Steamboating On the Ganges--Life on the River--The Greatest Business
Firm in the World--Sceneries--Temples--Serampoor--Boat Races--An
Excursion to the Himalayas--Darjieling and Himalaya Railroad--Tea
Plantations--Darjieling--Llamas--View from the Mountains.
Having received all its tributaries on its course from the Himalaya
Mountains through Central Hindustan, the Ganges has now swelled to such
vast proportions that it cannot keep its volume of water within one
regular channel through the level, soft soil of the Hindoo Peninsula,
but flows into the ocean by several independent channels. One of these
which is called the Hoogley, and has been mentioned already, is at
Calcutta, about eighty miles from the sea, as broad as the united
Missouri and Mississippi at St. Louis, and still the eastern half of it,
close to the city, is so crowded with ships, barges and boats for a
distance of six miles that it requires great care and skill at the helm
to navigate safely.
On Jan. 2, 1882, the Calcutta rowing club had arranged a race between
Barrackpoor and Serampoor, to which four hundred guests, including
myself had been invited. Two large and ten smaller river steamers, all
adorned with flowers and waving flags, lay around the pier between the
Hoogley and the Nimtoolaghat waiting for us. Other steamers packed with
natives, and Indian river boats with their half-naked rowers, crowded
around the little flotilla, partly from curiosity, partly in order to
sell flowers, garlands and fruits to the guests. On the river bank were
thousands of Hindoos and Mohammedans sitting or standing, in white
clothes. Here and there was a penitent Fakir, bareheaded, his half-naked
body partly covered with ashes, his eyes riveted on a point at the
horizon or on the water, without being in the least disturbed by the
noise and the festivity. From Nimtoolaghat a dozen small clouds of smoke
were seen ascending uniting into one column of smoke, above the roofless
building. A number of unkempt, half-naked Brahmins were carrying ashes
and bones of cremated bodies from the crematory down to the river.
Stately carriages with murky coachmen and fore-runners in white garments
arrived in long lines at the pier with the guests of the day. When all
were on board, the steamers whistled, the band struck up "God save the
Queen," and the little flotilla steamed up the river amid merry chatting
and deafening hurrahs.
[Illustration: STEAMER ON THE GANGES.]
We first passed hundreds of Indian river boats from twenty-five to
seventy-five feet long, with roofs supported by bamboo poles and loaded
with grain, cotton, fruit, jute, goats, etc. The crews consisted of men,
women and children who live on these river boats for years. They take
advantage of the tides in going up or down the river, and also use a
broad oar in the prow of the boat.
[Illustration: RIVER BOAT.]
On the west side of the river lies the manufacturing city Howrah, with
the largest railroad depot in India, and dock-yards extending about two
miles. On the east bank, a short distance above Calcutta are immense
warehouses and hydraulic presses for preparing jute, a kind of hemp. The
largest of these employs three thousand workmen day and night, and
belongs to a Greek firm, Rally Brothers, who are said to have the
greatest mercantile establishment existing. They own branch houses in
thirty-six of the largest commercial cities of the world.
[Illustration: TEMPLE ON THE RIVER BANK.]
[Illustration: WATER CARRIER.]
Amid the happy strains of music we passed up the river. Stately palm
trees in small groups rose above the surrounding groves, villages,
temples and houses, while the dense foliage of other kinds of trees hung
down the river banks wherever they were allowed to grow. Many of these
bore flowers resembling tulips, acacias, jasmines, etc. Birds of the
most gorgeous colors, but poor songsters, were flitting and hopping
about among the branches; vast numbers of small, white cows and oxen
were being herded by children on the meadows between the rice fields
along the river, and at intervals of about two miles were temples
consecrated to Hindoo gods. These temples were of a beautiful style and
of perfect symmetry. Toward the river was an open portico. From this a
flight of steps led down to the water. This was a Hindoo bathing place,
where the holy water was taken. Just then a number of women were seen on
the steps fetching water in clay jars, somewhat similar to the one
Rebecca used at the well. These jars are carried either on the head or
on the left hip. On either side of the portico, but from fifty to a
hundred feet to the rear, stood the temples proper, in rows, facing the
river, generally six on either side, with an eight to twelve-foot-wide
path between each temple. The temples are about sixteen feet square,
with a pointed roof surmounted by a round cupola. They are made of
brick, with a coating of white plaster on the outside; there are no
windows, and only one door, opening on the river side. Inside this door
is a niche in which the idol is placed. Only the Brahmins are allowed to
enter these temples; wherefore the common heathen has to content himself
with simply looking at the god from the outside; the Christians also are
generally kept at a respectful distance.
