air by a jhamp, or frame-work
of bamboo covered with straw.
[Illustration: THE ICE PITS.
On Stone by Major Parlby.
فاني پارکس]
The diameter of the pit, in the centre of the house, is large, but the
depth not great, on account of the dampness of the ground. At the bottom
is a small well, the top of which is covered over with bamboo; a channel
unites it with a dry well on the outside, still deeper than itself, so
constructed, that all the water collected in the pit may immediately run
off through this duct, and be drawn up from the external well. This keeps
the pit perfectly dry—a material point. The interior is lined, from top
to bottom, with chatā’īs (mats), three or four deep, which are neatly
fastened by pegs round the inside; mats are also kept ready for covering
in the top of the pit. Some ābdārs recommend a further lining of sulum
(cotton-cloth), but it is unnecessary.
The ground belonging to the ice concern is divided into keeārees, or
shallow beds, very like saltern-pans in England, about six feet square
and a cubit in depth; between them are raised paths.
When the weather in December is cold enough to induce us to suppose water
will freeze at night with artificial aid, the business of ice-making
commences. At the bottom of the keeārees, the shallow square beds, a
black-looking straw is spread about a foot in depth, called “pooāl,”
which is reckoned better for the purpose than wheat-straw. Some ābdārs
think sugar-cane leaves the best thing to put under the pans in the
ice-beds; next in estimation is the straw or grass of kodo (the _paspalum
frumentaceum_); and then rice-straw, which is called “puwāl,” or “pooāl,”
though the term “pooāl” is not applied exclusively to the straw of rice.
The highest temperature at which ice was made in 1846, at Cawnpore, was
43° of Fahrenheit, or 11° above freezing point. At each of the four
corners, on the pathway, is placed a thiliyā (an earthen jar), which is
filled by a bihishtī with water[31]. The pooāl straw in the shallow beds
must be kept perfectly dry, to produce evaporation and the freezing of
the water in the little pans placed upon it; should rain fall, the straw
must be taken up and thoroughly dried before it can again be used.
It is amusing to see the old ābdār who has charge of the ice concern,
walking up and down of an evening, watching the weather, and calculating
if there be a chance of making ice. This is a grand point to decide, as
the expense of filling the pans is great, and not to be incurred without
a fair prospect of a crop of barf (ice) the next morning. He looks in
the wind’s eye, and if the breeze be fresh, and likely to increase, the
old man draws his warm garment around him, and returning to his own
habitation,—a hut close to the pits,—resigns himself to fate and his
hubble-bubble. But should there be a crisp frosty feeling in the air, he
prepares for action about 6 or 7 P.M., by beating a tom-tom (a native
hand-drum), a signal well known to the coolies in the bazaar, who hasten
to the pits. By the aid of the little cup fastened to the long sticks, as
shown in the sketch, they fill all the rukābees with the water from the
jars in the pathway. Many hundred coolies, men, women, and children, are
thus employed until every little pan is filled.
If the night be frosty, without wind, the ice will form perhaps an inch
and a half in thickness in the pans. If a breeze should blow, it will
often prevent the freezing of the water, except in those parts of the
grounds that are sheltered from the wind.
About 3 A.M. the ābdār, carefully muffled in some yards of English red
or yellow broad cloth, would be seen emerging from his hut; and if the
formation of ice was sufficiently thick, his tom-tom was heard, and the
shivering coolies would collect, wrapped up in black bazār blankets, and
shaking with cold. Sometimes it was extremely difficult to rouse them to
their work, and the increased noise of the tom-toms—discordant native
instruments—disturbed us and our neighbours with the pleasing notice of
more ice for the pits. Each cooly, armed with a spud, knocked the ice out
of the little pans into a basket, which having filled, he placed it on
his head, ran with it to the ice-house, and threw it down the great pit.
When all the pans had been emptied, the people assembled around the old
ābdār, who kept an account of the number at work on a roll of paper or a
book. From a great bag full of pice (copper coins) and cowrie-shells, he
paid each man his hire. About ten men were retained, on extra pay, to
finish the work. Each man having been supplied with a blanket, shoes, and
a heavy wooden mallet, four at a time descended into the pit by a ladder,
and beat down the ice collected there into a hard flat mass; these men
were constantly relieved by a fresh set, the cold being too great for
them to remain long at the bottom of the pit.
When the ice was all firmly beaten down, it was covered in with mats,
over which a quantity of straw was piled, and the door of the ice-house
locked. The pits are usually opened on the 1st of May, but it is better
to open them on the 1st of April. We had ice this year until the 20th of
August. Each subscriber’s allowance is twelve ser (24 lbs.) every other
day. A bearer, or a cooly is sent with an ice-basket, a large bazār
blanket, a cotton cloth, and a wooden mallet, at 4 A.M., to bring the ice
from the pit. The ābdār, having weighed the ice, puts it into the cloth,
and ties it up tightly with a string; the cooly then beats it all round
into the smallest compass possible, ties it afresh, and, having placed it
in the blanket within the ice-basket, he returns home. The gentleman’s
ābdār, on his arrival at his master’s house, re-weighs the ice, as the
coolies often stop in the bazaars, and sell a quantity of it to natives,
who are particularly fond of it, the man pretending it has melted away
_en route_.
