Colonel Yule said he had for thirty or forty years looked with intense
interest at the dark spot of Kafiristan on the map of Asia, and had
therefore listened with great pleasure to Mr. McNair's modest account of
one of the most adventurous journeys that had ever been described before
the Society. Twenty or twenty-four years ago we had nothing but the
vaguest knowledge of Kafiristan, but the country had been gradually
opened out by General Walker and Colonel Montgomery's pundits in
disguise. Foreign geographers had sometimes cast it in the teeth of
Englishmen that their discoveries beyond the frontiers of India had been
made vicariously, but in this case it was an Englishman who had performed
the journey. He believed he was right in saying that no Englishman before
Mr. McNair had ever visited the Swat Valley. It was now inhabited by a
most inhospitable race, who had become Afghanised, but rumours had often
been heard about the Buddhist there. Eighteen or twenty centuries ago it
was one of the most sacred spots of Buddhism, filled with Buddhist
monasteries and temples, but, as far as he knew, no European except Mr.
McNair had ever seen those remains. If further explorations were carried
out there probably most interesting discoveries would result. Passing on
to the Panjkhora river and to Dir, there was very little doubt that those
valleys were the scene of some of Alexander's exploits on his way to
India. Many scholars supposed that Dir was one of the fortresses which
Alexander took, and incidentally the place was mentioned by Marco Polo as
the route of a Mongol horde from Badakshan into Kashmir. He believed that
the earliest distinct notice of the Kafirs was the account of the country
being invaded by Timour on his march to India. When he arrived at Andaráb
he received complaints by the Mussulman villagers of the manner in which
they were harassed by the infidels, and a description was given of how
the great Ameer himself was slid down snow slopes in a sort of toboggin
of wickerwork. He captured some of the Kafir forts, but could not
penetrate into the country. After that very little mention was made of
them in history, till Major Rennell referred to them in his great memoir
on the map of Hindostan, and Mountstuart Elphinstone, who, the Afghans
used to say, could see on the other side of a hill. He always seemed able
to collect items of knowledge which further research proved to be
correct. He (Colonel Yule) rejoiced that had lived to see Kafiristan
partially revealed by an Englishman and not by a Russian.
Dr. Leitner said it was well that travellers, however naturally
accurate in their observations, should submit their results to the
criticism of learned societies, for, after all it was in such centres
that information from various quarters could be best collected, sifted,
and compared. The task of a pioneer is proverbially ungrateful, but he
is sufficiently rewarded if he collects facts for the examination of
scholars, and if some of these facts stand that test. On the other
hand, it was essential that, as a rule, no one should be sent out on a
geographical, anthropological, or ethnographical mission who was not
something of a linguist or who was not accompanied by a linguist, and
who had not given proof of sympathy with alien races. Hayward fell a
victim as much to his temper as to the greed and treachery of Mir Wali,
whom he had insulted. An Arabic proverb says that "the traveller even
when he sees is blind," and if, in addition to this artificial
blindness, he is practically both deaf and dumb owing to his ignorance
of the language of the people among whom he moves, it is almost certain
that he will make many mistakes, if not insure failure. Now few results
are apt to be more delusive than a mere collection of words, or even of
short sentences. The instances of "a dead policeman" as a Non-aryan
equivalent for the abstract term "death" which the inquirer wanted; of
the rejoinder of "what do you want?" for the repeated outstretching of
the "middle finger," a special term for which was sought, and numerous
other mistakes, are often perfectly avoidable, and it was therefore
desirable that the traveller, armed with an inexhaustible patience,
should not content himself with a collection of words, but also add the
sentences in which they occur, and, if possible, also collect fables,
songs, and legends. The process in dealing with a race whose language
one does not know at all is more difficult, but, even in initial
stages, the procedure of pointing to objects that are required will not
only generally give their native equivalents, but will also elicit the
orders or imperatives for these objects being brought, whilst the use
of these imperatives by the traveller will often elicit the indicative
or future in the assent or dissent of those to whom the imperatives are
addressed, or else an ejaculatory affirmative or negative. The early
training in, at least, two languages will also enable the inquirer to
discriminate between the substance of a fact or thought, if he might
use such a term, and the sound that represents it, for, if he has only
studied his own language early in life, he will never be able to
emancipate himself completely from the confusion which is naturally
engendered between the idea and his special manner of expressing it.
