CHAPTER XI. . THE TOMB-CITY OF HINDOOSTAN. BETWEEN the glories of Delhi and those of Agra the traveller in India comes upon the gloom of a city, that, to British ears, has a name as notable as either of them. Such is Cawnporewhich I now reach-famous for the sufferings of its people in the year '57. The massacres and martyrdoms here memorialized have made the city quite a monumental one. It is with British visitors remembered only by some such title as that by which I have headed this chapter: "Cawnpore!" I heard one such afterwards remark; "that's where we saw all the tombstone inscriptions!" The visitors to this city of sad interest go there as one would to a battle-field, or to the grounds of Père-la-Chaise when at Paris. It is impossible to ignore the great interest of that which is tragic; and tragedy is to many minds more humanizing in its influence than comedy. Life cannot be all laughter. The clouds follow the sunshine, and bring the rain; and grief follows joy, and brings tears with it. We go to see Cawnpore as we would see Hamlet or Macbeth. The dark blue sky of India has been terribly clouded for humanity, at many times, ancient and modern; but, for Great Britain and her family, never more so than in '57. At Agra I shall see but the Taj Mahal-that one tomb which is the grandest that the world can show. At Cawnpore I shall see many-a whole cityful-that are more of personal interest to an Englishman than any monument to an Indian Queen. We visit Westminster Abbey as we do the Crystal Palace, and the sombre sight of the mural tablets is found to be of more lasting interest than the glittering attractions of the gayer scene. All the East is full of wells, from which water is drawn daily, after the fashion we have seen from youth illustrated in familiar prints. I had never looked upon any of these wells but thoughts would come of one well at Cawnpore, of its contents and of its covering, with particulars of which history has made us sadly familiar. Travellers in India become intimately acquainted with these wayside wells. The water-carriers, here called "Bheestis," are always going or coming to them, with their goatskins full or empty. From them I drink by the handful, as I must do also at the wells, common drinking from one cup not being the fashion of the land. This well-water, in a thirsty land, is entirely that for which Keats so wished:"A draught of vintage, that had been Cool'd a long age in the deep delved earth, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth." If water could be ever said to taste of those qualities, this well-water of India must have a claim to such titles, and to the "sunburnt" mirth especially. It is a water that is used only for drinking and cooking purposes, being far too hard for personal washing or for use by the laundress. For such uses river water is resorted to, of which there is evidence at every stream. The water of no Eastern river seems to be sought for drinking. The Ganges and the Jordan are sacred streams, but they are muddy ones as well-of the yellowish colour of the Tiber, and look as little drinkable. The laundress of India is always of masculine gender, and known as the "Dhobee." He is to be seen at work at the river side, surrounded with smooth stones, on and between which he is always dabbing and beating the article to be washed,-which is his idea of cleaning it. Such is the custom of the country, and the linen so treated comes back to one in strange fashion indeed. It looks dingier than when sent away, seems to be only rough-dried, and has half the buttons smashed that are not knocked or washed off. Between the Hindoo and the Chinee are all the points of gradation in laundry work; the Chinaman is best of all laundresses, and the Hindoo simply the worst. One attraction that the wells have to the traveller, beyond the draught of water which he seeks, is found in the company there assembled. Mounting the three or four steps leading to the platforms around these wells, I always find there, besides the professional water-carriers, many amateurs. These are always young women, who carry now, as seen in the Bible pictures of old, their pitchers in hand when empty and on the head when full. They linger at the well to talk, as did the woman we have read of at the well of Samaria. To the sides of the wells are wooden uprights, and a transverse beam, to which is suspended a long pole. To one end of that is a goat-skin bag that serves as a bucket, and to the other end of the pole is a bag of stones. The bucket, or long end of the lever, is pulled downwards to the water, and when filled, the weight at the other end assists in raising it, as also to keeping the bucket elevated when not in use. The goat-skins of water carried about everywhere, and used even to the watering of the streets, are made of the entire skin of a large goat. It has been ripped down the under side and sewn up again. The leg skins are shortened by tying up, and this receptacle is filled and emptied from the neck part. When full and carried about, the skins look in the distance like the distended body of a goat that has been for some time in the water, and is not, therefore, a pleasant sight. When I first saw a Bheesti and his water-pack, he was engaged filling that "tub" used all over India for the morning bath. I scarcely fancied the water from such a queer-looking, not to say disgusting, conveyance; but when seen daily in common use such delicacy of taste is deadened, and one becomes less nice about it. At Cawnpore I find the usual large and strongly-built station that distinguishes Indian railways. These stations look out of all proportion to the requirements of the towns to Military Occupation. 