The natives make ice for themselves, and sell it at two annas a seer;
they do not preserve it for the hot winds, but give a good price for the
ice stolen from the sāhib loge[32].
For the art of freezing cream ices to perfection, and the method of
making them in India, I refer you to the Appendix[33].
As the ābdārs generally dislike rising early to weigh the ice, the cooly
may generally steal it with impunity. The ice-baskets are made of strips
of bamboo covered inside and out with numdā, a thick coarse woollen
wadding. The interior is lined with dosootee (white cotton cloth), and
the exterior covered with ghuwā kopra, a coarse red cloth that rots less
than any other from moisture.
The basket should be placed on a wooden stool, with a pan below to catch
the dripping water.
Calcutta was supplied, in 1833, with fine clear ice from America, sent
in enormous blocks, which sold at two annas a seer, about twopence
per pound: this ice is greatly superior to that made in India, which
is beaten up when collected into a mass, and dissolves more rapidly
than the block ice. It is not as an article of luxury only that ice is
delightful in this climate, medicinally it is of great use: there is
much virtue in an iced nightcap to a feverish head. The American ice has
not yet penetrated to the Up Country; we shall have ice from Calcutta
when the railroads are established. No climate under the sun can be more
delightful than this during the cold weather, at which time we enjoy
fires very much, and burn excellent coal, which is brought by water from
Calcutta. The coal mines are at Burdwan, 100 miles from the presidency.
In Calcutta it costs eight annas a mann; here, if procurable, it is one
rupee: this year we had fires until the 29th of February.
After a good gallop round the Mahratta Bund, on Master George, a
remarkably fine Arab, with what zest we and our friends partook of
Hunter’s beef and brawn!—as good as that of Oxford; the table drawn close
to the fire, and the bright blaze not exceeding in cheerfulness the
gaiety of the party!
_March 31st._—How fearful are fevers in India! On this day my husband
was attacked; a medical man was instantly called in, medicine was of no
avail, the illness increased hourly. On the 9th of April, the aid of the
superintending surgeon was requested; a long consultation took place,
and a debate as to which was to be employed, the lancet, or a bottle of
claret; it terminated in favour of the latter, and claret to the extent
of a bottle a day was given him: his head was enveloped in three bladders
of ice, and iced towels were around his neck. On the 17th day, for the
first time since the commencement of the attack, he tasted food; that is,
he ate half a small bun; before that, he had been supported solely on
claret and fresh strawberries, being unable to take broth or arrow-root.
Not daring to leave him a moment night or day, I got two European
artillerymen from the fort, to assist me in nursing him. On the 23rd,
the anxiety I had suffered, and over-exertion, brought on fever, which
confined me to my chārpāī for seven days; all this time my husband was
too ill to quit his bed; so we lay on two chārpāīs, under the same
pankhā, two artillerymen for our nurses, applying iced towels to our
heads, while my two women, with true native apathy, lay on the ground
by the side of my bed, seldom attending to me, and only thinking how
soon they could get away to eat and smoke. The attention and kindness of
the medical men, and of our friends at the station, were beyond praise.
Thanks to good doctoring, good nursing, and good claret, at the end of
the month we began to recover health and strength.
_May 18th._—The ice-pits were opened, and every subscriber received
twenty-four pounds weight of ice every other day—perfectly invaluable
with a thermometer at 93°! Our friends had kindly allowed them to be
opened before, during our fevers. It is impossible to describe the
comfort of ice to the head, or of iced-soda water to a parched and
tasteless palate, and an exhausted frame.
_April._—Lord Amherst was requested by the directors to remain here
until the arrival of Lord William Bentinck; and such was his intention,
I believe, had he not been prevented by the dangerous illness of lady
Sarah; and by this time, it is possible the family are on their way home.
Mr. Bayley is Viceroy, and will reign longer than he expected, as Lord
William Bentinck does not sail before January.
Our politicians are all on the _qui vive_ at the _mêlée_ between the
Russians and Persians, and the old story of an invasion of India is again
agitated:—we are not alarmed.
_June 7th._—The weather is more oppressive than we have _ever_ found
it; the heat intolerable; the thermometer, in my room, 93°, in spite of
tattees and pankhās. Allahabad may boast of being the oven of India; and
the flat stone roof of our house renders it much hotter than if it were
thatched.
We were most fortunate in quitting Calcutta; this past year the cholera
has raged there most severely; the Europeans have suffered much; many
from perfect health have been carried to their graves in a few hours.
A novel and a sofa is all one is equal to during such intense heat, which
renders life scarcely endurable.
