Up the Country

Christmas Day.

Runjeet still ill. Dr. D. has seen him twice, and says, if he were a common patient, he would be well in a day or two; but they are all rather alarmed about him as it is. He never will take any medicine whatever. Dr. D. says he has a little glass closet in a corner of his palace with a common charpoy to lie on, and no other furniture whatever, and hardly room for any. The fakeer was in attendance, and two or three of his coolies sitting on the ground at the door – the old man was asleep with all his clothes on. When he awoke, they washed his hands and feet, and then called Dr. D. in. He thought his voice very indistinct, and I fancy the danger is another stroke of palsy – he had one some years ago. However, he is not much worse than half the camp. This is a very aguish place, and three of the aides-de-camp are laid up with fever and ague. Nine officers of the escort stayed the communion to-day, which is a great many for so unreligious a country as India. It is not irreligious, but people live without seeing a clergyman or a church till they forget all about them.

Wednesday, Dec. 26.

Runjeet has been extremely curious about our Sundays and Christmas-days, and, ill as he was, sent for Mr. Y. to-day, to explain to him what it meant. Mr. Y. took with him translations of the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and the prayer for the Governor-General. Almost all the commandments must have been a puzzle to Runjeet’s code, from the not worshipping graven images down to not coveting his neighbour’s goods. He was very much interested, Mr. Y. said, and his fakeer and Dhian Singh asked a great many questions – the old man seemed very ill.

P., F., and I went to sketch some ruins about two miles off. There is a troop of Akalees close by, an alarming class of people, who make it a rule never to live on anything they have not gained by plunder or force. They have occasionally set fire to whole villages, and Runjeet even cannot control them, so he has incorporated some of them with his guards, but they wear their own dark blue dresses, with quoits of steel hanging all over them, which they fling at anybody and everybody. The other day, at the review of Runjeet’s own guards, a small troop of these Akalees marched past with the others, but all Runjeet’s sirdars gathered round him as they went by, and some of the Akalees abused them, and others called out to G. that they were going down to take Calcutta. They were very quiet with us to-day, but in the morning they had been very violent against Captain X. and Captain P. They are very picturesque.

Friday, Dec. 28.

We had a great fright about G. this morning – one of those sort of things one hates to think of, but yet which leave one thankful all the rest of the day, that matters were no worse. He went to a review of our three regiments, and was to ride a horse of W. O.’s, which used to have a trick of rearing so as to prevent anybody mounting it, but this trick was supposed to have been cured; and as, when once mounted, he made a very quiet charger, G. meant to ride him. Yesterday he showed a little of his old fault, but to-day when G. put his foot in the stirrup he reared bolt upright. G. still persisted in trying him, in defiance of W.’s assurances that it would not be safe. I believe he did not hear them; the second tune, the horse reared, knocked down the syce, and bolted, throwing G. to the ground. Luckily, the one foot that was in did not catch fast in the stirrup. He was quite stunned for a minute, but, except a bruise on his shoulders, was not hurt at all. W. rode home in a great fright for a palanquin, and the servants, having kept the secret for five minutes, could not then resist coming to wonder what had happened. However, we had not a long fright; the guns almost immediately began to fire again, so we knew that the review was going on; and we soon heard that he was quite well. A great many of the chiefs immediately presented purses of money on his escape; and after breakfast some of the soubadars came with their offerings of rupees, which, however, it was only necessary for him to touch. It was a narrow escape of a bad accident, and seems to have frightened the bystanders. In the afternoon he went to a private interview with the Maharajah, where all the treaties and papers connected with the Cabul business were read aloud.

This lasted a long while, and at the end, an ‘istackball’ came to fetch F. and me to see a few of Runjeet’s wives – merely a slight sample of them. We saw the old man just for an instant; he looked quite exhausted – almost dying – and made us over to Kurruck Singh and Heera Singh, who, in his capacity of favourite, enters the anderoon, and I should think must endanger the peace of mind of some of the thirty-two Mrs. Runjeets. He is very good-looking. Between him and Rosina we contrived to obtain a very good interpretation of the conversation.

The room was a wretched, little, low place: five of the ranees sat on silver chairs against the wall, with a great many of their slaves squatting round them, and we sat on chairs opposite them. Four of them were very handsome; two would have been beautiful anywhere. I suppose they were Cashmerees, they were so fair. Their heads look too large, from the quantity of pearls with which they load them, and their nose-rings conceal all the lower part of the face, and hang down almost to the waist. First, a crescent of diamonds comes from the nose, and to that is hung strings of pearls, and tassels of pearls, and rings of pearls with emerald drops. I can’t imagine how they can bear the weight; and their earrings are just the same.

