Arrival in India.--Tuticorin.--Madura.--Bungalows.--Reptiles and
Insects.--Wonderful Pagoda.--Sacred Elephants.--Trichinopoly and
its Temples.--Bishop Heber.--Native Silversmiths.--Tanjore.--The
Rajah's Palace.--Pagoda and an Immense Stone Idol.--Southern
India.--City of Madras.--Want of a Harbor.--In and about the
Capital.--Voyage through the Bay of Bengal.--The Hoogly
River.--Political Capital of India.--A Crazy King.--The
Himalayas.--Sunset and Sunrise at Darjeeling.
We took passage in the British mail steamship Kebela from Colombo to
Tuticorin, the extreme point of southern India, once famous for its
pearl fisheries; but now as forsaken and sleepy a spot as can be found
on any sea-coast. The distance from Colombo is less than two hundred
miles through the Straits of Manar, and we landed on the following day,
after a stormy passage, during which the rain came down with tropical
profuseness. Ceylon, at harvest time on the plantations, imports
laborers from the southern provinces of India, who are very glad thus to
earn a small sum of money, a commodity of which they see little enough
at home. Seven or eight hundred of these laborers, having fulfilled
their object at the island, were returning to the main-land, and
literally crowded the lower deck of the Kebela fore and aft. They formed
rather picturesque groups as they reclined or stood in their rags,
nakedness, and high colors combined.
When we got up the anchor in the harbor of Colombo, it seemed to be
pleasant enough, but scarcely were we outside of the breakwater before
the steamer began to roll and pitch like an awkward mule under the
tickling application of the spur. Too much accustomed to the roughness
of the sea to heed this, we were nevertheless very sorry for these
exposed deck-passengers, few of whom escaped seasickness. Crowded
together as they were during the copious rainfall, their sufferings that
afternoon and night were pitiable. There were some families with women
and children, and such shelter as a canvas awning could afford was
kindly arranged for them. When we anchored in shoal water off the coast
next morning, and the big flat-boats came to take them ashore, they had
hardly strength and spirit sufficient to tumble into these craft, no
doubt promising themselves, as usual, never, never again to quit the dry
land. The water being very shallow, the Kebela anchored five miles from
shore, making it necessary for us to take a small steam-launch to land
at the little toy pier built on the beach. Our miniature vessel was
tossed about like a bit of cork on the waves, but we had long since come
to regard a wetting by salt-water as a trifling matter.
Tuticorin is a quaint old place of very little importance, dingy and
dilapidated. It is represented to have twenty thousand inhabitants, but
one would not have set the figure at more than half that number. There
is still something done here in the pearl fisheries, though the most
active stations are situated some thirty miles up the coast. We here got
our first view of a new race of people, the East Indian proper, in his
native land. It was easy to detect special differences in the race from
the people left but a short day's sail behind us. They were tall and
erect in figure, square shouldered, and broad chested. Their
complexions were lighter, features clearer cut, and they were a more
active race. They had not full lips or flat noses like the Singhalese
and Malays; so that although there was a similarity between them, yet
there was a strong difference when one came to sum up the
characteristics of each.
The architecture of the town is peculiar, and the few old public
buildings odd in the extreme. Tuticorin sends some cotton, rice, and
cocoanuts to market, but its business must be very limited. An hour's
walk took us all over the town without discovering any object of special
interest. Being connected by rail with northern India, if there were
depth of water sufficient for steamers to make a landing here, without
lying five miles off shore, Tuticorin would certainly become an
important Indian port. It was New Year's Day when we landed, and was
apparently being celebrated in an humble way by the few people whom we
saw. The children were displaying toys, playing games, and some bore
flowers aloft arranged upon poles as wreaths and hoops. Itinerant
peddlers were disposing of sweetmeats to eager boys and girls. Both the
articles sold and the money which was paid for them looked new and
strange. Some young maidens, in half-civilized attire, displayed
high-colored garments and small scarlet kerchiefs on their heads. The
passion for, and habit of wearing cheap jewelry, had been imported even
here, and some of the extravagances of Colombo were copied by the women
in ornamentation of ears, nose, and lips. Little babies were thus
bedecked, and the tender ears of some consequently hung distorted and
stretched three inches downward, both the upper rim and the lobe of the
infant's ear being perforated with rings. Brass bangles on arms, wrists,
and ankles were the rule, some of the men also wearing them. Here, on
the main-land, the tattooing of the body seemed to have ceased, and the
shining, naked skin of the men and women looked clean and healthy.
In the afternoon of the day on which we landed, the cars of the South
Indian Railway were taken to Madura, one hundred miles northward, where
we arrived late in the evening, and took lodging in a government
bungalow, unfurnished, except by a few temporary articles improvised for
the occasion, our meals being served at the railroad station not far
away. The bungalow was in the midst of a grove of cocoanut palms which
loomed high above our heads, laden with masses of the large brown fruit.
It was dark and shady even at noonday. Close by was an ancient stone
well, baths, and irrigating means, showing that where the jungle now is
had formerly been a cultivated field with crops of grain. Native
shanties were located all about the neighborhood, the people living
mostly out of doors, gypsy fashion. It would be too hot to cook or to
eat within these low-roofed mud walls. We found that flies, mosquitoes,
and scorpions were inclined to dispute the possession of the bungalow
with us; and ugly looking snakes were seen in such proximity to the low
piazza as to suggest their uninvited entrance by doors or windows. India
swarms with vermin, especially in the jungle. We did not fail to examine
our shoes before putting them on in the morning, lest the scorpions
should have established a squatter's right therein. Flying foxes were
seen upon the trees, sometimes hanging motionless by the feet, at others
swinging to and fro with a steady sweep. Ants were now and then
observed moving over the ground in columns a foot wide and three or four
yards long, evidently with a well defined purpose. In the morning light,
after the sun had risen, clouds of butterflies, many-colored,
sunshine-loving creatures, large and small, in infinite variety, flitted
about the bungalow, some with such gaudy spread of wing as to tempt
pursuit--but without a proper net they are difficult to secure. Large
brown, bronze, and yellow beetles walked through the short grass with
the coolness and gait of young poultry. Occasionally a chameleon turned
up its singularly bright eye, as though to take cognizance of our
presence. The redundancy of insect and reptile life is wonderful in
southern India. The railroad stations and the road itself, admirably
constructed and very fairly equipped, are the only evidences of European
possession to be seen between Tuticorin and Tanjore, a distance of four
hundred and fifty miles. The road passes through a generally well
cultivated region where thrifty fields of wheat, barley, and sugar-cane
were to be seen, with here and there broad fields of intensely yellow
mustard, but the appearance of the people and their mud huts indicated
abject poverty.
