Cholera and other Diseases--The Causes of Cholera--How the Soldiers are
Protected Against it--Sudden Deaths--Fevers--The Teraj--Contempt for
Death--The Cholera Hospital--The Sisters of Mercy--The Princes
Tagore--Hindoo Family Customs--Hindoo Gallantry--A Hindoo Fete.
The cholera has its home proper in India, and breeds in the Bengal
lowlands after the rainy season, which closes in the fall. Its ravages
are most pronounced in the month of December, but cases are quite
frequent the whole year round. During my second year's sojourn in India
it was very violent in December, but I would scarcely have known of it
at all if my official duties had not made it incumbent on me to report
from the board of health of India to that of the United States at
Washington. Now and then I was reminded of the existence of the malady
by the sudden deaths of my acquaintances. On three different occasions I
enjoyed a pleasant evening entertainment in company with a number of
friends, one of whom was not only dead, but even buried before the next
morning.
Although India is ravaged by different deadly diseases, especially a
kind of fever of which people die after one or two days' sickness;
still, disease and death are scarcely ever mentioned among
Anglo-Indians. They don't like to talk about such unpleasant things. A
friend is suddenly and unexpectedly snatched away from social circles,
but his death is seldom or never mentioned, just as if a secret and
united agreement of taciturnity had been entered into by the survivors.
Once I was invited to dine at the table d'hote of the officers at the
military station Dum-Dum, a few miles from Calcutta. I drove out there
in the evening, and at eight o'clock I had dinner in company with about
forty officers, the majority of whom belonged to the Scotch frontier
regiment. Col. Chapman, one of the party, was a jolly old Scotch warrior
and Lieut.-Col. Hill was my host. After a splendid dinner such as India
alone can offer, the company grouped themselves around several
whist-tables according to the custom in the higher circles among the
English. Col. Chapman was my partner, and we parted company at one
o'clock. I accompanied Lieut.-Col. Hill to his villa, and retired for
the night. At eight o'clock the next morning he entered my room with the
sad news that he was just returning from the funeral of Col. Chapman.
The stern old warrior who returned unscathed from twenty battle-fields
was attacked by the cholera at two o'clock, died at four o'clock, and
was buried at six o'clock. Such is life in India.
At the foot of the Himalayas is a very extensive territory called Teraj.
Its soil is very fertile and adapted for tea culture. The whole
territory is covered with timber, bushes and other plants, which, with
the exception of certain cultivated portions, form an impenetrable
jungle, affording a natural resort for tigers, leopards, and other wild
beasts. The lofty mountains and the dense jungles shut out the sun, and
the whole region is full of poisonous vapors which are never dispelled.
It would be almost certain death for an European to live there for any
length of time, and it is customary even in passing through the country
on the railway train to take double doses of quinine as a precaution.
The fever and cholera which are thus generated in the jungles and spread
through the rice fields cause terrible ravages, not only among the
Europeans, but also among the natives. Medical science has done a great
deal to mitigate this evil, and the cholera, at least, has been
carefully studied and controlled by the medical department of the
Anglo-Indian army, so at present the malady is not feared so much as
might be expected. The germs of the disease consist of microbes, which
are carried in swarms by the wind. If such a pestiferous current of air
strikes a place where soldiers are stationed, they are immediately
ordered to break camp, and in a few hours the whole force is marching at
a right angle with the wind, and after a day's march and a night's
bivouac the physicians are generally able to tell whether the troops are
out of the cholera district or not. If not, the march is continued day
after day, always at a right angle with that of the preceding day, until
the air contains no more cholera microbes.
Old officers of the army told me that they had seen the cholera pass
over one part of the camp attacking every fourth man on one side of the
camp street without touching a single one on the other. It is claimed
that the fear and anxiety caused by this dreadful malady are even more
dangerous than the disease itself.
One day while sitting at my breakfast table I received a message from
the University hospital that an American sailor was very anxious to see
me before he died. I immediately drove over there and was met at the
entrance by the president, Dr. J. M. Coates, but when I arrived in the
cholera apartment the man had just died. A sister of mercy was present
at his death-bed, and had promised to carry his last message to me,
which consisted in a greeting of love and a few trinkets to be sent to
his mother in the state of Maine. There was a large apartment filled
with cholera patients. Many of the native patients were visited by their
friends and relatives; for the Hindoos do not entertain any fear of
death, but rather court it, believing that a death caused by a
contagious disease or a poisonous snake is simply a dispensation of
Providence by which they are called away to a better life.
As an illustration of this fact I mention the following incident: One
day while I was inspecting an American vessel a Hindoo laborer fell
overboard, and a Norwegian sailor plunged into the water and saved him.
After being brought safely on the deck the Hindoo became so angry at the
Norwegian that he could have killed him, simply because he had prevented
his entering paradise. Such occurrences are quite frequent.
I mentioned that I met a sister of mercy at the death-bed of an American
cholera patient in the hospital. I cannot neglect this opportunity to
express my heartfelt gratitude to these noble women, the modern nuns of
the Catholic church. I have seen them in the dens of degradation and
wretchedness in the American cities, among the sick, wounded and dying
soldiers on the battle-fields of the South; I have seen them in an
Arabian sea-port, searching for poverty-stricken travelers, among the
cholera patients and among the unfortunate inmates of the prisons of
India, always performing the same angelic duty, helping the poor,
tending the sick, and comforting the despondent. Of course I am no
Catholic, nor is it my intention to defend the Catholic faith; but I
wish to acknowledge my appreciation of and pay my respect to the noble
work which the priests and nuns of that church are carrying on among the
lowly and erring members of our race.
