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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:58:37 -0700 |
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diff --git a/32977-h/32977-h.htm b/32977-h/32977-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1bbdf01 --- /dev/null +++ b/32977-h/32977-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,21029 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of From Sea to Sea, by Rudyard Kipling. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +h2 {margin: 2em 0;} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +p.sign {text-align: right;} +p.center {text-align: center;} +p.title {text-align:center; margin-top: 3em;} +hr { + width: 65%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.toc {width: 80%;} +.toc td.pg {text-align:right; vertical-align:bottom;} /*Page No.*/ +.toc td.desc {width: 90%;} /*Chapter description*/ +.toc td.chp {text-align:center; padding-top: 2em;} /*Chapter No.*/ + + .pagenum { /* right-margin page numbers */ + /*visibility:hidden hide the page numbers */ + color: black; /* ..black.. */ + text-align: right; /* ..right-justified.. */ + width: 4em; /* ..in space wide enuff for 999 */ + position: absolute; /* out of normal flow.. */ + right: 0.5em; /* ..in the right margin.. */ + padding: 0 0 0 0 ; /* ..very compact */ + margin: auto 0 auto 0; + white-space:nowrap; + font-size: 10px; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + text-indent: 0; + } + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} +.front p {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of From Sea to Sea, by Rudyard Kipling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: From Sea to Sea + Letters of Travel + +Author: Rudyard Kipling + +Release Date: June 25, 2010 [EBook #32977] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM SEA TO SEA *** + + + + +Produced by Stephen Hope, Joseph Cooper, Leonard Johnson +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>Transcriber's Notes</h1> + + +<p>This ebook is a set of two volumes. The Table of Contents for Part II is +copied to follow the Table of Contents of Part I. This makes linking to +the contents of both Parts simpler. The Table of Contents of Part II is +also located at its original location.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 318px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="318" height="500" alt="cover" title="cover" /> +</div> + +<hr /> +<h1>FROM SEA TO SEA</h1> + + + +<div class="front"> +<p style="font-size: 2em; margin-top:3em;">From Sea to Sea<br /> +Letters of Travel</p> +<br /> +<p style="font-size: 2em;">By Rudyard Kipling</p> +<br /> +<p style="font-size: 1.5em;"><span class="smcap">Complete in One Volume</span></p> +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> +<p style="font-size: 1.0em;">GARDEN CITY NEW YORK<br /> +DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY<br /> +1913</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /> +<p style="font-size: .8em;">Copyright, 1899, 1907,<br /> +By RUDYARD KIPLING.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>In these two volumes I have got together the bulk of the special +correspondence and occasional articles written by me for the <i>Civil and +Military Gazette</i> and the <i>Pioneer</i> between 1887-1889. I have been +forced to this action by the enterprise of various publishers who, not +content with disinterring old newspaper work from the decent seclusion +of the office files, have in several instances seen fit to embellish it +with additions and interpolations.</p> + +<p class="sign">RUDYARD KIPLING.</p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS OF PART I</h2> + + +<p class="title">LETTERS OF MARQUE</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align:right;" colspan="2">PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Beginning of Things. Of the Taj and the Globe-trotter. +The Young Man from Manchester and Certain +Moral Reflections</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows the Charm of Rajputana and of Jeypore, the City of +the Globe-trotter. Of its Founder and its Embellishment. +Explains the Use and Destiny of the Stud-bred, +and fails to explain Many More Important Matters</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Does not in Any Sort describe the Dead City of Amber, but +gives Detailed Information about a Cotton-Press</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">IV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Temple of Mahadeo and the Manners of Such as see +India. The Man by the Water-troughs and his Knowledge. +The Voice of the City and what it said. Personalities +and the Hospital. The House Beautiful of +Jeypore and its Builders</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">V</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Sordidness of the Supreme Government on the Revenue +Side; and of the Palace of Jeypore. A Great King's +Pleasure-house, and the Work of the Servants of State</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Showing how her Majesty's Mails went to Udaipur and fell +out by the Way</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Touching the Children of the Sun and their City, and the +Hat-marked Caste and their Merits, and a Good Man's +Works In the Wilderness</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Divers Passages of Speech and Action whence the Nature, +Arts, and Disposition of the King and his Subjects may +be observed</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">IX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Pig-drive which was a Panther-killing, and of the +Departure to Chitor</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">X</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A Little of the History of Chitor, and the Malpractices of a +She-elephant</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Proves conclusively the Existence of the Dark Tower visited +by Childe Rolande, and of "Bogey" who frightens +Children</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Contains the History of the Bhumia of Jhaswara, and the +Record of a Visit to the House of Strange Stories. Demonstrates +the Felicity of Loaferdom, which is the Veritable +Companionship of the Indian Empire, and proposes +a Scheme for the Better Officering of Two Departments</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A King's House and Country. Further Consideration of the +Hat-marked Caste</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XIV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Among the Houyhnhnms</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Treats of the Startling Effect of a Reduction in Wages and +the Pleasures of Loaferdom. Paints the State of the +Boondi Road and the Treachery of Ganesh of Situr</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XVI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Comedy of Errors and the Exploitation of Boondi. The +Castaway of the Dispensary and the Children of the +Schools. A Consideration of the Shields of Rajasthan +and Other Trifles</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XVII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows that there may be Poetry in a Bank, and attempts to +show the Wonders of the Palace of Boondi</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XVIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Uncivilised Night and the Departure to Things Civilised. +Showing how a Friend may keep an Appointment +too well</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XIX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Comes back to the Railway, after Reflections on the Management +of the Empire; and so Home again, with +Apology to All who have read thus far</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_180">180</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="title">FROM SEA TO SEA</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of Freedom and the Necessity of using her. The Motive and +the Scheme that will come to Nothing. A Disquisition +upon the Otherness of Things and the Torments of the +Damned</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The River of the Lost Footsteps and the Golden Mystery upon +its Banks. The Iniquity of Jordan. Shows how a Man +may go to the Shway Dagon Pagoda and see it not and +to the Pegu Club and hear too much. A Dissertation on +Mixed Drinks</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The City of Elephants which is governed by the Great God +of Idleness, who lives on the Top of a Hill. The History +of Three Great Discoveries and the Naughty Children of +Iquique</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_214">214</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">IV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Showing how I came to Palmiste Island and the Place of +Paul and Virginia, and fell Asleep in a Garden. A Disquisition +on the Folly of Sight-seeing</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_223">223</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">V</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Threshold of the Far East and the Dwellers thereon. +A Dissertation upon the Use of the British Lion</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Well-dressed Islanders of Singapur and their Diversions; +proving that All Stations are exactly Alike. Shows +how One Chicago Jew and an American Child can poison +the Purest Mind</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_240">240</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I arrived in China and saw entirely through the +Great Wall and out upon the Other Side</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of Jenny and her Friends. Showing how a Man may go to +see Life and meet Death there. Of the Felicity of Life +and the Happiness of Corinthian Kate. The Woman +and the Cholera</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">IX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Some Talk with a Taipan and a General: proves in what +Manner a Sea Picnic may be a Success</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">X</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I came to Goblin Market and took a Scunner at it +and cursed the Chinese People. Shows further how I +initiated all Hong-Kong into our Fraternity</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of Japan at Ten Hours' Sight, containing a Complete Account +of the Manners and Customs of its People, a History +of its Constitution, Products, Art, and Civilisation, +and omitting a Tiffin in a Tea-house with O-Toyo</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A Further Consideration of Japan. The Inland Sea and +Good Cookery. The Mystery of Passports and Consulates +and Certain Other Matters</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Japanese Theatre and the Story of the Thunder Cat. +Treating also of the Quiet Places and the Dead Man in +the Street</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_313">313</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XIV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Explains in what Manner I was taken to Venice in the Rain +and climbed into a Devil Fort; a Tin-pot Exhibition +and a Bath. Of the Maiden and the Boltless Door, +the Cultivator and his Fields, and the Manufacture of +Ethnological Theories at Railroad Speed. Ends with +Kioto</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_323">323</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Kioto, and how I fell in Love with the Chief Belle there after +I had conferred with Certain China Merchants who trafficked +in Tea. Shows further how, in a Great Temple, +I broke the Tenth Commandment in Fifty-three Places +and bowed down before Kano and a Carpenter. Takes +me to Arashima</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XVI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Party in the Parlour who played Games. A Complete +History of All Modern Japanese Art; a Survey of the +Past and a Prophecy of the Future, arranged and composed +in the Kioto Factories</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_352">352</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XVII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the Nature of the Tokaido and Japanese Railway Construction. +One Traveller explains the Life of the Sahib-Log, +and Another the Origin of Dice. Of the Babies in +the Bath Tub and the Man in D. T.</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_363">363</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XVIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Concerning a Hot-water Tap, and Some General Conversation</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_375">375</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XIX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Legend of Nikko Ford and the Story of the Avoidance of +Misfortune</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_386">386</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I grossly libelled the Japanese Army, and edited +a Civil and Military Gazette which is not in the least +Trustworthy</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_396">396</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows the Similarity between the Babu and the Japanese. +Contains the Earnest Outcry of an Unbeliever. The +Explanation of Mr. Smith of California and Elsewhere. +Takes me on Board Ship after Due Warning to those +who follow</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_411">411</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I came to America before My Time and was +much shaken in Body and Soul</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I got to San Francisco and took Tea with the Natives +there</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_436">436</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXIV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how through Folly I assisted at a Murder and was +Afraid. The Rule of the Democracy and the Despotism +of the Alien</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_451">451</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS OF PART II</h2> + + + +<p class="title">FROM SEA TO SEA</p> + + + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + + +<tr><td colspan="2" style="text-align:right;">PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Tells how I dropped into Politics and the Tenderer Sentiments. + Contains a Moral Treatise on American Maidens + and an Ethnological One on the Negro. Ends with a + Banquet and a Type-writer</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1003">3</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXVI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Takes me through Bret Harte's Country and to Portland with + "Old Man California." Explains how Two Vagabonds + became Homesick through looking at Other People's + Houses</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1018">18</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXVII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I caught Salmon in the Clackamas</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1033">33</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXVIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Takes me from Vancouver to the Yellowstone National Park</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1050">50</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXIX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how Yankee Jim introduced me to Diana of the Crossways + on the Banks of the Yellowstone and how a German + Jew said I was no True Citizen. Ends with the Celebration + of the 4th of July and a Few Lessons therefrom</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1062">62</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I entered Mazanderan of the Persians and saw + Devils of Every Colour, and Some Troopers. Hell and + the Old Lady from Chicago. The Captain and the + Lieutenant</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1073">73</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Ends with the Cañon of the Yellowstone. The Maiden from + New Hampshire—Larry—"Wrap-up-his-Tail"—Tom—The + Old Lady from Chicago—and a Few Natural + Phenomena—including One Briton</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1088">88</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the American Army and the City of the Saints. The + Temple, the Book of Mormon, and the Girl from Dorset. + An Oriental Consideration of Polygamy</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1106">106</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I met Certain People of Importance between Salt Lake + and Omaha</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1120">120</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXIV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Across the Great Divide; and how the Man Gring showed me + the Garments of the