The principal attraction to the traveler in Madura, which contains some
fifty thousand inhabitants, is a remarkable and ancient pagoda,
supported by two thousand stone columns. It was dedicated to Parvati,
wife of Shiva, and is one of the largest and finest monuments of Hindoo
art in existence, covering in all its divisions, courts, shrines,
colonnades, and tanks twenty acres of ground. It has nine lofty
tower-like gates of entrance and exit, each one of which has the effect
of forming an individual pagoda. In the central area of the temple is
what is known as the Tank of the Golden Lotus, being a large body of
water covering a couple of acres of ground, leading into which are broad
stone steps on all sides, where the people of both sexes were bathing
for religious purification; an idea not hardly compatible with the
filthy condition of the water itself, which was nearly covered with a
green slime. The temple contains many living sacred elephants, deified
bulls and cows, enshrined idols, and, to us, meaningless ornamentations,
too varied and numerous for description. Our local guide stated the
probable cost at a figure so high we refrain from recording it. The
elephants rivaled the beggars in their importunities, being accustomed
to receive unlimited delicacies from visitors, such as sweetmeats,
cakes, candies, and the like, of which these creatures are immoderately
fond. One peculiarity of this temple was that it seemed to serve a
double purpose, being dedicated to trade and religion. Within its walls
we found established a large number of trading booths, forming a sort of
bazar or fair, where were exhibited dry goods, toys, domestic utensils,
jewelry; in short, all sorts of fancy articles. Madura is famous for
producing high-colored napkins, small shawls and table-cloths, all on
fire with color, and here they were displayed in strong kaleidoscopic
effect. We thought it must be the occasion of some special charitable
fair, after the practice of religious societies in more modern
countries; but were informed that these merchants were engaged in their
regular vocation, and were permanent fixtures in the temple. The natives
crowded about these small bazars, and seemed to freely invest the few
coppers they had. We were followed about the courts, chapels, and
departments of the immense structure by a motley and curious crowd, the
girls and women satisfied to watch and stare at us; but the boys had
imported a London and Dublin idea: turning cart-wheels, somersaults, and
walking all about us on their hands, with feet in the air, to attract
attention and elicit pennies. One little fellow gyrated about in a most
marvelous style, keeping so persistently topsy-turvy as to grow black in
the face, and we finally paid him to keep right side uppermost. Begging
is reduced to a science in India, and our little party were beset, as by
an army with banners.
Half a mile from this grand pagoda is situated Timal Naik's Tank, so
named after the munificent rajah who built it. He reigned at Madura from
1621 to 1657, building palaces and temples by the score. The so-called
tank is an artificial lake extending over six or eight acres, with a
temple in its centre, very picturesque in effect, and approached only by
boats. Timal Naik's palace was also visited, built some three hundred
years ago, of granite, and a very remarkable piece of solid architecture
it is for India to have produced, in that section, and at that epoch.
The principal hall of this royal residence has over a hundred stone
pillars supporting it. We were shown a grand Saracenic hall, with a
noble dome nearly a hundred feet across, called the Hall of Justice. The
whole of this grand palace is now being thoroughly restored, after
having been permitted for half a century and more to fall into partial
decay. We must not forget to mention the banqueting hall of the palace;
nothing finer of this character exists in modern architecture. The whole
was a surprise and delight, as we had not even read or heard of this
Indian palace.
Another hundred miles northward by rail brought us to the city of
Trichinopoly, where we were quartered at a government bungalow, as at
Madura, taking our meals at the dining-room of the railroad station, and
were most agreeably disappointed with both the service and the
provisions. Surely some professional cook had dropped out of the skies
and settled here. The food was prepared and served as delicately as at a
Parisian cafe. The variety of fruit and pastry was a temptation to the
most satiated appetite. Everything was neat and clean, the linen
faultless, and the glass and china were of the choicest. We often
recalled, when putting up with indifferent service and deprivations
elsewhere, the admirable entertainment which we experienced so
unexpectedly at this point. Here the famous Rock of Trichinopoly, from
five to six hundred feet high, crested with the Temple of Ganesa, was
ascended, and a group of pagodas visited of the most lofty and striking
character, similar in extent and general design to those already spoken
of. It is not long since, at the assembling of a thousand and more
pilgrims upon this lofty and exposed Rock of Trichinopoly, a panic
ensued from some unknown cause, when fully half of these pilgrims lost
their lives by being crowded off and falling over the rocky precipice, a
distance of five hundred feet. There is no protection to the narrow,
winding path by which the apex is reached, and some nerve is required to
accomplish the ascent.
The view from this eminence is exceptionally fine. The native town far
below us looked as though it had been shaken up and dropped there in
confusion by some convulsion of nature. There is no regularity in the
laying out of the place; it is a confused mass of buildings, narrow
paths, crooked roads, and low-built mud cabins. We visited what is
called the silversmith's quarter, but it was utterly unlike what such a
locality would be elsewhere, composed of one-story mud cabins, in narrow
filthy lanes full of chickens, mangy dogs, cats, and quarrelsome
children. No one but a native would suspect these hovels to contain
choice and finely wrought silver ornaments, and that the entire
manufacture was performed upon the spot. These workmen, nevertheless,
have a reputation for the excellence and originality of their product,
which extends beyond the borders of India. Boxes were produced from odd
corners, which were full of exquisite silver work, forming such articles
as bracelets, necklaces, rings, pins, belts, etc., from which our party
made selections. Trichinopoly is also famous for the manufacture of
cigars, called cheroots, exported to all parts of India and the East,
and which keep employed the busy fingers of a large number of the men
and women of the town. In passing the open doors of the dwellings,
cabins, or huts, young girls and boys were seen rolling up the cheroots,
sitting cross-legged beside low benches. The manufacture of cutlery is
also a specialty here, and the place has some sixty thousand population.
It will be remembered that the remains of Bishop Heber were buried at
Trichinopoly, where he was drowned while bathing, in the year 1826. Here
also occurred some fierce struggles between the French and English for
the sovereignty of southern India.
Two hundred miles of night travel by rail brought us to Tanjore, a large
fortified city, where we were again quartered in a government bungalow,
there being no hotel designed to accommodate travelers. The palace of
the late Rajah, an ancient building with lofty towers, and still
occupied by the ex-queen, was quite interesting. We were permitted to
examine its internal economy, and found by the library that her husband
was a man of cultivation and taste, especially well read in the
classics, and a good linguist. His bookcases showed several thousands of
good and well-thumbed books in English, French, Latin, and Greek.
