Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

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!

There are some matters connected with theatricals in India, in the Upper Provinces, which would strike any gentleman or lady fresh from Europe as very odd. Huge punkahs are suspended from the ceiling, and pulled by natives during the performance. Without the punkahs the heat in the house would be unbearable. Then, there are no boxes, and there is no pit. One part of the house, that nearest to the stage, is set apart for the officers civil and military, and their wives and families. The rest of the house is generally filled by non-commissioned officers and private soldiers. As a matter of course, the greatest order prevails throughout the play, which is usually produced "under the patronage of the officer commanding the station and his lady." The actors are never hissed; but the applause, in which the men always join, is loud, long, frequent, and encouraging.

In most of the large stations, where European troops are quartered – such stations as Meerut, Agra, Umballah, Cawnpore, Lahore – the non-commissioned officers and men of the regiments get up theatrical performances, which are attended by the society, And very creditably, too, do they perform. I have seen a sergeant of the 8th Foot (Colonel Greathead's regiment) play, at Agra, the character of Doctor O'Toole, in The Irish Tutor, in a style and with a racy humour which reminded me more of the late Mr. Power than any actor on the metropolitan or provincial boards in England ever did. And at Umballah, I have seen a corporal of the Third Dragoons act the part of The Stranger in a way that moved an audience, "unused, albeit to the melting mood," in the literal sense of the phrase, to involuntary tears. But by far the best actor (I am speaking of non-professionals) that I ever listened to, considering the range of characters that he played, was a private in the 9th Lancers. I would have gone night after night, to see him in tragedy, comedy, or farce; or even to hear him sing a sentimental or a comic song. He was a younger brother of an intelligent, influential, rich, and deservedly respected London tradesman, whose name is known in every quarter of the world where the English language is spoken. It behoves me to say that these three men (who, by the way, are all dead) were possessed of great general ability, and had, respectively, received a good education.

It is not for a wanderer and an interloper like myself to make any suggestions to an enlightened (I use the word advisedly) Government; but I do hope that when order is restored throughout our Eastern dominions, when the affairs of the country are a matter of local consideration, the health, comfort, and recreation of the British soldier in those hot plains will command more attention than has hitherto been bestowed upon them. I hope to see barracks in which the men can live in comparative comfort – barracks lofty and spacious, and fitted with punkahs, and other conveniences such as are required for the climate, and such as one always finds in the abodes of officers and gentlemen. I hope to see separate sleeping apartments for the married couples, and separate sleeping apartments for the mass of children above seven and eight years of age. I hope never again to see men, women, young girls, and boys, and infant children, so huddled together that those who escaped demoralization ought to have been exhibited as curiosities of the human species. I hope never again to behold white children, girls of thirteen years of age, the offspring of British soldiers, married, in order that they might remain in the regiment.

"Surely," I once remarked to the Colonel of a Royal regiment in India, who made some remarks on the painful topic last alluded to – "Surely this might be obviated?"

"Yes, my good sir," was his reply. "But it would cost this Government an outlay of a few thousands of rupees. A little while ago I had a battle with the Government. I insisted on having punkahs hung up in the barracks, and I spoke in a tone so decided that even the frowsy military board – composed of several very old and feeble Company's officers of the last century – was frightened into something like activity. Well, sir, the punkahs were suspended, and I fancied that I had gained an immense triumph; but I was very much mistaken. It was a case of 'There are your punkahs, and now let your men pull them, or employ the natives to do so!' So that the punkahs, after all, instead of promoting a current of fresh air, impeded it, and served only as perches for the flies, and cobweb-booms for the spiders. The idea of the poor men paying for punkah coolies!"

"What would it cost to punkah the whole regiment during the hot season?" I asked.

"I can tell you exactly," said the colonel: "for I have made a correct estimate. The cost for the five hot months would be under three hundred pounds; and by laying out this sum the Government would save some three thousand or four thousand pounds a-year, at the very least."

"How so?"

"Many men cannot bear the heat of these barrack rooms, crowded as they are, and left without punkahs. The consequence is, that they become ill, go into hospital and die there, or spend the greater part of their time there. I should say that if the men had better accommodation, and the same means as we officers have of keeping their apartments cool, we should save in every regiment fifty lives annually. Now, every recruit who comes from home and joins a regiment in the Upper Provinces, to fill up a death or casualty in the ranks, costs the Indian Government a hundred and ten pounds sterling. I have pointed all this out; but it is of no use."