Ellewomen</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1130">130</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I struck Chicago, and how Chicago struck me. Of + Religion, Politics, and Pig-sticking, and the Incarnation + of the City among Shambles</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1139">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXVI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I found Peace at Musquash on the Monongahela</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1154">154</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXVII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">An Interview with Mark Twain</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1167">167</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="title">THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A Real Live City</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1185">185</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Reflections of a Savage</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1191">191</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Council of the Gods</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1199">199</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">IV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">On the Banks of the Hugli</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1208">208</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">V</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">With the Calcutta Police</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1217">217</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The City of Dreadful Night</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1223">223</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Deeper and Deeper Still</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1233">233</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Concerning Lucia</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1240">240</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<p class="title">AMONG THE RAILWAY FOLK</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A Railway Settlement</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1249">249</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Shops</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1257">257</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Vulcan's Forge</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1266">266</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<p class="title">THE GIRIDIH COAL-FIELDS</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">On the Surface</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1275">275</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">In the Depths</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1284">284</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Perils of the Pits</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1291">291</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + + +<hr /> +<h2>PART I<br /> + +LETTERS OF MARQUE </h2> + + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2>LETTERS OF MARQUE</h2> + + + + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> + +<p>OF THE BEGINNING OF THINGS. OF THE TAJ AND THE GLOBE-TROTTER. THE YOUNG +MAN FROM MANCHESTER AND CERTAIN MORAL REFLECTIONS.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Nov.-Dec., 1887</span></p> + + +<p>Except for those who, under compulsion of a sick certificate, are flying +Bombaywards, it is good for every man to see some little of the great +Indian Empire and the strange folk who move about it. It is good to +escape for a time from the House of Rimmon—be it office or +cutchery—and to go abroad under no more exacting master than personal +inclination, and with no more definite plan of travel than has the +horse, escaped from pasture, free upon the countryside. The first result +of such freedom is extreme bewilderment, and the second reduces the +freed to a state of mind which, for his sins, must be the normal portion +of the Globe-trotter—the man who "does" kingdoms in days and writes +books upon them in weeks. And this desperate facility is not as strange +as it seems. By the time that an Englishman has come by sea and rail +<i>via</i> America, Japan, Singapur, and Ceylon, to India, he can—these eyes +have seen him do so—master in five minutes the intricacies of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +<i>Indian Bradshaw</i>, and tell an old resident exactly how and where the +trains run. Can we wonder that the intoxication of success in hasty +assimilation should make him overbold, and that he should try to +grasp—but a full account of the insolent Globe-trotter must be +reserved. He is worthy of a book. Given absolute freedom for a month, +the mind, as I have said, fails to take in the situation and, after much +debate, contents itself with following in old and well-beaten +ways—paths that we in India have no time to tread, but must leave to +the country cousin who wears his <i>pagri</i> tail-fashion down his back, and +says "cabman" to the driver of the <i>ticca-ghari</i>.</p> + +<p>Now, Jeypore from the Anglo-Indian point of view is a station on the +Rajputana-Malwa line, on the way to Bombay, where half an hour is +allowed for dinner, and where there ought to be more protection from the +sun than at present exists. Some few, more learned than the rest, know +that garnets come from Jeypore, and here the limits of our wisdom are +set. We do not, to quote the Calcutta shopkeeper, come out "for the good +of our 'ealth," and what touring we accomplish is for the most part off +the line of rail.</p> + +<p>For these reasons, and because he wished to study our winter birds of +passage, one of the few thousand Englishmen in India on a date and in a +place which have no concern with the story, sacrificed all his +self-respect and became—at enormous personal inconvenience—a +Globe-trotter going to Jeypore, and leaving behind him for a little +while all that old and well-known life in which Commissioners and +Deputy-Commissioners, Governors and Lieutenant-Governors, Aides-de-camp, +Colonels and their wives, Majors, Captains, and Subalterns after their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +kind move and rule and govern and squabble and fight and sell each +other's horses and tell wicked stories of their neighbours. But before +he had fully settled into his part or accustomed himself to saying, +"Please take out this luggage," to the coolies at the stations, he saw +from the train the Taj wrapped in the mists of the morning.</p> + +<p>There is a story of a Frenchman who feared not God, nor regarded man, +sailing to Egypt for the express purpose of scoffing at the Pyramids +and—though this is hard to believe—at the great Napoleon who had +warred under their shadow. It is on record that that blasphemous Gaul +came to the Great Pyramid and wept through mingled reverence and +contrition; for he sprang from an emotional race. To understand his +feelings it is necessary to have read a great deal too much about the +Taj, its design and proportions; to have seen execrable pictures of it +at the Simla Fine Arts Exhibition, to have had its praises sung by +superior and travelled friends till the brain loathed the repetition of +the word; and then, sulky with want of sleep, heavy-eyed, unwashed, and +chilled, to come upon it suddenly. Under these circumstances everything, +you will concede, is in favour of a cold, critical, and not too +impartial verdict. As the Englishman leaned out of the carriage he saw +first an opal-tinted cloud on the horizon, and, later, certain towers. +The mists lay on the ground, so that the Splendour seemed to be floating +free of the earth; and the mists rose in the background, so that at no +time could everything be seen clearly. Then as the train sped forward, +and the mists shifted, and the sun shone upon the mists, the Taj took a +hundred new shapes, each perfect and each beyond<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> description. It was +the Ivory Gate through which all good dreams come; it was the +realization of "the gleaming halls of dawn" that Tennyson sings of; it +was veritably the "aspiration fixed," the "sigh made stone" of a lesser +poet; and, over and above concrete comparisons, it seemed the embodiment +of all things pure, all things holy, and all things unhappy. That was +the mystery of the building! It may be that the mists wrought the +witchery, and that the Taj seen in the dry sunlight is only, as +guide-books say, a noble structure. The Englishman could not tell, and +has made a vow that he will never go nearer the spot, for fear of +breaking the charm of the unearthly pavilions.</p> + +<p>It may be, too, that each must view the Taj for himself with his own +eyes, working out his own interpretation of the sight. It is certain +that no man can in cold blood and colder ink set down his impressions if +he has been in the least moved.</p> + +<p>To the one who watched and wondered that November morning the thing +seemed full of sorrow—the sorrow of the man who built it for the woman +he loved, and the sorrow of the workmen who died in the building—used +up like cattle. And in the face of this sorrow the Taj flushed in the +sunlight and was beautiful, after the beauty of a woman who has done no +wrong.</p> + +<p>Here the train ran in under the walls of Agra Fort, and another +train—of thought incoherent as that written above—came to an end. Let +those who scoff at overmuch enthusiasm look at the Taj and thenceforward +be dumb. It is well on the threshold of a journey to be taught reverence +and awe.</p> + +<p>But there is no reverence in the Globe-trotter: he is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> brazen. A Young +Man from Manchester was travelling to Bombay in order—how the words +hurt!—to be home by Christmas. He had come through America, New +Zealand, and Australia, and finding that he had ten days to spare at +Bombay, conceived the modest idea of "doing India." "I don't say that +I've done it all; but you may say that I've seen a good deal." Then he +explained that he had been "much pleased" at Agra; "much pleased" at +Delhi; and, last profanation, "very much pleased" at the Taj. Indeed, he +seemed to be going through life just then "much pleased" at everything. +With rare and sparkling originality he remarked that India was a "big +place," and that there were many things to buy. Verily, this Young Man +must have been a delight to the Delhi boxwallahs. He had purchased +shawls and embroidery "to the tune of" a certain number of rupees duly +set forth, and he had purchased jewellery to another tune. These were +gifts for friends at home, and he considered them "very Eastern." If +silver filigree work modelled on Palais Royal patterns, or aniline blue +scarves be Eastern, he had succeeded in his heart's desire. For some +inscrutable end it had been decreed that man shall take a delight in +making his fellow-man miserable. The Englishman began to point out +gravely the probable extent to which the Young Man from Manchester had +been swindled, and the Young Man said: "By Jove! You don't say so? I +hate being done. If there's anything I hate, it's being done!"</p> + +<p>He had been so happy in the thought of "getting home by Christmas," and +so charmingly communicative as to the members of his family for whom +such and such gifts were intended, that the Englishman cut short the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +record of fraud and soothed him by saying that he had not been so very +badly "done," after all. This consideration was misplaced, for, his +peace of mind restored, the Young Man from Manchester looked out of the +window and, waving his hand over the Empire generally, said: "I say. +Look here. All those wells are wrong, you know!" The wells were on the +wheel and inclined plane system; but he objected to the incline, and +said that it would be much better for the bullocks if they walked on +level ground. Then light dawned upon him, and he said: "I suppose it's +to exercise all their muscles. Y' know a canal horse is no use after he +has been on the tow-path for some time. He can't walk anywhere but on +the flat, y' know, and I suppose it's just the same with bullocks." The +spurs of the Aravalis, under which the train was running, had evidently +suggested this brilliant idea which passed uncontradicted, for the +Englishman was looking out of the window.</p> + +<p>If one were bold enough to generalise after the manner of +Globe-trotters, it would be easy to build up a theory on the well +incident to account for the apparent insanity of some of our cold +weather visitors. Even the Young Man from Manchester could evolve a +complete idea for the training of well-bullocks in the East at thirty +seconds' notice. How much the more could a cultivated observer from, let +us say, an English constituency, blunder and pervert and mangle? We in +this country have no time to work out the notion, which is worthy of the +consideration of some leisurely Teuton intellect.</p> + +<p>Envy may have prompted a too bitter judgment of the Young Man from +Manchester; for, as the train bore him from Jeypore to Ahmedabad, happy +in his "getting home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> by Christmas," pleased as a child with his Delhi +atrocities, pink-cheeked, whiskered, and superbly self-confident, the +Englishman whose home for the time was a dark bungaloathsome hotel, +watched his departure regretfully; for he knew exactly to what sort of +genial, cheery British household, rich in untravelled kin, that Young +Man was speeding. It is pleasant to play at Globe-trotting; but to enter +fully into the spirit of the piece, one must also be "going home for +Christmas."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> + +<p>SHOWS THE CHARM OF RAJPUTANA AND OF JEYPORE, THE CITY OF THE +GLOBE-TROTTER. OF ITS FOUNDER AND ITS EMBELLISHMENT. EXPLAINS THE USE +AND DESTINY OF THE STUD-BRED, AND FAILS TO EXPLAIN MANY MORE IMPORTANT +MATTERS.</p> + + +<p>If any part of a land strewn with dead men's bones have a special claim +to distinction, Rajputana, as the cock-pit of India, stands first. East +of Suez men do not build towers on the tops of hills for the sake of the +view, nor do they stripe the mountain sides with bastioned stone walls +to keep in cattle. Since the beginning of time, if we are to credit the +legends, there was fighting—heroic fighting—at the foot of the +Aravalis and beyond, in the great deserts of sand penned by those kindly +mountains from spreading over the heart of India. The "Thirty-six Royal +Races" fought as royal races know how to do, Chohan with Rahtor, brother +against brother, son against father. Later—but excerpts from the +tangled tale of force, fraud, cunning, desperate love and more desperate +revenge, crime worthy of demons and virtues fit for gods, may be found, +by all who care to look, in the book of the man who loved the Rajputs +and gave a life's labours in their behalf. From Delhi to Abu, and from +the Indus to the Chambul, each yard of ground has witnessed slaughter, +pillage, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> rapine. But, to-day, the capital of the State, that Dhola +Rae, son of Soora Singh, hacked out more than nine hundred years ago +with the sword from some weaker ruler's realm, is lighted with gas, and +possesses many striking and English peculiarities.</p> + +<p>Dhola Rae was killed in due time, and for nine hundred years Jeypore, +torn by the intrigues of unruly princes and princelings, fought +Asiatically.</p> + +<p>When and how Jeypore became a feudatory of British power and in what +manner we put a slur upon Rajput honour—punctilious as the honour of +the Pathan—are matters of which the Globe-trotter knows more than we +do. He "reads up"—to quote his own words—a city before he comes to us, +and, straightway going to another city, forgets, or, worse still, mixes +what he has learnt—so that in the end he writes down the Rajput a +Mahratta, says that Lahore is in the Northwest Provinces, and was once +the capital of Sivaji, and piteously demands a "guide-book on all India, +a thing that you can carry in your trunk y' know—that gives you plain +descriptions of things without mixing you up." Here is a chance for a +writer of discrimination and void of conscience!</p> + +<p>But to return to Jeypore—a pink city set on the border of a blue lake, +and surrounded by the low, red spurs of the Aravalis—a city to see and +to puzzle over. There was once a ruler of the State, called Jey Singh, +who lived in the days of Aurungzeb, and did him service with foot and +horse. He must have been the Solomon of Rajputana, for through the +forty-four years of his reign his "wisdom remained with him." He led +armies, and when fighting was over, turned to literature; he intrigued +desperately and successfully, but found time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> to gain a deep insight +into astronomy, and, by what remains above ground now, we can tell that +whatsoever his eyes desired, he kept not from him. Knowing his own +worth, he deserted the city of Amber founded by Dhola Rae among the +hills, and, six miles further, in the open plain, bade one Vedyadhar, +his architect, build a new city, as seldom Indian city was built +before—with huge streets straight as an arrow, sixty yards broad, and +cross-streets broad and straight. Many years afterward the good people +of America builded their towns after this pattern, but knowing nothing +of Jey Singh, they took all the credit to themselves.