Here we saw a large gilded car of Juggernaut, the Indian idol, which
makes its annual passage to and from the temple when the idol takes its
yearly airing, and is drawn by thousands of worshipers, who have come
from afar to assist at the strange and senseless festival. Pilgrims,
delirious with fanaticism, do sometimes throw themselves under the
ponderous wheels and perish there, but the stories current among writers
upon the subject as to the large number of these victims are much
exaggerated. This self-immolation, like that of the burning of widows
upon their husband's funeral pyres, has latterly been suppressed.
Between 1815 and 1826, fifteen thousand widows thus perished in India!
We were told that in some native provinces the practice was even now
secretly followed to some extent, but this is doubtful.
The grand pagoda of Tanjore has been rendered familiar to us by
engravings and is truly remarkable, being esteemed the finest specimen
in India of pagoda construction. It is fourteen stories high, and in the
absence of figures we should say was over two hundred feet from the base
to the top, and about eighty feet square at the ground. Among its other
strange idols and emblems it contains, in the area before the main
temple, in a demi-pagoda, the gigantic figure of a reclining bull, hewn
from a single mammoth block of black granite, and supposed to be of
great antiquity. It stands within an open space, raised some twelve feet
above the surrounding court, upon a granite plinth of the same color,
but how it could have been raised there intact is a marvel.
All of these structures are kindred in design, reproducing here at
Tanjore the spirit and many of the same figures which were seen at
Madura and Trichinopoly. As they are the temples of the same idolatrous
race this is natural. All are many centuries in age, and are
characterized by grotesqueness, lasciviousness, caricature, and infinite
detail of finish. Though they are outrageously gaudy in colors, yet are
they on so grand and costly a scale as to create amazement rather than
disgust. It would seem that a people equal to such efforts must have
been capable of something far better. In all grosser forms of
superstition and idolatry, carnal and material elements seem to be
essential to bind and attract the ignorant; and this was undoubtedly the
governing policy of a religion embodying emblems so outrageous to
Christian sensibility. This grand pagoda at Tanjore, taken as a whole,
was the most remarkable religious monument we saw in India. The city
has, as prominent local industries, the manufacture of silk, cotton, and
muslins. It is also surrounded by vast rice-fields the product of which
it largely exports to the north. Another day upon the cars traveling due
north brought us to Madras, where we found a good hotel and excellent
accommodations, to which we were in a frame of body and mind to do ample
justice.
In traveling through southern India to this point, we observed
frequently on the route of the railroad strange monuments and many ruins
of temples, pagodas, and odd structures of stone, manifestly serving in
by-gone ages some religious purpose. Now and again in open fields, or
more generally by small groves of trees, there were mammoth stone
elephants, horses, bulls and cows, more or less crumbled and decayed by
the wear of centuries, but evidently objects of worship by the people
who constructed them, being still held too sacred to be meddled with by
the ignorant and superstitious natives, whose mud hovels cluster about
them. At several points, away from any present villages or hamlets,
large irregular circles of heavy, unwrought stones were observed in open
fields, or near to some mounds of grass grown earth, perhaps covering
the remains of former shrines. These seemed of the same character and
called to mind the ancient debris which still exists at Stonehenge, and
undoubtedly marked the spot of ancient sacrifice. Large flocks of goats
tended by herdsmen were distributed over the plains, and so level is the
country that the eye could make out these groups for miles away on
either side of the track. Well cultivated plantations of sugar-cane,
plantains, rice, wheat, and orchards of fruit were constantly coming
into view from the cars. The olden style of irrigation was going on by
means of the shaduf, worked by hand, the same as was done in the East
four thousand years ago; while the very plow, rude and inefficient,
which is used upon these plains to-day, is after the fashion belonging
to the same period. Indeed, except that the railroad runs through
southern India, there seems to have been no progress there for thousands
of years. A lethargy of the most hopeless character appears to possess
the people. Their mud cabins are not suitable covering for human beings,
and are distanced in neatness by the colossal ant-hills of wooded
districts. Such a degraded state of humanity can hardly be found
elsewhere among semi-civilized races. The women seemed to be worn down
by hardships, and were pitiable to look upon; but the men were of dark
hue, straight in figure, always thin in flesh, and remarkably like our
American Indians. Nudity is the rule among them, clothing the exception.
It seems like a strange assertion, but it is a fact, two thirds of the
human family go naked in the nineteenth century.
Madras is situated on the open Bay of Bengal, without even the pretense
of a harbor, though a grand stone breakwater, like that at Ceylon, is in
course of construction. It is after the plan which was adopted by De
Lesseps at Port Said, forming the Mediterranean entrance of the Suez
Canal. The material which is being employed for the purpose is also the
same, and is composed of a conglomerate of small stones and cement in
the form of large cubes. The Prince of Wales, when on his visit to India
some five or six years since, laid the foundation stone of this
structure, but though it is so much needed it seemed to us to grow very
slowly. No more unprotected spot could be found on the surf-beaten shore
of the Coromandel coast, so completely is it exposed to the fury of the
northeast monsoons. It is singular that it was ever selected for a
commercial port, being inaccessible to sailing vessels from October to
January, and yet it was the first capital of the British possessions in
India. Such a surf is nearly always to be found on the shore that
nothing but the peculiar boats of the natives can pass it, and in foul
weather it is in vain for even them to attempt it. Nevertheless along
this inhospitable shore, for a distance of several miles, there extends
a thriving, finely laid out city, with a population of nearly half a
million.
Madras is spread out over a very large territory, with broad open fields
and squares, some designed for drill grounds, some for games of ball,
some purely as ornamental, with choice trees and shrubs. An abundant and
handsome growth of trees all about the city, lining the thoroughfares
and beautifying the open squares, testifies to the judicious attention
given by the authorities to this species of ornamental and grateful
shade, necessary in so warm a climate. We remember especially a fine and
quite remarkable avenue of banyan-trees on what is called the Mowbray
Avenue. The wide streets are admirably kept, being carefully
macadamized, over which carriage wheels glide with noiseless motion.
