Indian Tales 2
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February 18 2006 "Indian Tales 2" has
been created as the original The following are the stories on this page #Hill section of Assam Bengal Railway March
7 2008
Revisiting the celebrated Hill
Section of the old Assam Bengal Railway,
one of the few remnants of the metre gauge railroad that once ran from Chittagong Port all the way to Tinsukia Jn. Planters working in Upper Assam, the Surma Valley and Cachar would have had the choice of using this route in journeys from Kolkata from circa 1902 till Independence and Partition: train from Sealdah to Goalundo Ghat, steamer down the Ganga (Padma) to Chandpur, then another train all the way north and east to Assam with a change at Laksam Jn.
This particular trip was undertaken
during the monsoon of 2005, when
the jungle cloaked Barail Hills are at their picturesque best (but also when the line is frequently closed by landslides). The journey from Lumding Jn to Haflong was by passenger train (mostly on the roof!) and the return in the caboose of a goods train. The editor thanks Bharat Vohra, Samit Roychoudhury and Mohan Bhuyan for sharing their experience and taking the photos for us all to enjoy. Mohan points out that the photo of the the famous Doyang or Diyung Viaduct was taken by Alexandre Gillieron.
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July 17 2006 From
the "Aberdeen & District Independent" Aberdeen,
Scotland Thursday September 3rd 1998 City's tea
time Ramesh
flies in to join planters at their annual Aberdeen reunion The
granite city is famous for it's links with oil, fish and paper,
but Aberdeen also has roots firmly embedded in another industry.
Scots played a leading role in the opening up of the forests in
Assam and planting and manufacturing of tea. And
there are still retired tea planters in Aberdeen - many of whom
will be brought together to reminisce times past at a reunion
dinner being held at the Amatola Hotel on September 11. Ramesh
Jaitly, a retired Indian tea Planter who joined the Badlipar Tea
Company in the 50's has travelled all the way from his home
country to meet old friends at the reunion. He says the tombstones
of cemeteries in Assam are full of Scottish surnames. "In
the early days of tea planting the average expectation of life was
said to be six months. If malaria did not take you, a tiger or
snake would. Here they were, the Scots, thousands of miles away
from home in totally alien surroundings, in complete charge of tea
estates." said Mr. Jaitly. He
remembers many idiosyncrasies of the Scots planters, but one from
Stonehaven, Henry Crabb, holds a very special place in his heart.
"Crabbie, as he was popularly known, was not only a
knowledgeable and competent planter, but extremely perceptive with
an immense understanding of not only his management team but also
tribal labour and their ways" explained Mr. Jaitly. He had a
phenomenal capacity to remember the names of most of the
two thousand plus workers on the two Tea Estates of which he was
Superintendent. The workers also understood and respected
him." he added. Mr. Jaitly says he remember meeting Crabb one
afternoon at his bungalow office. "His
bearer had just brought in some tea, when a worker rushed in
breathless and agitated: 'Come quickly Sahib, the Kamjari babu
(field clerk) is going to hang himself'. I shot up from my chair
expecting Crabb to do the same, 'Sit down and finish your tea,' he
told me." Mr. Jaitly says he was confused by Crabb's action
and thought what kind of man could he be to ignore this sort of
emergency. "Crabb
calmy continued the discussion, finished his cup of tea, picked up
his cane, and we walked to the hospital where the suicide was
allegedly taking place," he said. The pair found the Kamjari
Babu perched on a tree with a rope round his neck, and a crowd of
400 onlookers pleading with him not to hang himself. "But
Crabb appeared to be totally unmoved by the whole
proceedings," said Mr. Jaitly. "He just stood there
looking at the Babu, with an occasional glance at his own watch.
After a few minutes he called out to the Babu 'Hurry up and finish
what you are doing, I have to get back to my tea'. The crowd was
aghast at these heartless words. The Babu, however, climbed down
from his perch, came up to Crabb and shouted 'I WILL DIE' . And
die he did, many years later, of cancer." Mr.
Jaitly explained: "Crabb later told me that if the Babu had
wanted to commit suicide he would have done so even before the
messenger had reached us, and if he hadn't by then, he wouldn't at
all." During
his visit to Aberdeen Mr. Jaitly plans to visit the grave of Henry
Crabb and drink a toast with old friends to memories of times
past. ______________________________ July 7 2006 This item of considerable interest was sent in by Venk Shenoi and we thank him
for those who remember the Chinese invasion of 1962
which affected the planter communities in Assam and
Doaars.
There was a round up of ethnic Chinese from the tea
districts out
of sheer prejudice and ignorance of the Indian
authorities.
(same as the Japanese community in California during
WW2?)
These same people had previously escaped from civil
strife in China
following the fall of Chiang Kai Shek and trekked into India
through Tibet.
Many skilled fitters, carpenters and other trades found ready
employment
in the tea estates. Many had also set up dry-cleaning outlets in
Calcutta
competing with the likes of Band Box.
The tea estates lamented the loss of their skilled
tradesmen.
Venk
June 14 2006
Gowri
Mohanakrishnan of Moraghat Tea Estate, Binnaguri West Bengal who
writes regularly for the Camellia Magazine
has kindly sent us an interesting
article and we thank her for taking
the time and trouble to share her very well written stories
with us -
Gowri has a fascinating website and I suggest a visit to it http://seventhchords.blogspot.com/
An April Day
The weather plays a very important part in our lives on a tea plantation. After a long, dry spell, and some weeks to go before the monsoon, we are waiting for rain. But it's a brilliant morning. The sunlight is blinding at even 8.00 a.m. and the heat and glare are harsh upon the malis who work on my lawn. The tea bushes shimmer in the heat haze outside. I finish off with my instructions to the mali very quickly, and postpone my inspection of the vegetable garden to a later,and I hope cooler--hour. That is one area where we never see eye to eye, but today he and I have formed a brief alliance; our common enemy is the heat. I ask him why none of the malis has carried an umbrella to work. The pluckers out in the tea area do. He doesn't have a theory to offer. Time was when you couldn't part the tea garden worker from his umbrella. He wore it crooked into the back of his collar, rain or shine. I escape into my cool room. The curtains are drawn, and there's soothing music playing. The rhythms sound like ice tinkling in a glass of something refreshing. My husband comes back for his lunch break, and tells me what a hot day it is. The heat has slowed the pluckers down. It's rain he wants, and quickly too. I leave him to his 'afternoon lie-back', that great tradition established by planters of old. At about three thirty or so, we come out to find everything changed. The hills had disappeared in the morning's heat haze, but now I see a mass of black clouds in the direction where they lie. Overhead, there are clouds of different structures and shapes. It's as if an artist had gone on a binge in a grey period. Surely we're in for what is called 'hawa-pani' by the garden folk, literally, wind and water, a most inappropriately mild label for what is to follow! In some places, the clouds are already swirling, as if they're forming a whirlpool in the sky. That is something we only see in this season. And soon, the wind starts off. I say wind, but it is like a cyclone. The bungalow servants rush into the verandah, to clear away everything that is in there, from potted plants to chairs and cushions. We're all laughing, now that it's cool and beautiful. It isn't advisable to stand outside any longer. The trees are thrashing about wildly and at any time one may fall. Suddenly a loud crack of thunder is heard and our dog howls in fear. The lights go off at once. Somehow, the electricity just dies with the appearance of a storm. Then we hear it, a rushing sound, as if something very huge is moving towards us. It's the rain, which we can see, like a moving wall of water, before it actually is with us. The verandah is open in three directions and now it seems to be pouring in from everywhere. Strong gusts of wind lift up and carry the water droplets. It's crashing down on the tin roof. We shout to make each other heard. Lightning rips the sky apart in blinding flashes and thunder applauds loudly, often after a stunned pause. I send up a prayer of thanks that there is no hail, only rain. When there's hail, it rips through the tea bush and seals the fate of a garden for the season. Later in the evening, my husband tells me there's been an inch of rain. Is he happy, I ask, to which I get an inscrutable shrug. Planters are a superstitious lot. He doesn't want the weather gods to think he's complacent! Gowri April 2 2006 Alan Wood kindly sent in this fishing story which is DIFFERENT--thanks Alan "Hooking a Bird" Here is a true story of me catching a small Swift (bird) with a fishing lure. On 29th March 2006, my brother, James and I,
(on one boat) and Colin Lamare & Mark Lynrah( on another )
were rafting and fishing the Bhorelli River in Assam. We reached
an area known as Upor Dikhorai at about 3.45 PM. A lot of Swifts
were flying over the river catching small insects or whatever. I
casted a Mepps 4 Spinner towards the middle of the river and
almost immediately I saw a Swift plunging into the water close to
where the spinner had dropped. I saw the bird disappear under the
water. I told my brother and the boatmen about it. As I was
reeling in and at about 25 to 30 feet the bird surfaced at the end
of my line(spinner). At about 15 ft it disentangled or unhooked
itself and fluttered to the bank. Kali and Suresh, the boatmen,
retrieved the bird which was looking very wet and sorry for itself
but did not appear to have been injured. After taking a few snaps,
I put the bird on a branch by the banks. I can't think what made
it go for the spinner. It could be that it mistook the spinner for
an insect of some kind and it's wing or feather got entangled with
the hook or line. The two snaps were taken by my
brother,James(Jimmy) . April 2 2006 Panitola T.E.