Their immense almond-shaped black eyes are very striking. The conversation is always rather stupid: they laughed at our bonnets, and we rather jeered their nose-rings. They asked to hear my repeater strike, and I begged to feel the weight of their earrings, &c. Kurruck Singh was treated with the greatest respect by his five stepmothers; his own is dead.

They gave us rather shabby presents; a small pearl necklace, and diamond bracelets. They utterly spoiled my new satin gown by that horrid attar they smear over their guests, and then we came away. I wish I could make out how these women fill up their lives. Heera Singh said they each had a little room of their own, like that we saw, but never went out of the anderoon on any occasion.

Saturday.

It is a pouring day. We are encamped in the old bed of the river, and a very wet bed the river must have slept in. I never saw such a quagmire as my tent is. Nobody has been without a cold since we were at Ferozepore, but the sneezing and coughing never ceases now.

Everybody is paddling about in overshoes, and we are carried to dinner in palanquins, and have trenches dug round our bedrooms, which are full of water. G. and I went to the leave-taking in the shut carriage, with Kurruck Singh and A – . Kurruck was greatly taken with my green satin cloak, and made so many hints for my boa, that it was only the impossibility of getting another, and a remarkably bad cold in my head, that prevented my giving it to him.

Runjeet looked wonderfully better to-day. An hour was passed in giving khelwuts to all our gentlemen. He has got a cunning way of cutting off a great many with the ‘Bright Star of the Punjâb,’ his new order. It is worth about fifty rupees.

G. gave this morning the usual khelwuts of 1,000 rupees to all Runjeet’s sirdars; the exchange will be a dead loss to the Company, and will eventually be the death of C. Runjeet’s presents to G. were his picture set in diamonds, with two rows of pearls; a sword, matchlock, and belt, much bejewelled; a pair of shawls embroidered in seed-pearl, and the usual accompaniments – nothing very handsome.

When the distribution was ended, Runjeet said to G., ‘Now speak some words of friendship to me.’ So then G. made his farewell, and ended by saying he hoped Runjeet would wear a parting gift he had brought – that bunch of emerald grapes we got at Simla.

They produced a great effect. Kurruck Singh and Noor Mahal, who were sitting on the other side of me, got up to see them, and there was a murmur of applause, which is unusual at a durbar. Runjeet asked if G. had any request to make to him; and G. said only one more, that he would occasionally wear the ring he was going to put on his finger, and he produced the ring, made of one immense diamond, that was sent up from Calcutta on speculation. It nearly covered Runjeet’s little finger, and it was quite odd to see the effect it had on the old man. He raised himself quite up, and called for a candle to put behind it, and seemed quite taken by surprise; and the gentlemen said that they overheard all the Sikhs commenting on the generosity of the Governor-General, and the real friendship he must have for the Maharajah to give him such presents. Runjeet took a most tender farewell of us; and so now that is done.

Monday, Dec. 31.

After church, yesterday, Runjeet sent his treasures down with his great diamond, ‘the Light of the World,’ which I did not see when the others saw it. It is very large, but not very bright. There were also some immense emeralds – some of those we had seen on the horses – and some enormous rubies. It was a curious sight. G.’s presents, however, looked very handsome, even amongst all these; and the treasurer said Runjeet had had them in the morning to show to his chiefs, and that some of them had advised him to have the grapes made into a rosary, but he said he never would have it altered; it should always be shown as a proof of the Governor-General’s generosity, just as he gave it to him. The ring, which did not cost so much, the Sikhs, however, value still more.

In the afternoon, F. and I went to pay our visit to Mrs. Shere Singh. Shere Singh thought it had been given up, and has been teasing E.’s heart out about it. It would have been ill-natured not to go, and, moreover, we should have missed a very pretty sight. We have never been to any of their tents. Pertâb came to fetch us. The tents are very near ours, and very showy-looking – all red and white stripes.

We were received with a very noisy salute, and all his own goocherras, in their fancy dresses, were drawn up on each side of some fine shawl carpets. Shere Singh was a mass of gold and jewels himself, and it was a fine sight to see him come to the entrance, with all his people about him.

