From Agra to Jeypore.--An Independent Province.--A Unique Indian
City.--Wild Animals.--Elephant Traveling.--Trapping Tigers.--A
Royal Palace.--The Harem.--Native Rule.--Wild Monkeys and
Peacocks.--Long Journey across Country.--Bombay.--The Rival of
Calcutta.--The Parsees.--Towers of Silence.--Feeding the
Vultures.--A Remarkable Institution.--Island of Elephanta.--Street
Jugglers.--Crossing the Sea of Arabia.--The Southern
Cross.--Aden.--Passage up the Red Sea.--Landing at Suez.--Traveling
in Egypt.
If the reader will consult the map of India it will be seen that few
regions in the world present such an array of remarkable cities as have
sprung up and flourished in the Ganges-Jumna valley, of which we are now
writing. Here we have Agra, Delhi, Cawnpore, Lucknow, Allahabad,
Benares, Mirzapur, Patna, Decca, and Murshedabad. What historic
associations arise at the bare mention of these Indian cities, each one
of which affords a record reaching so far down the corridors of the past
as to fascinate the archaeologist by its very mystery.
We left Agra regretfully; one would like more time to examine and become
familiar with all its monuments, and yet they seem as deeply impressed
upon the memory as though we had known them for years, and had lived
long in their midst. The Rajpootana State Railway was taken for Jeypore,
situated a hundred and fifty miles from Agra, and justly reputed to be
the finest native city in the country: in many respects it is unique.
The route thither lay through a very level country of great fertility,
showing line crops of cereals, with frequent and vivid fields of yellow
mustard in full bloom. Jeypore is the capital of the territory belonging
to the Maharajah Mardozing, whose independent possessions are just about
the size of the State of Massachusetts, the British not having "annexed"
this special territory. The prince is a middle-aged, affable, and
intelligent person, very courteous to strangers, but especially so to
Americans, concerning whose government he is quite inquisitive. He is a
man of more than ordinary culture, has traveled much, is exceedingly
progressive in his ideas, and seems to command the respect of the
English, and of all who are brought within his circle.
Jeypore is well fortified, and the prince keeps up a modest military
organization. In driving about the city we observed long rows of
dwelling-houses, rose-tinted, with pretty verandas and latticed windows,
besides numerous large and well-arranged public structures devoted to
educational purposes; some for teaching music, others devoted to the
fine arts, and some to the primary branches of education, such as
arithmetic, geography, etc. We were told that several able foreign
teachers were in the Maharajah's employment, the schools all being free.
Among the public buildings we noticed the palace, half a mile long, and
eight stories high, well divided into courts, gardens, and public halls.
In one of the latter was being held an extensive fair of Indian goods
and manufactures, which for variety, comprehensiveness, richness of the
articles, and judicious arrangement, would have done credit to any
European city. We noticed a public mint, an observatory, a hospital,
and a large arsenal. All these, as well as a very considerable number of
the dwelling-houses, bore a certain conspicuous mark, showing them to
belong to the Maharajah. He is much more western than eastern in his
ideas; more ready to expend his large revenue for the public good than
to build Peacock Thrones, which at the same time excite the marvel and
cupidity of the world; and so this very presentable city, in the heart
of India, is a mixture of Orientalism and European innovation, the
streets even being lighted by gas. Though, to speak honestly, this last
fact seemed a trifle out of place; wild monkeys and crocodiles in the
environs, and gaslights in the streets!
Jeypore is a beautiful little city, and ancient withal, though there are
no ruins here; everything gives evidence of present prosperity, peace,
and abundance. The houses are painted in a toy-like manner, but are neat
and pretty. Queer little canvas-covered, two-wheeled carts, their tops
shaped like half an egg-shell, and drawn by a single bullock, trot about
the streets in a very lively fashion, some of them closely curtained
containing women of the harem, but one sees few women except of the
humble class; Oriental exclusion is observed here. Under this prince's
seemingly wise rule the population exhibit a marked and favorable
contrast to that of India generally, over which the authority of Great
Britain extends. There are no mud cabins, no visible want. We did not
see a beggar in all Jeypore. The people are decently clothed, and
well-lodged in nice-looking houses, most of which are two stories high.
The streets are exceptionally broad and neatly kept, being regularly
sprinkled by coolies to lay the dust, though in a primitive manner.
These fellows carry goat skins, filled with water, fastened to their
backs, with the neck coming forward under the right arm, and by swinging
the nozzle from side to side the street gets a uniform wetting. This
same mode is adopted even in so large a city as Calcutta, where a Yankee
watering-cart would supersede the services of twenty-five coolies who
are thus employed. Many fountains ornament the streets of Jeypore,
placed in the centres of open squares. The expression upon the faces of
the people is that of smiling content; in short, an air of thrift
pervades everything. All this was in such decided contrast to those
portions of the country which we had visited as to make a strong
impression, and lead to some deductions not entirely favorable to
English rule in India.
In speaking of this subject to an intelligent English resident, he
replied that we had seen an exceptional specimen of the native control
in this instance; and that other regions of India, were we to visit
them, would present a very different state of affairs, all of which may
be true. We ventured however, for the sake of argument, to question the
justice of the tenure by which England held possession of India, and
were promptly answered: "We conquered this territory from the Mohammedan
invaders, who were ruling it with a rod of iron. Our coming has been and
is a deliverance. We did not even overthrow the Mohammedan Empire. That
was done by the Mahrattas, under French officers, from whom, in 1803, we
rescued the Emperor, whose descendants we have ever since pensioned.
None of the princes and sultans whom we have deposed were hereditary
sovereigns. They were actually rebellious viceroys and governors who
had assumed their position during the confusion of the times. In short,
that our rule is a blessing to India, to-day, does not admit of an
argument." We frankly acknowledged very modified feelings upon the
subject since arriving in the country.