This description applies, however, only to the European portion of the
town, with its fine public buildings, consisting of many literary and
scientific institutions, as well as educational and charitable ones. The
native portion of Madras is contracted, mean, and dirty in the extreme,
the common people showing a degree of indigence and indifference to
decency which is absolutely appalling to witness in so large a
community, but it was quite in accordance with what we had observed
farther south. The elaborate English fort is one of the strongest and
best constructed fortifications in the East, forming a most prominent
feature of the city, and crowning a moderate rise of ground contiguous
to the shore with its attractive surroundings, white walls, graceful
though warlike buildings, flower plats, and green, sloping banks. Fort
George was the original name of Madras. The noble light-house is within
the grounds,--a lofty structure considerably over a hundred feet in
height, and visible nearly twenty miles at sea. Near this spot, along
the coast to the northward, are the rock-cut temples of Mahabalihuram,
rendered familiar by Southey's charming poetry.
At night we were lulled to sleep by the hoarse, sullen roar of the
restless waters. By day it was curious to watch the long surf-washed
beach, directly in front of our hotel, and to see the fishermen struggle
with the waves in their frail, but well adapted native boats, called
catamarans. These are constructed of three pieces of timber, ten or
twelve feet long, tied securely together with cocoanut fibre; the middle
one being longer than the others, and curved upwards at each end. Two
men generally go together, and force them through the water with short
paddles used alternately on either side. We saw them repeatedly washed
off by the surf; but as they are naked and good swimmers, they either
reach the boat again, or, if driven away from it by the sea and
undertow, regain the shore. Sometimes only one is washed off, but not
unfrequently both are compelled to swim back to the shore where the
frail boat itself is soon after thrown high upon the beach by the power
of the waves. We were told that it was a very rare circumstance for one
of these Madras boatmen to lose his life by drowning, as they become
such expert swimmers.
A peculiar boat is also used between the wharves and the shipping, which
come to anchor some distance off shore, landing passengers or taking
them from the shore to the ship. Even where these boats are used,
partially protected by the half-completed breakwater, no common boat
would answer the purpose, or would stand the strain. The surf runs high
even here, though not so fiercely as on the open beach. The Madras boat
is large and light, constructed of thin planks sewed together with hide
thongs, and caulked with cocoanut fibre. No nails enter into its
construction, nor would answer the purpose, which the yielding thongs
only are fitted for. Each of these boats is propelled by at least eight
rowers, who use an oar shaped like a spoon, being a strong elastic pole
with a flat, rounded end, securely lashed to it by hide thongs. The men
pull regularly until they get into the surf, and then they work like
mad, and the light boat is landed high and dry on the shelving sands.
Along the shore of the business section, the broad street is lined with
lofty commercial warehouses, custom house, hongs and godowns, and we
observed considerable building in progress just at this point. The
submerged breakwater should be brought up to its proper height before
anything else is attempted in or near the bay. Anchorage is very
precarious, large steamers being compelled to keep up steam to ease any
strain which may come upon their land tackle. One large iron vessel lay
a wreck upon the beach, and was sold at auction, to be broken up, while
we were there. She was loaded with coal for the depot of the P. and O.
line.
In driving and strolling about the city we noted many local pictures.
Groups of professional dancing girls are to be seen in all of the cities
of India, generally attached to some temple, as no religious ceremony
or gala day is considered complete without them; and indeed the same may
be said of any large private entertainment, as guests never dance in the
East, preferring to hire such work done for them. These dancers are
accompanied by a musical instrument very much like a guitar, and
sometimes by tambourines and fifes. Many of the girls are delicate and
graceful both in form and manner. Those who adopt the calling consecrate
themselves to it by some religious ceremony, and ever after are
connected with the temples. They preserve decency and propriety in their
public performances, which is curious to witness; their ankles being
covered with silver bells and their wrists and arms similarly decked.
Their effort appears to be that the bells should be so agitated as to
ring in harmony with the instruments; but the fact is there is no
harmony about either. These girls depend more in their performance upon
pantomime, expression of features, pose of body, and graceful
posturings, than upon any great exertion of muscle.
In their peculiar performance there is no exposure of the person, as in
the Parisian style of dancing, only half clad as they are. These Indian
girls endeavor to tell a story by their dance: to express love, hope,
tenderness, jealousy, and other passions, all of which are so well
portrayed, as a rule, that one can easily follow their pantomime. When
idle, they sometimes perform as itinerants in the streets and squares,
as was the case when we chanced to see a small group at Madras. Positive
information regarding them is not to be obtained, but enough was heard
to satisfy us that they constitute a priestly harem.
After passing a very pleasant week in Madras, we sailed at daylight, on
the 11th of January, in the P. and O. steamship Teheran, for Calcutta,
through the Bay of Bengal, a five days' voyage. Soon after leaving the
roadstead of Madras there was pointed out to us on the port bow the low
lying coast of Orissa, India, where the famine of 1866 carried off one
million of souls. As we drew northward a decided difference in the
temperature was realized, and was most agreeable; the thermometer
showing 70 deg. at Calcutta, in place of 90 deg. at Madras, so that
portions of clothing, discarded when we landed at Ceylon, were now
resumed. Since entering these southern waters we had remarked the entire
absence of sea-gulls, so ever-present on the Atlantic and North Pacific;
but the abundance of Mother Carey's Chickens, as the little petrel is
called, made up for the absence of the larger birds. It is swallow-like
in both its appearance and manner of flight, and though web-footed is
rarely seen to light on the water. It flies very close to the surface of
the sea, frequently dipping for food; but never quite losing its power of
wing, or at least so it appeared to us. Sailors, who are a proverbially
superstitious race, seriously object to passengers at sea who attempt to
catch the petrel with hooks baited with food and floated on the water,
or by any other means, contending that ill-luck will follow their
capture.
The ocean currents along the coast of Coromandel are marked and curious,
requiring special care in navigation. Unless observations can be had by
aid of the sun at noon-day, no ship is sure of her position; dead
reckoning will not answer here. We were reminded in these waters of
other currents: the Gulf Stream, for instance, on our own shore, finds
its rise in the tropics, say in the Caribbean Sea and Gulf of Mexico,
moves northeast along the American coast, gets a cant on the banks of
Newfoundland, and after crossing the Atlantic, spends its force on the
shores of Western Europe. The Japan Current, as it is called by seamen,
originates in the Indian Ocean, moves northward along the eastern shore
of Asia, and is divided by the Aleutian Islands and the Alaska
Peninsula, one branch going to the Arctic Ocean, and the other along the
west coast of America into the South Pacific. These details become very
interesting to the traveler when passing long weeks upon the ocean,
observing how the vessel in which he sails is either favored or retarded
by these known forces.