</p> + +<p>He built himself everything that pleased him, palaces and gardens and +temples, and then died, and was buried under a white marble tomb on a +hill overlooking the city. He was a traitor, if history speak truth, to +his own kin, and he was an accomplished murderer; but he did his best to +check infanticide, he reformed the Mahometan calendar; he piled up a +superb library and he made Jeypore a marvel.</p> + +<p>Later on came a successor, educated and enlightened by all the lamps of +British Progress, and converted the city of Jey Singh into a surprise—a +big, bewildering, practical joke. He laid down sumptuous <i>trottoirs</i> of +hewn stone, and central carriage drives, also of hewn stone, in the main +street, he, that is to say, Colonel Jacob, the Superintending Engineer +of the State, devised a water supply for the city and studded the ways +with standpipes. He built gas works, set afoot a School of Art, a +Museum—all the things in fact which are necessary to Western municipal +welfare and comfort, and saw that they were the best of their kind. How +much Colonel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> Jacob has done, not only for the good of Jeypore city but +for the good of the State at large, will never be known, because the +officer in question is one of the not small class who resolutely refuse +to talk about their own work. The result of the good work is that the +old and the new, the rampantly raw and the sullenly old, stand +cheek-by-jowl in startling contrast. Thus, the Sacred Bull of Shira +trips over the rails of a steel tramway which brings out the city +rubbish; the lacquered and painted cart behind the two little stag-like +trotting bullocks catches its primitive wheels in the cast-iron gas-lamp +post with the brass nozzle atop, and all Rajputana, gayly clad, +small-turbaned swaggering Rajputana, circulates along the magnificent +pavements.</p> + +<p>The fortress-crowned hills look down upon the strange medley. One of +them bears on its flank in huge white letters the cheery inscription, +"Welcome!" This was made when the Prince of Wales visited Jeypore to +shoot his first tiger; but the average traveller of to-day may +appropriate the message to himself, for Jeypore takes great care of +strangers and shows them all courtesy. This, by the way, demoralises the +Globe-trotter, whose first cry is, "Where can we get horses? Where can +we get elephants? Who is the man to write to for all these things?"</p> + +<p>Thanks to the courtesy of the Maharaja, it is possible to see +everything, but for the incurious who object to being driven through +their sights, a journey down any one of the great main streets is a +day's delightful occupation. The view is as unobstructed as that of the +Champs Élysées; but in place of the white-stone fronts of Paris, rises a +long line of open-work screen-wall, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> prevailing tone of which is +pink, caramel-pink, but house-owners have unlimited license to decorate +their tenements as they please. Jeypore, broadly considered, is Hindu, +and her architecture of the riotous, many-arched type which even the +Globe-trotter after a short time learns to call Hindu. It is neither +temperate nor noble, but it satisfies the general desire for something +that "really looks Indian."</p> + +<p>A perverse taste for low company drew the Englishman from the +pavement—to walk upon a real stone pavement is in itself a +privilege—up a side-street, where he assisted at a quail fight and +found the low-caste Rajput a cheery and affable soul. The owner of the +losing quail was a trooper in the Maharaja's army. He explained that his +pay was six rupees a month paid bimonthly. He had to pay the cost of his +khaki blouse, brown-leather accoutrements, and jack-boots; lance, +saddle, sword, and horse were given free. He refused to tell for how +many months in the year he was drilled, and said vaguely that his duties +were mainly escort ones, and he had no fault to find with them. The +defeat of his quail had vexed him, and he desired the Sahib to +understand that the sowars of His Highness's army could ride. A clumsy +attempt at a compliment so fired his martial blood that he climbed into +his saddle, and then and there insisted on showing off his horsemanship. +The road was narrow, the lance was long, and the horse was a big one, +but no one objected, and the Englishman sat him down on a doorstep and +watched the fun. The horse seemed in some shadowy way familiar. His head +was not the lean head of the Kathiawar, nor his crest the crest of the +Marwarri, and his forelegs did not belong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> to these stony districts. +"Where did he come from?" The sowar pointed northward and said, "from +Amritsar," but he pronounced it "Armtzar." Many horses had been bought +at the spring fairs in the Punjab; they cost about two hundred rupees +each—perhaps more, the sowar could not say. Some came from Hissar and +some from other places beyond Delhi. They were very good horses. "That +horse there," he pointed to one a little distance down the street, "is +the son of a big Government horse—the kind that the Sirkar make for +breeding horses—so high!" The owner of "that horse" swaggered up, jaw +bandaged and cat-moustached, and bade the Englishman look at his mount; +bought, of course, when a colt. Both men together said that the Sahib +had better examine the Maharaja Sahib's stable, where there were +hundreds of horses, huge as elephants or tiny as sheep.</p> + +<p>To the stables the Englishman accordingly went, knowing beforehand what +he would find, and wondering whether the Sirkar's "big horses" were +meant to get mounts for Rajput sowars. The Maharaja's stables are royal +in size and appointments. The enclosure round which they stand must be +about half a mile long—it allows ample space for exercising, besides +paddocks for the colts. The horses, about two hundred and fifty, are +bedded in pure white sand—bad for the coat if they roll, but good for +the feet—the pickets are of white marble, the heel-ropes in every case +of good sound rope, and in every case the stables are exquisitely clean. +Each stall contains above the manger, a curious little bunk for the syce +who, if he uses the accommodation, must assuredly die once each hot +weather.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>A journey round the stables is saddening, for the attendants are very +anxious to strip their charges, and the stripping shows so much. A few +men in India are credited with the faculty of never forgetting a horse +they have once seen, and of knowing the produce of every stallion they +have met. The Englishman would have given something for their company at +that hour. His knowledge of horse-flesh was very limited; but he felt +certain that more than one or two of the sleek, perfectly groomed +country-breds should have been justifying their existence in the ranks +of the British cavalry, instead of eating their heads off on six +seers<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> of gram and one of sugar per diem. But they had all been +honestly bought and honestly paid for; and there was nothing in the wide +world to prevent His Highness, if he wished to do so, from sweeping up +the pick and pride of all the stud-bred horses in the Punjab. The +attendants appeared to take a wicked delight in saying "eshtud-bred"<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> +very loudly and with unnecessary emphasis as they threw back the +loin-cloth. Sometimes they were wrong, but in too many cases they were +right.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A seer is about two pounds.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Stud-bred, <i>i.e.</i> bred at the Indian Government studs.</p></div> + +<p>The Englishman left the stables and the great central maidan, where a +nervous Biluchi was being taught, by a perfect network of ropes, to +"monkey-jump," and went out into the streets reflecting on the working +of horse-breeding operations under the Government of India, and the +advantages of having unlimited money wherewith to profit by other +people's mistakes.</p> + +<p>Then, as happened to the great Tartarin of Tarescon, wild beasts began +to roar, and a crowd of little boys<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> laughed. The lions of Jeypore are +tigers, caged in a public place for the sport of the people, who hiss at +them and disturb their royal feelings. Two or three of the six great +brutes are magnificent. All of them are short-tempered, and the bars of +their captivity not too strong. A pariah-dog was furtively trying to +scratch out a fragment of meat from between the bars of one of the +cages, and the occupant tolerated him. Growing bolder, the starveling +growled; the tiger struck at him with his paw, and the dog fled howling +with fear. When he returned, he brought two friends with him, and the +three mocked the captive from a distance.</p> + +<p>It was not a pleasant sight and suggested Globe-trotters—gentlemen who +imagine that "more curricles" should come at their bidding, and on being +undeceived become abusive.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> + +<p>DOES NOT IN ANY SORT DESCRIBE THE DEAD CITY OF AMBER, BUT GIVES DETAILED +INFORMATION ABOUT A COTTON-PRESS.</p> + + +<p>And what shall be said of Amber, Queen of the Pass—the city that Jey +Singh bade his people slough as snakes cast their skins? The +Globe-trotter will assure you that it must be "done" before anything +else, and the Globe-trotter is, for once, perfectly correct. Amber lies +between six and seven miles from Jeypore among the "tumbled fragments of +the hills," and is reachable by so prosaic a conveyance as a +<i>ticca-ghari</i>, and so uncomfortable a one as an elephant. <i>He</i> is +provided by the Maharaja, and the people who make India their prey, are +apt to accept his services as a matter of course.</p> + +<p>Rise very early in the morning, before the stars have gone out, and +drive through the sleeping city till the pavement gives place to cactus +and sand, and educational and enlightened institutions to mile upon mile +of semi-decayed Hindu temples—brown and weather-beaten—running down to +the shores of the great Man Sagar Lake, wherein are more ruined temples, +palaces, and fragments of causeways. The water-birds have their home in +the half-submerged arcades and the crocodile nuzzles the shafts of the +pillars. It is a fitting prelude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> to the desolation of Amber. Beyond the +Man Sagar the road of to-day climbs up-hill, and by its side runs the +huge stone causeway of yesterday—blocks sunk in concrete. Down this +path the swords of Amber went out to kill. A triple wall rings the city, +and, at the third gate, the road drops into the valley of Amber. In the +half light of dawn, a great city sunk between hills and built round +three sides of a lake is dimly visible, and one waits to catch the hum +that should arise from it as the day breaks. The air in the valley is +bitterly chill. With the growing light, Amber stands revealed, and the +traveller sees that it is a city that will never wake. A few beggars +live in huts at the end of the valley, but the temples, the shrines, the +palaces, and the tiers-on-tiers of houses are desolate. Trees grow upon +and split the walls, the windows are filled with brushwood, and the +cactus chokes the street. The Englishman made his way up the side of the +hill to the great palace that overlooks everything except the red fort +of Jeighur, guardian of Amber. As the elephant swung up the steep roads +paved with stone and built out on the sides of the hill, he looked into +empty houses where the little grey squirrel sat and scratched its ears. +The peacock walked on the house-tops, and the blue pigeon roosted +within. He passed under iron-studded gates whose hinges were eaten out +with rust, and by walls plumed and crowned with grass, and under more +gate-ways, till, at last, he reached the palace and came suddenly into a +great quadrangle where two blinded, arrogant stallions, covered with red +and gold trappings, screamed and neighed at each other from opposite +ends of the vast space. For a little time these were the only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> visible +living beings, and they were in perfect accord with the spirit of the +spot. Afterwards certain workmen appeared; for it seems that the +Maharaja keeps the old palace of his forefathers in good repair, but +they were modern and mercenary, and with great difficulty were detached +from the skirts of the traveller. A somewhat extensive experience of +palace-seeing had taught him that it is best to see palaces alone, for +the Oriental as a guide is undiscriminating and sets too great a store +on corrugated iron roofs and glazed drain-pipes.</p> + +<p>So the Englishman went into this palace built of stone, bedded on stone, +springing out of scarped rock, and reached by stone ways—nothing but +stone. Presently, he stumbled across a little temple of Kali, a gem of +marble tracery and inlay, very dark and, at that hour of the morning, +very cold.</p> + +<p>If, as Viollet-le-Duc tells us to believe, a building reflects the +character of its inhabitants, it must be impossible for one reared in an +Eastern palace to think straightly or speak freely or—but here the +annals of Rajputana contradict the theory—to act openly. The cramped +and darkened rooms, the narrow smooth-walled passages with recesses +where a man might wait for his enemy unseen, the maze of ascending and +descending stairs leading nowhither, the ever-present screens of marble +tracery that may hide or reveal so much,—all these things breathe of +plot and counter-plot, league and intrigue. In a living palace where the +sightseer knows and feels that there are human beings everywhere, and +that he is followed by scores of unseen eyes, the impression is almost +unendurable. In a dead palace—a cemetery of loves and hatreds done with +hundreds of years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> ago, and of plottings that had for their end, though +the greybeards who plotted knew it not, the coming of the British +tourist with guide-book and sun-hat—oppression gives place to simply +impertinent curiosity. The Englishman wandered into all parts of the +palace, for there was no one to stop him—not even the ghosts of the +dead Queens—through ivory-studded doors, into the women's quarters, +where a stream of water once flowed over a chiselled marble channel. A +creeper had set its hands upon the lattice there, and there was dust of +old nests in one of the niches in the wall. Did the lady of light virtue +who managed to become possessed of so great a portion of Jey Singh's +library ever set her dainty feet in the trim garden of the Hall of +Pleasure beyond the screen-work? Was it in the forty-pillared Hall of +Audience that the order went forth that the Chief of Birjooghar was to +be slain, and from what wall did the King look out when the horsemen +clattered up the steep stone path to the palace, bearing on their +saddle-bows the heads of the bravest of Rajore? There were questions +innumerable to be asked in each court and keep and cell; but the only +answer was the cooing of the pigeons.</p> + +<p>If a man desired beauty, there was enough and to spare in the palace; +and of strength more than enough. With inlay and carved marble, with +glass and colour, the Kings who took their pleasure in that now desolate +pile, made all that their eyes rested upon royal and superb. But any +description of the artistic side of the palace, if it were not +impossible, would be wearisome. The wise man will visit it when time and +occasion serve, and will then, in some small measure, understand what +must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> been the riotous, sumptuous, murderous life to which our +Governors and Lieutenant-Governors, Commissioners and Deputy +Commissioners, Colonels and Captains and the Subalterns, have put an +end.