Here and there along the banks of the river nestle rustic villages, the
houses of which are generally square, and from sixteen to twenty feet on
the sides, with pointed thatched roofs. The walls are of bamboo poles,
interwoven with grass mats or plastered with mortar. There are no
wooden floors, no furniture, and the only utensils are a few bowls of
clay for cooking, baking vessels of brass, some straw mats spread on the
clay floor to sleep on during the night. The country is low and flat,
and during the wet season, which lasts from July to October, destructive
inundations are quite frequent.
[Illustration: NATIVE HOUSES.]
Our steamers soon approached Barrackpoor, a garrisoned city on the east
bank of the river. This place, which is one of the summer residences of
the viceroy, has a very beautiful park, where there are several samples
of the remarkable banyan or sacred fig-tree. From the branches of the
tree certain shoots grow downward, and when they reach the ground they
strike root and grow into new trunks, so that one and the same tree
finally covers a vast space of ground, and looks like a pillared hall.
In the park at Barrackpoor may be seen one of these trees, large enough
to cover one thousand men. On the west side of the river, directly
opposite, lies the old city of Serampoor, which formerly belonged to
Denmark, but was taken by the English in the beginning of this century,
and now has only a few inscriptions and documents which remind us of the
Danish period.
[Illustration: BANYAN TREE.]
In the river, midway between these cities, a gigantic government barge
was anchored. On this occasion it was covered with canvas, and served as
a dining room where a tiffin, or lunch, for four hundred persons was
served. Our steamers anchored, and we sat down at the sumptuous tables.
A band of forty pieces from a Sepoy regiment garrisoned at Barrackpoor
struck up an English march, the champagne bottles popped, and all was
life and joy. After lunch we witnessed six different boat races, all
between Englishmen, and, the prizes having been awarded, the whole
company walked on foot about a mile through a fine park to the railway
station, whence a special train carried the excursionists back to
Calcutta.
After a summer of eight months in the Bengal lowlands with a constant
temperature of 90 deg. to 100 deg. Fahrenheit in the shade, fresh breezes and
cool air become luxuries more keenly enjoyed than those who live in a
more temperate climate can conceive. To benefit by both I made a short
journey in October, 1882, to the celebrated Himalaya mountains, among
which the city of Darjieling is situated. The train on the Bengal
railroad carried us about three hundred miles in a northerly direction
through a level lowland teeming with gardens, palm groves and rice
fields, to Siligori, at the foot of the mountains, where we arrived in
the morning at sunrise. Having enjoyed a good breakfast and a bottle of
Norwegian export beer at the railway eating house, we were transferred
to a train on the Darjieling & Himalaya railroad to be carried up seven
thousand feet high in a distance of forty-two miles.
This mountain railroad is so different from all other railroads that it
deserves a special description. It is narrow gauged in the fullest sense
of the word, the distance between the rails being only two feet. The
cars are very small and low, and the wheels are about twelve inches in
diameter. The car is ten feet long and six feet wide, and contains four
seats, each of which accommodates four persons; it is open on the sides
so that passengers can get on and off easily and have an open view. The
locomotive is no larger than the cars, but powerful enough to pull ten
or twelve of them up the mountain at the rate of eight or ten miles an
hour. Nowhere is the track straight even for a distance of a couple of
hundred yards, but it winds right and left in the most fantastic manner,
and reminded me strikingly of the lines described in one of the old
country dances.
The signal is given, the pigmy locomotive puffs and sputters, the train
with its load of humanity rolls away up hills and mountains and across
awful chasms, up, up, up; hour after hour, with a grade of one to
eighteen and twenty-eight, or on an average of twenty-three feet. It
winds along the rugged mountain side, over awful chasms, and with such
short curves that one's hair stands on end when looking down or up the
steep cliffs, the summits of which tower above the clouds. A loose stone
rolling down, a broken rail, or a derailment would immediately hurl the
iron horse with its cars and human lives thousands of feet down to the
bottom of the abyss, and reduce the whole to an unrecognizable wreck.