Adaptation, again, even more than translation, is what is required, and
in order that the adaptation, should be practised successfully,
geographical inquiry cannot be altogether dissociated from philology,
nor can philology be dissociated, as it so often is, from ethnography,
history, and anthropology, which throw either a full light or at least
a side-light or half-light on linguistic problems, as has been pointed
out by Dr. Abel. The gestures too of a race are of importance in
eliciting correct information, for it is obvious that where, on rugged
mountain sides, ascent or descent can only be practised by the aid of
the hands as well as of the feet, the terms for "up" and "down" may be
significant of surrounding topography, just as, to reverse the
argument, where many meet only to fight, the putting of the fingers of
both hands together will mean "collision," instead of its being the
more usual sign for "multitude," or the limit of computation which a
savage race may have reached. Finally, in this age of subdivision of
labour on a basis of general knowledge, the present practice of
explorers working separately without the co-operation of colleagues in
the same or kindred branches, and sometimes even without a knowledge of
the material that already exists, should be discouraged. The first step
to be taken is the compilation of travellers' handbooks, dialogues, and
vocabularies for the various districts of the so-called "neutral zone,"
so as to give to these travellers the key of information and to the
sympathy of the people, and our Government of India especially might
with advantage steadily collect both old and new information, not at
the time _when_, but long _before_, an emergency arises, so that it may
be dealt with by a wealth of knowledge when it does arise. Had this
view obtained when the "poor relatives of the European" were seen by
Sale, Macnaghten, Wood, and others, thousands of Kafir men and women
would not have been carried into slavery by the Afghans, hundreds of
Kafir villages would not have been destroyed, and the area of Kafir
traditions would not have been both corrupted and narrowed by the
broadening of the belt of "Nimchas," or converted Kafirs, which so
increases the difficulties of an exhaustive inquiry into at least the
_past_ of an interesting race. Above all should we have had a faithful
ally in our operations against Kabul, for even as it was, the tardy
knowledge of that war by the Kafirs sufficed to bring thousands into
the field ready to be let loose on their hereditary foe, whilst it put
a stop, at any rate temporarily, to the internecine feuds, which, as
much as Muslim encroachments, reduced the number of Kafirs. He hoped
that the visit of Mr. McNair and of the native Christian missionaries
recently in Kafiristan, might be another step towards the future union
and civilisation of a race that, whether in part descended from the
colonies planted by Alexander the Great or not, should no longer be
treated as "poor relatives" by their European brethren, for whom the
interposition of friendly and vigorous tribes of mountaineers, along
with the Dards with whom they have so much in common, between the
British and Russian possessions in Asia, cannot fail to be an advantage
in the interests of peace. As to the various routes to and through
Kafiristan, he would add nothing to-night to what had been so ably
stated, but as regards the languages, he could not forbear mentioning
that there are at least five distinct dialects spoken by the tribes,
which differ as much as Italian does from French, if not from German,
although based on Aryan roots common to them all. Their religious
beliefs and customs also show great divergencies as well as
similarities. The members of various Kafir and kindred tribes, of whom
he submitted a few photographs to the meeting, and whose measurements
have been taken, have supplied an amount of information which may be
laid before the Society in due course, along with, he hoped, a very
full account of a neighbouring race that is anthropologically and
linguistically perhaps even more interesting than the Kafirs, who are
mainly Dards; he meant the people of Hunza (Hun-land?), who language
is, if not a prehistoric remnant, at any rate like no other that has
hitherto been discovered, in which the pronouns form an inseparable
part of numerous substantives and verbs, and in which gutturals are
still in a state of transition to vowels. This people practise a code
of religion and of quaint immorals fortunately confined to themselves,
but which is not without some bearing on the question of the "Mahdi,"
now giving us some trouble in Africa. As some Kafirs call themselves
"Kureishis," wnich favours a Shia notion in opposition to their Sunni
persecutors, he might incidentally observe that the expectation of a
"Mahdi" is a singular importation of a Shia notion, not entirely
without our aid, into the orthodox Sunni Mahommedan world, which has so
long been content with the _de jure_ Khalifa, the Sultan, belonging to
the category of "imperfect" Khalifas, as a chief and representative who
is admittedly a "defender of the faith" only so long as he has power to
enforce his decrees and is accepted by the general _consensus_ of the
faithful, the very essence of Sunni-ism, the "al-sunnat wa jamáat".