1964 Mick writes: Just a little bit of trivia, I recall that "Majbari"
was named after a Marjorie who was related to Guy (and Pam)
Henson, he being the Manager of a nearby garden. Guy I think was
the brother of Lesley Henson, a well known English actor
March 24 2006 We
are indebted to Alan Wood for sending us Below
are some old photographs from Shillong from about 1900
Ward's lake (sometime in
early 1900) Photo courtesy:- Dr Imdad
Hussain.
Biver's Chateau (was
situated at the same site as the present Governor's House).Photo
courtesy:- Pitts Rivers Museum.
Golf Club House. Photo courtesy:- Imdad Hussain Shillong:
No longer a chip off England by
Imdad Hussain MA, PhD “When I first arrived there on my posting in Assam in 1942, I was enchanted, transported:” recalled Nari Rustomji of the ICS on his maiden visit to Shillong. Fresh from Cambridge, he found in Assam’s capital in the Khasi Hills much of the spiritual, intellectual and physical climate he had recently left behind in England. The beautiful houses and gardens, built on the pattern of country houses in England, the Club, once the sole preserve of Europeans, race meetings during the weekends and above all a well ordered civic administration remained etched in his memory. For some years after independence, this delightful little hill station was still a chip off England and many Europeans who had made it their home remained behind. Shillong had come into existence in the mid 1860s. This was forty years after the earliest British settlement at Nongkhlaw in 1826, - “to eat the Europe air,” as David Scott, Assam’s first Commissioner put it. During those four decades, the monsoons drenched Cheerapunjee was the headquarters of the Khasi and Jaintia Hills district. In 1860, the deputy commissioner Major Edwin Rowlatt set his eyes on a “gentle undulating plateau” north of the Shillong range and its peak, and soon convinced the Government that the district headquarters should be shifted there. In 1861-62 two district areas were acquired: the plateau and the lower slopes of the Shillong range down to the Umshyrpi river called the Shillong lands. And the region around Yeodo or Iewduh, to give the weekly Khasi market places (Bara Bazar) its correct name, between that river and the Umkhrah. Work on the station roads, government buildings and water supply, all east of Iewduh, began in early 1864. A large tract was set aside for private houses, and was divided into lots ranging from five to eleven acres. The Shillong lands and an equally large area along the right bank of the Umshyrpi were taken over by the Military for their Cantonment. The acquisition of two districts areas with different names created some confusion: the Bengal Government called it Yeodo; the Postal Department of the Military, Shillong. On the representation of the Commissioner, Colonel Henry Hopkinson, Yeodo was dropped and on 28th June 1866, “Shillong” was adopted. “The new settlement extends throughout its entire length along the lower slopes of the Shillong range, and ‘Shillong’ is as appropriate a name to one part of the tract as another, and is already accepted,” Hopkinson told the Lieutenant Governor, “while it would be hardly possible to impose the name ‘Yeodo’ upon the upper part of the tract.” Shillong was a classic colonial town with its segregated communities. The subordinate or clerical staff of Government, mostly Bengalis, the traders and shop keepers were settled in Jail Road and Police Bazaar, and later in Laban. The Khasis led by the Sawians and Swers occupied Mawkhar. The area around the present Raj Bhavan (Governors House) was the exclusive preserve of the British and came to be known as the European quarters. Here on 1st September, 1865, the first fourteen building sites were auctioned – all brought by serving officers. Others, including a missionary, a tea planter and an English businessman, soon followed and within a few years, some fifty plots were sold. The Deputy Commissioner, Major Henry Bivar, was among the first to build a house, “Chateau Bivar”, as he called it, on the sprawling Lot no 2. The Commissioner too acquired a largish plot on which he got his executive engineer, Major Fitzwilliam Thomas Pollock, to excavate a lake. The Khasis called it ‘Nan Pollok’ (the lake of Pollok); to the Europeans it was Hopkinson’s Tank. By 1874, Shillong had sufficiently developed to become the headquarters of the Chief Commissioner of the newly created province of Assam. Bivar’s Chateau was bought for Rs 26,000 and converted into the Residency (Governor’s House). The European quarters became the hub of British activities. The Club was established in 1878. Hopkinson’s Tank was enlarged to become, first, Elliott’s Lake during 1883-84, and, a decade later, Ward’s Lake. Pollok’s Australian pines and eucalyptus and other trees flourished, and still adorn the Lake and Raj Bhavan. The Great Earthquake of 1897, which flattened Shillong, introduced a new architectural style – the Assam type, Entry of Indians and “any person not living in European style” into the European quarters was discouraged. When Rustomji or British officers before him wrote of a “prettier spot or one more trimly kept than Shillong,” he certainly did not have Mawkher or Laban in mind. As the Capital of
Assam, and briefly of Eastern Bengal and Assam (1905-1911), Shillong
rapidly expanded. Bivar compensated himself by leasing for one and a
half rupees a ridge to the south where he built another house, La
Chumiere, after which it takes its name. The eastern section of the
ridge was acquired by Hopkinson and named “Hopkinson’s Woods”:
its familiar landmarks today are the Loreto Convent, the Archdiocese
and the establishment of the Don Osco fathers. By the early
twentieth century, Laitumkhrah was brought under municipal
administration. A prime plot, “a hill covered with trees situated
on the other side of Laitumkhrah road just opposite the Mission
Compound” was taken over by Father Christopher Becker in 1914 for
St Edmund’s School. In the last few decades, Shillong has
inevitably undergone tremendous changes, but regrettably with a
certain disregard of its heritage. The city today is no longer a
“chip off old England,” but as it enters the first years of the
new millennium, it is its heritage and civic administration,
Shillong’s traditional pride, towards which its
enlightened citizen should turn their attention.