Wild animals are abundant in the neighborhood, the tiger especially
being hunted and feared, and not without abundant reason; for here, as
at Singapore, men, women, and children are daily sacrificed to their
rapacious appetites in some part of the district. It is said to be a
fact that these animals, in their wild state, having once tasted human
flesh, will be satisfied with no other food; but will leave the antelope
and smaller game, known to be comparatively plenty in the neighborhood
of the jungle, and lie in wait for days to capture human prey, even
stealing at night within the precincts of the villages, and among the
native huts. They exhibit great cunning in their attacks, rarely showing
themselves when there is more than one person present, and never doing
so where there are numbers, except when driven in the hunt. Instinct
teaches them that one individual may be overcome, but that two or three
are capable of victoriously defending themselves. The natives set
ingenious traps for the tigers, and many are captured, for which they
receive a bounty. The usual trap is formed by digging a well in the
earth, ten feet square and fifteen feet or more in depth, wider at the
bottom than the top. This is ingeniously covered with light branches and
leaves, and located in the path where a tiger has been tracked. For some
reason this animal, having once passed through a jungle, will ever after
follow as nearly as possible his own foot-prints, and can thus easily
be led into a pitfall of the character we have described. Having once
got into this well he cannot possibly get out, and here he is permitted
to become so nearly starved as to deprive him of all powers of
resistance, in which condition he is secured. A little food and water
soon restores him to his normal condition, when he finds himself a
prisoner in a stout cage, behind strong iron bars. For a few days after
his capture the animal's rage knows no bounds, and his struggles to free
himself are ceaseless, sometimes even ending in self-inflicted death by
dashing himself head foremost upon the bars. If not an old animal, he,
however, generally subsides into sullen acceptance of the situation
after a day or two.
We were shown half a dozen lately taken and confined separately in
strong cages in one of the open squares of the city. Two of them had a
very bad record, and were real man-eaters, having a score or more of
coolies charged to their account. These were all condemned to be killed,
as they proved to be too old to sell for exhibition in the European
markets, but the young ones are often thus disposed of. A tiger, one or
even two years old, can be tamed and rendered quite docile for menagerie
purposes; but when taken wild at an age exceeding these figures they are
never quite safe. Those which we saw in the square at Jeypore were
splendid specimens of their race, full of fire and rage, chafing at
their imprisonment, and springing violently against the iron bars of
their cages at every one who approached them. They were quite unlike the
poor beasts of the menageries, who have had all their spirit and savage
instincts subdued by confinement.
Having obtained the necessary permit to visit the royal summer palace
of Ambar, a few miles from the city walls, among the picturesque hills,
elephants, belonging to the Maharajah were sent for us, and we mounted
them, the animals kneeling at the word of command for us to do so. Our
party, six in number, was divided so that four persons, including the
driver, rode on each elephant. They were large and docile creatures,
being respectively seventy and ninety years of age. Their shuffling,
flat-footed tread is peculiar, but not very unpleasant, except when the
driver hurries the animals; but even then the gait is not nearly so
trying to the rider as is that of the camel, which is only comparable to
a Cunarder pitching in a head sea. The elephants seem to be very easily
controlled by the driver, who, however, is armed with a steel-pointed
weapon which he resorts to freely if his directions are not obeyed, and
the animal evidently stands in mortal dread of the instrument. All
classes of the people ride upon the camel here, from the prince to the
peddler; but the elephant is only in common use among the nabobs and
members of the royal household, officers of state, and the like. It
costs as much to keep and support an elephant as it does to maintain
eight horses or ten camels, the latter animal thriving on cheap food.
A visit to the summer palace was very interesting, the local guide
pointing out every object of note, and explaining all clearly. That part
of the spacious buildings reserved for the harem was simply perfection,
in point of luxury, as conceived from an Oriental stand-point. The
audience rooms, the throne room, the domestic living rooms, and the
various offices of the palace, were large and admirably arranged,
furnished in the Eastern fashion. The white marble work was everywhere
exquisite in its finish, and, wherever it was possible, superseded the
use of wood. The windows, opening from all the general apartments,
afforded views across the hills, valleys, and lakes of the city of
Jeypore, two or three leagues away. The group of the harem apartments,
as usual, all opened inward, upon an area where grew orange, lemon, and
fig-trees, full of fruit, also pomegranates and trailing vines,
gracefully arranged. There were many varieties of flowers in bloom
besides roses, which we strongly suspected came from afar. They were too
familiar, those tea, damask, Jaqueminot, Marshal Niel, and moss roses.
The indigenous ones were not nearly so full in leaf or pure in color,
nor so fragrant or beautiful. The spacious marble bath was also in an
open area, or court, shut in from all eyes save those of the denizens
themselves, and of such depth and size as to admit of swimming. This
tiny lake was bordered by thick growing myrtles, and a shrub with a
dagger-like leaf, bearing a trumpet-shaped flower, snow white, but
unknown to us, seemingly of the convolvulus genus. The dark winding
labyrinths and passages from one part of the Ambar Palace to another
were utterly confusing, and of a nature designed to mystify any one but
an habitue. When the palace has its summer complement of residents,
servants and all, it must contain some three hundred souls, besides the
soldiery, who occupy the barracks outside to guard the entrances. It is
a fort as well as a palace, and so arranged as to form a citadel capable
of sustaining a siege, if necessary; while its lofty and commanding
situation is such, that it could not be taken by an attacking force
without great loss of life on their part. We were shown in the basement
a singular shrine or temple, before which was a large, flat stone, where
daily sacrifices of a sheep or goat is made by the priests. In the olden
time human sacrifices took place on the stone, according to the guide.
Fresh signs showed that the ceremony of blood spilling had lately taken
place, and, on inquiry, we were told that the carcass was given as food
to the poor, which was certainly one feature of the practice quite
commendable.
When at last we mounted the elephants to again return to the city, it
was past meridian, but so powerful was the heat of the sun that we could
hardly have sustained it without the protection of umbrellas, and
thought if this was winter weather in India what must midsummer be?
Though so much further north, of the equator than Ceylon, the heat
seemed nearly as great, and even more insupportable. There was a certain
moisture and softness about the high temperature at Colombo, which we
had experienced a month before; while here there was a dry, burning
directness of the sun's power which was absolutely withering. As we
passed over the road, swayed hither and thither upon the backs of the
huge animals, it was amusing to watch the gambols of the wild monkeys in
the trees, and to observe the flocks of wild peacocks in the open
fields, both monkeys and peacocks being held sacred. There were tall
cranes wading on the edges of the ponds, with other queer-legged, odd
water-fowls strutting through the mud. The crocodiles were seen sunning
themselves on the river's bank, watching for an Indian child or dog to
devour. Fancy colored parrots were plenty; and when we got within the
city gates, we met such dense flocks of tame pigeons, of various colors,
as could not be equaled elsewhere. They were of several species,
well-defined: fan-tailed, bloaters, divers, etc., some pure white, some
mottled, and some as blue as the sky. Like those at Venice, they are
protected by law. Indeed all animal life is spared, from religious
convictions, except such as is brought to the altar. We finally got
safely back to our quarters, at the Kaiser-i-Hind Hotel, far too well
pleased with our trip to Ambar to cavil at a most indifferent dinner.