This view is in bold contradiction to the _hereditary_ principle,
represented, by the "Mahdi" of the "Imam's" descent from the Kureish
tribe of Arabia, which caused the very separation of the Shia sect from
the Sunnis, which is the very essence of Shia belief, and which has
among other fictions, led to the assumption of the name of "Kureishi"
by some of the Kafirs.
Sir Henry Rawlingson was glad of the opportunity of expressing his high
appreciation of the value of Mr. McNair's exploration. His journey was
not a mere holiday trip, or an every-day reconnaissance survey; on the
contrary, it was a serious undertaking, and opened up what he (Sir
Henry), for twenty years had maintained to be the great natural
highroad from India to Central Asia. The route to the north of the
Kabul river and along the Chitral Valley was by far the most direct and
the easiest line of communication between, the Punjab and the upper
valley of the Oxus; and although native explorers had, as Colonel Yule
had observed, already traversed the route and brought back a good-deal
of general information concerning it, Mr. McNair was the first European
who had ever crossed the Hindu Kush upon this line, or had gained such
an acquaintance with the different ranges as would enable geographers
to map the country scientifically, and delineate its physical features.
The seal which Mr. McNair had exhibited to the meeting was of
Babylonian workmanship, and although relics of the same class were of
no great rarity in Persia and Mesopotamia, it was a curious
circumstance to find one in such a remote locality as the Swat Valley,
and could only be explained by supposing it to have belonged to one of
Alexander's soldiers who brought it from Babylon. Eldred Pottinger had
found a similar relic at Oba on his journey through the mountains from
Herat to Kabul. The tradition in the country had always been that the
Kafirs whom Mr. McNair visited, were descended from Alexander's
soldiers; but there was not in reality the slightest foundation for
such a belief. Neither in language nor religion, nor manners and
customs, was there the least analogy between the Kafirs and Greeks. The
various dialects spoken by the tribes of the Hindu Kush, including the
Kafir tongues, were all of the Perso-Indian branch of the Aryan family,
and showed that the mountains must have been colonised during the
successive migrations of the Aryan tribes from Central Asia to the
southward. It might perhaps be possible some day to affiliate the
various tribes, when the vocabularies had all been collected and
compared by a good philological scholar, but at present there was much
uncertainty on the subject. Colonel Yule had expressed his pride and
satisfaction at Mr. McNair's success, and had congratulated the Society
on the great feat of exploring Kafiristan for the first time having
been accomplished by an English rather than by a Russian geographer. He
(Sir Henry) would furnish a further source of gratulation by remarking
on the fact that on the very day when Mr. McNair had related to the
meeting the incidents of his most remarkable journey, intelligence had
been received from the Indian frontier of another surprising
geographical feat having been achieved by a British officer who was
already well known to the Society, and who was, in fact, the chief of
the department to which Mr. McNair belonged. He alluded to the
successful ascent of the great mountain of Takht-i-Suliman, overlooking
the Indus Valley, by Major Holdich, of the Indian Survey Department.
This mountain, from its inaccessible position beyond our frontier, and
in the midst of lawless Afghan tribes, had long been the despair of
geographers, but Major Holdich with a small survey party had at length
succeeded in ascending it, and was said to have triangulated from its
summit over an area of 50,000 square miles. The Survey Department might
well be proud of holding in its ranks two such adventurous and
accomplished explorers as Major Holdich and Mr. McNair. The President
said that Mr. McNair agreed with Sir Henry Rawlinson that the route he
had described would undoubtedly be the best into Central Asia, but the
account of the journey did not inspire him (the President) with any
confidence as to immediate results in the future. Mr. McNair had to
disguise himself as a Mahommedan who was acceptable to the Kafirs, and
it did not appear that he had in any way facilitated the entrance into
the country of any one who could not conceal his nationality. The
reports, famished by native explorers sent from India, had, however,
been fully established by Mr. McNair, and it would therefore appear
that the best way of solving the problem was to send educated natives
into Kafiristan. He was sure the meeting would heartily join in giving
a vote of thanks to Mr. McNair for his interesting paper.