</p> + +<p>From the top of the palace you may read if you please the Book of +Ezekiel written in stone upon the hillside. Coming up, the Englishman +had seen the city from below or on a level. He now looked into its very +heart—the heart that had ceased to beat. There was no sound of men or +cattle, or grind-stones in those pitiful streets—nothing but the cooing +of the pigeons. At first it seemed that the palace was not ruined at +all—that soon the women would come up on the house-tops and the bells +would ring in the temples. But as he attempted to follow with his eye +the turns of the streets, the Englishman saw that they died out in wood +tangle and blocks of fallen stone, that some of the houses were rent +with great cracks, and pierced from roof to road with holes that let in +the morning sun. The drip-stones of the eaves were gap-toothed, and the +tracery of the screens had fallen out so that zenana-rooms lay +shamelessly open to the day. On the outskirts of the city, the +strong-walled houses dwindled and sank down to mere stone-heaps and +faint indications of plinth and wall, hard to trace against the +background of stony soil. The shadow of the palace lay over two-thirds +of the city and the trees deepened the shadow. "He who has bent him o'er +the dead" <i>after</i> the hour of which Byron sings, knows that the features +of the man become blunted as it were—the face begins to fade. The same +hideous look lies on the face of the Queen of the Pass, and when once +this is realised, the eye wonders that it could have ever believed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> in +the life of her. She is the city "whose graves are set in the side of +the pit, and her company is round about her graves," sister of Pathros, +Zoan, and No.</p> + +<p>Moved by a thoroughly insular instinct, the Englishman took up a piece +of plaster and heaved it from the palace wall into the dark streets. It +bounded from a house-top to a window-ledge, and thence into a little +square, and the sound of its fall was hollow and echoing, as the sound +of a stone in a well. Then the silence closed up upon the sound, till in +the far-away courtyard below the roped stallions began screaming afresh. +There may be desolation in the great Indian Desert to the westward, and +there is desolation on the open seas; but the desolation of Amber is +beyond the loneliness either of land or sea. Men by the hundred thousand +must have toiled at the walls that bound it, the temples and bastions +that stud the walls, the fort that overlooks all, the canals that once +lifted water to the palace, and the garden in the lake of the valley. +Renan could describe it as it stands to-day, and Verestchaguin could +paint it.</p> + +<p>Arrived at this satisfactory conclusion, the Englishman went down +through the palace and the scores of venomous and suggestive little +rooms, to the elephant in the courtyard, and was taken back in due time +to the Nineteenth Century in the shape of His Highness, the Maharaja's +Cotton-Press, returning a profit of twenty-seven per cent, and fitted +with two engines, of fifty horse-power each, an hydraulic press, capable +of exerting a pressure of three tons per square inch, and everything +else to correspond. It stood under a neat corrugated iron roof close to +the Jeypore Railway Station, and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> in most perfect order, but somehow +it did not taste well after Amber. There was aggressiveness about the +engines and the smell of the raw cotton.</p> + +<p>The modern side of Jeypore must not be mixed with the ancient.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> + +<p>THE TEMPLE OF MAHADEO AND THE MANNERS OF SUCH AS SEE INDIA. THE MAN BY +THE WATER-TROUGHS AND HIS KNOWLEDGE. THE VOICE OF THE CITY AND WHAT IT +SAID. PERSONALITIES AND THE HOSPITAL. THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL OF JEYPORE AND +ITS BUILDERS.</p> + + +<p>From the Cotton-Press the Englishman wandered through the wide streets +till he came into an Hindu temple—rich in marble stone and inlay, and a +deep and tranquil silence, close to the Public Library of the State. The +brazen bull was hung with flowers, and men were burning the evening +incense before Mahadeo; while those who had prayed their prayer beat +upon the bells hanging from the roof and passed out, secure in the +knowledge that the God had heard them. If there be much religion, there +is little reverence, as Westerns understand the term, at the services of +the Gods of the East. A tiny little maiden, child of a monstrously ugly, +wall-eyed priest, staggered across the marble pavement to the shrine and +threw, with a gust of childish laughter, the blossoms she was carrying +into the lap of the Great Mahadeo himself. Then she made as though she +would leap up to the bell and ran away, still laughing, into the shadow +of the cells behind the shrine, while her father explained that she was +but a baby and that Mahadeo would take no notice. The temple, he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +was specially favoured by the Maharaja, and drew from lands an income of +twenty thousand rupees a year. Thakoors and great men also gave gifts +out of their benevolence; and there was nothing in the wide world to +prevent an Englishman from following their example.</p> + +<p>By this time—for Amber and the Cotton-Press had filled the hours—night +was falling, and the priests unhooked the swinging jets and began to +light up the impassive face of Mahadeo with gas. They used Swedish +matches!</p> + +<p>Full night brought the hotel and its curiously composed human menagerie.</p> + +<p>There is, if a work-a-day world will believe, a society entirely +outside, and unconnected with, that of the Station—a planet within a +planet, where nobody knows anything about the Collector's wife, the +Colonel's dinner-party, or what was really the matter with the Engineer. +It is a curious, an insatiably curious, thing, and its literature is +Newman's <i>Bradshaw</i>. Wandering "old arms-sellers" and others live upon +it, and so do the garnetmen and the makers of ancient Rajput shields. +The world of the innocents abroad is a touching and unsophisticated +place, and its very atmosphere urges the Anglo-Indian unconsciously to +an extravagant mendacity. Can you wonder, then, that a guide of +long-standing should in time grow to be an accomplished liar?</p> + +<p>Into this world sometimes breaks the Anglo-Indian returned from leave, +or a fugitive to the sea, and his presence is like that of a well-known +land-mark in the desert. The old arms-seller knows and avoids him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +he is detested by the jobber of gharis who calls every one "my lord" in +English, and panders to the "glaring race anomaly" by saying that every +carriage not under his control is "rotten, my lord, having been used by +natives." One of the privileges of playing at tourist is the brevet-rank +of "Lord."</p> + +<p>There are many, and some very curious, methods of seeing India. One of +these is buying English translations of the more Zolaistic of Zola's +novels and reading them from breakfast to dinner-time in the verandah. +Yet another, even simpler, is American in its conception. Take a +Newman's <i>Bradshaw</i> and a blue pencil, and race up and down the length +of the Empire, ticking off the names of the stations "done." To do this +thoroughly, keep strictly to the railway buildings and form your +conclusions through the carriage-windows. These eyes have seen both ways +of working in full blast; and, on the whole, the first is the most +commendable.</p> + +<p>Let us consider now with due reverence the modern side of Jeypore. It is +difficult to write of a nickel-plated civilisation set down under the +immemorial Aravalis in the first state of Rajputana. The red-grey hills +seem to laugh at it, and the ever-shifting sand-dunes under the hills +take no account of it, for they advance upon the bases of the +monogrammed, coronet-crowned lamp-posts, and fill up the points of the +natty tramways near the Waterworks, which are the outposts of the +civilisation of Jeypore.</p> + +<p>Escape from the city by the Railway Station till you meet the cactus and +the mud-bank and the Maharaja's Cotton-Press. Pass between a tramway and +a trough for wayfaring camels till your foot sinks ankle-deep in soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +sand, and you come upon what seems to be the fringe of illimitable +desert—mound upon mound of tussocks overgrown with plumed grass where +the parrots sit and swing. Here, if you have kept to the road, you shall +find a dam faced with stone, a great tank, and pumping machinery fine as +the heart of a municipal engineer can desire—pure water, sound pipes, +and well-kept engines. If you belong to what is sarcastically styled an +"able and intelligent municipality" under the British Rule, go down to +the level of the tank, scoop up the water in your hands and drink, +thinking meanwhile of the defects of the town whence you came. The +experience will be a profitable one. There are statistics in connection +with the Waterworks figures relating to "three-throw-plungers," delivery +and supply, which should be known to the professional reader. They would +not interest the unprofessional who would learn his lesson among the +thronged standpipes of the city.</p> + +<p>While the Englishman was preparing in his mind a scathing rebuke for an +erring municipality that he knew of, a camel swung across the sands, its +driver's jaw and brow bound mummy-fashion to guard against the dust. The +man was evidently a stranger to the place, for he pulled up and asked +the Englishman where the drinking-troughs were. He was a gentleman and +bore very patiently with the Englishman's absurd ignorance of his +dialect. He had come from some village, with an unpronounceable name, +thirty <i>kos</i> away, to see his brother's son, who was sick in the big +Hospital. While the camel was drinking the man talked, lying back along +his mount. He knew nothing of Jeypore, except the names of certain +Englishmen in it, the men who, he said, had made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> the Waterworks and +built the Hospital for his brother's son's comfort.</p> + +<p>And this is the curious feature of Jeypore; though happily the city is +not unique in its peculiarity. When the late Maharaja ascended the +throne, more than fifty years ago, it was his royal will and pleasure +that Jeypore should advance. Whether he was prompted by love for his +subjects, desire for praise, or the magnificent vanity with which Jey +Singh must have been so largely dowered, are questions that concern +nobody. In the latter years of his reign, he was supplied with +Englishmen who made the State their fatherland, and identified +themselves with its progress as only Englishmen can. Behind them stood +the Maharaja ready to spend money with a lavishness that no Supreme +Government would dream of; and it would not be too much to say that they +together made the State what it is. When Ram Singh died, Madho Singh, +his successor, a conservative Hindu, forbore to interfere in any way +with the work that was going forward. It is said in the city that he +does not overburden himself with the cares of State, the driving power +being mainly in the hands of a Bengali, who has everything but the name +of Minister. Nor do the Englishmen, it is said in the city, mix +themselves with the business of government; their business being wholly +executive.</p> + +<p>They can, according to the voice of the city, do what they please, and +the voice of the city—not in the main roads, but in the little +side-alleys where the stall-less bull blocks the path—attests how well +their pleasure has suited the pleasure of the people. In truth, to men +of action few things could be more delightful than having a State of +fifteen thousand square miles placed at their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> disposal, as it were, to +leave their mark on. Unfortunately for the vagrant traveller, those who +work hard for practical ends prefer not to talk about their doings, and +he must, therefore, pick up what information he can at second-hand or in +the city. The men at the standpipes explain that the Maharaja Sahib's +father gave the order for the Waterworks and that Yakub (Jacob) Sahib +made them—not only in the city, but out away in the district. "Did the +people grow more crops thereby?" "Of course they did. Were canals made +only to wash in?" "How much more crops?" "Who knows? The Sahib had +better go and ask some official." Increased irrigation means increase of +revenue for the State somewhere, but the man who brought about the +increase does not say so.</p> + +<p>After a few days of amateur Globe-trotting, a shamelessness great as +that of the other loafer—the red-nosed man who hangs about one garden +and is always on the eve of starting for Calcutta—possesses the +masquerader; so that he feels equal to asking a Resident for a +parcel-gilt howdah, or dropping into dinner with a Lieutenant-Governor. +No man has a right to keep anything back from a Globe-trotter, who is a +mild, temperate, gentlemanly, and unobtrusive seeker after truth. +Therefore he who, without a word of enlightenment, sends the visitor +into a city which he himself has beautified and adorned and made clean +and wholesome, deserves unsparing exposure. And the city may be trusted +to betray him. The <i>malli</i> in the Ram Newas Gardens—Gardens which are +finer than any in India and fit to rank with the best in Paris—says +that the Maharaja gave the order and Yakub Sahib made the Gardens. He +also says that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> the Hospital just outside the Gardens was built by Yakub +Sahib, and if the Sahib will go to the centre of the Gardens, he will +find another big building, a Museum by the same hand.</p> + +<p>But the Englishman went first to the Hospital, and found the +out-patients beginning to arrive. A Hospital cannot tell lies about its +own progress as a municipality can. Sick folk either come or lie in +their own villages. In the case of the Mayo Hospital, they came, and the +operation book showed that they had been in the habit of coming. Doctors +at issue with provincial and local administrations, Civil Surgeons who +cannot get their indents complied with, ground-down and mutinous +practitioners all India over, would do well to visit the Mayo Hospital, +Jeypore. They might, in the exceeding bitterness of their envy, be able +to point out some defects in its supplies, or its beds, or its splints, +or in the absolute isolation of the women's quarters from the men's.</p> + +<p>From the Hospital the Englishman went to the Museum in the centre of the +Gardens, and was eaten up by it, for Museums appealed to him. The casing +of the jewel was in the first place superb—a wonder of carven white +stone of the Indo-Saracenic style. It stood on a stone plinth, and was +rich in stone-tracery, green marble columns from Ajmir, red marble, +white marble colonnades, courts with fountains, richly carved wooden +doors, frescoes, inlay, and colour. The ornamentation of the tombs of +Delhi, the palaces of Agra, and the walls of Amber have been laid under +contribution to supply the designs in bracket, arch, and soffit; and +stone-masons from the Jeypore School of Art have woven into the work the +best that their hands could produce. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> building in essence if not in +the fact of to-day, is the work of Freemasons. The men were allowed a +certain scope in their choice of detail and the result—but it should be +seen to be understood, as it stands in those Imperial Gardens. And, +observe, the man who had designed it, who had superintended its +erection, had said no word to indicate that there were such a thing in +the place, or that every foot of it, from the domes of the roof to the +cool green chunam dadoes and the carving of the rims of the fountains in +the courtyard, was worth studying! Round the arches of the great centre +court are written in Sanskrit and Hindi, texts from the great Hindu +writers of old, bearing on the beauty of wisdom and the sanctity of true +knowledge.</p> + +<p>In the central corridor are six great frescoes, each about nine feet by +five, copies of illustrations in the Royal Folio of the <i>Razmnameh</i>, the +<i>Mahabharata</i>, which Abkar caused to be done by the best artists of his +day. The original is in the Museum, and he who can steal it will find a +purchaser at any price up to fifty thousand pounds.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> + +<p>OF THE SORDIDNESS OF THE SUPREME GOVERNMENT ON THE REVENUE SIDE; AND OF +THE PALACE OF JEYPORE. A GREAT KING'S PLEASURE-HOUSE, AND THE WORK OF +THE SERVANTS OF STATE.</p> + + +<p>Internally, there is, in all honesty, no limit to the luxury of the +Jeypore Museum. It revels in "South Kensington" cases—of the approved +pattern—that turn the beholder homesick, and South Kensington labels, +whereon the description, measurements, and price of each object are +fairly printed. These make savage one who knows how labelling is bungled +in some of the Government Museums—our starved barns that are supposed +to hold the economic exhibits, not of little States, but of great +Provinces.</p> + +<p>The floors are of dark red chunam, overlaid with a discreet and silent +matting; the doors, where they are not plate glass, are of carved wood, +no two alike, hinged by sumptuous brass hinges on to marble jambs and +opening without noise. On the carved marble pillars of each hall are +fixed revolving cases of the South Kensington pattern to show textile +fabrics, gold lace, and the like. In the recesses of the walls are more +cases, and on the railing of the gallery that runs round each of the +three great central rooms, are fixed low cases to hold natural history +specimens and wax models of fruits and vegetables.