Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

"And do they have any applications?"

"Very very few, indeed; but those whom they admit do, really and truly, become Christians."

These last words of Nobinkissen were scarcely pronounced, when a palkee was brought up to my door, and out of it stepped a Roman Catholic priest – an Italian gentleman, a Jesuit – whom I had met a few evenings previously at the house of a mutual friend. Nobinkissen, who appeared to know the reverend father intimately, related to him the substance of the conversation we had just held, or rather the latter part thereof, and the priest corroborated every allegation that Nobinkissen had made.

"Yea," he added, "we now devote our attention, exclusively, to the spiritual wants of the white man who requires our aid – convinced, as we are, of the hopelessness of the task of converting the Hindoo and the Mussulman to Christianity." And, in addition to the instances of false converts afforded by Nobinkissen, he did not scruple to detail several others of an equally atrocious character and complexion.

THE UPPER PROVINCES

Having seen Agra, its edifices, ruins, society, European and native, and having visited Secundra, Futteypore, Sickri, and Muttra, I journeyed upwards to Delhi, where I was received by Mr. Joseph Skinner, the eldest son of the late Colonel Skinner, renowned as the founder and commandant of the famous Skinner's Horse. Mr. Joseph Skinner's house was, at all times, open to all travellers. He was without exception the most hospitable man that I ever met in any part of the world. At his board were to be met daily, either at luncheon or at dinner, civilians and military men of every rank and grade in the service, as well as native gentlemen of position in India – Hindoos and Mahommedans. Even the young princes, sons of the King of Delhi and descendants of the Great Moghul, used frequently to honour Mr. Skinner with their company. The title by which they were usually greeted was Sahiban-i-Alum, signifying "Lords of the World." But the most remarkable native that I ever met at Mr. Skinner's hospitable board was the late Maharajah Hindoo-Rao, a little, fat, round Mahratta chieftain, with small twinkling eyes, and a countenance replete with fun and quiet humour. He was a pensioner of the Gwalior State, and drew therefrom twelve thousand pounds a year, which was guaranteed to him by the British Government. Large as was this income, Hindoo-Rao contrived annually to spend more than double the amount, trusting continually to fate to relieve him from his pressing pecuniary difficulties; not that he ever suffered them to prey upon his mind; on the contrary, he made them a subject of jocularity. In addition to being as hospitable as his friend Mr. Skinner, Hindoo-Rao was addicted to field sports on a large scale, and kept up a very large establishment for the purpose of gratifying this propensity. He was considered – and perhaps justly, by those qualified to form an opinion – the best shot in all India, and with his rifle he had destroyed several hundreds (some say thousands) of tigers. Hindoo-Rao had another very expensive hobby. He desired to possess himself of the Philosopher's Stone, by which he might transmute metals – a mode by which he proposed to improve the state of his finances and eventually pay his debts. On all other points, Hindoo-Rao was sufficiently sensible and shrewd, but on this point he was childish, if not insane. Thousands and thousands of pounds were squandered by him in this absurd pursuit, for he was constantly the victim of juggling forgers, swindlers, and rogues. His house was on a hill immediately overhanging Delhi, and it has recently been made famous throughout Europe as the position of one of our batteries. Night after night in that house would furnaces blaze, while some impostor, who pretended to have the secret, was at work with his chemicals.

I ought to mention that this Mahratta chief was a near relation of the royal family of Gwalior, and that he had been banished and pensioned for having been engaged in some intrigues against the Gwalior State.

The Maharajah Hindoo-Rao was a great gourmand, and those who partook of his dinners never forgot them. It was not often that the old chief could be induced to discuss politics, but on the occasion of the 41st Regiment of Infantry having mutinied at Delhi – a mutiny which, by the way, was hushed up – I heard him very energetically exclaim: "Ah! if you go on humouring your native soldiers in this way, they will never be satisfied until they govern the country!"