It will be noticed by those who read the paper closely flow remarkably
absent from it are all allusions to personal experiences, such as
fatigue, weariness, physical discomfort, sense of disappointment, or
other of the necessary incidents of so toilsome an effort and long
sacrifice. As was the character of the man, so is his paper, simple,
direct, without any of the exaggerations of peculiar features in the
exploration or rhetorical artifices of description to enhance the
effect of the discoveries of the traveller, and with an entire
suppression of himself. For all that appears in the paper, he might
have been engaged in the most enjoyable pursuit, free from all personal
risk or daily discomfort.
I desire to testify rather to what I knew of the man himself during a
close friendship of over eighteen years.
In youth he was very ardent and affectionate, but as he advanced in
years the hardships of his life and the long periods of solitude he
passed through seemed to mellow the natural demonstrativeness of his
nature, and he appeared to me to have suffered that chastening which
all men derive as their blessed portion from communion with Nature in
her loving and silent moods; the very ruggedness of mountain solitudes
speaking to the heart of man with a solemnity no tongue can reach. A
subtle writer in the London _Spectator_ of the 14th September last, in
the course of an article on "Clouds," has attempted to describe the
idealising lesson of her works to the spirit of man as "the tranquil
rhythm of this fair Nature, the hurrying throb of the human interests
it measures, there is the eternal poem of human life." In this wise, a
subdued sweetness in William McNair's nature remained, which was a
transfiguration of his ardent, buoyant, somewhat impulsive early
manhood.
On the cricket-field he was in his heartiest element. Men would make a
scratch team at the sound of his voice, just to be led by him as
captain. No mean field or batsman, he excelled in bowling. His resource
in taking wickets was only equalled by the good temper with which
adversaries walked away from the field with their bats after that
terrible McNair had done for their score, or their hopes of one. I have
seen him demoralise a whole team by the way in which he would take
wicket after wicket, within an hour, by the artful way in which he
adapted the style of his bowling to the character of the man who fenced
him at the wicket. Boys were simply enamoured of him, for, by that
instinct which never fails the young, he won their heartfelt devotion
by his quick discernment of the weaknesses and proclivities of all the
young with whom he ever came in contact. I have seen my youngest son--a
lad of eleven--after years of separation from him, when the boy met him
in London, in 1884, nestle on his knee quite spontaneously, to listen
to some of his Kafiristan exploits not touched on in his paper. His
beaming, manly laugh of amusement and tender compassion over the boy's
simplicity when asked by my ingenuous lad why he did not kill a lot of
those fellows during those days of danger, I fancy I see while I write.
Indeed, this keen participation in the nature and delights of the young
was the secret of his success during the Kafiristan exploration. It was
the touchstone of his sympathy with the various barbaric tribes with
whom he had to come in contact, and whose nature he did not require to
learn, for he had already sounded all that was human in its touching
variety. Love and sympathy for man as man, could alone give this
knowledge and furnish this magic key to hearts in wilds unknown. No
human system of mental training could ever do it. In this connection I
smile somewhat at Dr. Leitner's profound German dialectic in the
discussion on the paper read by McNair over the preliminary preparation
in language and terms required by an explorer to do his work
effectively. Where man is equipped by that instinctive faculty of
accommodating himself to the men of all nations with their physical
attributes and surroundings, I think he may dispense, in a large
measure, with the science of language as an open sesame. Nature has her
own methods.
This being more in the nature of a memoir purely personal in its
details, giving the characteristics of the man who performed an exploit
deemed by the Royal Geographical Society worthy of the Murchison Grant,
I may be pardoned for adding a few private particulars of the events
leading to the death of one so young, and whose career was so full of
promise at its earthly close.
During the summer of the year 1888, McNair met with a very serious
horse accident, one, indeed, that might with complete natural sequence
have terminated his life on the spot. The vicious horse of a friend he
was riding to tame the brute (for he was a skilful horseman as well as
good at sports), reared and fell over on him. By the display of
personal alacrity he managed to avoid vital injuries, but sufficient of
the animal's body came on his own to render it necessary that he should
be carried home in a "jhampan," or Sedan chair, used in the mountain
sanitaria of India for the conveyance of ladies. A friend's house in
the neighbourhood of the spot where the accident occurred was of great
use in restoring him somewhat from the effects of the accident. The
kind friends who helped him to undertake the journey to his house,
about a mile distant (carried in this way on men's shoulders), did Mr.