There are many native princes who govern states in India, as is the case
at Jeypore; but they do so under sufferance, as it were, acknowledging
their "subordinate dependence" to the British government. They form a
body of feudatory rulers, possessing revenue and armies of their own.
There is always a British "Resident" at their courts, who acts as an
adviser, as it is termed, but who is, in plain English, a sort of
acknowledged and permitted spy. These princes are not allowed to make
war upon each other, or to form alliances with foreign states; and, upon
the whole, all things considered, it is perhaps the best possible
arrangement for the princes and for their subjects. England does not
hesitate to interfere if a prince is guilty of any decided
mismanagement, protecting the weak, and imposing peace. We were informed
that the power of life and death, in single cases, rests with the
Maharajah of Jeypore, as well as with the rest of the native rulers.
Thus one third of India, embracing a population of between fifty and
sixty millions of people, is still under native rule.
From Jeypore to Bombay is a distance of seven hundred miles, a journey
which we were three days and nights in performing. Most of the route lay
through a sparsely-populated country, very similar in character to the
sections already described,--the greater part of India being an immense
plain. It was curious on this route to observe that all the railroad
station-houses were built with white domes like mosques, a fancy which
was also carried into practice upon many of the better class of village
houses; the effect, however, was far from pleasing to the eye. Now and
then a few antelopes were seen; they would gaze fixedly at the train for
a moment, then turn and spring away in immense bounds. Now a lynx and
now a fox would put in an appearance in the early morning, in the lonely
district through which we passed, generally at a wholesome distance from
the cars. We were up and watchful; there is not much sleep to be
obtained on the cars in India; besides, one does not wish to lose the
crisp freshness of the dawn. Before the sun fairly rises the temperature
was a little chilly, but directly its power was felt, and it got fairly
started upon its diurnal path, there was a change of thirty or forty
degrees, and then--it is impossible to describe how the golden sunlight
flooded the plains. Small game of various species was frequently seen in
the fields and hedges; kingfishers, kites, and hawks put in an
appearance, and a tall bird standing four feet high was pointed out to
us, called a sarus, gray in color, and of the stork family. The pretty
Indian blue jay seemed omnipresent.
As we got further southward we came upon the great poppy fields,
cultivated for opium, which formed a remarkable feature in the
landscape. They were scarlet in color, mingled occasionally with pink.
In other parts of the country we had seen the beautiful, though
baleful, fields of poppies, dressed in bridal white. The effect of
either is very fine when the eye measures the singular display by miles
in extent, the rich, glutinous flowers nodding gracefully in the gentle
breeze. We were told that from six to seven hundred thousand acres of
land, mostly in the valley of the Ganges, were devoted to the poppy
culture. A large share of these opium farms, as they may be called,
belong to the English government, and are cultivated by their agents.
Those which are conducted on private account are very heavily taxed, and
are carried on in the interest of the Parsee merchants of Bombay, who
control a large share of the opium trade, handling not only their own
product, but also that of the government.
Oftentimes, near these gorgeous poppy fields were broad ripening acres
of grain, which would have been denuded of their valuable property by
the great flocks of birds floating hither and thither, were it not that
precautions were taken to drive them away. A tall platform is raised
upon poles in the centre of the field, with a slight straw shelter over
it, upon which a young lad or girl is stationed, who thus overlooks the
whole. They have no fire-arms, but are supplied with a simple sling and
a few stones; should a bird be seen too close to the precious grain, an
unerring stone will find him, and his body becomes a warning for his
companions. The monkeys, who abound in southern India, are not so easily
got rid of. Birds will not fly after dark, nor much before the sun rises
in the morning; but the monkeys raid the fruit and vegetable fields by
night, and are capable of organizing a descent upon some promising point
with all the forethought of human thieves. Besides which, birds, as a
rule, will take only such food as they can eat, but the Indian monkeys
appropriate whatever they can lay their paws upon, having a special
regard for light domestic articles, with which they have a fancy for
decking the tops of the highest trees.
While Calcutta is the governmental or political capital of India, Bombay
is its commercial metropolis; and an obvious sense of rivalry exists
between the two places. The opening of communication with England by the
Red Sea route has given the latter city a great business impetus, and it
is growing rapidly, possessing more elements of future greatness than
any other city in Asia. It forms the western gateway to India, is
entirely modern, and three quarters European. The Parsees, Hindoos, and
Mussulmans make up the other quarter of the fixed population, while the
floating populace represents nearly every Asiatic people. These two
principal cities are located on the opposite sides of the peninsula,
Calcutta being on the Bay of Bengal and Bombay on the Sea of Arabia. The
Parsees number over a hundred thousand, and represent a large portion of
the wealth of the city, being also by far the most intelligent and
enterprising natives of India. They sympathize entirely with the English
government, which gives them freedom of opinion and protection for life
and property, neither of which could be assured under native auspices.
They keep entirely aloof, socially, from other races, and strictly
preserve their well-defined individuality. Their dress is peculiar,
partly Oriental, partly European, and they are still like their fathers,
after thousands of years, the consistent followers of Zoroaster.
The Parsees settled here more than eight centuries ago, after their
expulsion from Persia. Their temples contain no images, nothing but the
altar bearing the sacred fire, which their fathers brought with them
when they landed here so long ago, and which has never for one instant
been extinguished. They worship the sun as the representative of God,
and fire in all its forms, as well as the ocean, which would seem to be
an antagonistic agent; but as their religion recognizes one Good and one
Evil Principle, who are ever contending for the mastery of the universe,
perhaps these emblems are no paradox. One of the first places we visited
in Bombay was Malabar Hill, a lofty piece of ground just outside of the
city, upon the apex of which are the five famous "Towers of Silence,"
constituting the cemetery of the Parsees. Beautiful gardens, kept ever
in bloom and loveliness by the most assiduous care, surround these
towers, which are the subjects of such sad associations. The oldest of
these structures is between two and three centuries in age, and one is
solely designed for the bodies of criminals whose bones are not
permitted to mingle with those of the just. When a death occurs among
the Parsees, the body is brought here to a small temple, containing the
sacred fire, within the grounds. Here a certain formula is gone through
with, and a solemn chant without words is performed by the assembled
mourners. Presently the corpse is carried upon a stretcher through a
door of one of the towers, and is placed upon a grating raised a few
feet from the ground, where it is completely exposed. The bearers
instantly retire, the door is closed and locked. These towers are open
at the top, on the cornice of which hundreds of vultures are always
waiting in full view of every one, and as soon as the body is left they
swoop down to their awful meal, eagerly tearing and devouring the flesh,
absolutely picking it clean from the bones, which fall into a space
below in an indiscriminate mass, to be decomposed by time and the
elements. The hideous detail of the scene is not visible to the
spectators, but the reappearance of these terrible birds of prey upon
the walls, an hour later, in a gorged condition, is only too significant
of what has transpired within the silent and gloomy inclosure.