Ice is our greatest luxury; and our ice, made from the cream of our own
cows, and Gunter’s jam, is as good as any in England. My thoughts flow
heavily and stupidly under such intolerable heat: when the thermometer is
_only_ 82°, _we rejoice in_ the coolness of the season; to-day it is 92°,
and will be hotter as the day advances; the wind _will_ not blow. If a
breeze would but spring up, we could be comfortable, as the air is cooled
passing through the wet khus-khus: what would I not give for a fresh
sea-breeze! Let me not think of it.
Horses at this season of the year are almost useless; it is too hot to
ride, and even a man feels that he has scarcely nerve enough to mount his
horse with pleasure: in the buggy it is very oppressive, the fiery wind
is so overpowering; and a carriage is too hot to be borne. I speak not of
the middle of the day, but of the hours between 7 P.M. and 6 A.M.,—the
_cool_ hours as we call them!
From Madras they write the thermometer is at 96°! How can they breathe!
Here at 93° it is fearfully hot—if they have a sea-breeze to render
the nights cool, it is a blessing; here the heat at night is scarcely
endurable, and to sleep almost impossible.
I had a very large farm-yard. The heat has killed all the guinea-fowls,
turkeys, and pigeons, half the fowls, and half the rabbits.
_12th._—We have had a most miserable time of it for the last two months;
this has been one of the hottest seasons in recollection, and Allahabad
has well sustained its _sobriquet_ of Chōtā Jahannum! which, being
interpreted, is Hell the Little. Within these two days the state of
affairs has been changed; we are now enjoying the freshness of the rains,
whose very fall is music to our ears: another such season would tempt us
to quit this station, in spite of its other recommendations.
Lord William Bentinck arrived July 3rd. The new Bishop of Calcutta is
gone home, obliged to fly the country for his life; indeed, he was so
ill, that a report of his death having come up here, some of his friends
are in mourning for him; but I trust, poor man, he is going on well at
sea at this minute.
_Sept. 8th._—My verandah presents an interesting scene: at present,
at one end, two carpenters are making a wardrobe; near them is a man
polishing steel. Two silversmiths are busy making me some ornaments after
the Hindostani patterns; the tailors are finishing a gown, and the ayha
is polishing silk stockings with a large cowrie shell. The horses are
standing near, in a row, eating lucerne grass, and the jumadār is making
a report on their health, which is the custom at twelve at noon, when
they come round for their tiffin.
Yesterday a mad pariah dog ran into the drawing-room; I closed the doors
instantly, and the servants shot the animal: dogs are numerous and
dangerous at some seasons.
Exchanged a little mare—who could sing, “I’m sweet fifteen, and one
year more”—for a stud-bred Arab, named Trelawny; the latter being too
impetuous to please his master.
Our friend Major D⸺ is anxious to tempt us to Nagpore, if we could get
a good appointment there. “He rides a steed of air[34];” and we have
indulged in building _châteaux d’Espagne_, or castles in Ayrshire.
_Aug. 21st._—It is thought the gentleman, for whom my husband now
officiates, will not rejoin this appointment; should he be disappointed
of his hope of reigning in his stead, he will apply for something else
rather than return to Calcutta, which we do not wish to see till the year
of furlough, 1833-4. Meantime we must make it out as well as we can, and
live upon hope, with the assurance that _if_ we live, we shall not _die_
fasting.
I wish the intermediate years would pass by as quickly as the river Jumna
before our house, which is in such a furious hurry, that it is quite
awful to see the velocity with which the boats fly along. Both the Ganges
and the Jumna have this year been unusually high, and much mischief to
the villages on the banks has been the consequence. There was a report
the day before yesterday, that the Ganges, about a mile from this, had
burst its banks. Luckily it was false; but it was a very near thing.
Since then the river has sunk nearly twenty feet, so that we have no fear
at present. The Jumna was within six feet of our garden bank.
Of the climate we cannot form a fair opinion, but it is certainly very
superior to any they have in Bengal. This year has been most unnatural;
no regular hot winds, unexpected storms, and the rains delayed beyond
their proper season. Allahabad is called the oven of India, therefore I
expect to become a _jolie brune_, and the sāhib well-baked.
We have just received telegraphic intelligence of the bishop’s death at
the Sandheads, where he was sent on account of severe illness, which
terminated fatally on the 13th instant. It is said, that _three_ bishops
are to be imported, the late consumption having been so great. They ought
to make bishops of the clergy who have passed their lives in India, and
not send out old men who cannot stand the climate.
We have the use of a native steam-bath, which is most refreshing when the
skin feels dry and uncomfortable. There are three rooms—the temperature
of the first is moderate; that of the second, warmer; and the third,
which contains the steam, is heated to about 100°. There you sit, until
the perspiration starts in great drops from every pore; the women are
then admitted, who rub you with besun[35] and native hand-rubbers[36],
and pour hot water over you until the surface peels off; and you come out
a new creature, like the snake that has cast its skin. One feels fresh
and elastic, and the joints supple: the steam-bath is a fine invention.
_Oct. 1st._—The first steamer arrived at Allahabad in twenty-six days
from Calcutta; the natives came down in crowds to view it from the banks
of the Jumna; it was to them a cause of great astonishment.