The late Sir Charles James Napier visited Delhi while I was there. He came, not as ordinary commanders-in-chief usually come, with a large suite and an escort covering a square mile of encamping ground, but attended only by two aides-de-camp and a military secretary. It was on the morning of his Excellency's arrival that the mutiny in the 41st Regiment, to which I have just alluded, occurred. Sir Charles reviewed the regiments then quartered at Delhi, including the 41st, and complimented them en masse! The review over, Hindoo-Rao, who was a great horseman, rode up to the commander-in-chief on his spirited charger, and expressed the happiness it afforded him to see an officer who had so distinguished himself in the military annals of his country. Sir Charles appeared much pleased with the open, frank manner and independent bearing of the old Mahratta chieftain, and accepted, on behalf of himself and his staff, an invitation to dine with him that evening. A large number of gentlemen, European and native, assembled to meet his Excellency; and when Sir Charles returned thanks for the honour that had been paid to him in drinking his health, he made allusion to the pleasure that it afforded him in seeing Christians, Hindoos, and Mussulmen on such good terms, and living together in such amity and concord. What a change since that evening, which to me seems but as yesterday! Several of our party, on that occasion, have become chiefs of the recent rebellion, and were accessory to the massacre of English gentlemen and ladies.

Hindoo-Rao died in eighteen hundred and fifty-four. His funeral was thus described to me by a friend who witnessed it: "They dressed up the old gentleman's corpse in his most magnificent costume, covered his arms with jewelled bracelets of gold, with costly necklaces of pearls and diamonds hanging down to his waist, placed him in a chair of state, sat him bolt upright – just as he used to sit when alive – and thus, attended by his relations, friends, and suite he was carried through Delhi to the banks of the Jumna, where the body was burnt with the usual rites, and the ashes thrown into the river."

Mr. Skinner also is dead. He died in eighteen hundred and fifty-five. When I think of him I am rejoiced that he did not survive to be brutally massacred, as his brothers have been; or to see his house (near the Cashmere Gate) which was always the scene of good-fellowship and good-feeling, turned into a battery by the rebels; or the church, built by his father, burned and destroyed by the people who had for years and years paid, or affected to pay, unqualified respect and devotion to his family.

I made the acquaintance of another personage at Delhi, for whom I had a very great liking and regard. This was Mirza Futteh Allee Shah Bahadoor, the heir apparent to the throne of Delhi. He was a very amiable and intelligent prince, and had an extraordinary thirst for knowledge. Amongst other things that he was curious to learn was the history of steam power, railroads, and the electric telegraph. For hours together he would encourage me – nay, importune me, to talk with him on these matters. Apropos of this prince and his family – while I was at Delhi the festival of the Eed came to pass, and there was an omen which was variously interpreted. The King, in other words the Great Moghul, sacrifices a camel. The King kills (or used to kill) the camel with his own hand, by driving a spear into the breast of the animal. On the occasion to which I now refer, the King, being extremely old and feeble, was assisted by two attendants, and, in attempting to drive the spear, it broke in two pieces. That was the omen. The friends of Mirza Futteh Allee Shah Bahadoor interpreted it as prognosticating the King's death and the speedy succession of the heir apparent to the throne. Others, however, said that it prognosticated the downfall of the King and of his throne for ever. Mirza died about a year ago of an attack of cholera; and it may not be premature perhaps to say that the throne of the Great Moghul will not in future be recognised. There was another curious prophecy connected with the throne of Delhi, and current for many years in the Punjab. It was implicitly believed that the Sikh soldiery would one day or other, and before long, sack Delhi; and, in eighteen hundred and forty-five, when the Sikh army crossed our frontier, Delhi was its destination. This prophecy has to some extent been fulfilled. The Sikh soldiers have tasted of the plunder of Delhi. But who could ever have dreamed that their entry into the city of the Great Moghul would be in company with British soldiers? It is as though, and quite as incredible as if, some one had predicted in eighteen hundred and sixteen that, in eighteen hundred and fifty-five, the Queen of England, a grand-daughter of George III., would be a guest at the Tuileries of an Emperor of the French, and a nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte; and that such Queen would be led upon the arm of such Emperor to visit the tomb of the Prisoner of St. Helena.