February 18 2006 ON THE MARCH
REGIMENT
ON THE MARCH IN INDIA IN
THE EARLY SEVENTIES By AMC Higginbotham
… Madras and Bangalore 1904 PREFACE AND NOTES At
the earnest solicitations of my friends, I venture to publish a few
of my Indian experiences. I fear that for the general public they
will but dull reading; but for my children, and for those still left
who took part in “The March”, they cannot fail to renew pleasant
memories of a happy time. Nor
is it solely for my family that I have pieced the “march”
together; but as a sort of answer
(or reply) to a military friend who described “marching”
in old times (about the year ’70) as a fearful experience full of
inconveniences and dangers of all sorts; and compared a march most
unfavourable with the movement of troops in the present day: when
they are stuffed into railway carriages and hurried along, as if
their lives depended on reaching their destination in double quick
time! I
grant you in case of war or other necessity the “chemin de fer”
is as great boon, but where time is no object, and where health of
all concerned is taken into consideration, give me and old soldiers
(in general), “The March”. On
the March by AMC, dated 1904 - Notes This
small booklet describing the trials and tribulations of an
officer’s wife moving from one part of India to another, in the
1860’s or there-a-bouts, came into the possession of the
author’s great grandson, in about 1983. His interest in matters of
a genealogical nature meant that could not rest until further
research had been completed into the full background of the booklet
and it is only now, some ten years after he started his researches,
that what has been learned over the intervening years can be put
into print. The
difficulty now lies as to where to start. The author’s details are
fully known in that she was born in 1830/31, and christened Annie
Margaret Fitzsimons, and married on 13.2.1851, one Richard Cormick
Clifford, an officer in the 50th Foot, who had
transferred to the East India Company’s Punjab Army in 1849. She
was married at the village of Oulart, just outside Wexford, just
before her 20th birthday, and is recorded as being “of
Glencullen”. She died in India at a place called Kodikanal, near
Madras in 1904, the same year that this booklet, now reproduced, was
printed in India, as per the frontispiece.
Knowing
now who the author was and whom she married we can proceed to give
further information. Her marriage certificate shows that her husband
Richard Cormick Clifford was of the 10th Regiment of
Foot, in 1851. She finished up as the mother of no less than six
sons. Her first born was to see the light of day at Oulart on the
29.11.1851, after her husband had returned to India for his next
tour of duty. Her second son was born at Mullingar on 20.11.1858,
after her husband’s next leave from India. Her third son was born
at Devonport 23.8.1860 after her husband had returned to the UK,
with his regiment, after duties in India. Her fourth son was born at
Lucknow. 05.11.1862 and her fifth son was born in Darjeeling,
02.11.1867. Her last son was known to have been alive in New Zealand
1878, but his place of birth has not been traced. He is known to
have been killed in the Boer War. From
the above dates and birthplaces it has been possible to follow
Annie’s movements. Her stay in India must have been between 1860
and 1870, when her husband retired on half pay, and they went to New
Zealand. Her husband is known to have died in Lower Hutt, outside
Wellington in 1878. However Annie died at Kodikanal in 1904 so must
have returned to India after her husband’s death, and where
certainly two of her sons had found employment. For clarity sake her
six sons are listed below: 1.
William Henry Clifford. Born at Oulart in 1851, and died at George,
Cape Province S.A. 1941 2.
Reginald Claudius Francis. Was born in 1858. Officer in the NZ
Shipping Company, died in Cheam Surrey. 3.
Richard Thomas Albert. Born at Devonport in 1860, lived in Normandy
married a French girl. He is known to have had a son called Richard. 4.
Charles Claudius, b. Lucknow 1862, died unmarried in London, 1937. 5.
George Staunton, b. Darjeeling 1867, married in Rangoon, 1898 d.
1946.His children presently live in Australia. 6.
Edward Cormack, b. circa 1864, viv NZ 1878, He was killed in the
Boer War. FROM FEROZPORE TO NOWGONG, BUNDLEKUND CHAPTER 1. For
the last three months we knew we were to march in the coming cold
weather; vague and wild rumour was at work as to our destination;
and the whole Regiment had an unsettled feel, at least that portion
which mostly frequented our chota hazri (little breakfast). On this
particular morning, as I sat in the verandah, after my drive,
waiting for my husband’s return from parade, I too was busy
conjecturing and wondering how we would manage to move, self and
three children. – One of them a baby. My husband didn’t count,
as he marched with his company and had his horse to carry him. For
that matter I had my buggy, but that would not hold us all
comfortably, in fact everything was looking very blue, when my
husband and three or four of his familiars rode up to the verandah,
looking very jubilant, all exclaiming in a breath, “Hurrah! The
route has come! We march on the 1st of November for
Saugur, and Nowgong, Central India”. I
may here remark (par parenthesis) that, as a rule, Her Majesty’s
Officers love any change, even from comfort to the extreme reverse.
Here was my poor husband, who had a world of trouble on his
shoulders, - he had to dispose of our home, and its belongings, sell
our horses and buggy, and buy some conveyance large enough for us,
besides tents, etc, etc. even he was wild with delight! Our
doctor, who loved nothing better than wading up to his waist half
the day in a jheel (swamp) after game, exclaimed: “Oh Mrs
Clifford, only fancy two months shooting through the best part of
India, you shall have your pot-au-feu well supplied, and you shall
also have that black partridge feather trimming I heard you wish
for”. “Well on these conditions, I will give you your tea”, I
said. Whereupon our Khansamar, with his attendant sprite the
Kitmutgar, appeared with the said tea, poached and buttered eggs and
sundry other delicacies, of which chota hazri generally consists. It
is a pleasant sociable meal, and is always done ample justice to by
the warriors who have been at parade and barrack routine since 5
o’clock. We laughed and chatted till 8 when the sun, which even in
October on the plains becomes too strong to be pleasant, drove us
in, and the gentlemen off. I had never had such a nice house as the
one we were about to leave in Ferozpore, and I looked sadly round my
pretty shaded rooms, and dismally thought not of tomorrow but of the 1st
of November. I was interrupted by my husband, who came to tell me to
make a “list of property for sale”, as is the custom (and a very
excellent one it is), in these parts. Every
article of furniture, stock, poultry, everything in fact that you
wish to dispose of, is written down with the prices attached, and
sent round the station; and ten to one before the week is out, you
have sold all your belongings- (though I’ve known some queer
things happen “about the bargains” bought from some lists. A
confiding purchaser puts down his name opposite, say a chair, table,
anything you will, in the full expectation that it is sound. When
lo! On delivery of the article the deluded purchaser finds his table
or chair standing on perhaps three legs, the fourth being carefully
bandaged up by the cunning bearer who broke it long ago. Then
follows a correspondence “Mr F. begs to return the table or chair
to major L, who he feels sure, was not aware of its condition when
he inserted it in his list, etc. etc. If
major L is wise he will pocket Mr F’s letter in silence,
and throw the chair at the bearer’s head, and take it out of him
in that way. It happened so in our case (that we had disposed of all
our household goods), and by the dreaded 1st our pretty
home was thoroughly dismantled, the proceeds in my pocket,
“against the road” as we say in Ireland; and we in “light
marching order”, possessors of a few chairs, a couple of camp
tables and carpets, a small dinner service and kitchen utensils,
etc. Our wardrobe was stowed away in sundry camel trunks, chests of
drawers, and boxes, handy for camel transit. Then came the “big
lists “Indents for carriage”, and then also began the grumbling
from wives to husbands; the former wanting an extra bullock cart or
camel for the conveyance of her poor reduced belongings the husband
storming at the heap of rubbish the mem-sahib will take with her. I
silenced my lord by showing, vide the indent that I asked for less
carriage space than any of the ladies with the same number of bairns
as myself. The carriage is expensive;-you pay 5 rupees per mensem
for each camel or bullock gharry. The tents and boxes usually go on
the camels, the kitchen utensils and a dozen or so of the women and
children, the families of servants, travel in the gharries. With the
best intentions to economise, your carriage amounts to as much as
your house rent in the station. My husband got us a bullock carriage
to travel in. The bullocks were a pair of beauties. Milk white, and
they came from Neemuch, a place celebrated for “Bhillies”. The
carriage was “a cut” between a little omnibus and a bathing
machine, on two wheels. Everyone said it was just the thing and very
cheap for two hundred rupees. All
our servants were paid up (no joke), where there were 13 or fourteen
of these creatures expecting “tallup”, and otherwise made
comfortable, with a suit of warm clothes for the march-everything
was in readiness. Everyone
was jolly, it seemed, but me: I was truly sorry to leave our
station, where we had made many kind friends. And now, began a round
of farewell dinners and parties of all sorts, and at last many
touching leave takings; and on the morning i.e. about 3 o’clock,
of the 1st November, we started on our first march, the
Ayah, self, and three children (one of them a baby) in the machine.