We went first to a little tent, where we left E. and the two aides-de-camp, and which was fitted up very like an English drawing-room, full of plate, and musical-boxes, and china. I suppose the French officers have taught him how to arrange a room; indeed, General A. brought him most of the things. He went into an inner tent, and fetched out two wives – Pertâb’s mother, who is the chief ranee, and a second wife, who was immensely fat, and rather ugly; but Pertâb’s mother was one of the prettiest little creatures I ever saw, very like Jenny Vertpré, but with the longest almond-eyes in the world, and with hands like a little child’s. They were dressed just like Runjeet’s ranees, but were much more talkative, and we stayed a long time with them, Rosina interpreting. I told her that Shere Singh had made me a present of Pertâb, and that I hoped she would let me take him to England. And she took it seriously; the tears came into those large eyes, and she said, ‘You have other amusements, and you are going back to your own country; there are four of us, and our only happiness is to see Pertâb; in another country he would be as dead!’ and then she put her little arms around him, and kissed him, and the other fat wife gave him a hug, and said she should die without him. The mother looked like a little girl herself. They gave us splendid presents, much finer than any of Runjeet’s, and showed off all their own nicknackeries, and wanted us very much to come again, but we march to-morrow. I should like to see some of these high-caste ladies several times, without all this nonsense of presents, &c., but so as to hear their story, and their way of life, and their thoughts. She did not seem at all afraid of Shere Singh, which is very unusual, and I believe does not see much of him.

New Year’s Day.

There! we left Lahore yesterday; we have made two marches, and shall cross the river in four more; and now it appears this post is to go only eighteen days after the last. This is a good day for winding-up of a Journal.

CHAPTER XXXI

Camp, near the Sutlej, Sunday, Jan. 6, 1839.

I HAVE allowed myself my accustomed four days’ rest after sending off my Journal, and it comes just at a good time. We have had only our common marches to make from Lahore, and no break except that afforded by Shere Singh and little Pertâb, who were again sent with us by the Maharajah, to see us safe across the river, and who were by way of being very sentimental at parting with us. I believe, however, our dear friend Shere is as great a rogue as may well be – at least, like all courtiers under a despotic king, he is full of intrigue and falseness, being always on the watch to provide for his own safety. He is also very extravagant, and has to go through a course of constant makeshifts to keep himself afloat.

There are various ways of getting one’s debts paid in various countries. Shere Singh is out of favour with the Maharajah; but the other day Runjeet put a pea on the point of a spear, and told all the sirdars to shoot at it from a considerable distance. Shere Singh hit it at the first shot, and Runjeet gave him six villages; and it is always by some feat of that kind that they wring a gratuity from the old man. Shere brought one evening a beautiful pair of shawls, such as are only made for the females of the Singh family, and gave them to F. and me, begging that we would really keep them and wear them, and nothing was to be given in exchange for them. I am sure we had fairly earned them by having him at dinner almost every day for a month; but, however, we handsomely added them to the public stock, and as soon as a committee of shawl merchants has sat on them, we are to buy them. The melancholy catastrophe of the week has been the death of F.’s lemur, after two days of illness. It caught cold, like the rest of the camp, in that swamp at Lahore, and died of inflammation in the stomach, so violent that no medicine was of the slightest use. Poor little wretch! it was hardly possible to bear its screams at times; though as F. could not stand it, I did my auntly duties to it to the last. It is really a great loss, it was such a clever little animal, and she made such a constant occupation of it, that she misses it much, and is in a very low state. I own I miss it too, and then its illness has been so shocking. It had such cramps, and held out its little black hands (which are shaped exactly like ours) to be rubbed, and cried just like a child. That is the worst of a nice pet. However, they are a great amusement for the time they last, and there is, on an average, at least a year’s pleasure for a week’s grief. A natural death, too, is an uncommon termination to the life of a pet, and Dr. D. did everything that could be done for it.

Moothea, Jan. 9.

We left the Sutlej on Monday, and are halting to-day. Our dear friend Mr. C., of Umballa, laid out such a long march for us yesterday, that all the cattle are knocked up. We rode about twice the distance we intended to have done, which was no joke. Luckily he had his doubts about the villany of the proceeding, and had provided provisions for two days, so that we were able to stop a day. This is a shocking country for robberies. It belongs to nobody in particular, and the inhabitants avowedly live by plunder. Last night they took two pittarrahs belonging to one of the clerks, and beat the sepoy who was guarding them dreadfully. They also robbed and beat a camel suwar who was bringing us letters from Ferozepore.