127 which they are attached. The thought grows upon one that they are intended to serve other purposes, and hence their fort-like strength of building. With the network of railways throughout Hindoostan a series of forts have been thus built that may one day be wanted. The public buildings had, as already seen, often served for defence purposes, as these might yet do; and so here were walls of three feet in thickness, to carry roofs for which less would have sufficed. The city that I have now reached is on a plain, and has from fifty to a hundred thousand or so of inhabitants. Lying on the right bank of the Ganges, it is watered by a canal from that river, which runs through the town. Around it are large plantations of sugar-cane, which seem here to take the place that indigo and opium occupied between Calcutta and Benares On the principle of shutting the stable door when, &c., one-half of Cawnpore appears to be in military occupationso large is the barrack accommodation that I see about. The city has, to the traveller's eye, a barren and straggling appearance, compared with walled Delhi, and is altogether, as a city, not worth coming out of the way to look at. Its great canal is of British formation, as I might have guessed from the usefulness of it. It was not the policy of India's other rulers to do anything of a useful sort for the people. In the way of a great work it is second only to the railways, and to that grand bridge over the Jumna seen at Delhi. The gorgeous edifices of slave labour are what India's previous owners have left as evidence of their occupation. England's efforts in the building way throughout India are seen in schools, mission houses, "quiet residences," and other Civil Service buildings of the useful and non-ornamental kind. A drive around the European, or "foreign," part of the city occupies the morning until tiffin time. I find quarters at a bungalow-looking hotel, known as "Germany's." The landlord, whom I want to see because I am told he speaks English, is not to be seen. The reason thereof is one quite in keeping with one's thoughts of Cawnpore. He had been stabbed the day previously, in a quarrel with a native, and was now under surgical treatment. The gentleman who had been so handy with the knife had been locked up-after whom I inquired, fearing he might be "running-a-muck," as the Malays will do. It was not such a case of madness, I was told, but merely one of jealousy. Like most quarrels between men, a daughter of Eve,-a dusky one of this land,-had been the cause of it. Of that reason I was glad to hear, as I had never, here or elsewhere, found any one in the slightest way jealous of me. The cause for that, so far as I ever learnt, was not complimentary, but here I reap the benefit of it, in travelling India without a fear of the fate of my host. My eyes are opened, however, to the full meaning of a notice that hangs on the wall of my bedroom, which is very suggestive when Cawnpore's name is thought of, as likewise my stabbed host. Such notice reads thus : "Visitors will be good enough not to kick or strike the hotel servants, but to complain of any misconduct to the proprietor; also to lock up their bedrooms (but not the bath-room) before going out." The reference so made to ill-treating the natives is not a pleasant reminder to me of the habits of Britons when abroad. I take it as rather rude that I need be reminded in this way how to behave myself. Any want of good manners would not be likely to be shown by me in this quarter. I am about to see, after tiffin, how the vengeance of the natives was wreaked on a host of people who did not personally deserve it. I need little telling, therefore, not to bring any such deservedly upon myself. I am particularly careful to give no trouble to any attendant at Germany's, or elsewhere in this peculiar place. A second perambulation of the city takes me into the "chowk," or native town, in the characteristics of which there is nothing to be seen of any note. I pass through its long and narrow streets to what lies beyond, much as the traveller in Belgium hurries through the two conjoined villages that lie on the road from Brussels and Fleur de Lis, to those Bolds and farms away at the other end, known to the world |