under the imperial government and 3,752 natives. The number of
natives employed in the public service has been constantly increasing
since 1879, while the number of Englishmen has been gradually growing
less. No person other than a native of India can be appointed to
certain positions under the government. Native officers manage
almost all of the multifarious interests connected with the revenues,
the lands, the civil courts and local administration. The duties
of the civil courts throughout India, excepting the Court of
Appeals, are almost entirely performed by native judges, who
exercise jurisdiction in all cases affecting Europeans as well
as natives, and the salaries they receive are very liberal. No
country in the world pays better salaries than India to its
judiciary. In Bengal a high court judge whether English or native,
receives $16,000 a year, and the members of the lower courts
are paid corresponding amounts.
It is asserted by prominent and unprejudiced members of the bar
that nothing in the history of civilization has been more remarkable
than the improvement that has taken place in the standard of
morality among the higher classes of Indian officials, particularly
among the judiciary. This is due in a great measure to the fact
that their salaries have been sufficient to remove them from
temptation, but a still greater influence has been the example
of the irreproachable integrity of the Englishmen who have served
with them and have created an atmosphere of honor and morality.
The English officials employed under the government of India
belong to what is known as "The Covenanted Civil Service" the term
"covenanted" having been inherited from the East India Company,
which required its employes to enter into covenants stipulating
that they would serve a term of years under certain conditions,
including retirement upon half pay when aged, and pensions for
their families after their death. Until 1853 all appointments
to the covenanted service were made by nomination, but in that
year they were thrown open to public competition of all British
subjects without distinction of race, including natives of India
as well as of England. The conditions are so exacting that few
native Hindus are willing to accept them, and of the 1,067 men
whose names were on the active and retired lists on the 31st
of December, 1902, only forty were natives of India.
Lord Macaulay framed the rules of the competition and the scheme
of examination, and his idea was to attract the best and ablest
young men in the empire. Candidates who are successful are required
to remain one year on probation, with an allowance of $500, for
the purpose of preparing themselves for a second examination
which is much more severe than the first. Having passed the second
examination, they become permanent members of the civil service.
They cannot be removed without cause, and are promoted according
to length of service and advanced on their merits in a manner
very similar to that which prevails in our army and navy. None
but members of the covenanted service can become heads of
departments, commissioners of revenue, magistrates and collectors,
and there is a long list of offices which belong to them exclusively.
Their service and assignment to duty is largely governed by their
special qualifications and experience. They are encouraged to
improve themselves and qualify themselves for special posts.
A covenanted official who can speak the native languages, who
distinguishes himself in literature or in oratory, who devises plans
for public works, or distinguishes himself in other intellectual
or official lines of activity is sure to be recognized and receive
rapid advancement, while those who prefer to perform only the
arduous duties that are required of them will naturally remain
in the background. There is, and there always will be, more or
less favoritism and partiality as long as human affections and
personal regard influence official conduct, and I do not believe
we would have it otherwise. We can admire the stern sense of
justice which sends a son to the scaffold or denies a brother
a favor that he asks, but we do not like to have such men in
our families. There is undoubtedly more or less personal and
political influence exercised in the Indian service, but I doubt
if any other country is more free from those common and natural
faults.
In addition to the covenanted service are the imperial service
and the provincial service, which are recruited chiefly from the
natives, although both are open to any subject of King Edward
VII. All these positions are secured by competitive examinations,
and, as I have already intimated, the universities of India have
arranged their courses of study to prepare native candidates
for them. This has been criticised as a false and injurious
educational policy. The universities are called nurseries for
the unnatural propagation of candidates for the civil service,
and almost every young man who enters them expects, or at least
aspires, to a government position. There is no complaint of the
efficiency of the material they furnish for the public offices.
The examinations are usually sufficient to disclose the mental
qualifications of the candidates and are conducted with great care
and scrupulousness, but they fail to discover the most essential
qualifications for official responsibility, and the greater number
of native appointees are contented to settle down at a government
desk and do as little work as possible.
VIII
THE RAILWAYS OF INDIA
The railways of India are many and long and useful, but still very
primitive in their appointments, having been built for utility and
convenience, and not for comfort. The day will come, I suppose,
when modern improvements will be introduced, and the long journeys
which are necessary to reach any part of the vast empire will be
made as pleasant and luxurious as transcontinental trips in the
United States. Just now, however, the equipment is on a military
basis of simplicity and severity. Passengers are furnished with
what they need, and no more. They are hauled from one place to
another at reasonable rates of speed; they are given shelter from
the sun and the storms en route; a place to sit in the daytime
and to lie down during the night; and at proper intervals the
trains stop for refreshments--not very good nor very bad, but
"fair to middling," as the Yankees say, in quality and quantity.
If a traveler wants anything more he must provide it himself.