The Hindoos are the most polite and clever people I ever saw. Their
manners are exquisitely fine; no rudeness, no profanity, no intemperance
is to be found among them, not even among the lowest classes. As has
been said already, the higher classes are exceedingly polished and
cleanly; all treat their parents and old people with marked respect. I
shall narrate a few incidents to illustrate this: Shortly after my
arrival in Calcutta I became acquainted with the two Princes Tagore,
especially the younger of them. They are titled princes, and enormously
rich. They have many palaces, hundreds of secretaries, workingmen,
servants, and pensioners, and, as is the custom among the Hindoos, whose
families are governed according to the principles of patriarchal life,
they all live together and get their support from the common property. I
visited them several times, but mostly the younger prince who was at
that time about forty-five years old, and a great admirer of America.
Although a man of that age and rank he never talked in the presence of
his elder brother until the latter had by a word or a nod signified that
he was allowed to speak. A son is never allowed to talk in the presence
of his father until the latter has finished. The eldest member of the
family is its highest ruler, and even the Princes Tagore would never
take any important steps before obtaining the consent of their aged
mother.
Many prominent Hindoos and Mohammedans, some of whom were native rulers,
came and visited me, before they invited me to their great fetes. One of
the frequent visitors was Dr. L. N. Maitra, a Brahmin of the highest
class, and one of the most intelligent and clever men I met in India. He
used to sit with me for hours, telling about the life, history and
religion of the Hindoos. Having become acquainted with each other by
several months' intercourse, one day he sat a long while at my house as
if absorbed in deep thought, and when he was ready to leave he asked if
I would allow him to recite a Hindoo proverb in Sanskrit. In doing this
he proved himself to be a fine elocutionist, and it seemed to me that I
had never heard more music in prose, although I could not, of course,
understand a single word of it.
[Illustration: DR. MAITRA READING SANSKRIT.]
I asked him for a translation, and the next day he sent me one with the
assurance that he intended to apply the proverb to me. It reads thus:
"Do not enter into a very intimate acquaintance with anybody; but if you
do, see that your friend is not a stranger; but if he is a stranger, see
to it that he is not an educated man; but if he is educated, never part
from him; but if fate compels you to part from him, then try to control
that which we cannot control, that is, die, for death alone can make up
for the loss of such a good man." I have told this to show not only the
Hindoo's conception of the happiness of death, but also his exquisite
politeness and delicacy of feeling.
When a Hindoo wishes to pay an elderly man or woman his respect or in
some manner honor them, he calls them father or mother, or, if they are
his equals in age, brother or sister. Even to-day, when my former clerks
write to me they call me father, and ask me to remember them to their
dear mother, that is, my wife.
[Illustration: MY CHIEF CLERK.]
On a few occasions some Hindoo princes and nobles would arrange special
entertainments and fetes for me, or rather in honor of the country
represented by me, and on such occasions the invitation was not limited
to me, but was extended to my friends also, so that I could take with me
of these as many as I pleased.
The Tagore family had a beautiful country house outside the city, where,
one day shortly after my arrival, a party was given in honor of myself
as representing the United States. Among the friends who accompanied me
on this occasion was the Danish traveler, D'Irgens-Bergh, whose
acquaintance I had made on my journey from Naples to Alexandria. The
villa might more correctly have been called a palace, for it was on a
grand scale and a perfect gem of architectural beauty. The floors and
walls of all apartments were of marble. A beautiful and finely kept park
surrounded the palace, and here, on the evening of our visit, hundreds
of Chinese lanterns illuminated the spacious grounds. The most brilliant
feature of the entertainment was music rendered by a complete orchestra
of native musicians who used Hindoo instruments entirely different from
ours; but pianos, guitars and other instruments with which we are
acquainted, were also used. The younger prince was a great lover of
music, and maintained, at his own expense, a conservatory of music and a
large orchestra, giving instruction in music free of charge to any young
man who was peculiarly gifted in that line. He is also well versed in
Sanskrit literature, and has written several scientific works in
Sanskrit. Before I left he presented me with one of these works
containing his autograph, which is reproduced here as a sample of the
hand-writing of an educated Hindoo:
[Illustration: (dedication note)]
Our refreshments at the fete consisted of dainties prepared by native
cooks. Cream, rice, sugar, eggs, fish, flour, and spices were the chief
ingredients of the different courses. Champagne and other European
drinks were served with the courses, and after the repast we were
offered coffee, and the servants brought wash basins and towels. Finally
the major domo passed an urn-shaped golden goblet, placed on a gold
tray. In this goblet was a fine sponge soaked with attar of roses, which
costs about a dollar a drop, and in which the guests dipped the tips of
their fingers and moistened their foreheads and clothes. The least
contact with this attar causes a fragrance which lasts for months.
Neither on this occasion nor at any other festivity arranged by native
Hindoos were any of the women present or visible to us, although we knew
they were close enough to see us through windows or gratings. The men
themselves assisted in waiting on us, but tasted nothing in our
presence. When finally the carriages drove up and the guests parted each
one of them received a huge bouquet of beautiful, fragrant flowers.
[Illustration: RAJAH TAGORE.]