Thursday, Jan. 10.

We had another very long march, and found on arriving at the advanced camp that there had been another robbery. Some of Mr. – ’s boxes were taken, and some belonging to an officer, whose kitmutgar was cut by a sabre across the chest. The poor sepoy is dead, who was so beaten. The servants are in a shocking state of fright, though it is a little their own fault if they are robbed. At two in the afternoon, one set of them go on with all the stores, wine, grain, &c., and a strong guard; and we have settled to send our precious imperials, camel trunks, &c., by day-light. At nine in the evening, all the plate, dinner things, furniture, a great many tents, and the servants that will be wanted in the morning, go with an escort. If they stray away they are instantly robbed. All the rest come in the morning with us, when there are four regiments on the road, so that is quite safe. To-night Colonel – is going to send the fourth cavalry to patrol the road. These little warlike precautions are becoming interesting.

Moothee, Friday, Jan. 11.

Worse and worse. When we came up to the advanced camp, the servants declared there had been an engagement. I think we are doing more business than ever the army will do in Cabul. Our great battle of Mootheesund was fought in the night, which makes it curious as a matter of history. Four sepoys were guarding a train of pittarrahs. The inhabitants of the village (as was perhaps to be expected) wished to appropriate their contents. A hundred men attacked the four sepoys; the sepoys naturally screamed; the cavalry came up; the hundred men ran away; cavalry, sepoys, and pittarrah bearers all joined in the pursuit; the thieves ran home, and, I suppose, went to bed; and our forces brought off the jemadar of the village, who says he had nothing to do with it, and he wishes they would let him go again.

Budhoo, Saturday, Jan. 12.

We had a nice short march this morning, just ten miles. I am quite able to ride again now, which lessens the fatigue materially; and I believe it is now universally allowed that my horse is entirely faultless. Of course it cannot be so in fact, but it has every appearance of it at present. It is beautiful, and it does not kick nor bite, which all the others do, nor stumble as most Arabs do, nor pull, nor dawdle. I am so obliged to it. I hate a vicious horse, don’t you? and you cannot guess how troublesome they are in this country.

Tuesday, Jan. 15.

This morning we went half-way in the carriage and then got on elephants, to meet the Rajah of Putteealah, whose territories we enter to-day. His son came last night to meet G. He is a fine-looking boy, about eighteen. Mr. E. says that the usual custom among the Sikhs is, that once grown up, a boy ceases to be a son, or a brother – that he becomes an individual, bound only to take care of himself; but the Putteealah rajah has broken through this system, and has kept his son in his own palace, under his own control. Last night was the first time he had ever slept from under his father’s roof. He had a grey-bearded tutor, who never left his side, and an immense suite. Mr. E. says father and son are on excellent terms. The rajah’s procession was beautiful; not so large as some of Runjeet’s, but more regularly handsome, as all his followers were equally well dressed, and their riding was very striking. Runjeet’s men cannot ride at all. Some of the men we saw this morning put their horses into a gallop and then stood up on their saddles, stooping down to the right and left to cut away the weeds with their swords, very much what people do at Astley’s, only there the horses go round in a circle, which makes it more easy. Here, there is not even a made road. Another man would ride up and fire off his matchlock at a friend and then throw himself on the side of his horse, hanging only by one stirrup, till his pursuer had returned the fire, and then he would rise up again and stop his horse with the greatest ease. Two little dwarfs rode before the rajah. We had them here this afternoon to draw, and gave them two shawls, which pleased him much. He knows the rules about presents in the Company’s service, and when he and Mr. E. were coming to the durbar in the evening, he saw these dwarfs strutting along with their shawls on. He asked where they got them from; they said the Lady Sahib gave them: upon which the rajah turned round to his Sikh and asked, ‘May they keep them?’ and then laughed with Mr. E. at his knowing exactly what the English would say. This evening the Bombay extra arrived with news to the 27th of October; all good news.

Wednesday, Jan. 16.