During a subsequent early-morning walk the writer observed a funeral
procession on its way towards Malabar Hill, and followed it to the
Towers. For a moment after arriving there the face of the corpse was
exposed, showing the marble features of a young girl of some fifteen
years, wearing upon her pale face an expression of seraphic loveliness.
The body was covered with a snow-white sheet, exhibiting the outline of
a beautiful, budding form suddenly snatched from life. Over and around
the body were white buds and half-blown pale flowers, indicative of
youth, recalling to mind a similar experience on the banks of the
Ganges. There was no apparent want of sentiment and tenderness here. As
soon as the brief ceremony was over the beautiful remains, lovely even
in death, were deposited in the nearest tower, the door was closed and
the bearers retired. Down swooped the ravenous birds to their terrible
banquet, as we turned away with a shudder. The devouring flames that
wreathed about the child-corpse at Benares did not seem to us so
shocking as this.
Seeing an intelligent Parsee, who had evidently been watching us, we
asked: "How can you reconcile to your feelings such disposal as that of
the remains of a tenderly beloved child?" "What do you do with your
dead?" he asked. "We bury them in the earth." "Yes," he continued, "for
the worms to eat. And if there is death at sea you sink the body in the
ocean to be consumed by the sharks. We prefer to give our dead to the
birds of the air." We were certainly answered, though not convinced, as
to the propriety of the awful scene just enacted. Perhaps, after all, it
makes but little difference what becomes of these tenements of clay. The
Parsee feeds the vultures with his dead, the devout Hindoo burns the
body, and the professed Christian gives his to the worms and to the
sharks. Still as we came down Malabar Hill that morning, and saw the
hideous carrion birds, gorged and sleepy, roosting upon the walls of the
cemetery, a sense of nausea came over us quite uncontrollable.
Bombay is made up of fine public buildings, sumptuous bungalows, and low
hovels, not absolutely combined, each class being found in clusters
about its special locality, but all going to make up the aggregate
figure of the population. That the numbers should reach the round total
of a million of people was a surprise. In the European cities we see the
palace and the hovel, wealth and poverty, everywhere jostling each
other. In Florence, Rome, or Naples a half-starved cobbler's stall may
nestle beneath a palace, or a vendor of roast chestnuts may have
established himself there. In Bombay a sense of propriety and fitness
has assorted and adjusted these matters. Still poverty and riches are
never far apart in the world, even as joy and grief are inevitable
neighbors. There cannot be strong light without shade near at hand.
Excellent order and neatness are maintained, and well-disciplined
policemen are seen at every corner. The municipality is partly elective
and partly nominative, the majority of the officials being of native
birth, and so far as a casual visitor may judge, affairs are managed
economically and judiciously. In the neighborhood of Elphinstone Circle
and the Esplanade, the city will compare favorably with any modern
European capital, both in the size and style of the public and private
buildings, as well as in the broad, liberal squares and thoroughfares,
ornamented with statuary and fountains.
A drive in the environs of Bombay, around the base of Malabar Hill and
along the picturesque shore of the Arabian Sea, is an experience never
to be forgotten by one who has enjoyed its pleasure. It will be sure to
recall to the traveler the almost unrivaled environs of Genoa, with
those winding, rock-cut roads overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Here
the roads are admirable, cool, and half-embowered in foliage, amid which
the crimson sagittaria, flaunting its fiery leaves and ponderous
blossoms everywhere, meets the eye. About the fine villas, which are set
back a short distance from the road, delightful gardens were to be seen
of choice flowers, tastefully arranged, comprising an abundance of
tropical plants, tall palms lining the drive-way up to the houses where
the merchant princes dwell. The broad public roads were lined with
oleanders, magnolias, laburnums, jasmines, orange and lemon-trees; and
there were honeysuckles, white, scarlet, yellow; and tiger-lilies of
marvelous size, each leaf looking as if it were a butterfly, and the
whole flower forming a group of them lit upon a stem. Urns, from which
drooped variegated flowers, relieved by wreathing smilax, ornamented
the posts of gates, and lined the smooth, white graveled paths about the
verandas of these suburban palaces in miniature. The flora of our best
kept green-houses here bloomed out of doors in wild luxuriance, but not
a familiar tree was to be seen. In place of elms, maples, pines, and
oaks, there were tall, slender palms, fig-trees, mangoes, and whole
groves of bananas bending under the weight of the long, finger-like
fruit. Verily, these Parsees, in spite of their bigotry and their
adherence to ancient superstitions, know how to make their homes
beautiful.
There was one institution visited in Bombay which is, so far as we know,
unique, commending itself however, to every philanthropist, namely, An
Asylum for Aged and Decrepit Animals. Here were found birds and beasts
suffering under various afflictions, carefully tended and nursed as
human beings are in a well-regulated hospital. The origin of the
establishment was due to a philanthropic native who some years ago left
a large sum of money, on his decease, for this purpose, so thoroughly in
accordance with his religious convictions. Within the last ten years
several liberal endowments have been added, all by natives, until the
institution is now self-supporting. We were told of a new bequest, just
added, which would enable the trustees to enlarge certain premises.