Our course was due north until we anchored at the mouth of the Hoogly
River to await a favorable tide, finally arriving at Calcutta on the
evening of the 15th of January. The intricate navigation of the Hoogly,
with its treacherous sands and ever-shifting shoals, is conducted by a
pilot system especially organized by government, and is composed
exclusively of Englishmen. No vessel can hope to ascend the river safely
without being in charge of one of these pilots. We saw a large iron
steamship, which was a quarter of a mile ahead of the Teheran, in her
attempt to make the mouth of the Hoogly, caught by an adverse current,
through what seemed to be a very trifling miscalculation, and she was
cast aground as quickly as though blown on a lee shore by a tornado. We
passed her as we went in, with both her anchors out, adopting various
nautical expedients to get afloat. As the accident occurred on a rising
tide, we have no doubt that she finally got free from her dangerous
position.
Calcutta is the political capital of India, but since the opening of
the Suez Canal, Bombay rivals it in all commercial respects. It was
rather surprising to find so poor a hotel as the "Great Eastern" proved
to be. It is calculated to receive within its walls at least one hundred
to one hundred and fifty guests, and yet does not present the ordinary
domestic comforts to be found in an American country tavern. A good
hotel is a prime necessity to any city, and is of more importance to the
interests of the inhabitants at large, and to its trades-people
especially, than is generally realized. We were told by our banker and
others that the complaint in this matter was so general that a company
was forming to give to the city a first-class hotel on the American
system, a consummation devoutly to be wished. At present tourists
visiting Calcutta would be prompted, as we were, to abbreviate their
stay in the city, solely for want of a good temporary home.
Calcutta is a very interesting city, very Indian, notwithstanding so
many Europeans live here and it has so long been under English rule; but
it is by no means entitled to the name so often given to it, the "City
of Palaces." It is quite modern, having no remains of antiquity in or
about it, and in 1686 was but a mud village. As seen from the Hoogly
when one first lands, it has a strong array of fine public buildings;
but a passage of a few rods, diverging from the main thoroughfare,
brings the visitor upon the dirty streets, the mean and narrow houses,
and general filth of the native population. The city is strongly
individualized, and it may be remarked that of all the capitals thus far
visited no two are alike, or strongly resemble each other. All differ
radically in manners and customs, modes of conveyance, dress,
architecture, and local color. We visited some of the palaces of the
native princes, which show in what extravagant style they formerly
lived, until compelled to come under English control. Many of these
structures were partially denuded, and none pretended to be kept up to
their former standard.
The National Museum is an institution of great importance, rich in its
various specimens of Hindoo curiosities, and also in the possession of
an extensive zoological and mineralogical collection, the whole
contained in a noble building of modern construction. The city has also
a number of literary, scientific, and charitable institutions,
libraries, social and political clubs, hospitals, and the like. The
Government House is a fine specimen of architecture, and is built around
an open square ornamented like a garden, but really little less than a
citadel if necessity should require it to assume that form. Owing to the
nature of England's possession here, Government House is under
semi-military organization, always ready to meet a popular uprising, and
containing powerful means of defense. The zoological garden is almost a
rival to that of London, and in some respects is superior to it. The
botanical garden, located about three miles from the city proper, is
equally remarkable for its size and comprehensive character. The good
taste and appreciation which has gathered here so large and complete a
public garden is worthy of all praise.
In this garden there is an enormous banyan-tree, one of the largest in
the world, and the original of the picture of the school-books. The
leaves are very similar to those of the poplar, and are four or five
inches long. Its age is incalculable, being a tree of very slow growth,
and continually multiplying itself, so that it may be said to live
forever. There is one remarkable avenue of Palmyra palms in these
grounds, which we have never seen excelled in beauty of effect even in
the plantation avenues of Cuba, where the family of the palm form the
pride of the coffee planters. Here was also to be seen specimens of the
sacred bo-tree and the camphor-tree of great size; one large
conservatory was devoted solely to the cultivation of ferns, which the
gardener said contained twenty thousand varieties, from the size of an
infant's hand to tall trees.
The various shades of green in this conservatory were no less remarkable
than the wonderful variety of form, all being arranged in the most
effective manner. The tall tree ferns seemed ready to burst through the
glass roof, and were ornamented with little hanging baskets on their
branches, containing choice and delicate specimens, while at their base
was a rockery over which played a tiny fountain, causing the exquisitely
pinnated feathery fronds of the ferns to tremble incessantly. In another
part was a little patch of mossy meadow, and again there were decaying
logs out of which sprang various ferns in wild luxuriance, as one has
seen them in deeply-shaded, low-lying woods. The maiden-hair fern was
here seen ranging from leaves as large as one's thumb-nail to a species
with leaves the size of pin-heads. There was a charming harmony in the
whole arrangement; nothing seemed abrupt, each effect blended gracefully
with those surrounding it, like well-balanced colors in an oil painting.
The King of Oude's palace, on the opposite side of the river, will well
pay the traveler for a visit. The old king has a reputation of being a
little out of his head, or, as the Scotch say, has a bee in his bonnet;
at any rate, he is very queer, very fat, and very independent, with his
allowance of half a million dollars per annum from the English
government who dethroned him, at which time he was King of Oude, one of
the richest provinces of India, Lucknow being the capital. He is said to
be still a rebel at heart, and was a strong supporter of the mutiny. He
is really a sort of state's prisoner in his own palace at Garden Reach,
as the place is called, where he has a whole menagerie of animals, and
is especially fond of tigers, of which he keeps over twenty in stout
cages. He has also a large and remarkable collection of snakes, all
Indian, and "millions" of pigeons. He pays fabulous prices for any bird
or animal to which he takes a fancy, and is, of course, duly victimized
by cunning dealers. He is a fanatic in religious observances, and
confines himself within the palace walls, from one year's end to
another, with his tigers, snakes, pigeons, priests, and women. He
permits tourists to visit his grounds, but will himself see no one. It
would not seem that he owes any affection to the English, who, under
some specious pretense, seized his private property, including his
valuable jewels, and sold them for the benefit of Queen Victoria's
treasury. As was said by the British press at the time, the English had
no more right to those precious stones and private property than they
had to the crown diamonds of Russia.