McNair one of those services for which India is renowned as a land of
friendly help. The injuries sustained internally nevertheless kept the
patient in bed for a month, and the nursing of a mother and sister
brought him round sufficiently to enable him to do his work as usual to
all appearance. During the ensuing winter he had very hard work, which
involved much exposure, and he suffered exceedingly from the effects of
that accident. Immediately after he felt indisposition of any kind he
complained of a return of the pains due to the accident, and there can
be but little doubt that the inward injuries then sustained had left
their mark, though nominally healed. 1888-9 was a severe winter in the
mountain regions of our frontier, and a letter I had from McNair in
April, 1889 (the last letter I ever received from him), gave some
description of the vicissitudes of temperature he had to undergo. I
give the letter in his own words in the Appendix, as a facsimile of his
handwriting, to show how precise a hand he wrote, and as a memento of
himself which some of his many friends might wish to cherish, for I
believe that in many respects handwriting bears marked characteristics
of the qualities of the individual. Here I will only extract the
following description of the trials my friend had to undergo in the
matter of temperature. In camp, away from Quetta and all means of
procuring supplies on the spot, he writes under date the 2nd of April,
1889: "For the past fortnight I have had a rough time of it with rain,
wind, and haze. Since yesterday there has been a change for the better,
so now I hope to push along with my observations. Just at present I am
in a low valley, and consequently the heat is somewhat trying, but in
another fortnight I expect I shall be complaining of it being a _little
bit_ too cold, at an elevation of 10,000 and odd. I have little or no
news to give, as it is now some time since I saw a pale face, but
somehow or another solitude has its charms for me." The writer of that
letter soon after applied for three months' leave, having experienced
broken health for some time previously, in constant returns of fever,
but owing to the delay that occurs in getting post letters despatched
from the frontier away from posting stations, and the circumlocution
which is a feature in all great departments of State, McNair did not
get his leave sanctioned till sometime in July, 1889, and he was not
able to start from Quetta for his mountain home in Mussooree, a
distance of several days' trying journey, until the early days of
August. The fond hearts of a mother and sister that awaited him there
had no knowledge of the dangerous character of the fever from which he
had been suffering for nearly a fortnight before he started from
Quetta.
Within a very few days after his arrival at Mussooree, the doctors held
a consultation over his case, as the fever could not be subdued by any
treatment tried, and then the truth that it was typhoid had to be
acknowledged. All that medical skill and affectionate nursing of
devoted relatives, friends, and a qualified nurse, could do towards
saving the patient was done, and hopes were entertained of recovery
till almost the last; but three days before the fatal end, hemorrhage
of the intestines set in, and then the medical attendants despaired.
McNair himself spoke soon after his arrival at Mussooree of the hour of
separation having come, and asked for his brother George. The
suddenness of the end gave all his friends a painful shock, for many
had not even heard that he was dangerously ill; and, as to the
relatives, silent consternation for the moment are the only words that
can adequately describe their desolation and sorrow. A fervently
attached younger brother George, a popular member of the well-known
firm of Messrs. Morgan and Company, the solicitors for the East Indian
Railway Company, hurried up from Calcutta, on a telegram to join his
family at Mussooree, but when he left he did not know of his brother's
death. It was only when he reached the foot of the mountains, at a
place called "Rajpore," within two hours' ride of Mussooree, where he
inquired of the hotel manager if any recent news had been received of
his brother's condition, that he got news not only of his brother's
death, but of his burial. The railway journey from Calcutta to
Mussooree is a long one of about a thousand miles; but Indian Railways,
travelling even at express speed, do not exceed twenty-five miles an
hour. The sympathy experienced by the sorrowing family from near and
distant friends was beyond mere conventional words of condolence. I
have it, from the members of the family themselves, that they were
comforted in a very real and essential manner by the tender and
extremely touching devotion of their friends, the depth of whose regard
was then for the first time in many cases discovered. Rising above and
beyond this general sympathy, two proofs came with a binding and
enduring force that mark them out for special mention. They typify the
two extremes of human life and the complexity of human relations. On
the one hand there was the perfect knowledge of every detail of daily
life and sacrifice, and the loyalty and enthusiasm that made such a
life possible, which _sharing_ a life to the full means. On the other,
there was the tender reverence bred of looking up to something that
seemed better and higher than the common lot of men. The two extremes I
refer to were centered in the man who had most scientific knowledge of
William McNair's worth, and the closest sympathy with his life, namely,
Colonel Holdich, of the Royal Engineers, under whom McNair served, and
for whom I know McNair had the highest admiration and the warmest
personal regard, and native subordinates McNair had under him, who
loved as only Asiatics can love Europeans whom they revere. An intrepid
explorer himself, _vide_ the announcement made regarding Colonel
Holdich by Sir Henry Rawlinson at the close of the discussion on the
paper read by McNair, Colonel Holdich has added year by year to his
many signal scientific services rendered to the Indian Government; and
recently he has added to his many accomplishments the rarer merit among
men of that love of worth in others, which culminates in human
brotherhood. His words of appropriate Oriental metaphor, in writing to
the family, that his sense of personal loss in the man with whom he had
for years, in the wildest solitudes and the most prolonged hardships,
eaten "bread and salt" together, made it difficult for him to say all
he felt, were emphasised by the human grief he could not repress at the
funeral; where, owing to the suddenness with which everything had
happened, he was indeed the "chief mourner"--in touching emotion that
bore witness to the depth and susceptibility of the man's noble nature.