Liberal visitors are also frequently inclined to leave a few dollars to
encourage so worthy an institution. Bullocks, cows, dogs, and cats,
otherwise homeless, here find good care, food, and shelter. The yard and
buildings cover about two acres of ground, where the animals are only so
far confined as to insure their own comfort and safety. None of them are
ever killed, but are well cared for until Nature herself closes the
scene for them. One horse, which we noticed, was swung by belly straps
so that his hind feet were quite off the floor; a case, as was
explained, where one of his hind legs had been broken, but which had now
so nearly healed that the animal would be able to stand once more upon
his feet--not to work, but to live out his allotted days in peace. In
America, or indeed nearly anywhere else, a horse with a broken leg is at
once deprived of life. All through the East, but especially in India,
there is, as a rule, a kind consideration for animals that is in marked
contrast to the treatment they so often receive in what we term more
civilized countries. Under the plea of humanity we take the life of most
ailing animals in the Western world, but not so in Bombay. Horses,
donkeys, cows, cats, dogs, and monkeys, sick or injured by accident,
will be at once taken into this establishment, on application, and
kindly cared for, free of all expense, until natural death ensues.
A visit to the Island of Elephanta, in the outer harbor of Bombay,
situated about ten miles from the city, will afford all strangers much
gratification. A small excursion steamer, tug-boat size, was chartered
for our purpose, and with a favoring current took us down to the island
in an hour, but was twice as long in working her way back against the
tide. It was quite a picnic affair, our refreshments being taken with us
from the hotel, and a nice table spread on board the little boat, where
we lunched with that best of sauce, a good appetite. This famous island
is about six miles in circumference, covered with a thick undergrowth of
bushes and some fine specimens of tropical trees. It derives its name
from a colossal stone elephant which once stood near the present
landing, and formed a conspicuous object visible far away. This monument
was thrown down many years ago by some convulsion of nature, and now
lies overgrown by vines and bushes, hidden beneath tamarind and
banana-trees. As the shore is shelving, the depth of water will not
permit boats to approach very near; so that the landing is made over a
series of large, deep-sunken stepping-stones, rather slippery and
dangerous for one without a cool head. After having landed there is
still nearly a thousand irregular steps to ascend before reaching the
plateau, where the mouth of the famous temple is entered.
We found this cave temple with its front half hidden by a wild growth of
luxuriant vines and foliage. The cavity is hewn out of the solid rock,
extending nearly two hundred feet directly into the hill-side. It was
strange and incongruous in aspect,--a sort of conglomeration of
sensualism, religious ideas, and Buddhist idols. Most of the school
geographies of our childhood depict this entrance of the Cave of
Elephanta, supported by carved pillars, hewn out of the rock just where
they stand, part and parcel of it. The roof is supported by many carved
pillars, also similarly hewn out of the native stone. Some of them have
been willfully broken, others have mouldered away from atmospheric
exposure. The Portuguese in their day, as we were told by the
custodian,--a superannuated non-commissioned officer of the English
army,--planted cannon before the cave and destroyed many of the pillars,
as well as the heathen emblems, by round shot. One sees here the
singular phenomenon of hanging pillars, the capitals only extant; but as
the whole is carved out of the same huge rock all parts are equally
self-supporting. There are many well-executed figures in bas-relief,
more or less decayed and broken, which is not surprising when we
remember that the antiquarians trace them back with certainty for some
fifteen centuries, and some give their origin to a period nearly ten
centuries earlier.
Though embodying so much that is curious and suggestive as these
rock-cave temples do, presenting such an aggregate of patient labor, the
world will probably remain ever ignorant of their true history. An
American traveler, whom we met in Bombay, had made these Buddhist
temples a special study, and had just returned from a visit to those
interesting antiquities, the Caves of Ellora, some two hundred miles
from Bombay, consisting of several lofty apartments ornamented in a
similar manner to those at Elephanta: in bas-relief. He also mentioned
another excavated temple of the same character at Carlee, between Bombay
and Puna, which in many respects resembled a Gothic church, having a
vaulted roof and colonnades running on either side, like aisles. He was
disposed to give the origin of them, as well as of those in the harbor
of Bombay, to a period prior to the Christian era. However strange and
historically interesting these excavated temples may be to the observant
traveler, he will look in vain among the carvings and basso-relievi for
any just proportions of form or expression of features. There is a lack
of anything like artistic genius evinced, no correctness of anatomical
proportions even attempted. The figures doubtless were sufficiently
typical to answer their original purpose, but are as crude as Chinese
idols. When the Prince of Wales was in Bombay he visited the spot and a
sort of barbecue was given to him within the cave, upon which the stony
eyes of the idols must have looked down in amazement.
Elephanta is also unique in the production of a species of beetle
remarkable for variety of colors and ornamentation of body. We had seen
numerous specimens of this insect in southern India and at Singapore,
some of which were an inch long, but these of Elephanta were not
remarkable for size. They were hardly larger than one's little finger
nail, but of such brilliancy of color, red, blue, yellow, and pink, as
to cause them to resemble precious stones rather than insects. Some were
a complete representative of the opal, with all its radiating fire. Some
were spotted like butterflies, others like the expanded tail of the
peacock, and again some had half circles of alternate colors like the
eyes in a pearl oyster. We were told that only upon this island were
such specimens to be found. Children gathered them, and filled little
wooden boxes with various specimens, which they sold for a trifle. The
harbor of Bombay is a spacious and excellent one. The old fortifications
have gone mostly to decay, but two floating monitors, the Abyssinia and
the Magdala, now form the principal defense of the port. The city,
unlike most commercial ports, is not situated on a river, but is one of
a cluster of islands connected with the main-land by causeways and
railroad viaducts, turning it into a peninsula.
The fish-market is remarkable here for the variety and excellence of the
finny tribe offered for sale. The fish-market of Havana has ever been
famous for the size, color, and shapes of the specimens it shows upon
its broad marble tables, but Bombay rivals the Cuban capital in this
respect. Fish forms a large portion of the substantial sustenance of
the common people. The fish-women, those who sell the article in the
market, are curious, swarthy creatures, covered with bangles on wrists,
ankles, arms, ears, and noses. An East Indian woman seems to find vast
satisfaction in this style of disfigurement. To see and to eat prawns in
their perfection, three or four inches long, one must visit Bombay,
where they create handsome bits of scarlet color piled up amid the
silver and gold scaled fishes upon the white marble. The fruit-market is
equally remarkable for variety and lusciousness. Mandarins, oranges,
lemons, mangoes, grapes, bananas, cocoanuts, rose-apples, and vegetables
too numerous to mention, load the tempting counters. One of the dealers,
a young woman who would have been pretty if not so bedecked, had
perforated each side of her nostrils and wore in the holes small gilt
buttons,--this in addition to bangles innumerable, and ornaments
dragging her ears quite out of shape. Her swarthy brown limbs were
covered to above the calf with rings of silver and gilt, and her arms
were similarly decked. Part of her bosom was tattooed with blue and red
ink. This woman pressed a mango upon us at a trifling cost, but not
having been educated up to liking this fruit, it was bestowed upon the
first child we met. The Indian mango tastes like turpentine and musk
mixed, only more so.
