"CAMPING OUT"
"Thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on."
The ups and downs of life--Stirring adventures--Marching
on to glory--Shooting in the tropics--Pepper-pot--With the
_Rajah Sahib_--Goat-sacrifices at breakfast time--Simla to
Cashmere--Manners and customs of Thibet--Burmah--No place to
get fat in--Insects--Voracity of the natives--Snakes--Sport
in the Jungle--Loaded for snipe, sure to meet tiger--With the
gippos--No baked hedgehog--Cheap milk.
The intelligent reader may have gathered from some of the foregoing
pages that the experiences of the writer have been of a variegated
nature. As an habitual follower of the Turf once observed:
"When we're rich we rides in chaises,
And when we're broke we walks like ----"
Never mind what. It was an evil man who said it, but he was a
philosopher. Dinner in the gilded saloon one day, on the next no
dinner at all, and the key of the street. Such is life!
Those experiences do not embrace a mortal combat with a "grizzly"
in the Rockies, nor a tramp through a miasma-laden forest in Darkest
Africa, with nothing better to eat than poisonous _fungi_, assorted
grasses, red ants, and dwarfs; nor yet a bull fight. But they include
roughing it in the bush, on underdone bread and scorched kangaroo, a
tramp from Benares to the frontier of British India, another tramp
or two some way beyond that frontier, a dreadful journey across the
eternal snows of the Himalayas, a day's shooting in the Khyber Pass,
a railway accident in Middlesex, a mad elephant (he had killed seven
men, one of them blind) hunt at Thayet Myoo, in British Burmah, a fine
snake anecdote or two, a night at Cambridge with an escaped lunatic,
a tiger story (of course), and a capture for debt by an officer of
the Sheriff of Pegu, with no other clothing on his body than a short
jacket of gaily coloured silk, and a loin cloth. My life's history is
never likely to be written--chiefly through sheer laziness on my own
part, and the absence of the gambling instinct on that of the average
publisher--but like the brown gentleman who smothered his wife, I have
"seen things."
In this chapter no allusion will be made to "up river" delights,
the only idea of "camping out" which is properly understood by the
majority of "up to date" young men and maidens; for this theme has
been already treated, most comically and delightfully, by Mr. Jerome,
in the funniest book I ever read. My own camping experiences have been
for the most part in foreign lands, though I have seen the sun rise,
whilst reclining beneath the Royal trees in St. James's Park; and as
this book is supposed to deal with gastronomy, rather than adventure,
a brief sketch of camp life must suffice.
On the march! What a time those who "served the Widdy"--by which
disrespectful term, our revered Sovereign was _not_ known in those
days--used to have before the continent of India had been intersected
by the railroad! The absence of one's proper _quantum_ of rest, the
forced marches over _kutcha_ (imperfectly made) bye-roads, the sudden
changes of temperature, raids of the native thief, the troubles
with "bobbery" camels, the still more exasperating behaviour of the
_bail-wallahs_ (bullock-drivers), the awful responsibilities of the
officer-on-baggage-guard, on active duty, often in the saddle for
fifteen hours at a stretch, the absolutely necessary cattle-raids,
by the roadside--all these things are well known to those who have
undergone them, but are far too long "another story" to be related
here. As for the food partaken of during a march with the regiment,
the bill-of-fare differed but little from that of the cantonments; but
the officer who spent a brief holiday in a shooting expedition had to
"rough it" in more ways than one.
There was plenty of game all over the continent in my youthful days,
and the average shot need not have lacked a dinner, even if he had not
brought with him a consignment of "Europe" provisions. English bread
was lacking, certainly, and biscuits, native or otherwise--"otherwise"
for choice, as the bazaar article tasted principally of pin-cushions
and the smoke of dried and lighted cow-dung--or the ordinary
_chupatti_, the flat, unleavened cake, which the poor Indian
manufactures for his own consumption. Cold tea is by far the best
liquid to carry--or rather to have carried for you--whilst actually
shooting; but the weary sportsman will require something more
exciting, and more poetical, on his return to camp. As for solid fare
it was usually
_Pepper-pot_
for dinner, day by day. We called it Pepper-pot--that is to say,
although it differed somewhat from the West Indian concoction of that
name, for which the following is the recipe:--
Put the remains of any cold flesh or fowl into a saucepan,
and cover with _cassaripe_--which has been already described in
the Curry chapter as extract of Manioc root. Heat up the stew
and serve.