The other testimony, which kindled great comfort in the desolate
household, came from the scene of McNair's latest exploit, far away, at
and near Quetta, when his native companions and friends heard of his
death. The grief felt was so profound, that it seemed irreparable to
the men who mourned their beloved friend, as the leader who was also
their constant companion, and always cheerful with them under every
adversity. The Oriental may be unappreciated by the Saxon till the
latter knows the sentimental side of every Asiatic character, but then
the floodgates of human sympathy are opened, and the very counterpart
of characteristics and qualities exhibited by Saxon and Asiatic,
conduce and contribute to a closer and more romantic union between
them. It is on the principle which Bagehot so profoundly illustrated
when he said that no age is just to the age immediately preceding it,
because of their similarity and proximity. The appreciation of Colonel
Holdich for his valued coadjutor and the executant of many of his plans
was based on the contrary principle acutely observed on by George Henry
Lewes, when he remarked that surprise, like appreciation, can only have
for foundation of any worth, a background of close observation and
exact perception.
I state the simple truth when I record that the testimonies, received
in this way from the two extremes of highest knowledge and most diverse
social and national conditions, remain the most grateful and enduring
memorials of a life's work to those who must ever cherish the memory of
what this memoir is precluded from touching on, namely, the more sacred
domestic endearments of the life-long devotion to family ties of a son
and a brother. This much I may be permitted to reveal without any
intrusion on the hallowed reserves of the family circle. A more united
or more tenderly-knit family, of strong religious feeling, I have never
known. I had the privilege twenty-one years ago, of knowing a younger
brother of the deceased, named John, who in less than three years
attained to an honoured position in the Finance Department of the
Indian Government. He was preternaturally grave and philanthrophic, and
died at the age of a youth in England (I think he was not 23 years old)
of small-pox contracted at Lahore, in the Punjab, where he was
stationed at the time. He had for some time, although but a lad in
years, spent his leisure hours in attending the hospital, and reading
to sick soldiers, where it is believed he contracted the disease. Of
the living, conventional usage forbids all mention, but I have deemed
it right to reproduce as appendices to this skeleton and imperfect
memoir the notices that appeared in the principal Indian papers of
William McNair's death, as also the obituary notices taken from the
proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society for October and November,
1889.
The extract reprinted from the _Pioneer_ editorial gives the most
complete and faithful description of Mr. McNair's achievements during a
too brief day of usefulness. Portions of that editorial need a passing
word so far as the subject of this memoir is concerned. With regard to
the disapproval of the Indian Government of McNair's venture in
entering Kafiristan without the permission of his Government, I never
heard a word from his lips by way of complaint, although no doubt the
paper accurately describes the facts.