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hear this, Governments of India from the Punjab to Madras! The doors +come true to the jamb, the cases, which have been through a hot weather, +are neither warped nor cracked, nor are there unseemly tallow-drops and +flaws in the glasses. The maroon cloth, on or against which the exhibits +are placed, is of close texture, untouched by the moth, neither stained +nor meagre nor sunfaded; the revolving cases revolve freely without +rattling; there is not a speck of dust from one end of the building to +the other, because the menial staff are numerous enough to keep +everything clean, and the Curator's office is a veritable office—not a +shed or a bath-room, or a loose-box partitioned from the main building. +These things are so because money has been spent on the Museum, and it +is now a rebuke to all other Museums in India from Calcutta downwards. +Whether it is not too good to be buried away in a native State is a +question which envious men may raise and answer as they choose. Not long +ago, the editor of a Bombay paper passed through it, but having the +interests of the Egocentric Presidency before his eyes, dwelt more upon +the idea of the building than its structural beauties; saying that +Bombay, who professed a weakness for technical education, should be +ashamed of herself. And he was quite right.</p> + +<p>The system of the Museum is complete in intention, as are its +appointments in design. At present there are some fifteen thousand +objects of art, covering a complete exposition of the arts, from enamels +to pottery and from brass-ware to stone-carving, of the State of +Jeypore. They are compared with similar arts of other lands. Thus a +Damio's sword—a gem of lacquer-plated silk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> and stud-work—flanks the +<i>tulwars</i> of Marwar and the <i>jezails</i> of Tonk; and reproductions of +Persian and Russian brass-work stand side by side with the handicrafts +of the pupils of the Jeypore School of Art. A photograph of His Highness +the present Maharaja is set among the arms, which are the most prominent +features of the first or metal-room. As the villagers enter, they salaam +reverently to the photo, and then move on slowly, with an evidently +intelligent interest in what they see. Ruskin could describe the scene +admirably—pointing out how reverence must precede the study of art, and +how it is good for Englishmen and Rajputs alike to bow on occasion +before Geisler's cap. They thumb the revolving cases of cloths do those +rustics, and artlessly try to feel the texture through the protecting +glass. The main object of the Museum is avowedly provincial—to show the +craftsman of Jeypore the best that his predecessors could do, and what +foreign artists have done. In time—but the Curator of the Museum has +many schemes which will assuredly bear fruit in time, and it would be +unfair to divulge them. Let those who doubt the thoroughness of a Museum +under one man's control, built, filled, and endowed with royal +generosity—an institution perfectly independent of the Government of +India—go and exhaustively visit Dr. Hendley's charge at Jeypore. Like +the man who made the building, he refuses to talk, and so the greater +part of the work that he has in hand must be guessed at.</p> + +<p>At one point, indeed, the Curator was taken off his guard. A huge map of +the kingdom showed in green the portions that had been brought under +irrigation, while blue circles marked the towns that owned +dispensaries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> "I want to bring every man in the State within twenty +miles of a dispensary—and I've nearly done it," said he. Then he +checked himself, and went off to food-grains in little bottles as being +neutral and colourless things. Envy is forced to admit that the +arrangement of the Museum—far too important a matter to be explained +off-hand—is Continental in its character, and has a definite end and +bearing—a trifle omitted by many institutions other than Museums. +But—in fine, what can one say of a collection whose very labels are +gilt-edged! Shameful extravagance? Nothing of the kind—only finish, +perfectly in keeping with the rest of the fittings—a finish that we in +<i>kutcha</i><a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> India have failed to catch.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> casual: half-finished.</p></div> + +<p>From the Museum go out through the city to the Maharaja's +Palace—skilfully avoiding the man who would show you the Maharaja's +European billiard-room,—and wander through a wilderness of sunlit, +sleepy courts, gay with paint and frescoes, till you reach an inner +square, where smiling grey-bearded men squat at ease and play +<i>chaupur</i><a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>—just such a game as cost the Pandavs the fair +Draupadi—with inlaid dice and gayly lacquered pieces. These ancients +are very polite and will press you to play, but give no heed to them, +for <i>chaupur</i> is an expensive game—expensive as quail-fighting, when +you have backed the wrong bird and the people are laughing at your +inexperience. The Maharaja's Palace is gay, overwhelmingly rich in +candelabra, painted ceilings, gilt mirrors, and other evidences of a too +hastily assimilated civilisation; but, if the evidence of the ear can be +trusted, the old, old game of intrigue goes on as merrily as of yore. A +figure in saffron came out of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> dark arch into the sunlight, almost +falling into the arms of one in pink. "Where have you come from?" "I +have been to see ——" the name was unintelligible. "That is a lie; you +have <i>not</i>!" Then, across the court, some one laughed a low, croaking +laugh. The pink and saffron figures separated as though they had been +shot, and disappeared into separate bolt-holes. It was a curious little +incident, and might have meant a great deal or just nothing at all. It +distracted the attention of the ancients bowed above the <i>chaupur</i> +cloth.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> something like <i>parchesi</i>.</p></div> + +<p>In the Palace-gardens there is even a greater stillness than that about +the courts, and here nothing of the West, unless a critical soul might +take exception to the lamp-posts. At the extreme end lies a lake-like +tank swarming with <i>muggers</i>.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> It is reached through an opening under +a block of zenana buildings. Remembering that all beasts by the palaces +of Kings or the temples of priests in this country would answer to the +name of "Brother," the Englishman cried with the voice of faith across +the water. And the mysterious freemasonry did not fail. At the far end +of the tank rose a ripple that grew and grew and grew like a thing in a +nightmare, and became presently an aged <i>mugger</i>. As he neared the +shore, there emerged, the green slime thick upon his eyelids, another +beast, and the two together snapped at a cigar-butt—the only reward for +their courtesy. Then, disgusted, they sank stern first with a gentle +sigh. Now a <i>mugger's</i> sigh is the most suggestive sound in animal +speech. It suggested first the zenana buildings overhead, the walled +passes through the purple hills beyond, a horse that might clatter +through the passes till he reached the Man Sagar Lake below the passes, +and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> boat that might row across the Man Sagar till it nosed the wall +of the Palace-tank, and then—then uprose the <i>mugger</i> with the filth +upon his forehead and winked one horny eyelid—in truth he did!—and so +supplied a fitting end to a foolish fiction of old days and things that +might have been. But it must be unpleasant to live in a house whose base +is washed by such a tank.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> crocodiles.</p></div> + +<p>And so back through the chunamed courts, and among the gentle sloping +paths between the orange trees, up to an entrance of the palace, guarded +by two rusty brown dogs from Kabul, each big as a man, and each +requiring a man's charpoy to sleep upon. Very gay was the front of the +palace, very brilliant were the glimpses of the damask-couched, gilded +rooms within, and very, very civilised were the lamp-posts with Ram +Singh's monogram, devised to look like V. R., at the bottom, and a +coronet at the top. An unseen brass band among the orange bushes struck +up the overture of the <i>Bronze Horse</i>. Those who know the music will see +at once that that was the only tune which exactly and perfectly fitted +the scene and its surroundings. It was a coincidence and a revelation.</p> + +<p>In his time and when he was not fighting, Jey Singh, the second, who +built the city, was a great astronomer—a royal Omar Khayyam, for he, +like the tent-maker of Nishapur, reformed a calendar, and strove to +wring their mysteries from the stars with instruments worthy of a king. +But in the end he wrote that the goodness of the Almighty was above +everything, and died, leaving his observatory to decay without the +palace-grounds.</p> + +<p>From the <i>Bronze Horse</i> to the grass-grown enclosure that holds the +Yantr Samrat, or Prince of Dials, is rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> an abrupt passage. Jey +Singh built him a dial with a gnomon some ninety feet high, to throw a +shadow against the sun, and the gnomon stands to-day, though there is +grass in the kiosque at the top and the flight of steps up the +hypotenuse is worn. He built also a zodiacal dial—twelve dials upon one +platform—to find the moment of true noon at any time of the year, and +hollowed out of the earth place for two hemispherical cups, cut by belts +of stone, for comparative observations.</p> + +<p>He made cups for calculating eclipses, and a mural quadrant and many +other strange things of stone and mortar, of which people hardly know +the names and but very little of the uses. Once, said a man in charge of +two tiny elephants, <i>Indur</i> and <i>Har</i>, a Sahib came with the Viceroy, +and spent eight days in the enclosure of the great neglected +observatory, seeing and writing things in a book. But <i>he</i> understood +<i>Sanskrit</i>—the Sanskrit upon the faces of the dials, and the meaning of +the gnoma and pointers. Nowadays no one understands Sanskrit—not even +the Pundits; but without doubt Jey Singh was a great man.</p> + +<p>The hearer echoed the statement, though he knew nothing of astronomy, +and of all the wonders in the observatory was only struck by the fact +that the shadow of the Prince of Dials moved over its vast plate so +quickly that it seemed as though Time, wroth at the insolence of Jey +Singh, had loosed the Horses of the Sun and were sweeping +everything—dainty Palace-gardens and ruinous instruments—into the +darkness of eternal night. So he went away chased by the shadow on the +dial, and returned to the hotel, where he found men who said—this must +be a catch-word of Globe-trotters—that they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> "much pleased at" +Amber. They further thought that "house-rent would be cheap in those +parts," and sniggered over the witticism. There is a class of tourists, +and a strangely large one, who individually never get farther than the +"much pleased" state under any circumstances. This same class of +tourists, it has also been observed, are usually free with hackneyed +puns, vapid phrases, and alleged or bygone jokes. Jey Singh, in spite of +a few discreditable <i>laches</i>, was a temperate and tolerant man; but he +would have hanged those Globe-trotters in their trunk-straps as high as +the Yantr Samrat.</p> + +<p>Next morning, in the grey dawn, the Englishman rose up and shook the +sand of Jeypore from his feet, and went with Master Coryatt and Sir +Thomas Roe to "Adsmir," wondering whether a year in Jeypore would be +sufficient to exhaust its interest, and why he had not gone out to the +tombs of the dead Kings and the passes of Gulta and the fort of Motee +Dungri. But what he wondered at most—knowing how many men who have in +any way been connected with the birth of an institution, do, to the end +of their days, continue to drag forward and exhume their labours and the +honours that did <i>not</i> come to them—was the work of the two men who, +together for years past, have been pushing Jeypore along the +stone-dressed paths of civilisation, peace, and comfort. "Servants of +the Raj" they called themselves, and surely they have served the Raj +past all praise. The people in the city and the camel-driver from the +sand-hills told of their work. They themselves held their peace as to +what they had done, and, when pressed, referred—crowning baseness—to +reports. Printed ones!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> + +<p>SHOWING HOW HER MAJESTY'S MAILS WENT TO UDAIPUR AND FELL OUT BY THE WAY.</p> + + +<p>Arrived at Ajmir, the Englishman fell among tents pitched under the +shadow of a huge banian tree, and in them was a Punjabi. Now there is no +brotherhood like the brotherhood of the Pauper Province; for it is even +greater than the genial and unquestioning hospitality which, in spite of +the loafer and the Globe-trotter, seems to exist throughout India. Ajmir +being British territory, though the inhabitants are allowed to carry +arms, is the headquarters of many of the banking firms who lend to the +Native States. The complaint of the Setts<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> to-day is that their trade +is bad, because an unsympathetic Government induces Native States to +make railways and become prosperous. "Look at Jodhpur!" said a gentleman +whose possessions might be roughly estimated at anything between thirty +and forty-five lakhs. "Time was when Jodhpur was always in debt—and not +so long ago, either. Now, they've got a railroad and are carrying salt +over it, and, as sure as I stand here, they have a <i>surplus</i>! What can +we do?" Poor pauper! However, he makes a little profit on the +fluctuations in the coinage of the States round him, for every small +king seems to have the privilege of striking his own image and +inflicting the Great Exchange Question on his subjects. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> a poor +State that has not two seers and five different rupees.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> native bankers.</p></div> + +<p>From a criminal point of view, Ajmir is not a pleasant place. The Native +States lie all round and about it, and portions of the district are ten +miles off, Native State-locked on every side. Thus the criminal, who may +be a burglarious Meena lusting for the money bags of the Setts, or a +Peshawari down south on a cold weather tour, has his plan of campaign +much simplified.</p> + +<p>The Englishman made only a short stay in the town, hearing that there +was to be a ceremony—<i>tamasha</i> covers a multitude of things—at the +capital of His Highness the Maharana of Udaipur—a town some hundred and +eighty miles south of Ajmir, not known to many people beyond Viceroys +and their Staffs and the officials of the Rajputana Agency. So he took a +Neemuch train in the very early morning and, with the Punjabi, went due +south to Chitor, the point of departure for Udaipur. In time the +Aravalis gave place to a dead, flat, stone-strewn plain, thick with +dhak-jungle. Later the date-palm fraternised with the dhak, and low +hills stood on either side of the line. To this succeeded a tract rich +in pure white stone—the line was ballasted with it. Then came more low +hills, each with a cock's comb of splintered rock, overlooking +dhak-jungle and villages fenced with thorns—places that at once +declared themselves tigerish. Last, the huge bulk of Chitor showed +itself on the horizon. The train crossed the Gumber River and halted +almost in the shadow of the hills on which the old pride of Udaipur was +set.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to give an idea of the Chitor fortress; but the long +line of brown wall springing out of bush-covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> hill suggested at once +those pictures, such as the <i>Graphic</i> publishes, of the <i>Inflexible</i> or +the <i>Devastation</i>—gigantic men-of-war with a very low free-board +ploughing through green sea. The hill on which the fort stands is +ship-shaped and some miles long, and, from a distance, every inch +appears to be scarped and guarded. But there was no time to see Chitor. +The business of the day was to get, if possible, to Udaipur from Chitor +Station, which was composed of one platform, one telegraph-room, a +bench, and several vicious dogs.