After leaving Delhi I crossed over to Meerut, which was then, as it always has been since its formation, the favourite station in the Upper Provinces of India. In eighteen hundred and forty-six and forty-seven there were as many as ten thousand troops quartered at Meerut, including two regiments of British foot, a regiment of dragoons, and three troops of horse (European) artillery. Until lately, it has always been deemed prudent to keep a very large European force at Meerut in order to keep Delhi (only forty miles distant) in check; for it was stipulated in one of our treaties with the family of the Moghuls, that no British infantry or cavalry, or other European troops, should ever be quartered in the Imperial City or its immediate vicinity. When, however, the Punjab was annexed, the European force at Meerut was lessened to meet the exigencies of the times; and of late Meerut has not been, in respect to the number of European troops, the station that it was formerly.

There are no ancient buildings to be seen at Meerut. All is of European structure. The church, the barracks, the court-houses, the treasury, the theatre, the bungalows of the civilians and military officers, as well as those of the merchants and "others," are all of brick and mortar, lath and plaster; and they were for the most part thatched, so that the Sepoys had very little trouble in setting fire to them. The reason why houses are commonly thatched instead of tiled and shingled, is that the thatch keeps the interior of the dwelling so very much cooler.

While at Meerut I was a guest of the editor of the journal which used to issue from that station, and as my stay extended over six weeks, during which period I frequently assisted the editor in his work, I gained some knowledge of the practical working of the press in the Upper Provinces. I am authorized to make any use I please of this knowledge.

In the first place I may mention that the order of Government forbidding civilians or military men corresponding with the press, was, to every intent and purpose, a perfect farce and a dead letter. On the staff of the Meerut paper were several gentlemen belonging to each branch of the service. These gentlemen not only wrote, but some of them wrote for pay – for so much per column; while the correspondence columns were filled with letters from covenanted civilians or commissioned officers, judges, and magistrates, and their subordinates; brigadiers, colonels, majors, captains, and subalterns contributed anonymously, whenever the spirit moved them. Ay! and frequently the members of the staff of the Governor-General and of the Commander-in-Chief would not only send items of news, but comments thereon; and I have reason to know that this practice was continued up to the date of the recent outbreak, and is still continued. By the way, the late Major Thomas was virtually the editor of the Mofussilite at Agra at the time he received his death wound in the field of battle. The Delhi newspaper was also written for by civilians and military men of all grades.

It was the press that introduced to the notice of the Government many clever and able men, who had no other interest to help them. I could mention scores of instances, but two will suffice. Herbert Benjamin Edwardes, of the Bengal Fusiliers, the "Brahminee Bull" of the Delhi Gazette, and Mr. Campbell, of the Civil Service, who was "given up" to Lord Dalhousie as the "Delator" of the Mofussilite, and promoted to an office of great responsibility. In the last-mentioned paper there also appeared, in eighteen hundred and forty-seven, forty-eight, and forty nine, a series of leading articles on military reform and other matters, some of which attracted the notice of Sir Charles Napier. They came from the pen of General (then Major) Mansfield, of the Fifty-third Foot, and at present chief of the staff of Sir Colin Campbell. It was not to silence these men, who displayed their ability in the newspapers, that they were placed in staff employ, or promoted. On the contrary, I know that they were expected – and in some instances requested – to use their pens in defence of certain Government measures; and that, on several occasions, they did vigorous battle with their former literary chief, the editor of the paper in which they first made their appearance in print. I remember that on one occasion the editor, on being beaten in an argument, headed his admission of the fact with the following lines: —

Keen are our pangs; but keener far to feelWe nursed the pinion that impels the steel.

There are no newsmen in the Upper Provinces of India, nor, indeed, in any of the Presidencies. Whoever wishes to take a journal must subscribe for a certain period – year or half-year. The rates for the Mofussilite, or Delhi Gazette, were three pounds twelve shillings per annum, or two pounds per six months. The net profits of both these papers, in eighteen hundred and forty-nine and fifty, were upwards of five thousand pounds per annum. With the exception of the Friend in India, when under the control of its original proprietor, these journals of the North-West were by far the most remunerative of any in the East.