Nor did I ever hear a syllable from the brave, unselfish man of
disappointment at the way in which his worldly prospects were never
advanced in the slightest by the nobly adventurous work he had done. By
nature he was too bent on doing the work in hand to theorise about
anything. By character he was too loftily absorbed in loyalty and
reverence for the law of obedience as a root-principle of his life, to
deplore any want of appreciation of his worth on the part of the
Government which he had so loyally served. It is true, as the "Pioneer"
points out, that on the Russian side such a man would have had honours
and distinctions showered upon him. He would have been dragged out of
his retirement and made to feel he was the favourite of the monarch,
for the risk to life he had undertaken in spontaneous devotion to the
State. Not only is such warmth and enthusiasm not the English method,
but the Indian Government is a huge machine which goes grinding on in
its mechanical way, and is besides, a bureaucracy which has a good deal
of pride in regarding any new departure as a dangerous token of
disrespect to its old and consecrated tradition of simple obedience to
written orders and codified instructions. The highest originality is
smothered in a secretariat as its fitting cabinet. McNair knew these
attributes of the Indian Government, and never troubled his head about
preferment or official promotion. It is said he was on the eve of it,
and the State is believed to somewhat deplore the loss of an
opportunity for rewarding a servant it prized, doubtless, in its own
dull, routine sort of way. But he is now beyond earthly rewards or
distinctions, and neither the praise nor the blame of men can touch
him. In life he was very sensitive to kindness or coldness, but he was
of too masculine a fibre to allow the natural sweetness and contentment
of his disposition to be alloyed or marred by any such influence from
without. He loved his work for its own sake. It became his sole
occupation and serious aim in life. He deplores the weather in his very
last letter to me, most characteristically, because it interfered with
his "observations," which, with "the change" he hoped for and partly
realized, he would "_push_ along."
The epithet describes the simple, practical side of his character. His
later love of solitude was the natural outcome of that closer contact
with nature which made to him a living daily reality the command, "Thou
shalt have no other gods but Me." His last hours were ministered to
faithfully by a chaplain of the English Church in Mussooree. The
religious life of the family resigned itself speedily to that sovereign
will of heaven which means to all who have tasted of its majesty and
glory, and have seen glimpses of the wisdom and foresight that put
man's desires to shame, the submission of heart and mind in all their
integrity. Nay, more, as one from that inner circle very beautifully
put it in a letter to the writer of this memoir, "It was 'infinite
love' alone that permitted his return to us to die, surrounded by our
love," and in a lovely mountain region where for many years he spent
his annual summer and autumn "recess," working out the results of the
observations made during the rough winter's campaign, he lies buried
near the home of his loved ones. There the eternal stars give a more
brilliant light to the pure air surrounding his last resting place, and
the solemn pines and firs pointing heavenwards with their venerable age
and sighing their constant hymn give an everlasting pathos to the story
of man's day on earth. The hill sides, terraced into beds of
flowers--many wild and more cultivated, especially dahlias, which grow
in great luxuriance and richness of colour in the hills of India--form
the beautiful ground-work of an Indian cemetery in a sanitarium like
Mussooree. On that spot, as it lies, the visitor will behold on one
side, to the south, the dark shadow of a mountain elevation, called the
"Camel's Back," by reason of its shape and sheer projection upwards,
typifying the wall of human sense at sight of death; and on the other
he will look out upon the ever-changing, though distant line of
perpetual snow. The snow view in India, on mountain regions, is beyond
description. No word-painting could give an idea of it; and few artists
have been able to reproduce the magical effects of sunrise and sunset
on the snows during the varying seasons of the year. The roseate tints
of dawn blush on their peaks till they become a flame, and pale into
iciest marble; and the evening splendours of purple and violet and
death-like blue are the phantasmagoria which no human hand has ever
made a living picture. Like the human life, it grows into beauty,
coruscates, and then passes into darkness.
Looked at from the purely materialistic side, doubtless, the lives of
men are mere seaweed thrown up by the mighty ocean of Creation on the
shores of Time. But from the Christian's higher standpoint, the broken
arc is made a magic circle on the side we cannot see.
_There_, let us trust, all lives which seem to us to have snapped
asunder here, in imperfect fruition of bright promise, may find their
perfect fulfilment of desire. As Faber poetically says:--"Death, after
all, is a darkening and disappearance of those we love, and we must be
content to take it so. It is only a question of more or less, where the
darkness shall begin, and what it shall eclipse first. To the others
who have loved the dying, and have gone before him, it is not a
darkening, but a dawning. Perhaps to them it is the brightest dawn when
it has been the most opaque and colourless sunset on the side of the
earth." Or as Keble, with divine humility of richest spiritual
imaginativeness, expresses it--
"Ever the richest tenderest glow
Sets round the autumnal sun--
But there sight fails: no heart may know
The bliss when life is done."