The last scene witnessed at Bombay, as we were waiting on the pier for
the steam-launch which was to take us on board the P. and O. steamship
Kashgar, was the performance of some street jugglers. We had seen many
such exhibitions at Delhi, Agra, Madras, and Benares, but these fellows
seemed to be more expert in their tricks, and yet not superior or even
equal to many prestidigitateurs whom we have seen in America. The doings
of these Indian jugglers are more curious in the stories of travelers
than when witnessed upon the spot. The so-often-described trick of
making a dwarf mango-tree grow up from the seed before one's eyes to a
condition of fruit-bearing, in an incredibly short period of time, is
very common with them, but is really the merest sleight-of-hand affair,
by no means the best of their performances. A Signor Blitz or Hermann
would put the most expert of these Indian jugglers to shame in his own
art. The performers on this occasion were particularly expert in
swallowing knife blades, and thrusting swords down their throats; but it
was difficult to get up much enthusiasm among the idle crowd that
gathered upon the pier to watch them, and the few pennies which the
performers realized could hardly be remunerative.
We prepared for our departure from India with feelings of regret at not
being able longer to study its visible history, and to travel longer
within its borders. Nearly a month and a half had passed since we landed
in the country of the Hindoo and the Mohammedan, the land of palms and
palaces, of pagodas and temples. Its remarkable scenes and monuments
will never be forgotten, and with Japan will ever share our warmest
interest. There are some memories which, like wine, grow mellow and
sweet by time, no distance being able to obliterate them, nor any
after-experience to lessen their charm. India has a record running back
through thousands of years and remotest dynasties, captivating the fancy
with numberless ruins, which, while at attesting the splendor of their
prime, form also the only record of their history. The mosaic character
of its population, the peculiarities of its animal kingdom, the
luxuriance of its vegetation, the dazzling beauty of its birds and
flowers, all crowd upon the memory in charming kaleidoscopic
combinations. There can be no doubt of the early grandeur and high
civilization of India. To the intellectual eminence of her people we owe
the germs of science, philosophy, law, and astronomy. Her most perfect
of all tongues, the Sanskrit, has been the parent of nearly all others;
and now that her lustre has faded away, and her children fallen into a
condition of sloth and superstition, still let us do her historic
justice; nor should we neglect to heed the lesson she so clearly
presents, namely, that nations, like human beings, are subject to the
unvarying laws of mutability.
We embarked from Bombay, February 9th, on board the P. and O. steamship
Kashgar for Suez, a voyage of three thousand miles across the Sea of
Arabia and the Indian Ocean, through the Straits of Babelmandeb and the
entire length of the Red Sea. The most southerly point of the voyage
took us within fourteen degrees of the equator, and consequently into an
extremely warm temperature. As the ship's cabin proved to be almost
insupportable on account of the heat, we passed a large portion of the
nights, as well as the days, upon deck, making acquaintance with the
stars, looking down from their serene and silent spaces, the new moon,
and the Southern Cross, all of which were wonderfully bright in the
clear, dry atmosphere. As we approach the equatorial region one cannot
but admire the increasing and wondrous beauty of the southern skies,
where new and striking constellations greet the observer. The Southern
Cross, above all other groupings, interests the beholder, and he ceases
to wonder at the reverence with which the inhabitants of the low
latitudes regard it. As an accurate measurer of time, it is also valued
by the mariner in the southern hemisphere, who is nightly called to
watch on deck, and who thus becomes familiar with the glowing orbs
revealed by the surrounding darkness. As a Christian emblem all southern
nations bow before this constellation which is denied to northern eyes.
Bishop F----, of the Methodist Episcopal Church of Massachusetts, was a
passenger on board the Kashgar, bound to Egypt, and on Sunday, February
11th, after the captain had read the usual services, he was invited to
address the passengers; this he did in an eloquent and impressive
discourse. It was a calm, beautiful Sabbath, a sweet tranquillity
enshrouding everything. The ship glided over the gently throbbing breast
of the Arabian Sea with scarcely perceptible motion; and when night
came, the stillness yet unbroken, save by the pulsation of the great
motive power hidden in the dark hull of the Kashgar, the bishop
delivered a lecture on astronomy. He stood on the quarter-deck,
bare-headed, his snow-white hair crowning a brow radiant with intellect,
while the attentive passengers were seated around, and over his head
glowed the wondrous orbs of which he discoursed. Naturally eloquent, the
speaker seemed inspired by the peculiar surroundings, as he pointed out
and dilated upon the glorious constellations and planets blazing in the
blue vault above us. He explained the immensity of these individual
worlds, the harmonious system which science shows to exist in their
several spheres, the almost incalculable distance between them, as
related to each other and as it regarded this earth. The sun, the moon,
and the rotation of the globe, all were learnedly expatiated upon, and
yet in language so eloquent and simple as to inform the least
intelligent of his listeners. Finally, in his peroration, in touchingly
beautiful language, he ascribed the power, the glory, and the harmony of
all to that Almighty Being who is the Parent of our race.
The good ship held steadily on her southwest course, day after day,
lightly fanned by the northeast monsoon towards the mouth of the Red
Sea. Our time was passed in reading aloud to each other, and in
rehearsing the experience of the last six months. We were very dreamy,
very idle, but it was sacred idleness, full of pleasant thoughts, and
half-waking visions induced by tropical languor, full of gratitude for
life and being amid such tranquillity, and beneath skies so glowing with
beauty and loveliness. At the end of the sixth day we cast anchor at the
island, or rather peninsula, of Aden, a rocky, isolated spot held by
English troops, to command the entrance to the Red Sea,--very properly
called the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean. Like that famous promontory it
was originally little more than a barren rock,--pumice-stone and
lava,--which has been improved into a picturesque and habitable place,
bristling with one hundred British cannon of heavy calibre. It is a spot
much dreaded by sailors, the straits being half closed by sunken rocks,
besides which the shore is considered the most unhealthy yet selected by
civilized man as a residence.