Beautiful trees, grass, flowers, creeping plants adorn hills and vales
except in the ravines and cliffs, where foaming creeks and cataracts
have torn away the vegetation by tumultuously tossing themselves from
rock to rock, from cliff to cliff, from valley to valley, gradually
uniting in the rivers that continually feed the mighty Ganges.
The track follows a twenty-five-foot-wide driveway, the most part of
which is hewn out of the solid rock, and on this highway may be seen the
mountaineers from Nepaul and Thibet driving large numbers of pack
animals (ponies and cattle) carrying products of Europe and America into
and beyond the mountains to the peoples of northern Asia. Here and there
on the green hills are the best tea plantations of India. These long,
low, white buildings are the residences and factories of the planters,
and close by are the dwellings of the native laborers, consisting of
long rows of thatched huts, and in terraces along the steep hills are
endless rows of tea bushes, among which laborers dressed in picturesque
costumes of gay colors are busy picking tea, advancing in irregular
lines--resembling the skirmish lines of an army. This picture is at
first seen against the horizon, so far up that the men can scarcely be
distinguished from the bushes, and a couple of hours later the same
picture may be viewed far down in a deep valley.
After awhile at the head of a long valley appear lofty, white objects
whose summits rise far up above the mist and the clouds; it is the
highest peaks of the Himalaya mountains, from sixty to one hundred miles
distant. Thus the journey is continued up the mountains until the train
finally stops at Darjieling, which is one of the most noteworthy places
in the world. It is a sanitarium, and the summer residence of the
government of Bengal, and during the hot season makes a favorite resort
for many of the Hindoo nobles and princes as well as Europeans. The city
has a few thousand inhabitants, the majority of whom are Thibetan and
Nepaul mountaineers. There we see the Christian church, the Mohammedan
mosque and the Hindoo temple in close proximity to each other, and on
the streets one may often meet Catholic monks carrying the crucifix,
and Llamas or Thibetan priests in long, brown felt mantles, turning
their praying-wheel, which consists of an artistically made machine of
silver, in which are engraved the following words: "Rum mahnee padme
hang," which means, "Hail thee, jewel and lotus flower," or "Glory to
God."
[Illustration: PALACE AND TEMPLE IN THE HIMALAYAS.]
Residences, churches, hotels and all public and private buildings lie in
a semi-circle on the western slope of one of the mountains, offering a
very fine picture. Excellent roads are built in zigzag form up and down
over hills and mountains. There are scarcely any carriages but a kind of
palanquin called dandies, and small ponies which are so sure-footed that
they can climb up and down the mountains like goats. Both men and women
ride these or are carried by three strong bearers from Thibet.
Darjieling is elevated eight thousand feet above the level of the sea,
and at this place black clouds may often be seen sweeping along the
western side far below one's feet. The air is so clear, fresh and
salubrious that it seems to infuse new strength, vitality and almost new
life. It impels either to activity or to sleep; it is impossible to sit
still or be mentally inactive. The view of the landscape below is
claimed to be the most beautiful in the whole world. Beneath the
terraces on which we walk are seen smiling valleys, one below another,
away down far into the plains of Bengal, variegated by rivers, forests,
cities and many-colored fields, and far away to the distant north
against the blue horizon, one great mountain rises above and beyond
another, capped with eternal crowns of snow high up among the restless
clouds--twenty thousand feet higher than Darjieling, and twenty-nine
thousand feet above the sea,--over five miles in height.
The loftiest peaks are Kinchinjunga forty-five miles, and Mount Everest,
sixty miles distant from Darjieling. It is claimed that these peaks can
be seen for a distance of three hundred miles in clear weather. There
these mighty giants stand clad in snowy garbs, like sentinels at the
portals of infinite space, seemingly belonging more to heaven than to
earth. No wonder that the Hindoos look at them with solemn awe, for cold
and insensible to beauty and grandeur must he be, who does not, at this
sight, feel his own littleness and the inconceivable greatness of the
creator.