People who live in India and are accustomed to these things are
perfectly satisfied with them, although the tourist who has just
arrived is apt to criticise and condemn for the first few days.
Every European resident of India who is accustomed to traveling
by train has an outfit always ready similar to the kit of a soldier
or a naval officer. It is as necessary as a trunk or a bag, an
overcoat or umbrella, and consists of a roll of bedding, with
sheets, blankets and pillows, protected by a canvas cover securely
strapped and arranged so that when he wants to retire he need
only unbuckle the straps and unroll the blankets on the bunk in
the railway carriage. He also has a "tiffin basket," with a tea
pot, an alcohol lamp, a tea caddy, plates and cups of granite
ware, spoons, knives and forks, a box of sugar, a tin of jam,
a tin of biscuits or crackers, and other concomitants for his
interior department in case of an emergency; and, never having
had anything better, he thinks the present arrangement good enough
and wonders why Americans are dissatisfied. Persons of ordinary
common sense and patience can get used to almost anything, and
after a day or two travelers trained to the luxury of Pullman
sleepers and dining cars adjust themselves to the primitive
facilities of India without loss of sleep or temper, excepting
always one condition: You are never sure "where you are at," so
to speak. You never know what sort of accommodations you are
going to have. There is always an exasperating uncertainty as
to what will be left for you when the train reaches your place
of embarkation.
Sleeping berths, such as they are, go free with first and second
class tickets and every traveler is entitled to one bunk, but
passengers at intermediate points cannot make definite arrangements
until the train rolls in, no matter whether it is noonday or 2
o'clock in the morning. You can go down and appeal to the station
master a day or two in advance and advise him of your wants and
wishes, and he will put your name down on a list. If you are so
fortunate as to be at the starting place of the train he will
assign you a bunk and slip a card with your name written upon
it into a little slot made for the purpose; the other bunks in
the compartment will be allotted to Tom, Dick and Harry in the
same manner. There are apartments reserved for ladies, too, but
if you and your wife or family want one to yourselves you must
be a major general, or a lieutenant governor, or a rajah, or
a lord high commissioner of something or other to attain that
desire. If they insist upon being exclusive, ordinary people
are compelled to show as many tickets as there are bunks in a
compartment, and the first that come have the pick, as is perfectly
natural. The fellow who enters the train later in the day must
be satisfied with Mr. Hobson's choice, and take what is left,
even if it doesn't fit him. It the train is full, if every bunk
is occupied, another car is hitched on, and he gets a lower, but
this will not be done as long as a single upper is vacant. And
the passengers are packed away as closely as possible because
the trains are heavy and the engines are light, and the schedules
must be kept in the running. A growler will tell you that he never
gets a lower berth, that he is always crowded into a compartment
that is already three-fourths occupied with passengers who are
trying to sleep, but he forgets that they have more than he to
complain of, and if he is a malicious man he can find deep
consolation in the thought and make as great a nuisance of himself
as possible. I do not know how the gentler sex behave under such
circumstances, but I have heard stories that I am too polite
to repeat.
There is no means of ventilation in the ceiling, but there is
a frieze of blinds under it, along both sides of the car, with
slats that can be turned to let the air in directly upon the
body of the occupant of the upper berth, who is at liberty to
elect whether he dies of pneumonia or suffocation. The gentleman
in the lower berth has a row of windows along his back, which
never fit closely but rattle like a snare drum, and have wide
gaps that admit a forced draught of air if the night is damp
or chilly. If it is hot the windows swell and stick so that you
cannot open them, and during the daytime they rattle so loud that
conversation is impossible unless the passengers have throats
of brass like the statues of Siva. In India, during the winter
season, there is a wide variation in the temperature, sometimes
as much as thirty or forty degrees. At night you will need a
couple of thick blankets; at noonday it is necessary to wear a
pith helmet or carry an umbrella to protect the head from the
sun, and as people do their traveling in the dry season chiefly,
the dust is dreadful. Everything in the car wears a soft gray
coating before the train has been in motion half an hour.
The bunks are too narrow for beds and too wide for seats. The
act of rolling over in the night is attended with some danger and
more anxiety, especially by the occupants of the upper berths.
In the daytime you can sit on the edge like an embarrassed boy,
with nothing to support your spine, or you can curl up like a
Buddha on his lotus flower, with your legs under you; but that
is not dignified, nor is it a comfortable posture for a fat man.
Slender girls can do it all right; but it is impracticable for
ladies who have passed the thirty-third degree, or have acquired
embonpoint with their other graces. Or you can shove back against
the windows and let your feet stick out straight toward the infinite.
It isn't the fault of a railway corporation or the master mechanic
of a car factory if they don't reach the floor. It is a defect
for which nature is responsible. President Lincoln once said
every man's legs ought to be long enough to reach the ground.