"I would report it to the Horse Guards," said I.

"I did so, two years ago."

"And what did the Horse Guards say in reply to your statements?"

"Precisely what the learned world said of poor George Primrose's paradoxes – they said nothing. They treated them with dignified silence, and perhaps contempt. However, I did not stop there. I went further."

"You addressed the Throne, or Prince Albert?"

"No; I did not go so far as that. We had just got the Albert hat out, and after a careful examination of it, I came to the conclusion that his Royal Highness would hardly be disposed to give much ear to my complaint touching the discomfort of the British troops in India. But I wrote to an elder brother of mine, who represents a borough in Parliament, and I begged of him to bring under the notice of the House of Commons the condition of the British soldier in India, and move for a report of the officers in command of the various regiments doing duty in this country."

"And he did so, I hope?"

"Not he. He wrote to me to say that he had never spoken in the House, and never intended doing so, as he had not the faintest ambition to become a public orator; but that he had shown my letter to several friends of his (members of Parliament), who would only be too glad of an opportunity of bringing themselves into notice; and that they, one and all, blew upon it, remarking that the condition of the British soldier in any part of the world was a frightful bore; but that the condition of the British soldier in the East was a bore utterly beyond toleration. 'My dear George,' (he went on to say to me), 'your story would only be received with an ironical hear, hear! followed by a series of coughs, as though the subject had given the House a sudden chill and a very bad cold. Even that garrulous goose, Jamsey, to whom (in despair, and in order to oblige you) I showed your letter – even Jamsey, who is always ready to talk for hours about everything or anybody, shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, sighed, lifted up his hands, groaned, It won't do, and left me. Find out some indigo-planter who has been, or is supposed to be, guilty of some sort of oppression towards a sable cultivator of the soil, and we will pretty soon grind his bones to make our bread, my boy; but, for Heaven's sake, and the sake of the House of Commons, don't inflict upon us your British soldiers."

To leave the colonel, and express my further hopes – I hope to see in every large station throughout India two Christian churches erected – one for the Protestants and another for the Roman Catholics. Both erected at the expense of the Government. I hope to see, also, in every large station, a library to which every soldier, at stated hours, shall have access. I hope to see soldiers' gardens – such as the late Sir Henry Lawrence recommended – in which the men may, when they feel disposed, work, or amuse themselves in the cold season. I hope to see a theatre in every large station built and kept in repair, not by subscription from the poor men, but at the cost of the State. I hope, in fact to see the British soldier in the East – not petted, pampered, and made a fuss of, but made as sensibly comfortable as the climate in which he serves will admit of his being made. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, never to see brave men put into such a barrack as that at Loodianah, which fell in upon, and buried in its ruins, the remnant of her Majesty's 50th Regiment of Foot: one of the most gallant regiments in the Army List. They went into the field, during the first Sikh campaign, nine hundred strong. Nine hundred bright bayonets glittered in the sun as they marched away to give the foe (in the words of Lord Gough) "a taste of cold stale." They were at Moodkee, Ferozeshah, Aliwal, and Sobraon. Out of that nine hundred, only three hundred returned to quarters in March, eighteen hundred and forty-six. In three months, six hundred had fallen in battle! The campaign over, they were quartered at Loodianah, and placed in barracks which had been frequently reported rotten, unsound, and dangerous. But of this report – though forwarded by the Commander-in-chief – the military board took no notice. The consequence was, that in a dust-storm on the night of the twenty-first of May, ten years ago, the barracks came down! Beneath that mass of dust and smoke, and unburnt bricks, lay all the men, women, and children, left to represent the glorious 50th Regiment of Foot! Beneath that mass were the heroes who had escaped the carnage of the battle-fields in which three to one of the Regiment had died! Fifty-one men, eighteen women, and twenty-nine children, were killed by the fall of those barracks; one hundred and twenty-six men, thirty-nine women, and thirty-four children, were badly wounded – many maimed and disfigured for life! Well might the Colonel of that regiment cry aloud, "My God! there is no 50th left! The enemy did its worst; but it is the Company Bahadoor that has given us the finishing blow!"

