Simla, Sunday, Sept 1, 1839.
I think I will begin again soon this time--first, because to-morrow is
your birthday, so, as there is a difference of half the world in our
reckoning, I begin keeping it in time for fear of accidents. Then I am
moved to write, because I was looking over, for the 180th time, Swift's
Journal, and he says, in September 1710, just 129 years ago, 'Have I not
brought myself into a fine premunire to begin writing letters on whole
sheets? I cannot tell whether you like these Journal-letters. I believe
they would be dull to me to read them over; but perhaps little M. D. is
pleased to know how Presto passes his time.' Now, you are clearly M. D.,
so I look upon that as a prophecy, and think that I am fulfilling it.
Then I have an extra hour to-day. It began to pour just after we went
out riding, and we all had to rush home and got wet through.
W. O. writes from Loodheeana that the thermometer is 104°, and only two
degrees lower at night.
Friday, Sept 6.
I had some tents sent down to the waterfall yesterday, and Mrs. A. and
G. and I went down there to breakfast. The valleys are rather hot, but
we found a shady place near the great waterfall, where it was much
cooler than in the tents, and she and I talked there very comfortably,
while G. went out 'exploring,' and Chance had a vague idea that by
running up and down the bank he might succeed in stopping the waterfall,
but though he tried for four hours the experiment was a decided failure.
Those immense purple and green butterflies called 'Purple Emperors' were
flying about in quantities--such beautiful creatures! Mrs. A. would not
bring her children, and was delighted with the noise of the waterfall,
because otherwise she would have missed the noise of the children so
much more.
Mrs. N. and X. came down to luncheon, and then we all went to a second
waterfall, which is slightly inaccessible, but by dint of ladders and
chairs and being carried by jonpaunees here and there, we arrived at it,
and a very pretty sight it was--the cave so dark and the water so
bright. It looked so nice that we settled to pursue the bed of the river
in search of a third waterfall, which everybody talks of and nobody has
seen, so we were carried and the gentlemen splashed along through the
water, and Chance slipped into a deep place and was carried down and
nearly drowned; but Jimmund jumped in and 'plucked up his drowned honour
by the locks,' and after a little rubbing he soon came to. We found the
third fall, but could only see it from the top, as there was, no path
down the sides, and then we went back to Mrs. A. at the second fall. F.
came late, and was persuaded to scramble down to the second fall, and
then we all came home to dinner. That sort of day in the open air and
the shade is very pleasant, and though it seems like a long excursion
from the steepness of the roads, it is only three miles.
W. O. writes word that their camp has been attacked by regular thieves
and twenty camels carried off, and the sentries had killed two of the
thieves.
A box of books arrived yesterday, rather the worse for having travelled
through the rains, and unluckily the Annuals are those that have
suffered the most.
Sunday, Sept. 8.
Simla is much moved just now by the arrival of a Mrs. J.,[D] who has
been talked of as a great beauty all the year, and that drives every
other woman, with any pretensions in that line, quite distracted, with
the exception of Mrs. N., who, I must say, makes no fuss about her own
beauty, nor objects to it in other people. Mrs. J. is the daughter of a
Mrs. C., who is still very handsome herself, and whose husband is
deputy-adjutant-general, or some military authority of that kind. She
sent this only child to be educated at home, and went home herself two
years ago to see her. In the same ship was Mr. J., a poor ensign, going
home on sick leave. Mrs. C. nursed him and took care of him, and took
him to see her daughter, who was a girl of fifteen at school. He told
her he was engaged to be married, consulted her about his prospects, and
in the meantime privately married this child at school. It was enough to
provoke any mother, but as it now cannot be helped, we have all been
trying to persuade her for the last year to make it up, as she frets
dreadfully about her only child. She has withstood it till now, but at
last consented to ask them for a month, and they arrived three days ago.
The _rush on the road_ was remarkable, and one or two of the ladies were
looking absolutely nervous. But nothing could be more unsatisfactory
than the result, for Mrs. J. looked lovely, and Mrs. C. had set up for
her a very grand jonpaun, with bearers in fine orange and brown
liveries, and the same for herself; and J. is a sort of smart-looking
man, with bright waistcoats and bright teeth, with a showy horse, and he
rode along in an attitude of respectful attention to 'ma belle mère.'