The government fortifications here will interest travelers, as they are
remarkable for completeness, and presenting the advanced ideas in the
line which they represent. But we were most entertained and longest
occupied in Calcutta by the native bazars, which, as usual, gave one a
special insight into the character of the people, their tastes and
occupations. An hour was passed of quite an impressive character at a
large building inclosing a high-walled area on the banks of the river,
known as the Burning Ghat, where the ceremony of cremating the dead is
going on at all hours of the day and night. Seven corpses were brought
in and placed upon the pyres, built up of unsawed cord wood in cob
style, raised to the height of four feet, the fire being applied to a
small handful of specially combustible material at the bottom. The whole
was so prepared as to ignite rapidly, and in a very few moments after
the torch was applied to it, the pile was wreathed in the devouring
element. The atmosphere was impregnated with offensive odors, and one
was fain to get on the windward side of the smoking mass. The Ghat was
open to the sky, so that the ventilation was all that could be obtained.
The bodies thus treated are entirely consumed in about three hours,
during which the wood requires partial renewal, and all palpable signs
having disappeared the ashes are solemnly cast into the sacred river
close at hand, the Hoogly being one of the outlets of the Ganges. When
first brought to the Ghat, a very simple and brief ceremony is held over
each body, and then a member of the family of mourners which attend the
burning applies the torch to the pyre. The custom is that this service
should be performed by the oldest son of the deceased, if there be such
a representative. The first time we witnessed such a scene was at the
Calcutta Ghat, but our after experience, as to the disposal of the
dead, was still more strange, as we shall have occasion to record in
these notes. Close by this Burning Ghat, along the river front, there
are a number of sheds, with only partial shelter from the street, where
poor dying Hindoos are brought to breathe their last, believing that if
they pass away close to the sacred water, their spirits will be
instantly wafted to regions of bliss. Here they are attended by persons
who make a business of it; and it was intimated to us that they often
hasten the demise of the sufferers by convenient means. Human life is
held of very little account among these people, whose blind faith
bridges the gulf of death, and who were at one time so prone to suicide,
by drowning in the Ganges, as to require strict police surveillance on
the part of the English to prevent it.
At the close of each day, about an hour before sunset, all fashionable
Calcutta turns out in state for a drive on the Maidan,--the Hindoostani
name for esplanade,--a broad and finely macadamized roadway, extending
along the river's bank, by the fort, the open cricket grounds, the
parade, and the gardens, arranged as a circular course of a mile or more
in extent, which would be perfection had it only a proper complement of
shade trees. It is really a most delightful resort after the trying heat
of the day, when the cooling influence of the twilight commences; in
short it is the Indian Hyde Park, or Bengal Champs Elysees. The variety,
elegance, and costliness of the equipages in grand livery that crowd the
Maidan during the fashionable hour was a surprise, the whole scene
enlivened by the brilliant dresses of the ladies, the dashing costumes,
and gold lace of the nabobs, the quaint Oriental dress of their
barefooted attendants, and the spirited music of the military band. The
variety of nationality present was infinite; the participants in varied
dress were Parsees, Hindoos, Mussulmans, English, Egyptians, with a
sprinkling of French and Italians. The twilight hour is brief; the crowd
dashed round the long course in the liveliest manner, until the amber
shades deepened, and then a hundred electric lights of great power,
shielded by ground-glass globes, flashed upon the scene, rivaling in
effect the broadest daylight. Then the occupants of the open vehicles
and the equestrians gathered about the Eden Gardens, where the
music-stand is placed, and in ranks eight or ten lines deep, listened to
the popular airs so finely rendered, or chatted gayly with each other
during the intervals of the music. These Eden Gardens, always open to
the public, with their tropical vegetation, picturesque temples,
summer-houses, and refreshing ornamental waters, are a delightful resort
in the after-part of the day, when their inviting shade can be best
appreciated. The Cascine at Florence, the Pincio at Rome, the Chiaja of
Naples, the Prado of Madrid, none of these can compare in point of
gayety, variety, and attractiveness with the Maidan of this Indian
capital.
It would seem that Calcutta ought to be a healthy city, but, as it
regards English residents, it cannot be said to be so. A peculiarity in
this connection was explained to us by an officer of the civil service,
long resident in the East. Both himself and wife were our companions on
board the Kashgar, on the voyage from Bombay to Suez, the gentleman
being on leave of absence for a brief month's stay in England, where
mother and father were going to meet their three children. It seems that
pure blooded European children, even if born in India, are unable to
struggle successfully against the enervating effects of its climate, and
this applies not alone to Calcutta, but to all parts of the country.
Until their sixth year, children apparently retain their health and the
ruddy color of the race, but, soon after that age, they grow pale and
wan, the listlessness of a premature decay setting in, or some
mysterious blight steals over them. Thus, without the symptoms of any
fixed disease, they droop and pine, like exotic plants. Nothing but a
return to England, the home of their race, will restore them. The utmost
care is of no avail. Even removing them to higher table-lands in the
hill country has no saving effect. An English gentleman and his wife,
who had long resided at Lahore, told us the same; they being also
separated from their children, who had been born in India, but
necessarily sent home to England to restore their fading health. This
singular peculiarity is so well known, that its fatal results are now
promptly guarded against by the one and only resort,--of parents and
children submitting to separation.
The city is said to contain a million of inhabitants, but this seemed an
excessive computation. The frail character of the native houses, in the
section of Calcutta occupied by Indians, may be judged of by the fact
that the cyclone, which visited the place the year after that of the
famine at Orissa, destroyed over thirty thousand of their houses; and,
three years later, in 1870, another cyclone was equally destructive
among these dwellings. The Hoogly River is visited, during the monsoons,
about the last of April, by a tidal wave, which dashes up from the sea
at a speed of twenty miles an hour, causing much destruction. Ships
lying off the city often part their cables, and are driven on shore;
while many small craft, along the eighty miles of river course, are not
unfrequently destroyed altogether.
Taking the cars of the Eastern Bengal Railway, we started for
Darjeeling, in the extreme north of India, a distance of about four
hundred miles from Calcutta. At Damookdea the Ganges was crossed, and
the journey resumed by the North Bengal State Railway. At Siliguri the
Narrow Gauge Himalayan Railway was taken, by which to ascend the
mountains, and a wonderful piece of engineering it was found to be,
doubling upon itself frequently in a distance of two hundred feet; in
one place the train passing over a bridge which it had passed under a
few minutes before. The railroad running up Mount Washington, in New
Hampshire, though more precipitous, is less remarkable. The wild,
extensive scenery on the route was a constant reminder of the Sierra
Nevada mountains, through which we had passed by moonlight, in far-off
America. As we progressed upwards, flocks of Tibet goats began to
appear, and a hardier race of men and women than those we had left below
on the plains of Hindostan. The road was being much improved, and
laborers were busy all day along the route, consisting of men and women
and young girls, all performing the same style of labor, with shovel and
pick, each carrying a small basket of earth and stone on his or her
back.