</p> + +<p>The State of Udaipur is as backward as Jeypore is advanced—if we judge +it by the standard of civilisation. It does not approve of the +incursions of Englishmen, and, to do it justice, it thoroughly succeeds +in conveying its silent sulkiness. Still, where there is one English +Resident, one Doctor, one Engineer, one Settlement Officer, and one +Missionary, there must be a mail at least once a day. There was a mail. +The Englishman, men said, might go by it if he liked, or he might not. +Then, with a great sinking of the heart, he began to realise that his +caste was of no value in the stony pastures of Mewar, among the +swaggering gentlemen, who were so lavishly adorned with arms. There was +a mail, the ghost of a tonga, with tattered side-cloths and patched +roof, inconceivably filthy within and without, and it was Her Majesty's. +There was another tonga,—an <i>aram</i> tonga, a carriage of ease—but the +Englishman was not to have it. It was reserved for a Rajput Thakur who +was going to Udaipur with his "tail." The Thakur, in claret-coloured +velvet with a blue turban, a revolver—Army pattern—a sword, and five +or six friends, also with swords, came by and indorsed the statement. +Now, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> mail tonga had a wheel which was destined to become the Wheel +of Fate, and to lead to many curious things. Two diseased yellow ponies +were extracted from a dung-hill and yoked to the tonga; and after due +deliberation Her Majesty's mail started, the Thakur following.</p> + +<p>In twelve hours, or thereabouts, the seventy miles between Chitor and +Udaipur would be accomplished. Behind the tonga cantered an armed sowar. +He was the guard. The Thakur's tonga came up with a rush, ran +deliberately across the bows of the Englishman, chipped a pony, and +passed on. One lives and learns. The Thakur seems to object to following +the foreigner.</p> + +<p>At the halting-stages, once in every six miles, that is to say, the +ponies were carefully undressed and all their accoutrements fitted more +or less accurately on to the backs of any ponies that might happen to be +near; the released animals finding their way back to their stables alone +and unguided. There were no grooms, and the harness hung on by special +dispensation of Providence. Still the ride over a good road, driven +through a pitilessly stony country, had its charms for a while. At +sunset the low hills turned to opal and wine-red and the brown dust flew +up pure gold; for the tonga was running straight into the sinking sun. +Now and again would pass a traveller on a camel, or a gang of +<i>Bunjarras</i><a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> with their pack-bullocks and their women; and the sun +touched the brasses of their swords and guns till the poor wretches +seemed rich merchants come back from travelling with Sindbad.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Gipsy traders.</p></div> + +<p>On a rock on the right-hand side, thirty-four great vultures were +gathered over the carcass of a steer. And this was an evil omen. They +made unseemly noises as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> the tonga passed, and a raven came out of a +bush on the right and answered them. To crown all, one of the hide and +skin castes sat on the left-hand side of the road, cutting up some of +the flesh that he had stolen from the vultures. Could a man desire three +more inauspicious signs for a night's travel? Twilight came, and the +hills were alive with strange noises, as the red moon, nearly at her +full, rose over Chitor. To the low hills of the mad geological +formation, the tumbled strata that seem to obey no law, succeeded level +ground, the pasture lands of Mewar, cut by the Beruch and Wyan, streams +running over smooth water-worn rock, and, as the heavy embankments and +ample waterways showed, very lively in the rainy season.</p> + +<p>In this region occurred the last and most inauspicious omen of all. +Something had gone wrong with a crupper, a piece of blue and white +punkah-cord. The Englishman pointed it out, and the driver, descending, +danced on that lonely road an unholy dance, singing the while: "The +<i>dumchi</i>!<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> The <i>dumchi</i>! The <i>dumchi</i>!" in a shrill voice. Then he +returned and drove on, while the Englishman wondered into what land of +lunatics he was heading. At an average speed of six miles an hour, it is +possible to see a great deal of the country; and, under brilliant +moonlight, Mewar was desolately beautiful. There was no night traffic on +the road, no one except the patient sowar, his shadow an inky blot on +white, cantering twenty yards behind. Once the tonga strayed into a +company of date trees that fringed the path, and once rattled through a +little town, and once the ponies shied at what the driver said was a +rock. But It jumped up in the moonlight and went away.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The crupper.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p></div> + +<p>Then came a great blasted heath whereon nothing was more than six inches +high—a wilderness covered with grass and low thorn; and here, as nearly +as might be midway between Chitor and Udaipur, the Wheel of Fate, which +had been for some time beating against the side of the tonga, came off, +and Her Majesty's mails, two bags including parcels, collapsed on the +wayside: while the Englishman repented him that he had neglected the +omens of the vultures and the raven, the low-caste man and the mad +driver.</p> + +<p>There was a consultation and an examination of the wheel, but the whole +tonga was rotten, and the axle was smashed and the axle pins were bent +and nearly red-hot. "It is nothing," said the driver, "the mail often +does this. What is a wheel?" He took a big stone and began hammering +proudly on the tire, to show that that at least was sound. A hasty +court-martial revealed that there was absolutely not one single relief +vehicle on the whole road between Chitor and Udaipur.</p> + +<p>Now this wilderness was so utterly waste that not even the barking of a +dog or the sound of a night-fowl could be heard. Luckily the Thakur had, +some twenty miles back, stepped out to smoke by the roadside, and his +tonga had been passed meanwhile. The sowar was sent back to find that +tonga and bring it on. He cantered into the haze of the moonlight and +disappeared. Then said the driver: "Had there been no tonga behind us, I +should have put the mails on a horse, because the Sirkar's mail cannot +stop." The Englishman sat down upon the parcels-bag, for he felt that +there was trouble coming. The driver looked East and West and said: "I, +too, will go and see if the tonga can be found, for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> Sirkar's dak +cannot stop. Meantime, oh, Sahib, do you take care of the mails—one bag +and one bag of parcels." So he ran swiftly into the haze of the +moonlight and was lost, and the Englishman was left alone in charge of +Her Majesty's mails, two unhappy ponies, and a lop-sided tonga. He lit a +fire, for the night was bitterly cold, and only mourned that he could +not destroy the whole of the territories of His Highness, the Maharana +of Udaipur. But he managed to raise a very fine blaze, before he +reflected that all this trouble was his own fault for wandering into +Native States undesirous of Englishmen.</p> + +<p>The ponies coughed dolorously from time to time, but they could not lift +the weight of a dead silence that seemed to be crushing the earth. After +an interval measurable by centuries, sowar, driver, and Thakur's tonga +reappeared; the latter full to the brim and bubbling over with humanity +and bedding. "We will now," said the driver, not deigning to notice the +Englishman who had been on guard over the mails, "put the Sirkar's mail +into this tonga and go forward." Amiable heathen! He was going—he said +so—to leave the Englishman to wait in the Sahara, for certainly thirty +hours and perhaps forty-eight. Tongas are scarce on the Udaipur road. +There are a few occasions in life when it is justifiable to delay Her +Majesty's Mail. This was one of them. Seating himself upon the +parcels-bag, the Englishman cried in what was intended to be a very +terrible voice, but the silence soaked it up and left only a thin +trickle of sound, that any one who touched the bags would be hit with a +stick, several times, over the head. The bags were the only link between +him and the civilisation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> he had so rashly foregone. And there was a +pause.</p> + +<p>The Thakur put his head out of the tonga and spoke shrilly in Mewari. +The Englishman replied in English-Urdu. The Thakur withdrew his head, +and from certain grunts that followed seemed to be wakening his +retainers. Then two men fell sleepily out of the tonga and walked into +the night. "Come in," said the Thakur, "you and your baggage. My pistol +is in that corner; be careful." The Englishman, taking a mail-bag in one +hand for safety's sake,—the wilderness inspires an Anglo-Indian +Cockney, with unreasoning fear,—climbed into the tonga, which was then +loaded far beyond Plimsoll mark, and the procession resumed its journey. +Every one in the vehicle—it seemed as full as the railway carriage that +held Alice through the Looking-Glass—was <i>Sahib</i> and <i>Hazur</i>. Except +the Englishman. He was simple <i>tum</i> (thou), and a revolver, Army +pattern, was printing every diamond in the chequer-work of its handle, +on his right hip. When men desired him to move, they prodded him with +the handles of <i>tulwars</i> till they had coiled him into an uneasy lump. +Then they slept upon him, or cannoned against him as the tonga bumped. +It was an <i>aram</i> tonga, a tonga for ease. That was the bitterest thought +of all!</p> + +<p>In due season the harness began to break once every five minutes, and +the driver vowed that the wheels would give way also.</p> + +<p>After eight hours in one position, it is excessively difficult to walk, +still more difficult to climb up an unknown road into a dak-bungalow; +but he who has sought sleep on an arsenal and under the bodies of burly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Rajputs can do it. The grey dawn brought Udaipur and a French bedstead. +As the tonga jingled away, the Englishman heard the familiar crack of +broken harness. So he was not the Jonah he had been taught to consider +himself all through that night of penance!</p> + +<p>A jackal sat in the verandah and howled him to sleep, and he dreamed +that he caught a Viceroy under the walls of Chitor and beat him with a +<i>tulwar</i> till he turned into a dak-pony whose near foreleg was +perpetually coming off and who would say nothing but <i>tum</i> when he was +asked why he had not built a railway from Chitor to Udaipur.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> + +<p>TOUCHING THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN AND THEIR CITY, AND THE HAT-MARKED +CASTE AND THEIR MERITS, AND A GOOD MAN'S WORKS IN THE WILDERNESS.</p> + + +<p>It was worth a night's discomfort and revolver-beds to sleep upon—this +city of the Suryavansi, hidden among the hills that encompass the great +Pichola lake. Truly, the King who governs to-day is wise in his +determination to have no railroad to his capital. His predecessor was +more or less enlightened, and had he lived a few years longer, would +have brought the iron horse through the Dobarri—the green gate which is +the entrance of the Girwa or girdle of hills around Udaipur; and, with +the train, would have come the tourist who would have scratched his name +upon the Temple of Garuda and laughed horse-laughs upon the lake. Let +us, therefore, be thankful that the capital of Mewar is hard to reach.</p> + +<p>Each man in this land who has any claims to respectability walks armed, +carrying his tulwar sheathed in his hand, or hung by a short sling of +cotton passing over the shoulder, under his left armpit. His matchlock, +or smooth-bore, if he has one, is borne naked on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>Now it is possible to carry any number of lethal weapons without being +actually dangerous. An unhandy revolver,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> for instance, may be worn for +years, and, at the end, accomplish nothing more noteworthy than the +murder of its owner. But the Rajput's weapons are not meant for display. +The Englishman caught a camel-driver who talked to him in Mewari, which +is a heathenish dialect, something like Multani to listen to; and the +man, very gracefully and courteously, handed him his sword and +matchlock, the latter a heavy stump-stock arrangement without pretence +of sights. The blade was as sharp as a razor, and the gun in perfect +working order. The coiled fuse on the stock was charred at the end, and +the curled ram's-horn powder-horn opened as readily as a much-handled +whisky-flask. Unfortunately, ignorance of Mewari prevented conversation; +so the camel-driver resumed his accoutrements and jogged forward on his +beast—a superb black one, with the short curled <i>hubshee</i> hair—while +the Englishman went to the city, which is built on hills on the borders +of the lake. By the way, everything in Udaipur is built on a hill. There +is no level ground in the place, except the Durbar Gardens, of which +more hereafter. Because colour holds the eye more than form, the first +thing noticeable was neither temple nor fort, but an ever-recurring +picture, painted in the rudest form of native art, of a man on horseback +armed with a lance, charging an elephant-of-war. As a rule, the elephant +was depicted on one side the house-door and the rider on the other. +There was no representation of an army behind. The figures stood alone +upon the whitewash on house and wall and gate, again and again and +again. A highly intelligent priest grunted that it was a picture; a +private of the Maharana's regular army suggested that it was an +elephant; while a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> wheat-seller, his sword at his side, was equally +certain that it was a Raja. Beyond that point, his knowledge did not go. +The explanation of the picture is this. In the days when Raja Maun of +Amber put his sword at Akbar's service and won for him great kingdoms, +Akbar sent an army against Mewar, whose then ruler was Pertap Singh, +most famous of all the princes of Mewar. Selim, Akbar's son, led the +army of the Toork; the Rajputs met them at the pass of Huldighat and +fought till one-half of their band was slain. Once, in the press of +battle, Pertap on his great horse, Chytak, came within striking distance +of Selim's elephant, and slew the mahout, but Selim escaped, to become +Jehangir afterwards, and the Rajputs were broken. That was three hundred +years ago, and men have reduced the picture to a sort of diagram that +the painter dashes in, in a few minutes, without, it would seem, knowing +what he is commemorating.</p> + +<p>Thinking of these things, the Englishman made shift to get to the city, +and presently came to a tall gate, the gate of the Sun, on which the +elephant-spikes, that he had seen rotted with rust at Amber, were new +and pointed and effective. The City gates are said to be shut at night, +and there is a story of a Viceroy's Guard-of-Honour which arrived before +daybreak, being compelled to crawl ignominiously man by man through a +little wicket-gate, while the horses had to wait without till sunrise. +But a civilised yearning for the utmost advantages of octroi, and not a +fierce fear of robbery and wrong, is at the bottom of the continuance of +this custom. The walls of the City are loopholed for musketry, but there +seem to be no mounting for guns, and the moat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> without the walls is dry +and gives cattle pasture. Coarse rubble in concrete faced with stone +makes the walls moderately strong.