Altogether it was an imposing sight, and I cannot see any way out of it
but magnanimous admiration. They all called yesterday when I was at the
waterfalls, and F. thought her very pretty.
[D] Afterwards the celebrated Lola Montez.
Tuesday, Sept. 10.
We had a dinner yesterday. Mrs. J. is undoubtedly very pretty, and such
a merry unaffected girl. She is only seventeen now, and does not look so
old, and when one thinks that she is married to a junior lieutenant in
the Indian army, fifteen years older than herself, and that they have
160 rupees a month, and are to pass their whole lives in India, I do not
wonder at Mrs. C.'s resentment at her having run away from school.
There are seventeen more officers come up to Simla on leave for a month,
partly in the hope of a little gaiety at the end of the rains; and then
the fancy fair has had a great reputation since last year, and as they
will all spend money, they are particularly welcome; but we _had_ got
through all our formal dinners, and now we must begin again.
Wednesday, Sept. 11.
W. says the heat is terrific at Lahore, 104° at night and 109° in the
day; and Captain M. says none of them have closed their eyes for three
nights. We had a large party last night, the largest I have seen in
Simla, and it would have been a pretty ball anywhere, there were so many
pretty people. The retired wives, now that their husbands are on the
march back from Cabul, ventured out and got through one evening without
any prejudice to their characters.
Thursday, Sept. 12.
W. is very much bored at Lahore, and Mr. C. has given him leave to come
back, and he will be here in two or three days. Little Pertâb is as nice
a child as ever, W. says, and remembers all the English words we taught
him. They all cried and salaamed to the picture of Runjeet Singh, which
W. had copied from my sketch, and he was obliged to give it to the old
fakeer.
Monday, Sept. 16.
W. O. got home this morning, having ridden from Lahore in three days;
about sixty miles a day, and the thermometer at 110°--enough to kill
him, but he does not seem the worse for it, though he looks very thin.
He says he missed one of his relays of horses and lay down under a tree
to sleep while the guide rode on for a conveyance, and when he awoke, he
found one of the Akalees (those wild bigots of whom even Runjeet was
afraid) sitting by him and fanning him with a large fan. Touching!
We are going to a ball to-night, which the married gentlemen give us;
and instead of being at the only public room, which is a broken,
tumble-down place, it is to be at the C.s, who very good-naturedly give
up their house for it.
Wednesday, Sept. 18.
The ball went off with the greatest success; transparencies of the
taking of Ghuznee, 'Auckland' in all directions, arches and verandahs
made up of flowers; a whist table for his lordship, which is always a
great relief at these balls; and every individual at Simla was there.
There was a supper-room for us, made up of velvet and gold hangings
belonging to the durbar, and a standing supper all night for the company
in general, at which one very fat lady was detected in eating five
suppers. We came away at one, but it was kept up till five, and
altogether succeeded. W., after all that journey, sat up till five.
Thursday, Sept. 19.
The July overland came in yesterday, and I have got your nice _fat_
letter from Newsalls, and the Journal of your last month in London. I
remember the pain of leaving London at the end of the second season. It
was 'such dreadful hagony,' as the boy says, in 'Oliver Twist,' that I
quite enter into T.'s feelings. E. is pretty well for the first year,
and I expect will show stronger symptoms of the disease next year. The
third year I shall be at home, to hear all about it, which will be
amazingly good fun; and in the meantime you cannot imagine the
treasures these Journals are. Only think how pleasant! An old Colonel
Skinner, a native as black as this ink, whose life you can see in Miss
Roberts' book, writes to W. that 'If the Miss Edens do not wish to
mortify an old soldier, and bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the
grave, they will accept a pair of shawls he has ordered for them in
Cashmere, and which have just arrived. If they return them, he shall
imagine they look upon him as a native, and not as an old British
soldier.' Nothing evidently could be more palpably indelicate than to
refuse them. I am the last woman in the world to hurt anybody's feelings
by returning any shawl, to say nothing of a white one, made on purpose
in Cashmere; and if he had thrown in a scarf, I should have thought his
appearance and complexion only too fair for a British soldier. Do you
think they will be long shawls, or square?