Among these laborers three distinct nationalities were observable,
marked by dress, physiognomy, and figure. They were people from Tibet,
Nepal, and Cashmere, which border on this part of northern India, and
are separated from it by the Himalayan Range. These mingled races
formed picturesque groups, the men armed with long, sword-like knives
and other weapons, after the fashion of their native lands. Some of the
young women were quite pretty, though a little masculine and sturdy in
figure, appearing very much like their sisters of Alpine Switzerland. At
the noon hour, they gathered in groups near the doors of their shanties
on the abrupt hill-sides; where, throwing themselves on the ground, they
partook of their coarse, midday meal, quite in gypsy style, about a
smoking iron pot, suspended over a fire by a tripod. They watched us
curiously, for the passing cars formed the one daily event, connecting
them with the far-away populous cities of the plains, places of which
they only knew by report. Our train consisted of two cars only, a first
and a second class; but the engine, built especially for this service,
puffed and snorted like mad, with the wildest vigor, in its struggle to
surmount the steep grade, seeming to be vastly refreshed by a few
moments' rest at the frequent watering-places. These consisted of a
wooden trough running out of the hill-side, and supplied by one of the
thousand tiny brooks that burst out everywhere. At these the thirsty
little engine drank copiously, and often; until finally, after many
hours, we rounded a high projecting cliff, and in a moment after reached
the little station of Darjeeling, which signifies "Up in the Clouds."
We arrived early in the afternoon, and fortunately on a clear day, so we
anticipated having the rare pleasure of witnessing the sunset upon the
loftiest range of snow-clad mountains on the globe. As we rounded the
bluff already spoken of, there burst upon our sight, for a few moments,
a complete view of the range, lying under a clear sky and warm glow of
sunlight, so entrancing as almost to take away one's breath. The
imagination had never before depicted anything so grand and inspiring.
Our little party could only point at it, and look into each other's
eyes. Words would have jarred like a discord upon the ear. What the
Bernese Oberland range is to the Alps, this Kinchinjunga group is to the
sky-reaching Himalayas. The former, however, are but pygmies compared
with these giants at Darjeeling. One gazes in amazement at the peaks,
and almost doubts that they belong to the earth upon which he stands.
Visitors from a distance are often compelled to depart in disappointment
after waiting for days to obtain a fair view of the range. We had reason
for gratitude in having reached this elevated spot at so propitious a
season.
We ascended the nearest hill soon after arriving at the hotel, and,
looking across the intervening valley, could count twelve peaks, the
lowest of which was over twenty thousand feet in height, and the highest
over twenty-eight thousand, upon which rested eleven thousand feet of
perpetual snow,--the snow line being distinctly marked from east to
west, as far as the eye could reach. There can be no animal life in that
Arctic region, no pulsations of vitality. Only the snow and ice rest
there in endless sleep, cold, pitiless, and solemn. The sun was slowly
declining in the west, faintly burnishing a few silvery, transparent
clouds, while it touched the pearl-white tops of the Himalayas with ruby
tints, and cast a glow of mingled gold and purple down the sides most
exposed to its rays. Every hue of the rainbow seemed to hang over the
range, through which gleamed the snowy robe in which the peaks and
sides were clad. The top of Kinchinjunga, the loftiest of them all,
towering three thousand feet above its fellows, as it radiated the glory
of the sunset, made one hesitate whether it was indeed a mountain top or
a fleecy cloud far up in the sky. As we watched with quickened pulse,
the sunset glow, like a lingering kiss, hung over the grand,
white-turbaned peaks for a moment, as though unwilling to say good
night, and then it suddenly vanished. The cool, dewy shadows gathered on
the brow of Kinchinjunga like parting tears, and night closed swiftly
over the deep intervening valley, shutting out the loveliness of the
vision, but leaving its impress glowingly fixed upon the memory forever.
The Himalayas--meaning in Sanskrit the Halls of Snow--form the northern
boundary of India, and shut out the country from the rest of Asia.
Tibet, which lies just over the range from whence we viewed it and the
wild region between, is virtually impassable for travel; and yet bold
parties of traders from time to time, wrapped in sheep-skins, force
their way over the passes at an elevation of eighteen thousand feet. It
is a hazardous thing to do, and the bones of worn-out mules mark the
frozen way, telling of suffering and abandonment. The little Yak cow,
whose bushy tail is manufactured into lace, has been found to be the
best and most enduring animal to depend upon when such journey's are
made. She will patiently toil up the steep gorges with a heavy load on
her back, and will drop in her very tracks before she shows any
stubbornness or want of courage. Sheep are also used at times to carry
bags of borax to market near the plains, where they are shorn of their
fleece, and return to the mountains laden with salt. The culminating
point of the range, and the highest peak in the world, is Mount Everest,
a little more than twenty-nine thousand feet above the level of the sea;
but it is rarely visible from Darjeeling. In an unsuccessful attempt to
ascend Kinchinjunga not long since, an English physician very nearly
lost his life, and was obliged to submit to the partial amputation of
his feet. He still resides in the neighborhood in government employment.
The sunset view, already spoken of, had fully repaid us for the four
hundred miles journey due north. On the following morning we rose
betimes to see the meeting between the god of day and those white-robed
sentinels of time. We hardly dared to hope for a clear atmosphere. Only
the stars, perhaps a little weary with night-watching, were visible now.
A fine sunrise to follow so beautiful a sunset would be almost too good
fortune. The air was sharp and frosty, but we cared naught for the cold,
now at freezing-point, as we were between seven and eight thousand feet
above the level of the plains. Our anticipations were sufficiently
exhilarating to keep us warm. First came a delicate gray tinge in the
leaden sky as the morning seemed to partially awake from its slumber,
and gradually a fitful light beamed out of the east, as the stars grew
paler and paler. Objects about us became more distinct, until presently
the white peaks came into view one after another. Then the veil of night
was slowly removed, as Aurora extinguished the last of those flickering
lamps, and the soft amber light touched the brow of each peak, causing
it to blush like a beautiful maiden aroused from sleep, at sight of one
beloved. After the first salutation the rays became bolder, more ardent,
and poured their depth of saffron hues all over the range, which now
blushed and glowed like mountains of opals, flashing and burning in the
glad, glorious sunlight. Dazzling to look upon, it grew yet stronger
every moment, until the mountains and valleys were flooded in an
atmosphere of azure and gold, and every outline was filled in by the
clear, fresh light of the dawn, completing for us an experience never to
be forgotten, the loveliness of which neither tongue nor pen can
adequately express.