Our pepper-pot was usually made in a gipsy-kettle, suspended from
a tripod. The foundation of the stew was always a tin of some kind
of soup. Then a few goat chops--mutton is bad to buy out in the
jungle--and then any bird or beast that may have been shot, divided
into fragments. I have frequently made a stew of this sort, with so
many ingredients in it that the flavour when served out at table--or
on the bullock-trunk which often did duty for a table--would have
beaten the wit of man to describe. There was hare soup "intil't" (as
the Scotsman said to the late Prince Consort), and a collop or two of
buffalo-beef, with snipe, quails, and jungle-fowl. There were half the
neck of an antelope and a few sliced onions lurking within the bowl.
And there were potatoes "intil't," and plenty of pepper and salt. And
for lack of cassaripe we flavoured the savoury mess with mango chutnee
and Tapp sauce. And if any cook, English or foreign, can concoct a
more worthy dish than this, or more grateful to the palate, said cook
can come my way.
The old _dak gharry_ method of travelling in India may well come under
the head of Camping Out. In the hot weather we usually progressed--or
got emptied into a ditch--or collided with something else, during
the comparative "coolth" of the night; resting (which in Hindustan
usually means perspiring and calling the country names) all day at one
or other of the _dak bungalows_ provided by a benevolent Government
for the use of the wandering _sahib_. The larder at one of those
rest-houses was seldom well filled. Although the _khansamah_ who
prostrated himself in the sand at your approach would declare that
he was prepared to supply everything which the protector-of-the-poor
might deign to order, it would be found on further inquiry that the
_khansamah_ had, like the Player Queen in Hamlet, protested too
much--that he was a natural romancer. And his "everything" usually
resolved itself into a "spatch-cock," manufactured from the spectral
rooster, who had heralded the approach of the _sahib's_ caravan.
_A Rajah's_
ideas of hospitality are massive. Labouring under the belief that
the white _sahib_ when not eating must necessarily be drinking, the
commissariat arrangements of Rajahdom are on a colossal scale--for
the chief benefit of his _major domo_. I might have bathed in dry
champagne, had the idea been pleasing, whilst staying with a certain
genial prince, known to irreverent British subalterns as "Old
Coppertail"; whilst the bedroom furniture was on the same liberal
scale. True, I lay on an ordinary native _charpoy_, which might
have been bought in the bazaar for a few _annas_, but there was
a grand piano in one corner of the apartment, and a buhl cabinet
containing rare china in another. There was a coloured print of the
Governor-General over the doorway, and an oil painting of the Judgment
of Solomon over the mantelshelf. And on a table within easy reach of
the bed was a silver-plated dinner service, decked with fruits and
sweetmeats, and tins of salmon, and pots of Guava jelly and mixed
pickles, and two tumblers, each of which would have easily held a
week-old baby. And there was a case of champagne beneath that table,
with every appliance for cutting wires and extracting the corks.
Another time the writer formed one of a small party invited to share
the hospitality of a potentate, whose estate lay on the snowy side
of Simla. The fleecy element, however, was not in evidence in June,
the month of our visit, although towards December Simla herself is
usually wrapt in the white mantle, and garrisoned by monkeys, who
have fled from the land of ice. Tents had been erected for us in a
barren-looking valley, somewhat famous, however, for the cultivation
of potatoes. There was an annual celebration of some sort, the day
after our arrival, and for breakfast that morning an _al fresco_ meal
had been prepared for us, almost within whispering distance of an
heathen temple. And it _was_ a breakfast! There was a turkey stuffed
with a fowl, to make the breast larger, and there was a "Europe" ham.
A tin of lobster, a bottle of pickled walnuts, a dreadful concoction,
alleged to be an omelette, but looking more like the sole of a tennis
shoe, potatoes, boiled eggs, a dish of Irish stew, a fry of small
fish, a weird-looking curry, a young goat roasted whole, and a plum
pudding!
The tea had hardly been poured out--Kussowlie beer, Epps's cocoa, and
(of course) champagne, and John Exshaw's brandy were also on tap--when
a gentleman with very little on proceeded to decapitate a goat at
the foot of the temple steps. This was somewhat startling, but when
the (presumed) high-priest chopped off the head of another bleating
victim, our meal was interrupted. The executions had been carried out
in very simple fashion. First, the priest sprinkled a little water on
the neck of the victim (who was held in position by an assistant), and
then retired up the steps. Then, brandishing a small sickle, he rushed
back, and in an instant off went the head, which was promptly carried,
reeking with gore, within the temple. But if, as happened more than
once, the head was not sliced off at the initial attempt, it was left
on the ground when decapitation had been at length effected. The deity
inside was evidently a bit particular!