The children were frightened, and so was I. We seemed to be in the
ruck of the march, jolting along amongst camels, elephants, bullock
carts, baggage wagons and doolies: confusion of all sorts-all in the
dark. The coachman came from Neemuch with the bullocks, and spoke a
different language to what ayah and I were accustomed to roar at the
servants in. I don’t know, but he either did not, or would not pay
the least bit of attention to our repeated cries of khabadar, aste
jao (take care go quietly) – spelling not included. Oh
how glad I was when we at last pulled up at our camping ground, and
I found myself in our tent. I saw to our amazement our breakfast
laid out as neatly and temptingly as in cantonments, the servants in
attendance, our baths ready, and everything “ship shape2 or rather
“tent shape”. I had never marched before, and could not make out
how it was all managed yet. We had a fine camp equipage, two Field
Officers’ tents, a single pole Swiss Cottage tent, shoulderies or
“tent d’Abris” the latter our bathroom, from which we soon
emerged bathed and dressed for the day. I had given no order for
breakfast, fancying that it would be impossible to get anything more
substantial than tea and bread and butter. Fancy, then, my
astonishment to find the usual half dozen nice little hot dishes,
which “they say” you require to give you an appetite in India.
Before breakfast was over a host of people dropped in to hear, and
tell of their adventures of the morning. The most amusing happened
to our Colonel’s wife. She was riding at the head of the Regiment
with her husband, familiarly called “H.R.H”, (The initials of
his name), when her fiery little Arab took fright at something on
the road and started off across country at racing speed. It was very
dark and poor Mrs H, half numbed with cold, was quite unable to stop
her horse. In an instant most of the officers, who were mounted at
the time, started in pursuit of the fugitive, when HRH shouted out
“Damn you sirs; (he was fond of using strong language in his hot
tempered moods), “fall back, don’t follow, “Gezar” you’ll
drive him wild, leave him to me”. He cantered into the maidan
(field), blew two or three loud notes on a dog call, and as if by
magic, as Mrs H afterwards told me, “Gezar” stopped short, and
quietly trotted back to the Regiment, in spite of HRH’s black
looks, gave 3 hearty cheers for “Gezar” and his fair rider, who
was none the worse for her scamper; nor was she aware she had lost
any of her dress till the Drum Major, a most pompous individual
appeared in front of the party, gravely saluted the Colonel. And
presented to him Mrs H’s chignon, which had been carried away in
her flight! There was a suppressed titter; no one could help be
amused at the scene. Mrs H “shorn of half her bravery”, with her
black hair, the Colonel looking like thunder, felt himself obliged
to take the thing which he had to examine closely before he could
make out what it was, from the stately Drum Major who handed it on
the point of his sword. We were laughing at the picture, when the
“chick,” at the tent door, was raised and Mrs H, the heroine of
the morning, appeared. We were all taken aback. I fancy she saw our
embarrassment for she said: “I know you were talking over my
adventure, come now, confess, you gentlemen have had that laugh out,
which nearly choked some of you this morning”. We made a clean
breast of it, and none of us enjoyed the joke more than Mrs H,
herself. After
ordering dinner, etc. I went out with my husband to see the camp. It
was such a pretty sight: we were camped in a lovely green park, with
magnificent topes and avenues of banyan and tamarind trees: the
branches of the former bend down , take root and form arch after
arch round the giant parent stem. The tamarind trees were full of
fruit on which the natives were already making a raid. I suppose all
of “Her Majesty’s camps are laid out alike, but to me it was all
new; such regular streets, such even squares, would put many a more
substantial town to shame. There was not a tent peg out of place;
the tents snowy white, each line marked out by a bright red flag.
The doctor and his hospital were placed a little apart from the rest
of the camp, as well as a travelling bazaar, commissariat etc. We
walked about sight seeing, and then visiting. There were eight of us
ladies “following the drum”. Each of us were as fresh and merry
as if we had not travelled our ten miles that morning. CHAPTER 2. We
dined early to allow the baggage to leave for the next campground at
about 5 o’clock pm. An hour before starting you see strings of
camels, bullocks and elephants for the sick, slowly wending their
way from the jungle and soon khalassies are hard at work striking
their tents. The cook in his cart of kitchen things is sent on to be
ready for breakfast next morning. The Quartermaster goes on to lay
out the camp; the Surgeon –Major with his hospital: he and his
wife and two children travel very comfortably in an open carriage.
All the world “turns in” early, so as to be able to rise at
“reveille, which is a really trying moment; no forty winks to be
had after the inexorable “taps” go. If you don’t jump out of
bed, after swallowing a cup of scalding tea (which our ayah
presented to us) and start off into the carriage poste haste, you
are liable to be smothered in the folds of your tent, which the
khalassies have been striking ever since the bugle went. We
had been jogging along for about a week, and I was getting
accustomed to the jolting of the machine and the bolting bullocks,
when all my confidence in both was seriously damaged. We were
nearing the Coffee Shop, a half-way halt. The blazing fire for the
boiling cauldrons of tea and coffee frightened the bullocks which
made a furious dash forward, and then down they went on their
knees-the effect of “Gharrywan” pulling them up too violently.
The result was that I, with my baby in my arms, was pitched to the
roof of the machine, and cut my eye severely, baby escaped quite
unhurt. We were soon got out of the carriage. The Assistant surgeon
was disturbed from toasting his buns on the point of his sword at
the coffee shop fire to dress my wounds, and I was comfortably
ensconced near the blazing fire on a pile of cloaks and rugs, and
soon “came to” by the aid of tea and buns. By the way this was
the only time I saw swords actively engaged and really useful, when
used as toasting-forks. Although I was greatly shaken, I remarked
what a picturesque scene we formed. The Regiment over a thousand
strong, with, I suppose, quite another thousand souls in the shape
of impediment, had halted in a deep ravine; the road had been cut
out of rock, which stood up straight on our right with many a
cataract dashing down to the river Sutlej, which swept through the
flat grassy lands on our left. Two roaring fires, one for the
“upper ten” the other at a respectful distance for the soldiers,
sent up their fitful light, glancing now on some bright bit of
harness, sword or bayonet, or mayhap on a tin “pannikin” from
which the men were taking their coffee, and again on jolly bronzed
faces of our friends. The sun was thinking of adding “his”
glories to the picture, and I was feeling very poetic indeed, and
very comfortable when the bugle sounded and my romance vanished into
thin air; but not the reality of the rest of the march. I stoutly
refused to go into the bullock carriage again, and after a little
consultation took possession of a dog cart belonging to my
husband’s Sub, who drove the children into camp. I never went into
that gharry again. Doctor H was so distressed about my black eye
that he put a hospital dooly at our disposal, in which baby and I
travelled very snugly for the next three weeks. We found it so
trying to the two big boys, rousing them out of their sleep in their
tents at three or four o’clock AM, that we put their beds into the
bullock carriage and in it they slept close to our heads outside the
kanaughts (wings of the tent) their chokra (boy) and the ayah slept
under it (the carriage so they seldom awoke till they had reached
the end of their morning’s march.