The town of Aden lies some distance from the shore where the landing is
made, in the very centre of an extinct volcano, the sides of which have
fallen in and form its foundation, affording, as may reasonably be
supposed, an opportunity for yet another calamity like that which so
lately visited Ischia, and which swallowed up Casamicciola. As we passed
in from the open sea to the harbor of Aden, the tall masts of a
steamship, wrecked here very lately, were still visible above the long,
heavy swell of the ocean. The name of these straits, Babelmandeb, given
to them by the Arabs, signifies the "Gate of Tears," because of the
number of vessels which have been wrecked in an attempt to pass through
them; and the title is no less applicable to our time than when they
were first named. There is a saying among seamen, that for six months of
the year no vessel under canvas can enter the Red Sea, and, for the
other six months, no sailing vessel can get out. This refers to the
regularity with which the winds blow here, for six months together. Aden
lies within the rainless zone, so that its inhabitants see no rain-fall
sometimes for two or three years together, depending for their water on
wells, tanks, and condensers. The remains of an ancient and magnificent
system of reservoirs, antedating the Christian era, and hewn out of the
solid rock, have been discovered, whereby the early inhabitants were
accustomed to lay in a supply of the aqueous fluid when it did rain,
which would last them for a long period of months. Following out the
original idea, these stone reservoirs have been thoroughly repaired, and
the present inhabitants now lay up water in large quantities when the
welcome rain visits them.
As we lay at anchor just off the shore at Aden, the ship was surrounded
by a score of small boats, dugout canoes, in which were boys as black as
Nubians, with shining white teeth and curly heads, watching us with
bright, expressive eyes. Such heads of hair we never chanced to meet
with before. Evidently dyed red by some means, the hair is twisted into
vertical curls of oddest appearance. The little fellows, each in his own
canoe, varied in age from ten to fifteen years. By eloquent gestures and
the use of a few English words, they begged the passengers on board the
Kashgar to throw small coin into the sea, for which they would dive in
water that was at least seven fathoms deep, that is, say forty feet. The
instant a piece of money was thrown, every canoe was emptied, and twenty
human beings disappeared from sight like a flash. Down, down go the
divers to the very bottom, and there struggle together for the trifle,
some one of the throng being sure to rise to the surface with the coin
displayed between his teeth. They struggle, wrestle, and fight beneath
the surface, and when the water is clear can be seen, like the
amphibious creatures which these shore-born tribes really are; nothing
but otters and seals could be keener sighted or more expert in the
water.
Quite a number of natives came on board the ship with curiosities to
sell, such as choice shells, toys, leopard skins, and ostrich feathers.
There are plenty of these birds running wild but a little way inland,
and some are kept in domestic confinement on account of the feathers
which they yield; but the tame birds do not develop such fine plumage as
do the wild ones. The ladies purchased choice specimens of these elegant
ornaments at prices ridiculously low compared with the charge for such
in Europe or America. The men who sold these feathers differed from the
other natives, and were evidently Syrian Jews, queer looking fellows,
small in stature, dark as Arabs, and with their hair dressed in
cork-screw curls. These small traders commenced by demanding guineas for
their feathers, and ended by taking shillings. Notwithstanding the
barren aspect of the surrounding country, Aden manages to do something
in the way of exports. Coffee is produced, not far inland, as well as
honey, wax, and gums, with some spices, which are shipped to Europe.
It was just about twilight when we got up the anchor, and steamed away
from Aden; and as the evening set in a bevy of birds were singularly
attracted to the Kashgar. They were quite as much land as water-birds,
and were fully twice as large as robins, of a mingled white and slate
color. So persistent were these birds, and being perhaps a little
confused by the surrounding darkness, together with the blinding lights
of the ship, that they permitted themselves to be caught and handled.
When thrown into the air they immediately returned, to light on the
bulwarks, shrouds, deck, or awnings, in fact, anywhere affording
foothold. Scores of them roosted all night on the Kashgar; but with the
first break of morning light they shook their feathers briskly for a
moment, uttered a few harsh, croaking notes, as a sort of rough thanks
for their night's lodging, and sailed away to the Abyssinian shore.
The general appearance of Aden from the sea, though picturesque, is not
inviting, giving one an idea of great barrenness. The mountains and
rocks have a peaked aspect, like a spear pointed at one, as much as to
say "Better keep off." People who land for the first time, however, are
agreeably disappointed by finding that every opportunity for
encouraging vegetation and imparting its cheerful effect to the rocky
soil has been duly improved. When we bid Aden good-by in the after-glow
of sunset, the sea on the harbor side was of a deep azure, while in the
direction of the ocean it stretched away to the horizon in a soft, pale
green. This effect, added to the lingering orange hue in the west, and
the sober gray of the rocky promontory itself, made up a pleasing
variety of color.
Our course was now nearly north, leaving behind us the island of Prim as
well as Aden, the former being also a British stronghold at the mouth of
this inland sea, close to the Arabian coast, and less than ten miles
from the African shore, which facts will show the reader how narrow is
the southern entrance of the Red Sea. The bold headlands of Abyssinia
were long visible on our port side, while on the starboard we had a
distant view of Arabia with the Libyan range of mountains in the
background, forming the boundary of the desert of the same name. Jeddah,
the sea-port of Mecca, the resort of all pious Mohammedans, and Mocha,
with its bright sunlit minarets, the place so suggestive of good coffee,
were to be seen in the distance. In coasting along the shores of Nubia,
the dense air from off the land was like a sirocco, suffocatingly hot,
the effect being more enervating than that of any previous experience of
the journey. Here the water was observed to be much saltier to the taste
than that of the open sea, a fact easily accounted for, as it is subject
to the fierce tropical sun, and the consequent rapid evaporation leaves
the saline property in aggregated proportions at the surface. This is a
phenomenon generally observable in land-locked arms of the ocean
similarly situated: the Persian Gulf being another instance. The free
circulation of ocean-currents, as well as the heavy rain-falls of other
tropical regions, renders the conditions more uniform. As we sailed
through the Gulf of Suez we had the shores of Egypt on both sides of us.
The last day on board the Kashgar was characterized by one of those
blazing sunsets that set everything aglow, making it appear as though
the world had taken fire at the horizon and was actually burning up.