</p> + +<p>Internally, the City is surprisingly clean, though with the exception of +the main street, paved after the fashion of Jullundur, of which, men +say, the pavement was put down in the time of Alexander and worn by +myriads of naked feet into deep barrels and grooves. In the case of +Udaipur, the feet of the passengers have worn the rock veins that crop +out everywhere, smooth and shiny; and in the rains the narrow gullies +must spout like fire-hoses. The people have been untouched by cholera +for four years, proof that Providence looks after those who do not look +after themselves, for Neemuch Cantonment, a hundred miles away, suffered +grievously last summer. "And what do you make in Udaipur?" "Swords," +said the man in the shop, throwing down an armful of <i>tulwars</i>, +<i>kuttars</i>, and <i>khandas</i> on the stones. "Do you want any? Look here!" +Hereat, he took up one of the commoner swords and flourished it in the +sunshine. Then he bent it double, and, as it sprang straight, began to +make it "speak." Arm-venders in Udaipur are a sincere race, for they +sell to people who really use their wares. The man in the shop was +rude—distinctly so. His first flush of professional enthusiasm abated, +he took stock of the Englishman and said calmly: "What do <i>you</i> want +with a sword?" Then he picked up his goods and retreated, while certain +small boys, who deserved a smacking, laughed riotously from the coping +of a little temple hard by. Swords seem to be the sole manufacture of +the place. At least, none of the inhabitants the Englishman spoke to +could think of any other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<p>There is a certain amount of personal violence in and about the State, +or else where would be the good of the weapons? There are occasionally +dacoities more or less important; but these are not often heard of, and, +indeed, there is no special reason why they should be dragged into the +light of an unholy publicity, for the land governs itself in its own +way, and is always in its own way, which is by no means ours, very +happy. The Thakurs live, each in his own castle on some rock-faced hill, +much as they lived in the days of Tod; though their chances of +distinguishing themselves, except in the school, and dispensary line, +are strictly limited. Nominally, they pay <i>chutoond</i>, or a sixth of +their revenues to the State, and are under feudal obligations to supply +their Head with so many horsemen per thousand rupees; but whether the +<i>chutoond</i> justifies its name and what is the exact extent of the "tail" +leviable, they, and perhaps the Rajputana Agency, alone know. They are +quiet, give no trouble except to the wild boar, and personally are +magnificent men to look at. The Rajput shows his breeding in his hands +and feet, which are almost disproportionately small, and as well shaped +as those of a woman. His stirrups and sword-handles are even more +unusable by Westerns than those elsewhere in India, whereas the Bhil's +knife-handle gives as large a grip as an English one. Now the little +Bhil is an aborigine, which is humiliating to think of. His tongue, +which may frequently be heard in the City, seems to possess some variant +of the Zulu click, which gives it a weird and unearthly character. From +the main gate of the City the Englishman climbed uphill towards the +Palace and the Jugdesh Temple built by one Juggat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> Singh at the +beginning of the last century. This building must be—but ignorance is a +bad guide—Jain in character. From basement to the stone socket of the +temple flagstaff, it is carved in high relief with elephants, men, gods, +and monsters in friezes of wearying profusion.</p> + +<p>The management of the temple have daubed a large portion of the building +with whitewash, for which their revenues should be "cut" for a year or +two. The main shrine holds a large brazen image of Garuda, and, in the +corners of the courtyard of the main pile, are shrines to Mahadeo, and +the jovial, pot-bellied Ganesh. There is no repose in this architecture, +and the entire effect is one of repulsion; for the clustered figures of +man and brute seem always on the point of bursting into unclean, +wriggling life. But it may be that the builders of this form of house +desired to put the fear of all their many gods into the hearts of the +worshippers.</p> + +<p>From the temple whose steps are worn smooth by the feet of men, and +whose courts are full of the faint smell of stale flowers and old +incense, the Englishman went to the Palaces which crown the highest hill +overlooking the City. Here, too, whitewash had been unsparingly applied, +but the excuse was that the stately fronts and the pierced screens were +built of a perishable stone which needed protection against the weather. +One projecting window in the façade of the main palace had been treated +with Minton tiles. Luckily it was too far up the wall for anything more +than the colour to be visible, and the pale blue against the pure white +was effective.</p> + +<p>A picture of Ganesh looks out over the main courtyard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> which is entered +by a triple gate, and hard by is the place where the King's elephants +fight over a low masonry wall. In the side of the hill on which the +Palaces stand is built stabling for horses and elephants—proof that the +architects of old must have understood their business thoroughly. The +Palace is not a "show place," and, consequently, the Englishman did not +see much of the interior. But he passed through open gardens with tanks +and pavilions, very cool and restful, till he came suddenly upon the +Pichola lake, and forgot altogether about the Palace. He found a sheet +of steel-blue water, set in purple and grey hills, bound in, on one +side, by marble bunds, the fair white walls of the Palace, and the grey, +time-worn ones of the city; and, on the other, fading away through the +white of shallow water, and the soft green of weed, marsh, and +rank-pastured river-field, into the land.</p> + +<p>To enjoy open water thoroughly, live for a certain number of years +barred from anything better than the yearly swell and shrinkage of one +of the Five Rivers, and then come upon two and a half miles of solid, +restful lake, with a cool wind blowing off it and little waves spitting +against the piers of a veritable, albeit hideously ugly, boat-house. On +the faith of an exile from the Sea, you will not stay long among +Palaces, be they never so lovely, or in little rooms panelled with Dutch +tiles.</p> + +<p>And here follows a digression. There is no life so good as the life of a +loafer who travels by rail and road; for all things and all people are +kind to him. From the chill miseries of a dak-bungalow where they slew +one hen with as much parade as the French guillotined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> Pranzini, to the +well-ordered sumptuousness of the Residency, was a step bridged over by +kindly and unquestioning hospitality. So it happened that the Englishman +was not only able to go upon the lake in a soft-cushioned boat, with +everything handsome about him, but might, had he chosen, have killed +wild-duck with which the lake swarms.</p> + +<p>The mutter of water under a boat's nose was a pleasant thing to hear +once more. Starting at the head of the lake, he found himself shut out +from sight of the main sheet of water in a loch bounded by a sunk, +broken bund to steer across which was a matter of some nicety. Beyond +that lay a second pool, spanned by a narrow-arched bridge built, men +said, long before the City of the Rising Sun, which is little more than +three hundred years old. The bridge connects the City with Brahmapura—a +whiter walled enclosure filled with many Brahmins and ringing with the +noise of their conches. Beyond the bridge, the body of the lake, with +the City running down to it, comes into full view; and Providence has +arranged for the benefit of such as delight in colours, that the +Rajputni shall wear the most striking tints that she can buy in the +bazaars, in order that she may beautify the ghâts where she comes to +bathe.</p> + +<p>The bathing-ledge at the foot of the City wall was lighted with women +clad in raw vermilion, dull red, indigo and sky-blue, saffron and pink +and turquoise; the water faithfully doubling everything. But the first +impression was of the unreality of the sight, for the Englishman found +himself thinking of the Simla Fine Arts Exhibition and the overdaring +amateurs who had striven to reproduce scenes such as these. Then a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +woman rose up, and clasping her hands behind her head, looked at the +passing boat, and the ripples spread out from her waist, in blinding +white silver, far across the water. As a picture, a daringly insolent +picture, it was superb.</p> + +<p>The boat turned aside to shores where huge turtles were lying, and a +stork had built her a nest, big as a haycock, in a withered tree, and a +bevy of coots were flapping and gabbling in the weeds or between great +leaves of the <i>Victoria regia</i>—an "escape" from the State Gardens. Here +were divers and waders, kingfishers and snaky-necked birds of the +cormorant family, but no duck. They had seen the guns in the boat and +were flying to and fro in companies across the lake, or settling—wise +things!—in the glare of the sun on the water. The lake was swarming +with them, but they seemed to know exactly how far a twelve-bore would +carry. Perhaps their knowledge had been gained from the Englishman at +the Residency. Later, as the sun left the lake, and the hills began to +glow like opals, the boat made her way to the shallow side of the lake, +through fields of watergrass and dead lotus-raffle that rose as high as +the bows, and clung lovingly about the rudder, and parted with the noise +of silk when it is torn. There she waited for the fall of twilight when +the duck would come home to bed, and the Englishman sprawled upon the +cushions in deep content and laziness, as he looked across to where two +marble Palaces floated upon the waters, and saw all the glory and beauty +of the City, and wondered whether Tod, in cocked hat and stiff stock, +had ever come shooting among the reeds, and, if so, how in the world he +had ever managed to bowl over....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Duck and drake, by Jove! Confiding beasts, weren't they. Hi! Lalla, +jump out and get them!" It was a brutal thing, this double-barrelled +murder perpetrated in the silence of the marsh when the kingly wild-duck +came back from his wanderings with his mate at his side, but—but—the +birds were very good to eat.</p> + +<p>If the Venetian owned the Pichola Sagar he might say with justice: "See +it and die." But it is better to live and go to dinner, and strike into +a new life—that of the men who bear the hat-mark on their brow as +plainly as the well-born native carries the <i>trisul</i> of Shiva.</p> + +<p>They are of the same caste as the toilers on the Frontier—tough, +bronzed men, with wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, gotten by looking +across much sun-glare. When they would speak of horses they mention Arab +ponies, and their talk, for the most part, drifts Bombaywards, or to +Abu, which is their Simla. By these things the traveller may see that he +is far away from the Presidency; and will presently learn that he is in +a land where the railway is an incident and not an indispensable luxury. +Folk tell strange stories of drives in bullock-carts in the rains, of +breakdowns in nullahs fifty miles from everywhere, and of elephants that +used to sink for rest and refreshment half-way across swollen streams. +Every place here seems fifty miles from everywhere, and the legs of a +horse are regarded as the only natural means of locomotion. Also, and +this to the Indian Cockney, who is accustomed to the bleached or office +man, is curious, there are to be found many veritable "tiger-men"—not +story-spinners, but such as have, in their wanderings from Bikaneer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +Indore, dropped their tiger in the way of business. They are +enthusiastic over princelings of little known fiefs, lords of austere +estates perched on the tops of unthrifty hills, hard riders, and good +sportsmen. And five, six, yes fully nine hundred miles to the northward, +lives the sister branch of the same caste—the men who swear by Pathan, +Biluch, and Brahui, with whom they have shot or broken bread.</p> + +<p>There is a saying in Upper India that the more desolate the country, the +greater the certainty of finding a Padre-Sahib. The proverb seems to +hold good in Udaipur, where the Scotch Presbyterian Mission have a post, +and others at Todgarh to the north and elsewhere. To arrive, under +Providence, at the cure of souls through the curing of bodies certainly +seems the rational method of conversion; and this is exactly what the +Missions are doing. Their Padre in Udaipur is also an M.D., and of him a +rather striking tale is told. Conceiving that the City could bear +another hospital in addition to the State one, he took furlough, went +home, and there, by crusade and preaching, raised sufficient money for +the scheme, so that none might say that he was beholden to the State. +Returning, he built his hospital, a very model of neatness and comfort, +and, opening the operation-book, announced his readiness to see any one +and every one who was sick. How the call was and is now responded to, +the dry records of that book will show; and the name of the Padre-Sahib +is honoured, as these ears have heard, throughout Udaipur and far +around. The faith that sends a man into the wilderness, and the secular +energy which enables him to cope with an ever-growing demand for medical +aid, must, in time, find their reward. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> patience and unwearying +self-sacrifice carry any merit, they should do so soon. To-day the +people are willing enough to be healed, and the general influence of the +Padre-Sahib is very great. But beyond that.... Still it was impossible +to judge aright.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> + +<p>DIVERS PASSAGES OF SPEECH AND ACTION WHENCE THE NATURE, ARTS, AND +DISPOSITION OF THE KING AND HIS SUBJECTS MAY BE OBSERVED.</p> + + +<p>In this land men tell "sad stories of the death of Kings" not easily +found elsewhere; and also speak of <i>sati</i>, which is generally supposed +to be out of date in a manner which makes it seem very near and vivid. +Be pleased to listen to some of the tales, but with all the names cut +out, because a King has just as much right to have his family affairs +respected as has a British householder paying income tax.</p> + +<p>Once upon a time, that is to say when the British power was well +established in the land and there were railways, was a King who lay +dying for many days, and all, including the Englishmen about him, knew +that his end was certain. But he had chosen to lie in an outer court or +pleasure-house of his Palace; and with him were some twenty of his +favourite wives. The place in which he lay was very near to the City; +and there was a fear that his womankind should, on his death, going mad +with grief, cast off their veils and run out into the streets, uncovered +before all men. In which case nothing, not even the power of the Press, +and the locomotive, and the telegraph, and cheap education and +enlightened municipal councils, could have saved them from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> the +burning-pyre, for they were the wives of a King. So the Political did +his best to induce the dying man to go to the Fort of the City, a safe +place close to the regular zenana, where all the women could be kept +within walls. He said that the air was better in the Fort, but the King +refused; and that he would recover in the Fort; but the King refused. +After some days, the latter turned and said: "<i>Why</i> are you so keen, +Sahib, upon getting my old bones up to the Fort?" Driven to his last +defences, the Political said simply: "Well, Maharana Sahib, the place is +close to the road, you see, and...." The King saw and said: "Oh, +<i>that's</i> it? I've been puzzling my brain for four days to find out what +on earth you were driving at. I'll go to-night." "But there may be some +difficulty," began the Political. "You think so," said the King. "If I +only hold up my little finger, the women will obey me. Go now, and come +back in five minutes, and all will be ready for departure." As a matter +of fact, the Political withdrew for the space of fifteen minutes, and +gave orders that the conveyances which he had kept in readiness day and +night should be got ready. In fifteen minutes those twenty women, with +their handmaidens, were packed and ready for departure; and the King +died later at the Fort, and nothing happened. Here the Englishman asked +why a frantic woman must of necessity become a <i>sati</i>, and felt properly +abashed when he was told that she <i>must</i>. There was nothing else for her +if she went out unveiled.</p> + +<p>The rush-out forces the matter. And, indeed, if you consider the matter +from the Rajput point of view it does.</p> + +<p>Then followed a very grim tale of the death of another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> King; of the +long vigil by his bedside, before he was taken off the bed to die upon +the ground; of the shutting of a certain mysterious door behind the +bed-head, which shutting was followed by a rustle of women's dress; of a +walk on the top of the palace, to escape the heated air of the sick +room; and then, in the grey dawn, the wail upon wail breaking from the +zenana as the news of the King's death went in. "I never wish to hear +anything more horrible and awful in my life. You could see nothing. You +could only hear the poor wretches," said the Political, with a shiver.