There was a native newspaper published at Meerut, called the Jam-i-Jumsheed, which title signifies a bowl or glass, into which if you look, you will see what transpires in the whole world. The history of this paper is very curious.

It was founded without the knowledge, privity, or consent of the conductor of the European journal, by the head pressman, of his establishment, who was a Brahmin. The editor of this native print, which was lithographed in the Oordoo language, was the moonshee of the English press at Meerut. He was well skilled in English, and his chief employment was translating the native correspondence. Having constant access to the desks of the compositors, this press moonshee acquired a knowledge of every item of news furnished by European as well as native correspondents, and of this knowledge he failed not to avail himself. This, however, was but a small evil, comparatively. Unknown to the conductor of the Meerut paper, a much greater evil arose from the publication of the native print. Availing himself of such sources of information, its editor seized the views of his employer – views intended only for European eyes, and gave his own version of them to his readers in the Hindoostanee language; and, what was equally mischievous, he published quantities of matter which the conductor of the Meerut paper thought proper to suppress after it was set up in type. These were the morsels in which the native editor took most delight. A single instance will suffice. The following appeared in the leading columns of the Jam-i-Jumsheed, the facts having been kept out of the columns of the Meerut paper, at the instance of the friends of the gentleman who was guilty of the indiscretion: -

An act of retributive justice has just been committed by the worthy magistrate of this district. It was supposed that an escaped convict from the jail was secreted in a village about four miles distant from this cantonment. In the dead of the night, the magistrate, at the head of a large body of police, visited the village, aroused the inhabitants from their slumbers, and demanded the culprit. The villagers denied any knowledge of him. The magistrate, with characteristic kindness and consideration, gave them half-an-hour to make up their minds. At the expiration of that time, as the culprit was not produced, he set fire to the village. In those flames, which illuminated the country for miles round, thirteen lives were sacrificed; namely, those of three men, four women, and six children. One of the unfortunate women was in labour at the time. Some malicious natives in the neighbourhood of Meerut give out that the Sahib has been notoriously mad for several years past. Let us hope, however, that the Lieutenant-Governor will not heed such insinuations, but after complimenting the magistrate on his vigour and his zeal, appoint him to the first judgeship that may become vacant. No less than six hundred persons are, by this fire, rendered homeless beggars. But what of that? Must justice be obstructed?

It remains for us to add that the escaped convict of whom the magistrate was in search, has been in Oude for the past month, and that no notice of this affair will appear in any of the papers printed in English and edited by the Sahib Logue. Those gentlemen are far too modest to make known the manifest blessings which arise out of British rule in India.

For upwards of a year and a-half the native paper went on filching news, and writing in the above strain. At length the conductor of the Meerut journal was furnished with some information which led to his discharging his employées, the head pressman and the moonshee, and breaking up their journal, the Jam-i-Jumsheed. And more than this was done. The danger of permitting native newspapers to be published without any sort of supervision was elaborately, and from time to time dwelt upon by the English editor, and at length the Government was moved to call for a return of the journals printed in the Hindoostanee language in the Upper Provinces of India, and for an account of the number of copies that each issued. With this return and account the Government was well satisfied; first, because the aggregate circulation was so ridiculously small (comparatively), that it was quite clear that the native press had no power or influence; and, secondly, that the tone of the best conducted and most respectable journals of the native press were loud in their praises of British rule, and firm supporters of the Government. It was overlooked with reference to the first point, that in no country, and in India especially, is the actual circulation of a newspaper any criterion of the number of persons acquainted with its contents, its chief items of intelligence, and its sentiments on the most important questions of the day. Let us take for example, the greatest paper in the world – the Times. Compare the number of copies that are struck off daily with the number of hands into which that paper passes, the number of eyes that read it, and the number of ears that listen to hear it read. As to the second point, the praise of the Government of India, it was laughable to hear it mentioned, albeit the subject was of so serious a character. That praise was bestowed very much in the same spirit that Jack Wilkes is said to have conveyed a serious warning, with a humorous grin, to an election mob – "I hear that it is your intention, gentlemen, to take that person (there!) who is interrupting me, place him under that pump, and duck him! Now, if you should do so, no matter how much it may be for his own good, you will – I give you this emphatic warning – incur my most serious displeasure, gentlemen!" They (the native editors) used to wrap up the most bitter irony in the most complimentary phrases, and frequently their allusions, if viewed abstractedly, were both humorous and witty. A case in point. The late Lieutenant-Governor of the North-Western Provinces, a few years ago, presided at an examination of the students of a Government public school. Amongst other questions which his honour put to the boys of the first class was this – "How does the world go round?" The head boy, a very intelligent Hindoo, gave an admirable reply – spoke, as the saying is, like a book. The editor of a native paper, in a notice of the examination, predicted that this boy would come to a bad end for giving such an answer to the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-West Provinces. "He ought," said the native editor, "when so questioned by so potent a ruler, as to the cause of the world's going round, to have flung science into the gutter, and, having assumed the most cringing attitude imaginable, he should have placed his hands together, and then have responded meekly, 'By your honour's grace, favour, and kindness, does this planet revolve upon its axis.'" This same editor once wrote a notice of a ball given by the officers of the Horse Artillery mess at Meerut to the ladies of the Twenty-ninth Foot, on the occasion of that last-mentioned and distinguished regiment coming to the station. When translated, literally, to an Englishman this notice would seem the most flattering account possible; but, if such Englishman took it in the sense in which Asiatics understood and comprehended it, he would, without any sort of doubt, have admitted that it was the most extraordinary and ingenious admixture of satire and obscenity that ever was printed and published!