On
the 1st of December we reached Delhi. A couple of marches
from that city we received invitations to two balls, one of the
_______th to the Viceroy who was holding Durbar there. The other was
from Sindia, in honour of the same personage. Sindia’s ball was to
be on the 3rd of December, the other on the 2nd.
. They were sure to be brilliant affairs, and we ladies were
proportionately anxious to go. But how was the difficulty of dress
to be got over? We held a council of war on the subject. I was sure
my husband would not hear of my box of finery, which was in the very
depths of the bullock cart with the other baggage, “not wanted on
the march”, being unpacked. Most of the other ladies were equally
of opinion that their respective lords would put a “veto”
against their black boxes being disturbed. We were in a great fix,
when in the midst of our dilemma, Captain S, joined our council, and
he volunteered to head a fatigue party, consisting of three or four
able bodied ensigns to unpack and pack again our boxes. He actually
did this for us. Alas! One poor lady found her “robe de bal”
half eaten by white ants. My unfortunate black tulle was a heap of
crumples, with trimmings deplorably squashed. However, the amiable
Captain S, supplied the latter dilapidation with heaps of lovely
pomegranate blossoms, than which nothing can look better on black;
and a dhobi ironed out all the creases, so I was all right. Mrs W,
to do honour to the occasion actually went to the torture of having
her ears pierced, that she might wear an entire “parure” of Agra
jewellery, which Captain W, had given her. They were really worth
suffering a little for; the set consisted of necklets earrings and
broach; medallion paintings on ivory of the different Rajahs and
Begums of Delhi, set in beautiful filigree work and strung together
by fine gold chains. They were very lovely, and very becoming to
handsome Mrs W. We reached the Diwan-i-am where the ball was to be
held about 9 o’clock on the eventful night, thus early, that we
might see the entrance of the Viceroy. The drive to the Diwan-i-am
was in itself a sight never to be forgotten. We passed through a
torchlight procession amidst rows of kneeling elephants, dressed in
their gorgeous trappings, and myriads of gaily-clad graceful
natives; and, at last,
reached the great flight of steps which led up to the hall of
Audience. They were handsomely carpeted and guarded on each side by
native Infantry and Bengal Cavalry. This particular Regiment prides
itself on its horses. - All Arabs of the purest blood; indeed they
did look high bred, and so did their riders, grand fellows,
principally sheiks, their own dress sets them off to perfection. –
a yellow silk “courtee” or blouse, caught in at the waist by a
splendid Cashmere cummerbund, scarlet trousers, great jack boots,
scarlet and white turban, scimitar and pistols, etc. etc. The
officer’s dress is also very handsome, and their helmet, with its
steel spike, gives them a very warlike appearance. The English
troops looked “small” beside all this oriental splendour. The
guard of honour, supplied by H.M. the ____th, waited for His
Excellency’s arrival. We reached the Esplanade, after climbing the
interminable steps. What a sight as met our view! In the centre of
the red sandstone Esplanade glittered a fountain, which sent up,
ever and anon, coloured balls and showers of rose leaves; in the
basin which received this ideal shower, blossomed water lilies and
all sorts of aquacious plants and across the front of the reservoir
(or basin) a gilded fairy like bridge was thrown, where the waters
of the reservoir divided and dashed in a bright cataract down each
side of the steps. Oh! I wish I could describe the bright scene. We
passed into the reception rooms and on to the Throne room, which was
converted into a “salle de dance”, its marble floor was
decidedly bad for dancing, but its covering of white silk made up in
glassiness what it wanted in spring; and the splendid Band of the
______ regiment, made even the Begum of Bhopal look as if she could
dance. By
and by, His Excellency’s arrival was announced by a royal salute
and fireworks and deafening cheers, and by half a dozen bands
striking up the National Anthem. He was accompanied by his brilliant
Staff, and was introduced to everyone, then escorted to a raised
dais at the top of the Throne room where he received the native
magnates. Sindia, the most uncertain he was for reasons of State,
particularly gracious to, descending to the foot of the dais to
receive him. He, Sindia, is handsome, if you will, but too fat and
lazy looking. His dress was wonderful, a courtee of rose satin,
stiff with jewels, white silk cummerbund wrought with gold, white
Cashmere turban, with an immense aigrette of diamonds and rubies;
his scimitar, with its fish head, (the emblem of his house) had
jewels everywhere. The other maharajas were all more or less
striking. The little shrivelled old Begum of Bhopal was the Lionne
of the sight. She is the only Begum who has ever (as yet) appeared
in our everyday world; the high class women always remain within the
purdah. She is very clever, and manages her estates herself. Lord M.
not only descended to the foot of the dais to receive her, but
placed her on his right hand. Her major –domo, Colonel T, was in
attendance, standing behind her, but she did not seem to require his
aid as interpreter. And now the dancing began, and it was fun to see
the mute, astonishment of the natives at our nautch. During the
evening I chanced to stand in a quadrille nearly opposite the
Viceroy. After the dance was over, he sent an officer, whom I knew,
to ask if I would allow him to look at a picture of O’Connell
which I wore on my neck. I was surprised, and not a little
frightened at the request, thinking I might be accused of
exaggerated Fenianism, or some equally black crime, for wearing such
a picture. However, I unfastened the locket and gave it to the
gentleman. His Excellency, after examining it brought it back to me
saying “It was a beautiful painting, and very faithful to the
likeness of his old friend”. I ventured to say it was the memento
I had of my relative. “Relative,”
he said. “May I ask were you an O’Connell? I told him who I was
and felt very proud of the kind things he said of my uncle and aunt,
whom he knew very well. I felt very much tempted in my gratitude to
ask him to keep the miniature of the “Liberator” but somehow, I
did not. I might as well have done so as have it stolen two years
later by a European nurse. Oh dear how that little medallion was
admired during that evening, after H.E. had noticed it. It would
seem that Sindia’s aigrette paled in lustre beside my poor little
ornament! Those who had seen it a hundred times without noticing
were now loud in its praise as “a work of art, etc. etc. CHAPTER 3
I
will not tire my readers with further description of the ball, the
gorgeous supper, etc. nor with Sindia’s ball the next night, which
was a repetition of this one, only more fireworks, more canon and a
nautch which I did not see. I preferred nautching for myself. Some
of our people went to see the Kootab, ten miles from Delhi, we did
not go as we were “killing two birds with one stone” viz trying
sundry carriages which were for sale, and in them seeing the sights
round and about the city. Before night we had bought a comfortable
landau with a capital pair of horses. We took on the coachman and
grass-cuts we sold our bullocks and gharry, so hoped to do the rest
of the march very “comme il faut”. We saw a good deal of the
city of the great Moghul, which was built in the seventeenth
century, by Emperor Shah Jehan. It is rather less than 6 miles in
girth and is enclosed by a machiocolated wall, adorned with a number
of gates, some of rare magnificence. We saw some beautiful public
gardens and an excellent and interesting museum, “Delhi
Institute”, in Chandy Choke. We also paid a daylight visit to the
scene of our last night ball, when I saw that the waterfall on each
side of the steps had been but a temporary arrangement, for “the
bridge was still there, but the waters had gone. We had a grand view
of the immense modern city, and the vast extent of the ruins which
stretch round on every side. I saw several remarkable books, amongst
them an illuminated copy of the Koran, said to be seven hundred
years old. These treasures were carefully wrapped in many folds of
silk, and securely kept in a large chest redolent of “attar”,
and the almost oppressive fragrance of oil of sandalwood. I was
particularly struck by the curious blue tiles which roof some old
buildings; they look as bright and rich in colour as if just put up.