Before arriving at Aden it was discovered that one of the foremast hands
of the ship was quite ill with small-pox, a very annoying thing to
happen under the circumstances. There were some thirty or forty cabin
passengers on board, and of course serious fears as to contagion were
entertained. Our small party, having already run the gauntlet of both
cholera and small-pox, took the matter very quietly, though we had
before us a five or six days' voyage to consummate before we could hope
to land. The sick man was placed in one of the large life-boats on the
port bow, which had a broad canvas nicely rigged over it, and in this
small, improvised hospital was personally attended by the ship's doctor
alone, who in turn isolated himself from the passengers. It was feared
that we might be quarantined upon arriving at Suez: but either by
management or accident, we arrived late at night and got moored at the
dock before any questions were asked. Selfishness and gravitation are
both immutable. We are quite satisfied to look out for the interests of
number one, and must confess that we know not to this day whether the
poor fellow, who lay so sick in the port boat, lived or died.
A modest effort to ascertain why this great arm of the Indian Ocean is
called the Red Sea was not crowned with success. The Black Sea is not
black, the Blue Danube is not blue, the Red Sea is not red. It extends
between Africa and Arabia nearly fifteen hundred miles, and in the
broadest part is not over two hundred miles across, gradually
contracting at each end. Portions of it are a thousand fathoms deep, but
the shores on either side are lined with a net-work of coral reefs and
sunken rocks extending well out from the coast. It was observed that the
Kashgar for the most part kept nearly in the middle of the sea. Small
Arabian vessels hug the shore, as their captains are familiar with the
soundings and can safely do so, and yet they never navigate by night nor
go out of port when the weather is in the least threatening. They make
no attempt to cross the sea except in settled weather, and are what we
should call fresh-water sailors, only venturing out when a naked candle
will burn on the forecastle. European sailing vessels rarely attempt to
navigate the Red Sea; it is too intricate, and the chances too hazardous
for anything but steam power to encounter. The color of the sea, so far
from being red, is deeply blue, and where it becomes shoal changes to a
pale green; but the color of all large expanses of water is constantly
changing from various causes. The reflection of the clouds will turn its
blue to a dark indigo tint, and even to inky blackness. Experienced
seamen, foremast hands, who have no access to the charts, will tell by
the color of the water, after a long voyage, that the land is near at
hand; the clear transparent blue becomes an olive green, and as the
water grows more shallow it grows also lighter.
Landing at Suez early in the morning we strolled about the town, which
presented hardly a feature of local interest, except that it was Suez
and unlike any other place one had ever seen. The landscape, if worthy
of the name, consisted of far-reaching sand and water; not a single tree
or sign of vegetation was visible. All was waste and barrenness. The hot
sun permeating the atmosphere caused a shimmering in the air, the
tremulous effect of which was trying to the eyes, and deceptive almost
like a mirage. It was a relief even when a tall awkward necked camel
came between one and the line of vision. A characteristic scene
emphasized the surrounding desolation, on a neighboring sand-hill, where
a flock of vultures were feeding upon the carcass of a mule. Disturbed
for a moment they rose lazily, and circling about the spot settled again
to their carrion feast. Though there has been a settlement here for five
centuries, the place has only sprung into commercial importance since
the completion of M. de Lesseps' great enterprise of wedding the
Mediterranean and Red Seas. There was a noticeable mingling of
nationalities as forming the rather incongruous community. We counted
half a dozen insignificant mosques, and visited the Arabian bazars, but
saw nothing of interest save a few corals and some handsome shells from
the neighboring sea. The people themselves were more attractive and
curious than the goods they displayed. Sailors were lounging about the
bar-rooms in large numbers, and the sale of cheap liquors appeared to be
the one prevailing business of Suez. The floating population was
composed of Arabs, Maltese, Greeks, and Italians. Some of the
first-named race were noticeable as nervous, sinewy, broad-chested
fellows, with narrow thighs and well-shaped limbs, like a Mohawk
Indian. Everything appeared poverty-stricken, and it was a relief when
the time came for us to take our seats in the dilapidated cars and leave
the place.
Zagazig was reached the same afternoon, and though not so populous a
place as Suez was much more alive and thrifty. This settlement is also
an outgrowth of M. de Lesseps' enterprise, but it does not present any
aspect of its mushroom growth, giving one the impression of a place well
selected as a settlement, and which had increased slowly and
permanently. We were now bound directly to Cairo, which is situated
nearly two hundred miles from Suez. The first twenty or thirty miles of
the route was through a level desert of sand, scorched, silent, and
deserted, devoid of even a spear of grass or a single tree, the yellow
soil quivering in the heated air. Mile after mile was passed without
meeting one redeeming feature. It was desolation personified. At last we
came gradually upon a gently undulating and beautiful district of
country, enriched by the annual deposits of the Nile, where careful,
intelligent cultivation produced its natural results. Here we began to
see small herds of brown buffaloes, and peasants plying the irrigating
buckets of the shadoof. Everything seemed verdant and thriving. Perhaps
the great contrast between the sterile desert so lately crossed and the
aspect which now greeted us made this really fertile region appear
doubly so. Not since the plains of middle India had we seen anything
forming so fine a rural picture as this. Though it was only the last of
February the clover fields were being mowed, and a second crop would
follow; the barley and wheat were nearly ready for the sickle, while
the peas and beans, both in full blossom, were picturesque and fragrant.
As we progressed through this attractive region the pastures became
alive with sheep, goats, many camels, and some dromedaries.
On our way we made a brief stop at the late sanguine field of
Tell-el-Keber, where the English and Turks fought the closing battle of
the late campaign in Egypt. The sandy plain was still strewn with the
debris of hastily deserted camps, and not far away was that significant
spot which war leaves always in its track,--an humble cemetery, marked
by many small white stones, showing the last resting-places of men
unknown to fame, but to whom life was undoubtedly as sweet as it is to
those whose graves the world honors with monumental shafts.
While we were approaching Cairo, and were yet two or three leagues away,
the dim outline of the everlasting pyramids could be seen, through the
shimmering haze, softly limned against the evening sky, firing the
imagination, and causing an involuntary and quicker pulsation of the
heart. It was impossible not to recall the glowing words of the Humpback
in the Thousand and One Nights, as we saw the pyramids and glistening
minarets coming into view: "He who hath not seen Cairo hath not seen the
world: its soil is gold; its Nile is a wonder; its women are like the
black-eyed virgins of Paradise; its houses are palaces, and its air is
soft,--its odor surpassing that of aloes-wood and cheering the heart;
and how can Cairo be otherwise when it is the Mother of the World?"