Nine goats had been sacrificed, ere our remonstrances were attended
to; and we were allowed to pursue our meal in peace. But I don't think
anybody had goat for breakfast that morning.
Later on, the fun of the fair commenced, and the _paharis_, or hill
men, trooped in from miles round, with their sisters, cousins, and
aunts. Their wives, we imagined, were too busily occupied in carrying
their accustomed loads of timber to and fro. Your Himalayan delights
in a fair, and the numerous swings and roundabouts were all well
patronised; whilst the jugglers, and the snake charmers--in many
instances it was difficult to tell at a glance which was charmer and
which snake--were all well patronised. Later on, when the lamps had
been lit, a _burra nâtch_ was started, and the Bengali Baboos who
had come all the way from Simla in _dhoolies_ to be present at this,
applauded vigorously. And our host being in constant dread lest we
should starve to death or expire of thirst, never tired of bidding us
to a succession of banquets at which we simply went through the forms
of eating, to please him. And just when we began to get sleepy these
simple hill folks commenced to dance amongst themselves. They were
just a little monotonous, their choregraphic efforts. Parties of men
linked arms and sidled around fires of logs, singing songs of their
mountain homes the while. And as they were evidently determined to
make a night of it, sleep for those who understood not the game, with
their tents close handy, was out of the question. And when, as soon
as we could take our departure decently and decorously, we started
up the hill again, those doleful monotonous dances were still in
progress, although the fires were out, and the voices decidedly husky.
A native of the Himalayas is nothing if not energetic--in his own
interests be it understood.
A few months later I formed one of a small party who embarked on a
more important expedition than the last named, although we traversed
the same road. It is a journey which has frequently been made since,
from Simla to Cashmere, going as far into the land of the Great Llama
as the inhabitants will allow the stranger to do--which is not very
far; but, in the early sixties there were but few white men who had
even skirted Thibet. In the afternoon of life, when stirring the
fire has become preferable to stirring adventure, it seems (to the
writer at all events) very like an attempt at self-slaughter to have
travelled so many hundreds of miles along narrow goatpaths, with a
_khud_ (precipice) of thousands of feet on one side or the other;
picking one's way, if on foot, over the frequent avalanche (or "land
slip," as we called it in those days) of shale or granite; or if
carried in a _dhoolie_--which is simply a hammock attached by straps
to a bamboo pole--running the risk of being propelled over a precipice
by your heathen carriers. It is not the pleasantest of sensations
to cross a mountain torrent by means of a frail bridge (called a
_jhula_) of ropes made from twigs, and stretched many feet above the
torrent itself, nor to "weather" a corner, whilst clinging tooth
and nail to the face of a cliff. And when there is any riding to be
done, most people would prefer a hill pony to a _yak_, the native ox
of Thibet. By far the best part of a _yak_ is his beautiful silky,
fleecy tail, which is largely used in Hindustan, by dependants of
governors-general, commanders-in-chief, and other mighty ones, for the
discomfiture of the frequent fly. A very little equestrian exercise on
the back of a _yak_ goes a long way; and if given my choice, I would
sooner ride a stumbling cab-horse in a saddle with spikes in it.
But those days were our salad ones; we were not only "green of
judgment," but admirers of the beautiful, and reckless of danger.
But it was decidedly "roughing it." As it is advisable to traverse
that track as lightly laden as possible, we took but few "Europe"
provisions with us, depending upon the villages, for the most part,
for our supplies. We usually managed to buy a little flour, wherewith
to make the inevitable _chupati_, and at some of the co-operative
stores _en route_, we obtained mutton of fair flavour. We did not know
in those days that flesh exposed to the air, in the higher ranges of
the Himalayas, will not putrefy, else we should have doubtless made
a species of _biltong_ of the surplus meat, to carry with us in case
of any famine about. So "short commons" frequently formed the bill
of fare. Our little stock of brandy was carefully husbanded, against
illness; and, judging from the subsequent histories of two of the
party, this was the most miraculous feature of the expedition. For
liquid refreshment we had neat water, and _thé à la mode de Thibet_.
Doctor Nansen, in his book on the crossing of Greenland, inveighs
strongly against the use of alcohol in an Arctic expedition; but I
confess that the first time I tasted Thibet tea I would have given
both my ears for a soda and brandy. The raw tea was compressed into
the shape of a brick, with the aid of--we did not inquire what; its
infusion was drunk, either cold or lukewarm, flavoured with salt, and
a small lump of butter which in any civilised police court would have
gained the vendor a month's imprisonment without the option of a fine.