The Jumna Musjid has the reputation of being the finest mosque in
India. The camp was besieged all day by vendors of paintings on
ivory, silk scarves, jewellery, etc, for which Delhi is famous. We
resumed our march before daybreak on the morning of the 4th,
and I felt very grand in my new carriage! The next halt, worthy of
notice, occurred at Secundra, where we saw Akbar’s mausoleum. Its
historical interest, the size of the building, the magnificence of
its architecture and beauty of the carvings, render it well worthy
of a visit. The upper story is of white marble, and the remainder,
as well as the wall which encloses the gardens and the building are
red sandstone. There are many fine trees within the quadrangle, as
well as tanks and fountains. Broad paved causeways lead to the
mausoleum itself through the massive gates which occupy the centre
of each of the four sides. In the vault, below the upper storey, is
the plain unadorned tomb, containing the ashes of the mighty Akbar,
and on the summit of the mausoleum, an elaborate monument in white
marble, beautifully sculptured with Arabic characters, denotes the
place beneath which “he” lies. This latter is enclosed by a
marble screen of openwork carved in various beautiful designs and
executed with marvellous skill. This stupendous mausoleum occupies
about three hundred square yards, and its height is close on one
hundred feet. Scores of parokits (palocorais torquatus) and turtle
doves (turtue tisoria) have taken possession of the gardens, the
plaintive notes of the latter literally filling the air during our
visit. We got into Agra Saturday, and so we had two whole days to
explore its wonders; what luck it was. The Regiment always halts on
Sunday, usually a nice quiet day, but this Sabbath none but those
unfortunates obliged to stay, remained in camp after divine service.
My husband always did “Padre for the Catholics, and either the
Colonel or Adjutant for the Church of England men; and a very
imposing sight it was, the men drawn up in two lines,
“uncovered” with the officer at the head of each line, reading
prayers. I don’t know how it was that both parties managed to
finish their “orisons” exactly at the same moment, so as to
march off with the band, but they always did say Amen together. I
had heard so much of the Taj Mahal, that I felt sure I should be
disappointed, and like many an unbeliever, “who goes to scoff and
stays to pray”, I went.It was built by Shah Jehan in memory of his
wife Noor Jehan, “The light of the world,” in 1656. She was said
to have been surpassingly lovely, and certainly her mausoleum is
surprisingly lovely. It stands inside a quadrangle which measures
one thousand and eighty six feet by a thousand, and is enclosed by
red sandstone walls, with massive gateways of the same material. The
grounds are ornamented with flowers and trees, as well as numerous
fountains. An avenue of cypresses lead from the principal entrance
to the large terrace, three hundred and thirteen feet square, on
which rests the Taj. At the four corners are minarets, one hundred
and fifty feet in height, and on each side of the great structure
stand beautiful red sandstone mosques, which contrast admirably with
the white marble Taj. The shape of the Taj is an irregular octagon;
it is surmounted by a dome, supported by four smaller structures of
the same kind and decorated with a number of diminutive minarets.
The height of the building from the terrace to the gilt crescent at
the summit of the dome is about 296 feet says the author of “From
Calcutta to the Snowy Range” who adds that it occupies a square
(with corners off) of 186 feet. The terrace, minarets and building
itself are all of the purest white marble, which is perfectly
dazzling in the sunlight. It is superbly inlaid with precious
stones, disposed in beautiful designs, and abounds in the most
exquisite sculptured work imaginable. A vault beneath contains the
tomb of Shah Jehan and Noor Jehan, while the body of the building,
enclosed in an octagon oval marble screen, are sarcophagi also of
white marble, profusely inlaid with gems. Some doubt exists as to
the name of the architect who conceived and executed this glorious
work; but it is supposed to be the same illustrious Frenchman Austin
Bordeaux, who constructed the Peacock Throne at Delhi, and who the
natives call “The wonderful of the age”. It occupied seventeen
years in building and cost as far as I can remember the sum our
guide told us twenty million rupees; and cheap at the price I should
say! I then thought of course- I was very young at the time – and
still think, that the man or woman, who has not seen the Taj, has
seen nothing! I did not agree with the Italian, who, having seen
Naples was content to die. Oh no! I wanted to see if there was
anything else worth looking at in Agra, so our party reluctantly
turned our backs on the lovely incomparable Taj Mahal. Some of the
Regiment went to see it by moonlight; they said it was even more
lovely than in the day. One of them gave me the following
description of what he saw: “As it grew dark we started from the
camp, and by the time we reached the Taj, the moon in her first
quarter, was of sufficient brightness to show us the noble outlines
of the building, standing out dimly from under the blue sky beyond.
Its very indistinctness added a mysterious beauty to the already
fairy scene, and as we walked slowly along the solemn avenue of
cypresses, which lead to the entrance of the majestic pile, and
drank in the perfumed air, heavy with odours of Jessamine, orange
and citron, it seemed as if, indeed, we had at last arrived at the
realisation of some of the most gorgeous fancies which poets have
from time immemorial associated with the orient land. Rich gushing
perfume met us at every step.
Many a perfume breathed,
From plants that woke while others sleep From timid Jessamine buds,
that keep Their perfume to themselves all day; But when the sunlight dies
away, Let the delicious secret out To every breeze that roams
about The
old bard of Agra “Mogul Khan” woke the famed echoes of the dome
with his harp, which is of Irish pattern, and on which he plays
admirably, possibly, because I had hoped for too much After
this we lit up the building and beheld it in another phase of its
marvellous glory; while the old minstrel added music to complete the
enchantment which seemed to reign around us. Finally, about half way
down the avenue, we stopped to take another long lingering look at
the exterior by the faint light of the moon and stars, and then said
a sad farewell to the almost overwhelming beauty of the wondrous Taj” We
went to the fort which is conspicuous from the colour and height of
its red sandstone embattled walls. Though in itself, very
interesting form its antiquity and beauty, there are within it so
many buildings having more attractions for the visitor that we
followed in the steps of the usual sight seer, and went at once to
the Emperor Palace and the Motee Musjid. The former is of exceeding
beauty, is now fast going to decay; not so much from age as from the
wanton destruction it has met at human hands. The traveller, as he
passes along its chambers must feel great regret to see its walls so
mutilated and despoiled of costly precious stones which, in its
palmy days, made it one blaze of splendour! Nearly the whole
structure is of white marble beautifully sculptured, and much of it
executed in open screen work wrought in strikingly rich designs.