The English reader may possibly doubt the accuracy of these details; but there is a huge grave at Loodianah containing the bones of those men, women, and children of the 50th; and scores of officers still live to bear testimony to the truth of my assertions in respect to this horrible catastrophe.

The engineer at Loodianah was written to by the secretary of the Military Board, and asked why he had not made a report of the state of the barracks which had fallen in? He replied that he had written three letters on the subject, and that his predecessor in office had written seven; and the foolish man was stupid enough to ransack the records of his office, and "had the honour to transmit for information of the Board copies of these documents." For this absurd effort of memory, and ridiculous attempt to clear himself of blame, he was removed from his appointment, and sent to do duty with the Sappers and Miners – a sort of very severe punishment in the East for any engineer officer guilty of an indiscretion.

CHURCHYARDS, ETC

I cannot leave Meerut without taking the reader to the churchyard of that station.

An Indian churchyard presents a very different aspect to a churchyard in England or elsewhere. The tombs for the most part are very much larger. When first erected or newly done up they are as white as snow, formed, as they are generally, of chunam (plaster), which somewhat resembles Roman cement; but after exposure to only one rainy season and one hot weather, they become begrimed and almost black. The birds flying from structure to structure carry with them the seeds of various plants and herbs, and these if not speedily removed take root and grow apace. A stranger wandering in the churchyard of Meerut might fancy that he is amidst ruins of stupendous antiquity, if he were not aware of the fact that fifty years have scarcely elapsed since the first Christian corpse was deposited within those walls which now encircle some five acres of ground, literally covered with tombs, in every stage of preservation and decay. I was conducted in my ramble through the Meerut churchyard by an old and very intelligent pensioner, who had originally been a private in a regiment of Light Dragoons. This old man lived by the churchyard, that is to say, he derived a very comfortable income from looking after and keeping in repair the tombs of those whose friends are now far away; but whose thoughts nevertheless still turn occasionally to that Christian enclosure in the land of heathens and idolaters.

"I get, sir, for this business," said the old man, pointing with his stick to a very magnificent edifice, "two pounds a year. It is not much, but it is what I asked, and it pays me very well, sir. And if you should go back to England, and ever come across any of her family, I hope, sir, you will tell them that I do my duty by the grave; not that I think they have any doubt of it, for they must know – or, leastways, they have been told by them they can believe – that if I never received a farthing from them I would always keep it in repair, as it is now. God bless her, and rest her soul! She was as good and as beautiful a woman as ever trod this earth."

"Who was she?"

"The wife of an officer in my old regiment, sir. I was in her husband's troop. He's been out twice since the regiment went home, only to visit this grave; for he has long since sold out of the service, and is a rich gentleman. The last time he came was about five years ago. He comes what you call incog.; nobody knows who he is, and he never calls on anybody. All that he now does in this country is to come here, stop for three days and nights, putting up at the dâk bungalow, and spending his time here, crying. It is there that he stands, where you stand now, fixing his eyes on the tablet, and sometimes laying his head down on the stone, and calling out her name: 'Ellen! Ellen! My own dear Ellen!' He did love her, surely, sir."

"Judging from the age of the lady, twenty-three, and the date of her death, he must be rather an old man now."

"Yes, sir. He must be more than sixty; but his love for her memory is just as strong as ever. She died of a fever, poor thing. And for that business," he again pointed with his stick to a tomb admirably preserved, "I used to get two pounds ten shillings a-year. That is the tomb of a little girl of five years old, the daughter of a civilian. The parents are now dead. They must be, for I have not heard of 'em or received anything from 'em for more than six years past."

"Then who keeps the tomb in repair?"

"I do, sir. When I am here, with my trowel and mortar, and whitewash, why shouldn't I make the outside of the little lady's last home on earth as bright and as fair as those of her friends and neighbours? I have a nursery of 'em, as I call it, over in yonder corner – the children's corner. Some of 'em are paid for, others not; but when I'm there doing what's needful, I touch 'em up all alike, bless their dear little souls. And somehow or other every good action meets its own reward, and often when we least expect it. Now, for instance, sir, about three years and a half ago, I was over there putting the nursery in good order, when up comes a grey-headed gentleman, and looks about the graves. Suddenly he stopped opposite to one and began to read, and presently he took out his pocket handkerchief and put it to his eyes.