The cars are divided into two, three, or four compartments for
first-class passengers, with a narrow little pen for their servants
at the end which is absolutely necessary, because nobody in India
travels without an attendant to wait upon him. His comfort as
well as his social position requires it, and few have the moral
courage to disregard the rule. To make it a little clearer I
will give you a diagram sketched by your special artist on the
spot.
[Illustration]
This is an excellent representation of a first-class railway carriage
in India without meretricious embellishments.
The second-class compartments, for which two-thirds of the
first-class rates are charged, have six narrow bunks instead
of four, the two extras being in the middle supported by iron
rods fastened to the floor and the ceiling. The woodwork of all
cars, first, second, and third class, is plain matched lumber,
like our flooring, painted or stained and varnished. The floor is
bare, without carpet or matting, and around on the wall, wherever
there is room for them, enormous hooks are screwed on. Over the
doors are racks of netting. The bunks are plain wooden benches,
covered with leather cushions stuffed with straw and packed as
hard as tombstones by the weight of previous passengers. The
ceiling is of boards pierced with a hole for a glass globe, which
prevents the oil dripping upon your bald spot from a feeble and
dejected lamp. It is too dim to read by and scarcely bright enough
to enable you to distinguish the expression upon the lineaments
of your fellow passengers. A scoop net of green cloth on a wire
springs back over the light to cover it when you want to sleep:
Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. The toilet room
is Spartan in its simplicity, and the amount of water in the
tanks depends upon the conscientiousness of a naked heathen of
the lowest caste, who walks over the roofs of the cars and is
supposed to fill them from a pig skin suspended on his back.
You furnish your own towel and the most untidy stranger in the
compartment usually wants to borrow it, having forgotten to bring
one himself. You acquire merit in heaven, as the Buddhists say, by
loaning it to him, but it is a better plan to carry two towels,
in order to be prepared for such an emergency.
As we were about starting upon a tour that required several thousand
miles of railway travel and several weeks of time, the brilliant
idea of avoiding an risks and anxiety by securing a private car
was suggested, and negotiations were opened to that purpose,
but were not concluded because of numerous considerations and
contingencies which arose at every interview with the railway
officials. They are not accustomed to such innovations and could
not decide upon their own terms or ascertain, during the period
before departure, what the connecting lines would charge us.
There are private cars fitted up luxuriously for railway managers
and high officials of the government, but they couldn't spare one
of them for so long a time as we would need it. Finally somebody
suggested a car that was fitted out for the Duke and Duchess of
Connaught when they came over to the Durbar at Delhi. It had two
compartments, with a bathroom, a kitchen and servants' quarters,
but only three bunks. They kindly offered to let us use it provided
we purchased six first-class tickets, and were too obtuse to
comprehend why we objected to paying six fares for a car that
could not possibly admit more than three people. But that was
only the first of several issues. At the next interview they
decided to charge us demurrage at the rate of 16 cents an hour
for all the time the car was not in motion, and, finally, at the
third interview, the traffic manager said it would be necessary
for us to buy six first-class tickets in order to get the empty car
back to Bombay, its starting point, at the end of our journey. This
brought the charges up to a total as large as would be necessary
to transport a circus or an opera company, and we decided to take
our chances in the regular way.
We bought some sheets and pillow cases, pillows and old-fashioned
comfortables and blankets, and bespoke a compartment on the train
leaving Bombay that night. Two hours before the time for starting
we sent Thagorayas, our "bearer", down to make up the beds, which,
being accustomed to that sort of business, he did in an artistic
manner, and by allowing him to take command of the expedition
we succeeded in making the journey comfortably and with full
satisfaction. The ladies of our party were assigned to one
compartment and the gentlemen to another, where the latter had
the company of an engineer engaged upon the Bombay harbor
improvements, and a very intelligent and polite Englishman who
acts as "adviser" to a native prince in the administration of
an interior province.
On the same train and next to our compartment was the private
coach of the Gaikwar of Baroda, who was attended by a dozen or
more servants, and came to the train escorted by a multitude of
friends, who hung garlands of marigold about his neck until his
eyes and the bridge of his nose were the only features visible.
The first-class passengers came down with car loads of trunks and
bags and bundles, which, to avoid the charge for extra luggage,
they endeavored to stowaway in their compartments. The third-class
carriages were packed like sardines with natives, and up to the
limit allowed by law, for, painted in big white letters, where every
passenger and every observer can read it, is a notice giving the
number of people that can be jammed into that particular compartment
in the summer and in the winter. We found similar inscriptions
on nearly all freight cars which are used to transport natives
during the fairs and festivals that occur frequently--allowing
fifteen in summer and twenty-three in winter in some of the cars,
and in the larger ones thirty-four in winter and twenty-six in
summer, to avoid homicide by suffocation.