Besides the overland letters, this has been a great day of idle business for G. and his staff. F. and I left the camp at the usual time, and a bitter nasty day it was; a regular thick Indian fog. We rode most part of the way with Captain X. and – ‘Frump,’ Esq., as we always call him, not but what he is rather a pleasant man, but he frumps things in general, and wears a rough coat and stern-looking gloves, and never can see the fun of anything, and his name begins with an F., so I think it very likely he was christened ‘Frump.’ He was remarkably frumpish with the fog, which almost blinded us till the sun rose. The unhappy G. remained with his staff to breakfast at seven, and then set off in full-dress to return Putteealah’s visit. He gave them magnificent presents; amongst others, a horse with a gold howdah, and caparisoned like an elephant, and it sticks out its leg for the rider to mount by just as an elephant does. The little howdah would make Chance’s establishment quite complete, but the idea of presenting it to him has not yet crossed C.’s mind apparently. From that durbar they came on to the camp, and were met by the old Rajah of Nabun, a Sikh chief, and a fine-looking old creature, and he brought G. home. Then they dressed, and at two had to full-dress again for a durbar to this old creature, and he asked G. to bring us in the evening to see his garden, so the gentlemen had to put on their uniforms a third time. Towards dusk, young Nabun (Nabun junior) came to fetch us, and we all scuttled along on elephants to a very ugly dilapidated garden, lit up in an elaborate manner, where the old man met us, but could hardly walk from age. A. and Mr. C. kept charging G. on no account to sit down, as the rajah was not of sufficient rank to receive a visit from the Governor-General, and G. kept declaring that he knew he should sit down at last, so he might as well do it at once. However, they would not hear of it, but kept walking him about; and the old man went up into a garden house to rest, while the son did the honours. Then G. would go up to this house, and then up the steps, A. and C. objurgating him all the while; then the cunning old Nabun asked him to look at the paintings in the room. A. and C. grew desperate, and said the pictures were very improper. G. declared they were very pretty; and so we all went in and found a whole row of chairs, and a select assortment of nautch girls. G. sank down on one side of the rajah and told me to sit on the other, and so ended the advice of A. and C., and Nabun now thinks himself as good as Putteealah. That is the great result of this great measure, and C.’s hurt feelings were soothed by a pair of diamond bracelets that the old man gave me, and which I delivered to him. A large display of fireworks took place, and we came home in the dark.

Thursday, Jan. 17.

A rainy miserable sort of day, but not bad enough to prevent the tents from moving. We had several of the camp to dinner. St. Cloup is longing for our arrival at Kurnaul, that he may vary his cookery a little. We cannot kill a cow in the face of all these Sikhs, and at Simla the natives do not like it; so it is a long time since we have had the luxury of a beef-steak or a veal cutlet.

CHAPTER XXXII

Soonair, Friday, Jan. 18, 1839.

WE halt here till Monday. There is a great gathering of petty chiefs, and our arrival was very pretty. Each man came on his elephant, with a few wild followers on horseback, some with a second elephant, and they all scramble up to G., every individual giving him a bow and arrows, or a matchlock. His hand was soon full, then his howdah was hung with them; the hirkaru behind was buried in bows; then they boiled over into our howdahs, and at every break in the road a fresh chief and more bows appeared.

At last we came to Mr. E., bringing the Nahun rajah. Don’t you in your ignorance go and confound him with the old Nabun rajah. This is the Nahun chief whom we visited last year in the hills, and who is very gentlemanlike and civilised. I have found out why I was so glad to see him again. He has light blue eyes, and after three years of those enormous black beads the natives habitually see with, these were mild and refreshing. They all brought us to the camp in a drizzling rain, which came on to a pour in the course of the day, and a wretched business it always is. All the servants and camp followers look so miserable and catch such bad colds. I thought when we were at Nabun that an old man, a sort of prime minister of the rajah’s, would make a good drawing, and I told him so; and to-day he arrived, having made two marches to have the picture drawn. He gave me his matchlock, which I asked Captain D. to return with the usual speech, that it was much better in his hands than in mine; but the old man said no; it was a particularly good matchlock; he had shot with it very often, and I should not easily find so good a one, so C. gave me a watch to present to him in exchange, which quite delighted him. While Captain L. E. was gone to fetch the watch, the old man took the opportunity to question my jemadar about our habits, and I understood enough of the language to make out that he was asking how many times we eat in the day. The natives generally only eat once, but I believe they think our way of eating at several different times rather grand; at all events, the jemadar did not omit a spoonful, and it was rather shocking to hear how many times in the day we were fed, beginning with the cup of coffee before marching; and the afternoon cup of tea sounded wrong and waste-not-want-not-ish. However, the old sirdar said it was all ‘wah wah’ – excellent, to be able to eat so much.