It was not without an effort that one could descend from such elevating
and inspiring delights to more material things, but over the coffee
local matters of interest were discussed with our host. It appears that
Darjeeling is becoming the centre of a great tea-producing district, and
that India bids fair to rival China in a product which has seemed, from
time immemorial, to belong to the latter country exclusively. English
capitalists are buying up the land wholesale; and their agents,
employing skilled labor, have already extensive tea plantations in full
process of profitable yielding, and sending tea annually to market. At
first it seemed strange to us to see the tea-plant flourishing at such
altitudes, covering large reaches of the mountain sides; but the fact
came to mind that the latitude of Darjeeling is about that of Florida
and the West Indies, which solved the apparent incongruity. As to the
product of these tea-fields, one could realize no difference in its
flavor from that of the Chinese leaf. We were told that it brought a
higher price in the European markets, being known as Assam tea. Cinchona
was also being raised in the district to a considerable extent, and it
was believed was specially adapted to the locality.
We ascended a high hill overlooking the valley and town of Darjeeling,
and found upon its crest a sacred stone, where Buddhists had lately
sacrificed some object which left the stains of blood, and where incense
had recently been burned. It was in a primitive temple constructed of
stones and stunted trees, surrounded by growing bushes. The neighboring
branches of the trees were decked here and there with bits of red and
blue cloth, which the guide explained as being Buddhist prayers. On some
bits of paper adhering to the stones there were written characters which
we could not understand, but which doubtless were invocations addressed
to a superior power. From this elevation we enjoyed extensive and still
different views of the Himalayas, and their diadems of frosted silver
flaked with gold, while close at hand were seen the hundreds of thrifty
tea plantations decking the sloping hill-sides. There are no roads at
these extreme heights; it is all climbing to reach them, and the path so
narrow that visitors advance only in single file.
Darjeeling is what is called in India a sanitarium; that is, a resort
for Europeans from the plains during that portion of the year when it is
too hot to reside in the cities. There is a fixed population of over
three thousand. The viceroy's summer quarters are elegant and spacious,
and there are churches, schools, and a club-room, with hospitals and
barracks for army invalids. We saw groups of natives from the
neighboring countries, lingering about the depot, quite willing to
trade, and offering us their praying machines for filthy lucre. Some of
these machines were of finely wrought silver and were expensive. In the
centre of the town there is an open space devoted daily to an out-door
bazar, where the itinerant traders spread a mat upon the ground and
cover it with the articles which they wish to dispose of, seating
themselves cross-legged on the ground by the side of their wares. Here
we saw displayed copper coins from the neighboring countries,
sweetmeats, fruit, beans, rice, betel-nuts, candles, baskets, and toys,
besides heaps of various grains. Near the hotel there was an
insignificant temple, at the entrance of which a hideous old woman was
turning a big cylinder with a crank; a church praying machine. She
seemed to have taken a contract to pray for the whole district, she
worked so vigorously.
Some of the people in and about the neighborhood are of singular
interest. One tribe was pointed out as belonging to the Sikkim race,
known as Lepchas, who believe in spirits good and bad, but celebrate no
religious rites. There were specimens of the Limboos, who are Buddhists,
and whose out-door temple on the hill-top we had chanced upon. Again
there were people known as Moormis, of large stature and originally from
Tibet. The Nepal and Cashmere people were, small in size, compared to
Europeans, but of hardy frames and stout limbs. These latter are very
industrious and thrifty. There was some building of stone houses going
on at Darjeeling, and some road making in the town; and it was observed
that all carrying of stone, mortar, or other material, was performed by
Cashmere or Nepal girls and women, who carry baskets of stone on their
backs heavy enough to stagger an average American laborer. But these
women, under such harsh usage, must become prematurely old.
After considerable hill climbing and exploration of the vicinity we
started on our return to Calcutta, and having become acquainted with the
grandeur of the scenery as a whole, were better prepared for closer
observation in detail. It was all the way down hill now, and our
spirited little engine, like a horse under similar circumstances, had
more use for the breeching than the traces. However, the speed was a
very lively one, and to the uninitiated appeared almost reckless. The
pure white magnolia was found to be abundant on the mountain, blooming
profusely at over seven thousand feet above the plains. Amid many other
flowering trees, unknown to us, the magnolia was most prominent. The
wild and abundant growth of the rhododendrons, which here become a
forest tree, mingled with a handsome species of cedar, which rose in
dark and stately groups, was a marked feature of the woods. The general
luxuriance of the vegetation was conspicuous, thickly clothing the
branches of the trees with mosses, ferns, and flowering creepers or
orchids. Here we saw for the first time the cotton-tree, with red
blossom, and which yields a coarse material for native use. A species of
lotus was seen, called here "The Queen of the Forest." It belongs to the
magnolia family, and the leaves are used by the common people in place
of tea. Many bright and exquisitely delicate ferns sprang up among the
undergrowth and about the watering stations. Brilliant little
butterflies floated in the sunshine everywhere, and contrasted with the
repulsive whip-snakes hanging here and there from the branches of the
trees. Vegetable and animal life seemed singularly abundant in these
hills, so far above the plains of Hindostan towards which we were
hastening.
The language of the masses is rather mixed, being composed of Bengali,
Hindi, and Nepalese, though English is almost universally understood,
even by the humbler classes. We found a very comfortable hotel at
Darjeeling, but discovered that the Hindoo milkman knows the trick of
judiciously watering his merchandise. The fruits upon the table were
bananas, pine-apples, guavas, and oranges. Wild animals are abundant in
the hills, including the much-dreaded tiger, which does not confine his
operations to the plains. At one of the stations on the mountain
railroad, where we stopped for refreshments, a story of the most tragic
character was told us of two children carried off and eaten by tigers
the previous night. The demoralized condition of one of the poor
families bore witness to the truth of the report. We listened to the
very harrowing detail of the event, but will not weary the reader with
it. The half-howl, half-bark of the jackals at night frequently awoke
us. They carry off young kids in these regions, and do not hesitate to
attack small dogs, but keep a wholesome distance from human beings.
One day and night upon the route--there are no sleeping-cars, so we did
without them--brought us back to Calcutta, extremely gratified with our
excursion to the Himalayas, and more than ever impressed with the
distinctive character of each new locality. There are no two rivers
alike, no two mountain ranges precisely similar, no two races of people
that quite resemble each other. There is always some marked distinction
to fix the new experience on the mind. Were this not the case, confusion
would be the natural result of ten months of such varied travel as these
notes are designed to record.