The same editor, during the second Sikh campaign, burlesqued the despatches of Lord Gough; but so cleverly, that they were taken by English people, who heard them translated, as genuine productions. This was the man who never lost an opportunity of bringing British rule in India into disgrace, ridicule, and contempt amongst his countrymen, and who, eventually, by producing his writings, and having them translated literally, succeeded in obtaining an appointment under the Government worth one hundred and fifty rupees per mensem! The great article on which his good fortune was based, was one descriptive of Lord Dalhousie, on the back of an elephant, proceeding to a spot appointed as the place of an interview between his Lordship and the late Maharajah Goolab Singh. Neither the London nor the Paris Charivari ever surpassed this squib, so far as its spirit of ridicule was concerned, while in point of mischief those European journals of fun would never have dreamed of going the lengths of the Asiatic writer. "What became of this native editor?" may be reasonably asked. I hear that he is now aide-de-camp and military secretary to Bahadoor Khan, the rebel, who is at the head of a considerable army, and, according to the latest accounts, in possession of the entire Bareilly district. He (the native editor) is a Mahommedan, of very ancient and good family; he has an extremely handsome person and plausible manners, and should I again wander in India, it will not at all surprise me to find him in the service of the British Government, and filling some office of considerable dignity and emolument.

I have incidentally spoken of the theatre at Meerut. It was a building about the size of the Adelphi Theatre, and was built by subscription, some twenty-five years ago. The performers were, of course, amateurs, officers in the civil and military services, and now and then an interloper, possessed of histrionic abilities. The ladies were those young gentlemen who could be best made up to imitate the gentler sex. The scene-painters, scene-shifters, prompters, and so on, were men belonging to the various European corps quartered in the station, men who had been about, or connected with, London theatres, and who understood their business thoroughly. On an average, there was a performance once a fortnight. Tragedy was seldom or never attempted; nothing but standard comedies and approved farces. It pains me to think of the last performance I witnessed on the Meerut boards; for, with the exception of myself and another gentleman, every one who had a character assigned to him is now numbered with the dead. The play was The Lady of Lyons. Claude Melnotte was an officer in the Governor-General's Body-guard; his height was under five feet, and his weight exactly eight stone. Pauline was the magistrate of Bolund-Shahur, who was six feet three, and weighed twenty-one stone and some pounds. In short, Claude was about the smallest, and Pauline about the biggest man, in British India. These two died of natural causes within the last three years. The rest have all been massacred or killed in action. Some perished at Cawnpore, and other stations, and some have fallen before Delhi and before Lucknow. And, alas! amongst the audience of that night, how many have since been prematurely despatched from this world – men, women, and children!