"'Did you know that little child, sir?' said I, when it was not improper to speak. 'Know it?' said he, 'yes. It was my own little boy.' 'Dear me, sir!' I answered him. 'And you are, then, Lieutenant Statterleigh?' 'I was,' said he; 'but I am now the colonel of a regiment that has just come to India, and is now stationed at Dinapore. But tell me, who keeps this grave in order?' 'I do, sir,' says I. 'At whose expense?' says he. 'At nobody's, sir,' says I. 'It is kept in order by the dictates of my own conscience. Your little boy is in good company here; and while I am whitening the tombs of the other little dears, I have it not in my heart to pass by his without giving it a touch also.' Blest if he didn't take me to the house where he was staying, and give me five hundred rupees! That sort of thing has happened to me more than five or six times in my life, not that I ever hope or think of being paid for such work and labour when I am about it."

"That must have been a magnificent affair," said I, pointing to a heap of red stone and marble. "But how comes it in ruins?"

"It is just as it was left, sir. The lady died. Her husband, a judge here, took on terribly; and ordered that tomb for her. Some of the stone was brought from Agra, some from Delhi; but before it was put together and properly erected, he married again, and the work was stopped. I was present at the funeral. There was no getting him away after the service was over, and at last they had to resort to force and violence – in fact, to carry him out of the yard. But the shallowest waters, as the proverb says, sir, always make the most noise, while those are the deepest that flow on silently. Yonder is a funny tomb, sir," continued the old man, again pointing with his stick. "There! close to the tomb of the lady which I first showed you."

"How do you mean funny?" I asked, observing nothing particular in the structure.

"Well, sir, it is funny only on account of the history of the two gentlemen whose remains it covers," replied the old man, leading me to the tomb. "One of these young gentlemen, sir, was an officer – a lieutenant – in the Bengal Horse Artillery; the other was an ensign in a Royal Regiment of the Line. There was a ball, and by some accident that beautiful lady of our regiment had engaged herself to both of them for the same dance. When the time came, both went up and claimed her hand. Neither of them would give way, and the lady not wishing to offend either by showing a preference, and finding herself in a dilemma, declined to dance with either. Not satisfied with this, they retired to the verandah, where they had some high words, and the next morning they met, behind the church there, and fought a duel, in which both of them fell, mortally wounded. They had scarcely time to shake hands with one another when they died. In those days matters of the kind were very easily hushed up; and it was given out, though everybody knew to the contrary, that one had died of fever and the other of cholera, and they were both buried side by side in one grave; and this tomb was erected over them at the joint expense of the two regiments to which they belonged. I get ten rupees a year for keeping this grave in order."

"Who pays you?"

"A gentleman in Calcutta, a relation of one of them. I'll tell you what it is, sir. This foolish affair, which ended so fatally, sowed the seeds of the fever that carried off that beautiful and good woman yonder. She was maddened by the thought of being the cause of the quarrel in which they lost their lives. I knew them both, sir, from seeing them so often on the parade ground and at the band-stand; very fine young men they were, sir. Yes; here they sleep in peace."

"Whose tombs are those?" I asked, pointing to some two or three hundred which were all exactly alike, and in three straight lines; in other words, three deep.