The people of the district were in the habit of gorging themselves
with flesh when they could get it; and polyandry was another of their
pleasant customs. We saw one lady who was married to three brothers,
but did not boast of it. Thibet is probably the most priest-ridden
country in the world, and ought to be the most religious; for the
natives can grind out their prayers, on wheels, at short intervals, in
pretty much the same way as we grind our coffee in dear old England.
But we reached the promised land at last; and here at least there
was no lack of food and drink. Meat was cheap in those days; and one
of the party, without any bargaining whatever, purchased a sheep for
eight annas, or one shilling sterling. Mutton is not quite as cheap at
the time of writing this book (1897), I believe; but in the long ago
there were but few English visitors to the land of Lalla Rookh, and
those who did go had to obtain permission of the Rajah, through the
British Resident.
With improved transit, and a railroad from Rangoon to Mandalay,
matters gastronomic may be better in British Burmah nowadays; but in
the course of an almost world-wide experience I have never enjoyed
food less than in Pagoda-land during the sixties. And as a Burmese
built house was not a whit more comfortable than a tent, and far
less waterproof, this subject may well be included in the chapter
headed "Camping Out." Fruits there were, varied and plentiful; and
if you only planted the crown of a pine-apple in your compound one
evening you would probably find a decent-sized pine-apple above
ground next--well, next week. At least so they told me when I arrived
in the country. This fruit, in fact, was so plentiful that we used
to peel the pines, and gnaw them, just like a school-boy would gnaw
the ordinary variety of apple. But we had no mutton--not up the
country, that is to say; and we were entirely dependent upon Madras
for potatoes. Therefore, as there was only a steamer once a month
from Madras to Rangoon, which invariably missed the Irrawaddy monthly
mail-boat, we "exiles" had to content ourselves with yams, or the
abominable "preserved" earth-apple. The insects of the air wrestled
with us at the mess-table, for food; and the man who did not swallow
an evil-tasting fly of some sort in his soup was lucky.[9] As for the
food of the Burman himself, "absolutely beastly" was no name for it.
Strips of cat-fish the colour of beef were served at his marriage
feasts; and he was especially fond of a condiment the name of which
was pronounced _nuppee_--although that is probably not the correct
spelling, and I never studied the language of that country--which was
concocted from a smaller description of fish, buried in the earth
until decomposition had triumphed, and then mashed up with _ghee_
(clarified--and "postponed"--butter). There was, certainly, plenty of
shooting to be obtained in the district; but, as it rained in torrents
for nine months in every year, the shooter required a considerable
amount of nerve, and, in addition to a Boyton suit, case-hardened
lungs and throat. And, singularly enough, it was an established fact
that if loaded for snipe you invariably met a tiger, or something
else with sharp teeth, and _vice versa_. Also, you were exceptionally
fortunate if you did not step upon one of the venomous snakes of the
country, of whom the _hamadryad's_ bite was said to be fatal within
five minutes. I had omitted to mention that snake is also a favourite
food of the Burman; and as I seldom went home of an evening without
finding a rat-snake or two in the verandah, or the arm-chair, the
natives had snake for breakfast, most days. The rat-snake is, however,
quite harmless to life.
I have "camped out" in England once or twice; once with a select
circle of gipsies, the night before the Derby. I wished merely to
study character; and, after giving them a few words of the Romany
dialect, and a good deal of tobacco, I was admitted into their
confidences. But the experience gained was not altogether pleasing,
nor yet edifying; nor did we have baked hedgehog for supper. In
fact I have never yet met the "gippo" (most of them keep fowls) who
will own to having tasted this _bonne bouche_ of the descriptive
writer. Possibly this is on account of the scarcity of the hedgehog.
"Tea-kettle broth"--bread sopped in water, with a little salt and
dripping to flavour the soup--on the other hand, figures on most
of the gipsy _menus_. And upon one occasion, very early in the
morning, another wanderer and the writer obtained much-needed liquid
refreshment by milking the yield of a Jersey cow into each other's
mouths, alternately. But this was a long time ago, and in the
neighbourhood of Bagshot Heath, and it was somebody else's cow; so let
no more be said about it.
I fear this chapter is not calculated to make many mouths water. In
fact what in the world has brought it into the midst of a work on
gastronomy I am at a loss to make out. However here it is.