Several pavilions hang over the river Jumna which flows past the
walls beneath; and these carved white balustrades, when seen from
the water below, are said to resemble the finest lacework. We next
went to a chamber fit only for nereids to bathe in! Its walls are
covered with small mirrors disposed in fanciful figures. In the
midst of the bathroom stands (or rather I should say), did stand a
marble basin so arranged that the water which supplied it passed in
a sort of mimic cataract over the arrangement of blazing lamps! The
walls are so illuminated and the general effect must have been
beautiful. Only fancy what a time the great Moguls had of it, and
now sad to see. That city of delight In fairly land, where
streets and towers Are made of gems and lights
and flowers All going to decay From
the Palace we went to the Dwan-i-aim or Judgement seat of Akbar, a
large hall, chiefly remarkable for its great size. It is now used as
an armoury, in which glittering bayonets and sabres are deposited
amidst banners and flags, with a taste reflecting great credit on
the arranger. We saw the throne of the great Emperor, and the gates
of Somnauth taken by Lord Ellenborough in the Afghan campaign. They
are large, curiously carved and made of sandal-wood. We saw the
Motee Musjid (The Pearl Mosque). This graceful structure, which Mr
Bayard Taylor declared to be “absolutely perfect” rests upon a
massive red sandstone platform, and consists of a corridor, open on
the sides next the entrance, divided into three parts by marble
arches, and surmounted by as many domes. The mosque is of white
marble, totally without ornament, yet so exquisitely proportioned,
and so exceedingly beautiful, that it well merits the eulogium of
travellers. It was erected by Shah Jehan in 1656. CHAPTER 4 After
this I shut my eyes and refused to look at any of the commonplace
things that surrounded me. I was sated with loveliness and not sorry
to resume our march on Tuesday morning. The roads up to this point
were very good, and we spun along charmingly. The Colonel was kind
enough to allow our soldier-servant to stay behind the Regiment to
drive our carriage through the dark. Somehow, I had more confidence
in him as “jehu” than I had in Mr “Jut Put”! At the coffee
shop we generally picked up the regiment, when a soldier “fell
in”, and as it was then about break of day, I was not afraid to be
driven by the coachman. We usually got to camp long before the
Regiment, and on arrival the quartermaster used to send us a
steaming bowl of tea and bread and butter, which kept the children
in good humour till breakfast. Our next important halt was on
Christmas Day; the men had their usual Christmas dinner supplied by
their Captain, and, altogether festivity was the order of the
day-and-night The
wonderful stories we heard of gentlemen losing their way home, and
getting inextricably entangled in the tent ropes, that they had to
resign themselves to their fate, and finish the night amongst the
pegs. We
dined at Major H’s, and I entertained a host of children at a 1
o’clock dinner. We got sundry Christmas boxes, the most precious,
a model in soapstone of the Taj Mahal. We had up to this travelled
over the best roads I ever saw; as smooth as a bowling green and as
level. Now the rough work began. We were marching through Sindia’s
territory, and were, I believe the first Regiment which had ever
passed through unmolested. He had been so Bow towed at the Durbar by
Her Majesty’s officers, that he was in good humour and offered no
obstruction to the obtaining of supplies, carriage etc, etc. but
alas! He could not make roads for us. And the Regiment was more than
once plunged in a slough of despond. One morning, I particularly
remember we came to the banks of the Chumble and after patiently
waiting for our turn we were put on a raft and got across the river.
The carriage and horses crossed higher up where it was shallow. But
the great difficulty began at the other side where a precipitous
bank of yellow clay made slippery as glass by the passing of men and
cattle as they strove to gain the summit; it was almost
perpendicular, and soon no horse could climb its slippery sides. Or
coachman tried to make the horses rush up but they slipped back
faster than they had gone up. Everyone was cross, and amongst the
crossest was the Colonel and my husband. The former came to me and
hoped as blandly as he could, under the exasperating circumstances,
that I had got safely over the river, then aside to my husband
“damn it Clifford, get that confounded carriage of yours out of
the way”. There was, of course but one track which we filled. My
poor husband was bewildered, the unfortunate carriage could not be
moved out of the way, hemmed in by other vehicles and in front, an
impassable hill. I suppose his Company saw his look of despair, for
in an instant before the children or I could get down, they had
taken out the horses and attached ropes to the vehicle and so pulled
us up in royal style. How good those brave jolly men were on a pinch
of this kind. They worked that morning like Trojans, and none, from
the Colonel down to the drummer boy, once thought of going to the
coffee shop, which was at the top of the hill, till every soul was
safely landed on the Chumble heights. It was 12 o’clock before the
last of the gharries etc were over, and then the men had half the
march to camp before them, yet my husband said, not a grumble
escaped the poor fellows: they trudged along, sustained by the
prospect of their breakfast and dinner rolled into one, and perhaps
an extra tot of rum. Another hard day I remember. We had just
reached camp, one lovely morning, when the Adjutant rode up poste-haste
to say that we had better not unpack, or even cook our breakfast as
the colonel had ordered Richard to proceed as soon as the men had
had their breakfast, on a forced march to clear the Antry Pass. It
was supposed to be almost impassable, yet it was the only road open
for the Regiment. Mrs H soon followed the Adjutant to ask us to
breakfast with her and the Colonel, and so save the poor servants
the trouble, for they had of course to trudge along as well as
ourselves. Our horses got an extra feed, and by 11 o’clock AM, we
were again on the road, my husband in command of, I don’t know how
many tired men, and a party of sappers and miners to cut our way
through the rocky ravines which the scout had told us, were almost
insurmountable obstacles for foot passengers let alone cumbersome
gharries, in which the married men’s families travelled. They are
curious conveyances; a long cart (without springs) roofed and
thatched with straw, with a door in the side and windows generally
curtained. These vehicles hold perhaps a couple of women and a dozen
or so children. They are drawn by a pair of bullocks. These were
terrible things to get through the pass. For sometime we travelled
through low swampy grass lands and at length reached the entrance to
the pass, which consisted of a narrow stony defile; so narrow that
the greatest care had to be taken so that no carriages were steered
exactly in the centre of the track, for if a wheel once came in
contact with the beetling rocks it was almost impossible to
extricate it; as it was, one unlucky garry stuck. It could only be
got out with the loss of its wheel. At the other side of this crabb
place we found the Quartermaster and his family, with all the
commissariat arrangements at a standstill. He could not get them up
the steep hill which was in front. It really was a frightful looking
place! Fancy a rough road cut straight out of the side of a rocky
mountain, with flights of stone steps for carts and carriages of all
sorts to get up, with here and there a terrace or plateau to rest
on! This road was very narrow, and one side yawned a steep ravine
with a roaring river below. No wonder my husband sounded “the
halt” and let the men rest for an hour, having their dinners, in
order to recruit their strength for the work that was before them.
The natives are wretched creatures where anything like physical
force is required of them, and were worse than useless for helping
up the baggage; besides they had enough to do to look after their
bullocks, elephants, camels etc, and so the poor soldiers had plenty
on their hands. They had to pull, propel and use all their cunning
to keep the garry which had gained a few yards of ascent from
running backwards, or perhaps falling over the cliff; while the
officers were here there and everywhere ordering shouting and
occasionally using their whips or the flats of their swords on the
lazy natives. As for the children and myself, we had a comfortable
dinner with the quartermaster’s people, and quietly waited till
the ascent was a little clear, when we all walked up the hill, the
carriage getting on as it could. By this time I had learned to have
limited confidence in the coachman who steered, and the grass cuts
ran at each side of the horses’ heads as they scrambled up like
cats. My husband got great kudos for the way he brought the baggage
through; not an accident, except for the loss of one wheel. Those
who were not too tired to take in anything “but grog” when they
reached the summit had their reward in the glorious view of the
sweeping plains at our feet, stretching away as far as the eye could
reach; and best of all, a near view of our camping ground which we
soon reached- a weary party thoroughly tired out. Here again the men
had to put their shoulders to the wheel and help up the tents. It is
marvellous how quickly it is accomplished and how soon the howling
wilderness is changed into a bustling canvas town; everyone in his
place, everyone at work, except the mem sahibs, who really have
nothing to do but look on. In
time we reached Jhansi, where the Regiment was to divide. The Head
quarters to branch off to Saugur and the left wing under my
husband’s control to proceed to Nowgong. One of the officers of
the Regiment had done marvels of bravery at Jhansi Fort during the
Mutiny, so it was an object of great interest of ours and major C,
fought his battles o’er again acting as cicerone to his brother
officers. A
halt of two or three days- such a busy time for my husband, having
his little band properly handed over to him. At last we started, me
– only lady, my husband, his adjutant, two Subs, and a doctor.