The Gaikwar of Baroda in his luxurious chariot did not sleep any
better than the innocent and humble mortals that occupied our
beds. We woke up in the morning at Ahmedabad, got a good breakfast
at the station, and went out to see the wonderful temples and
palaces and bazaars that are described in the next chapter.
There are now nearly 28,000 miles of railway lines in India.
On Jan. 1, 1903, the exact mileage under operation was 26,563,
with 1,190 miles under construction. The latter was more than
half completed during the year, and before the close of 1905,
unless something occurs to prevent, the total will pass the thirty
thousand mark. The increase has been quite rapid during the last
five years, owing to the experience of the last famine, when
it was demonstrated that facilities for rapid transportation
of food supplies from one part of the country to another were
an absolute necessity. It is usually the case that when the
inhabitants of one province are dying of starvation those of
another are blessed with abundant crops, and the most effective
remedy for famine is the means of distributing the food supply
where it is needed. Before the great mutiny of 1857 there were
few railroads in India, and the lesson taught by that experience
was of incalculable value. If re-enforcements could have been
sent by rail to the beleaguered garrisons, instead of making
the long marches, the massacres might have been prevented and
thousands of precious lives might have been saved. In 1880 the
system amounted to less than 10,000 miles. In 1896 it had been
doubled; in 1901 it had passed the 25,000 mile mark, and now
the existing lines are being extended, and branches and feeders
are being built for military as well as famine emergencies. All
the principal districts and cities are connected by rail. All
of the important strategical points and military cantonments
can be reached promptly, as necessity requires, and in case of
a rebellion troops could be poured into any particular point
from the farthermost limits of India within three or four days.
As I have already reminded you several times, India is a very
big country, and it requires many miles of rails to furnish even
necessary transportation facilities. The time between Bombay and
Calcutta is forty-five hours by ordinary trains and thirty-eight
hours by a fast train, with limited passenger accommodation, which
starts from the docks of Bombay immediately after the arrival of
steamers with the European mails. From Madras, the most important
city of southern India, to Delhi, the most important in the north,
sixty-six hours of travel are required. From Peshawur, the extreme
frontier post in the north, which commands the Kyber Pass, leading
into, Afganistan, to Tuticorin, the southern terminus of the system,
it is 3,400 miles by the regular railway route, via Calcutta,
and seven days and night will be necessary to make the journey
under ordinary circumstances. Troops could be hurried through
more rapidly.
Nearly all the railways of India have either been built by the
government or have been assisted with guarantees of the payment
of from 3 to 5 per cent dividends. The government itself owns
19,126 miles and has guaranteed 3,866 miles, while 3,242 miles
have been constructed by the native states. Of the government
lines 13,441 miles have been leased to private companies for
operation; 5,125 miles are operated by the government itself.
Nearly three-fourths of the lines owned by native states have
been leased for operation.
The total capital invested in railway property, to the end of
1902, amounted to $1,025,000,000, and during that year the average
net earnings of the entire mileage amounted to 5.10 per cent
of that amount. The surplus earnings, after the payment of all
fixed charges and guarantees and interest upon bonds amounted
to $4,233,080.
The number of passengers carried in 1,902 was 197,749,567, an
increase of 6,614,211 over the previous year. The aggregate freight
hauled was 44,142,672 tons, an increase of 2,104,425 tons over
previous year, which shows a healthy condition. During the last
ten years the gross earnings of all the railways in India increased
at the rate of 41 per cent.
Of the gross earnings 59 per cent. were derived from freight and
the balance from passengers.
There is now no town of importance in India without a telegraph
station. The telephone is not much used, but the telegraph lines,
which belong to the government, more than pay expenses. There
has been an enormous increase in the number of messages sent
in the last few years by natives, which indicates that they are
learning the value of modern improvements.
The government telegraph lines are run in connection with the
mails and in the smaller towns the postmasters are telegraph
operators also. In the large cities the telegraph offices are
situated in the branch postoffices and served by the same men, so
that it is difficult to divide the cost of maintenance. According
to the present system the telegraph department maintains the
lines, supplies all the telegraphic requirements of the offices
and pays one-half of the salaries of operators, who also attend
to duties connected with the postoffice. There were 68,084 miles
of wire and 15,686 offices on January 1, 1904. The rate of charges
for ordinary telegrams is 33 cents for eight words, and 4 cents
for each additional word. Telegrams marked "urgent" are given
the right of way over all other business and are charged double
the ordinary rates. Telegrams marked "deferred" are sent at the
convenience of the operator, generally during the night, at half
of the ordinary rates. As a matter of convenience telegrams may
be paid for by sticking postage stamps upon the blanks.
There are 38,479 postoffices in India and in 1902 545,364,313
letters were handled, which was an increase of 24,000,000 over the
previous year and of 100,000,000 since 1896. The total revenues of
the postoffice department were $6,785,880, while the expenditures
were $6,111,070.
IX
THE CITY OF AHMEDABAD