"Those are the tombs of the men of the Cameronians, sir. These graves are all uniform, as you observe. Fever made sad havoc with that regiment. They lost some three companies in all. Behind them are the tombs of the men of the Buffs, and behind them the tombs of the men of other Royal Regiments of Infantry – all uniform you see, sir; but those of each regiment rather differently shaped. To the right, flanking the Infantry tombs, are the tombs of the men of the Cavalry, 8th and 11th Dragoons, and 16th Lancers. In the rear of the Cavalry are the tombs of the Horse and Foot Artillerymen – all uniform you see, sir. Egad! if they could rise just now, what a pretty little army they would form, of all ranks, some thousands of 'em, and well officered, too, they would be; and here a man to lead them. This is the tomb of Major-General Considine, one of the most distinguished men in the British army. He was the officer that the Duke of Wellington fixed upon to bring the 53rd Foot into good order, when they ran riot in Gibraltar some years ago. This is the tomb of General Considine, rotting and going rapidly to decay, though it was only built in the year 1845. A great deal of money is squandered in the churchyards in India. Tombs are erected, and at a great expense frequently. After they are once put up it is very seldom that they are visited or heeded. Tens of thousands of pounds have been thrown away on the vast pile of bricks and mortar and stone that you now see within this enclosure, and with the exception of a few all are crumbling away. A Hindoo – a sweeper – said to me the other day in this graveyard, 'Why don't you English burn your dead as we do, instead of leaving their graves here, to tell us how much you can neglect them and how little you care for them? What is the use of whitening a few sepulchres amidst this mass of black ruin?' I had no answer to give the fellow, sir; indeed the same thought had often occurred to me while at work in this wilderness. Do you not think, sir, that the government, through its own executive officers, ought to expend a few hundred pounds every year on these yards, in order to avert such a scandal and disgrace? I do not speak interestedly. I have as much already on my hands as I can perform, if not more; but I do often think that there is really some reason in the remarks of that sweeper. All these graves that you see here so blackened and left to go to ruin, are the graves of men who have served their country and died in its service. Very little money would keep the yard free from this grass and these rank weeds, and very little more would make all these tombs fit to be seen; for neither labour nor whitewash is expensive in this part of the world. One would hardly suppose, on looking about him just now, that the sons and daughters of some of the best families in England are buried here, and that in a very short time no one will be able to distinguish the spot where each is lying; so defaced and so much alike will all the ruins become. What, sir, I repeat, is the use of throwing away money in building tombs, if they are not kept in repair? Instead of laying out fifty or a hundred pounds on a thing like this, why not lay out only five pounds on a single head-stone, and put the rest out at interest to keep it up?"

"Or a small slab with an iron railing round it?"

"Ah, sir; but then you would require an European to remain here, and a couple of native watchmen to see that the railings were not carried off by the villagers. As it is, they never allow an iron railing to remain longer than a week, or so long as that. They watch for an opportunity, jump over this low wall, and tear them down, or wrench them off and away with them."

"But surely there is some one to watch the yard?"

"Yes, two sweepers – men of the lowest caste of Hindoos. And when it is found out that a grave has been plundered of its railings, or that the little marble tablet, which some have, has been taken away, they deny all knowledge of the matter, and are simply discharged, and two others of the same caste are put into their places. It would not be much to build a comfortable little bungalow for an European – a man like myself, for instance – and give the yard into his charge, holding him responsible for any damage done, and requiring him to see that the grave of every Christian – man, woman, and child – is kept in good order. But horrible as is the condition of this churchyard – looking as it does, for the most part, more like a receptacle for the bodies of felons than those of good and brave soldiers and civilians, and their wives and children – it is really nothing when compared with the graveyard of Kernaul. Kernaul, you know, sir, was our great frontier station some twenty years ago. It was, in fact, as large a station as Umballah now is. It had its church, its play-house, its barracks for cavalry, infantry, and artillery, its mess-houses, magnificent bungalows, and all the rest of it. For some reason or other – but what that reason was I could, never discover, nor anybody else to my knowledge – the station was abandoned with all its buildings, which cost the government and private individuals lacs and lacs of rupees. You may be pretty sure that the villagers were not long in plundering every house that was unprotected. Away went the doors and windows, the venetians, and every bar, bolt, nail, or bit of iron upon which they could lay their fingers; not content with this, the brutes set fire to many or nearly all of the thatched bungalows, in the hope of picking up something amongst the ruins. The church – the largest and best in the Upper Provinces, with no one to take care of it – was one of the first places that suffered. Like the other buildings, it was despoiled of its doors, windows, benches, bolts, nails, &c., and they carried away every marble tablet therein erected, and removeable without much difficulty. And the same kind of havoc was made in the burial-ground – the tombs were smashed, some of the graves, and especially the vaults, opened; and plainly enough was it to be seen, that the low caste men had broken open the coffins and examined their contents, in the hope of finding a ring, or an ear-ring, or some other ornament on the person of the dead. I went there a year ago on some business connected with the grave of a lady, whose husband wished her remains to be removed to Meerut, and placed in the same vault with those of his sister, who died here about eighteen months since. I was not successful, however. There was no trace of her tomb. It was of stone, and had been taken away bodily, to pave the elephant shed or camel yard, perhaps, of some rich native in the neighbourhood. Looking around me, as I did, and remembering Kernaul when it was crowded with Europeans, it seemed to me as though the British had been turned out of the country by the natives, and that the most sacred spot in the cantonment had been desecrated out of spite or revenge. And it is just what they would do if ever they got the upper hand."