(The one who had promised and right royally kept his word to supply
my pot au feu – not forgetting the feather trimming). Such
Perigord pies as we used to rejoice in, game of all sorts became
monotonous as toujour Perdis. At our table viz: hares, nilghai, blue
rock pigeon, black partridges, quail, boar’s heads, venison, wild
duck – all sorts of good things! My husband’s wing got on
gallantly – a right merry little party. By this time we never
thought of such luxury as a road, we went right across country. One
morning Mr AB H, was riding beside my carriage, we were making the
most of a good level, and he was cantering along when on a sudden,
he all but disappeared into a well, which was partially covered with
bushes. The horse’s hind legs went in. How he managed to get them
up again was a marvel. Everyone who knows India will remember what
nasty things these wells are; generally flush with the ground, with
no protection to hinder the unwary from walking into them. They are
awfully deep. I remember in Lucknow, there was one such in our
compound into which the dhobi’s wife, who was in the act of
fighting with her “caro sposo” accidentally, fell. Fortunately
she went in feet foremost, and arrived at the bottom, standing and
unhurt. I believe the husband had some intentions of leaving her
there, until my husband attracted by the row and splash, went out
and made the irate dhobi get into a basket and had him hurried down
to rescue his Ophelia. It was droll to see the dripping pair ascend,
clasping each other in the frail car! It proved a nuisance to the
Bhisti (water carrier), however, for we could not relish the water
from that well for a long time, and he had to go a distance for it. On
the twelfth day we halted in a lovely part of the country, in a tope
of magnificent trees. Our doctor went out to shoot, intending to
have a fine haunch of venison for the twelfth day dinner. I was to
dine at mess on that day occasion. Being the only lady in camp they
would not let me dine alone, as they made it a point that the
Commanding Officer (my husband) should dine at Mess in honour of the
day. So the doctor went out to shoot, but instead of a black buck,
he wounded a gentle Hindu and came home followed by irate natives
carrying the girl with them, all vowing vengeance against the Doctor
Sahib. He examined the wound, which was a mere trifle, and pacified
the clamorous crowd with a few rupees. The poor doctor, who was the
most humane man, was greatly put out on account of the mischance,
and because there was a rumour amongst the servants that we had not
seen the last of the girl’s family, that they would return and
worry in hopes of extracting more rupees. However festivities of the
evening were not interrupted and the dinner was excellent, without
haunch and pasty and long after I had retired I could hear their
merry songs. Our tent was close to that of the Mess, and by and by
the doctor’s spirits returned to judge by the zest with which he
proclaimed in the words of Dibdin. “This day a stag must
die”. Ah
dear, I have echoes of those, and a thousand other merry, happy days
before me, as I write in dreary days too bright to last – days
when my husband was the life and darling of his Regiment, and when
as the old Irish saying is “we lived every day of our lives”. But
I must not grumble although the climate is enough to put a damper on
the brightest spirits. Our march was nearly over; we had but one
exceedingly bad river to cross, and hie for Nowgong, Bundlekund,
Central India. It was a bad ford full of stones and holes. Baby and
I were put into a Dooley placed on the bearer’ heads, so stemmed
the torrent safely. My biggest boy insisted on mounting on a
soldier’s back to cross. Judge of my horror to see both the man
and the boy disappear under water, my boy clinging to him like grim
death. They were up, however, in a minute or two neither of them
worse for their ducking. It was terrible work to get the married
Hackeries as they were called, over the ford. Bullocks beat mules by
chalks in obstinacy, and as a rule, go to the left where their
drivers mean to lead them to the right. Imagine then, what a task it
was to keep them clear of holes and boulders; the hackeries were
such top heavy things that they were liable to upset and if they
went on their side that had the door, the occupants were in danger
of being smothered before they could be got out. So the men waded up
to their waists to keep them straight. At
our halt at Doolia, two marches from Nowgong, the Rajah came in
great state to salaam and invited the detachment to a wild boar
hunt, and a very exciting affair it was. The Rajah sent me the head;
he further sent his Band (a ragamuffin lot) to play us out of his
territory. The day after the Band of the 77th played us
into Nowgong, and my first march was at an end. I
was very sorry, and felt all the cares of civilized life began to
thicken around me. The march was like a long sea voyage, when you
have few cares beyond hoping for fair weather. Now we had to look
for a house, furniture etc. My Nowgong experiences I will reserve
for a future occasion; in concluding this, I pray my readers (if
any), to excuse the thousand and one faults they will find in my
poor attempt to describe incidents of the march, but hope that I
have made it evident that the march is a much more pleasant mode of
travelling through India than the railway. THE END |
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Our lives are going to change once trade
gets going 
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IJanuary
4 2006
Chris Duff, from snowy Canada. am beholden to Larry Brown for pointing me in the direction of your site, and to you for inviting me to use this forum to help me in my researches of the Hallifax family.
It was only recently that I became
aware that my step-father, Richard Hilliard Hallifax, was
descended from a tea planter. In the short time I've been
using the Internet to find out more, I've learned that the
Hallifax family came originally from Tiverton, Devon. The
first account I have of my step-father's grandfather
Benjamin Wilson Hallifax is his marriage in 1860 to Mary Anne
Cox (1837- ? ) in West Bengal. The 1881 U.K. Census shows
Mary Anne was born in Tiverton, but I think she may
have been born in India. They had eight sons and a
daughter, all born in Darjeeling:
ohn Robert we know not of.
Charles Joseph returned to India,
joined the ICS in Punjab and worked is way up to Financial
Commissioner. Died 1946 in Surrey, England
Arthur George returned to India,
joined the ICS in Bengal and became a District Majistrate.
Married Eleanor Lewis Jenkins. Died 1920, somewhere.
Frederick we know not of.
Henry Francis returned to India,
joined the ICS in Central Provinces. Became Judge of the
Chief Court. Lt. in Gurkha Rifles 1915-17. Chief
Court, Central Provinces 1920. Married Grace Doyle 1893.
Died in Sussex 1934.
Edwin Richard joined the Foreign
Service in Hong Kong 1897. Had illustrious career, becoming
Secretary of Chinese Affairs. Married Eveline Wilson 1906.
Died in England 1950.
Herbert Witten returned to India,
mining manganese in Central Provinces 1901-03. Executive
Engineer, Kanahan Div., Kamptee. Lt. Royal Engineers WW1.
Died 1942, somewhere.
The above obviously is a shortened
version of what is known of some of the children of Benjamin
Wilson Hallifax. Benjamin married in 1860, so he
would have gone out to India earlier and obtained employment.
Larry Brown thinks there is an Assam connection.
I would be really pleased if some of
you amateur historians out there could fill in some of the gaps,
particularly relating to the family's tea-planting whereabouts
and any background information regarding Benjamin Wilson Hallifax
and his wife Mary Anne Cox. Also, any information on the
sons who returned to India and the daughter who stayed.
I trust it's not too late to wish you
all a Happy New Year!
Regards
Chris Duff, from snowy Canada.
Below is a
thumbnail sketch of Rob Andrew who kindly shared his reminiscences
with us of his recent trip to India and Nepal--Thank you Rob Rob Andrew joined Tea in August 1954 aged 19
as an Assistant Manager March
11 2005 RETURN
TO INDIA &
NEPAL NOVEMBER 2004 Rob (Bob) & Jill Andrew We had threatened to go back many times
during our trips We met many of the children (Tibetan,
Bhutanese, Nepali, Rob Andrew
March 2005 **************************************
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