</p> + +<p>The last resting-place of the Maharanas of Udaipur is at Ahar, a little +village two miles east of the City. Here they go down in their robes of +state, their horse following behind, and here the Political saw, after +the death of a Maharana, the dancing-girls dancing before the poor white +ashes, the musicians playing among the cenotaphs, and the golden hookah, +sword, and water-vessel laid out for the naked soul doomed to hover +twelve days round the funeral pyre, before it could depart on its +journey toward a fresh birth. Once, in a neighbouring State it is said, +one of the dancing-girls stole a march in the next world's precedence +and her lord's affections, upon the legitimate queens. The affair +happened, by the way, after the Mutiny, and was accomplished with great +pomp in the light of day. Subsequently those who might have stopped it +but did not, were severely punished. The girl said that she had no one +to look to but the dead man, and followed him, to use Tod's formula, +"through the flames." It would be curious to know whether <i>sati</i> is +altogether abolished among these lonely hills in the walled holds of the +Thakurs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>But to return from the burning-ground to modern Udaipur, as at present +worked under the Maharana and his Prime Minister Rae Punna Lal, <i>C. I. +E.</i> To begin with, His Highness is a racial anomaly in that, judged by +the strictest European standard, he is a man of temperate life, the +husband of one wife whom he married before he was chosen to the throne +after the death of the Maharana Sujjun Singh in 1884. Sujjun Singh died +childless and gave no hint of his desires as to succession and—omitting +all the genealogical and political reasons which would drive a man +mad—Futteh Singh was chosen, by the Thakurs, from the Seorati Branch of +the family which Sangram Singh II. founded. He is thus a younger son of +a younger branch of a younger family, which lucid statement should +suffice to explain everything. The man who could deliberately unravel +the succession of any one of the Rajput States would be perfectly +capable of explaining the politics of all the Frontier tribes from +Jumrood to Quetta.</p> + +<p>Roughly speaking, the Maharana and the Prime Minister—in whose family +the office has been hereditary for many generations—divide the power of +the State. They control, more or less, the Mahand Raj Sabha or Council +of Direction and Revision. This is composed of many of the Rawats and +Thakurs of the State, <i>and</i> the Poet Laureate who, under a less genial +administration, would be presumably the Registrar. There are also +District Officers, Officers of Customs, Superintendents of the Mint, +Masters of the Horses, and Supervisor of Doles, which last is pretty and +touching. The State officers itself, and the Englishman's investigations +failed to unearth any Bengalis. The Commandant of the State<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> Army, about +five thousand men of all arms, is a retired non-commissioned officer, a +Mr. Lonergan; who, as the medals on his breast attest, has done the +State some service, and now in his old age rejoices in the local rank of +Major-General, and teaches the Maharaja's guns to make uncommonly good +practice. The Infantry are smart and well set up, while the +Cavalry—rare thing in Native States—have a distinct notion of keeping +their accoutrements clean. They are, further, well mounted on light, +wiry Mewar and Kathiawar horses. Incidentally, it may be mentioned that +the Pathan comes down with his pickings from the Punjab to Udaipur, and +finds a market there for animals that were much better employed in Our +service—but the complaint is a stale one. Let us see, later on, what +the Jodhpur stables hold; and then formulate an indictment against the +Government. So much for the indigenous administration of Udaipur. The +one drawback in the present Maharaja, from the official point of view, +is his want of education. He is a thoroughly good man, but was not +brought up with the kingship before his eyes, consequently he is not an +English-speaking man.</p> + +<p>There is a story told of him which is worth the repeating. An Englishman +who flattered himself that he could speak the vernacular fairly well, +paid him a visit and discoursed with a round mouth. The Maharana heard +him politely, and turning to a satellite, demanded a translation; which +was given. Then said the Maharana:—"Speak to him in <i>Angrezi</i>." The +<i>Angrezi</i> spoken by the interpreter was Urdu as the Sahibs speak it, and +the Englishman, having ended his conference, departed abashed. But this +backwardness is eminently suited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> to a place like Udaipur, and a +European prince is not always a desirable thing. The curious and even +startling simplicity of his life is worth preserving. Here is a specimen +of one of his days. Rising at four—and the dawn can be bitterly +chill—he bathes and prays after the custom of his race, and at six is +ready to take in hand the first instalment of the day's work which comes +before him through his Prime Minister, and occupies him for three or +four hours till the first meal of the day is ready. At two o'clock he +attends the Mahand Raj Sabha, and works till five, retiring at a +healthily primitive hour. He is said to have his hand fairly, firmly +upon the reins of rule, and to know as much as most monarchs know of the +way in which his revenues—some thirty lakhs—are disposed of. The Prime +Minister's career has been a chequered and interesting one, including a +dismissal from power (this was worked by the Queens from behind the +screen), an arrest, and an attack with swords which all but ended in his +murder. He has not so much power as his predecessors had, for the reason +that the present Maharaja allows little but tiger-shooting to distract +him from the supervision of the State. His Highness, by the way, is a +first-class shot and has bagged eighteen tigers already. He preserves +his game carefully, and permission to kill tigers is not readily +obtainable.</p> + +<p>A curious instance of the old order giving place to the new is in +process of evolution and deserves notice. The Prime Minister's son, +Futteh Lal, a boy of twenty years old, has been educated at the Mayo +College, Ajmir, and speaks and writes English. There are few native +officials in the State who do this; and the consequence is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> that the lad +has won a very fair insight into State affairs, and knows generally what +is going forward both in the Eastern and Western spheres of the little +Court. In time he may qualify for direct administrative powers, and +Udaipur will be added to the list of the States that are governed +English fashion. What the end will be, after three generations of +Princes and Dewans have been put through the mill of the Rajkumar +Colleges, those who live will learn.</p> + +<p>More interesting is the question, For how long can the vitality of a +people whose life was arms be suspended? Men in the North say that, by +the favour of the Government which brings peace, the Sikh Sirdars are +rotting on their lands; and the Rajput Thakurs say of themselves that +they are growing rusty. The old, old problem forces itself on the most +unreflective mind at every turn in the gay streets of Udaipur. A +Frenchman might write: "Behold there the horse of the Rajput—foaming, +panting, caracoling, but always fettered with his head so majestic upon +his bosom so amply filled with a generous heart. He rages, but he does +not advance. See there the destiny of the Rajput who bestrides him, and +upon whose left flank bounds the sabre useless—the haberdashery of the +ironmonger only! Pity the horse in reason, for that life there is his +<i>raison d'être</i>. Pity ten thousand times more the Rajput, for he has no +<i>raison d'être</i>. He is an anachronism in a blue turban."</p> + +<p>The Gaul might be wrong, but Tod wrote things which seem to support this +view, in the days when he wished to make "buffer-states" of the land he +loved so well.</p> + +<p>Let us visit the Durbar Gardens, where little naked Cupids are trampling +upon fountains of fatted fish, all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> in bronze, where there are cypresses +and red paths, and a deer-park full of all varieties of deer, besides +two growling, fluffy little panther cubs, a black panther who is the +Prince of Darkness and a gentleman, and a terrace-full of tigers, bears, +and Guzerat lions brought from the King of Oudh's sale.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> + +<p>OF THE PIG-DRIVE WHICH WAS A PANTHER-KILLING, AND OF THE DEPARTURE TO +CHITOR.</p> + + +<p>Above the Durbar Gardens lie low hills, in which the Maharana keeps, +very strictly guarded, his pig and his deer, and anything else that may +find shelter in the low scrub or under the scattered boulders. These +preserves are scientifically parcelled out with high, red-stone walls; +and here and there are dotted tiny shooting-stands—masonry +sentry-boxes, in which five or six men may sit at ease and shoot. It had +been arranged to entertain the Englishmen who were gathered at the +Residency to witness the investiture of the King with the G. C. S. +I.—that there should be a little pig-drive in front of the Kala Odey or +black shooting-box. The Rajput is a man and a brother, in respect that +he will ride, shoot, eat pig, and drink strong waters like an +Englishman. Of the pig-hunting he makes almost a religious duty, and of +the wine-drinking no less. Read how desperately they used to ride in +Udaipur at the beginning of the century when Tod, always in his cocked +hat to be sure, counted up the tale of accidents at the end of the day's +sport.</p> + +<p>There is something unfair in shooting pig; but each man who went out +consoled himself with the thought that it was utterly impossible to ride +the brutes up the almost perpendicular hillsides, or down rocky +ravines,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> and that he individually would only go "just for the fun of +the thing." Those who stayed behind made rude remarks on the subject of +"pork butchers," and the dangers that attended shooting from a balcony. +There are ways and ways of slaying pig—from the orthodox method which +begins with "<i>The Boar—the Boar—the mighty Boar!</i>" overnight, and ends +with a shaky bridle-hand next morn, to the sober and solitary pot-shot +at dawn, from a railway embankment running through river marsh; but the +perfect way is this. Get a large, four-horse break, and drive till you +meet an unlimited quantity of pad-elephants waiting at the foot of rich +hill-preserves. Mount slowly and with dignity, and go in swinging +procession, by the marble-faced border of one of the most lovely lakes +on earth. Strike off on a semi-road, semi-hill-torrent path through +unthrifty, thorny jungle, and so climb up and up and up, till you see, +spread like a map below, the lake and the Palace and the City, hemmed in +by the sea of hills that lies between Udaipur and Mount Abu a hundred +miles away. Then take your seat in a comfortable chair, in a fine +two-storied Grand Stand, with an awning spread atop to keep off the sun, +while the Rawat of Amet and the Prime Minister's heir—no less—invite +you to take your choice of the many rifles spread on a ledge at the +front of the building. This, gentlemen who screw your pet ponies at +early dawn after the sounder that vanishes into cover soon as sighted, +or painfully follow the tiger through the burning heats of Mewar in May, +this is shooting after the fashion of Ouida—in musk and ambergris and +patchouli.</p> + +<p>It is demoralising. One of the best and hardest riders<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> of the Lahore +Tent Club in the old days, as the boars of Bouli Lena Singh knew well, +said openly: "This is a first-class scheme," and fell to testing his +triggers as though he had been a pot-hunter from his birth. Derision and +threats of exposure moved him not. "Give me an arm-chair!" said he. +"This is the proper way to deal with pig!" And he put up his feet on the +ledge and stretched himself.</p> + +<p>There were many weapons to choose from the double-barrelled '500 +Express, whose bullet is a tearing, rending shell, to the Rawat of +Amet's regulation military Martini-Henri. A profane public at the +Residency had suggested clubs and saws as amply sufficient for the work +in hand. Here they were moved by envy, which passion was ten-fold +increased when—but this comes later on. The beat was along a deep gorge +in the hills, flanked on either crest by stone walls, manned with +beaters. Immediately opposite the shooting-box, the wall on the upper or +higher hill made a sharp turn downhill, contracting the space through +which the pig would have to pass to a gut which was variously said to be +from one hundred and fifty to four hundred yards across. Most of the +shooting was up or down hill.</p> + +<p>A philanthropic desire not to murder more Bhils than were absolutely +necessary to maintain a healthy current of human life in the Hilly +Tracts, coupled with a well-founded dread of the hinder, or horse, end +of a double-barrelled '500 Express which would be sure to go off both +barrels together, led the Englishman to take a gunless seat in the +background. Then a silence fell upon the party, and very far away up the +gorge the heated afternoon air was cut by the shrill tremolo squeal of +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> Bhil beaters. Now a man may be in no sort or fashion a +<i>shikari</i>—may hold Buddhistic objections to the slaughter of living +things—but there is something in the extraordinary noise of an agitated +Bhil, which makes even the most peaceful mortals get up and yearn, like +Tartarin of Tarescon for "lions," always at a safe distance be it +understood. As the beat drew nearer, under the squealing—the +"<i>ul-al-lu-lu-lu</i>"—was heard a long-drawn bittern-like boom of +"<i>So-oor!</i>" "<i>So-oor!</i>" (Pig! Pig!) and the crashing of boulders. The +guns rose in their places, forgetting that each and all had merely come +"to see the fun," and began to fumble among the little mounds of +cartridges under the chairs. Presently, tripping delicately over the +rocks, a pig stepped out of a cactus-bush, and the fusillade began. The +dust flew and the branches chipped, but the pig went on—a blue-grey +shadow almost undistinguishable against the rocks, and took no harm. +"Sighting shots," said the guns, sulkily. The beat came nearer, and then +the listener discovered what the bubbling scream was like; for he forgot +straightway about the beat and went back to the dusk of an Easter Monday +in the Gardens of the Crystal Palace before the bombardment of Kars, +"set piece ten thousand feet square" had been illuminated, and about +five hundred 'Arries were tickling a thousand 'Arriets. Their giggling +and nothing else was the noise of the Bhil. So curiously does Sydenham +and Western Rajputana meet. Then came another pig, who was smitten to +the death and rolled down among the bushes, drawing his last breath in a +human and horrible manner.</p> + +<p>But full on the crest of the hill, blown along—there is no other word +to describe it—like a ball of thistle-down,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> passed a brown shadow, and +men cried: "<i>Bagheera</i>," or "Panther!" according to their nationalities, +and blazed. The shadow leaped the wall that had turned the pig downhill, +and vanished among the cactus. "Never mind," said the Prime Minister's +son, consolingly, "we'll beat the other side of the hill afterwards and +get him yet." "Oh, he's a mile off by this time," said the guns; but the +Rawat of Amet, a magnificent young man, smiled a sweet smile and said +nothing. More pig passed and were slain, and many more broke back +through the beaters who presently came through the cover in scores. They +were in russet green and red uniform, each man bearing a long spear, and +the hillside was turned on the instant to a camp of Robin Hood's +foresters. Then they brought up the dead from behind bushes and under +rocks—among others a twenty-seven-inch brute who bore on his flank (all +pigs shot in a beat are <i>ex-officio</i> boars) a hideous, half-healed scar, +big as a man's hand, of a bullet wound. Express bullets are ghastly +things in their effects, for, as the <i>shikari</i> is never tired of +demonstrating, they knock the inside of animals into pulp.</p> + +<p>The second beat, of the reverse side of the hill, had barely begun when +the panther returned—uneasily as if something were keeping her +back—much lower down the hill. Then the face of the Rawat of Amet +changed, as he brought his gun up to his shoulder. Looking at him as he +fired, one forgot all about the Mayo College at which he had been +educated, and remembered only some trivial and out-of-date affairs, in +which his forefathers had been concerned, when a bridegroom, with his +bride at his side, charged down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> the slope of the Chitor road and died +among Akbar's men. There are stories connected with the House of Amet, +which are told in Mewar to-day. The young man's face, for as short a +time as it takes to pull trigger and see where the bullet falls, was a +white light upon all these tales.</p> + +<p>Then the mask shut down, as he clicked out the cartridge, and, very +sweetly, gave it as his opinion that some other gun, not his own, had +bagged the panther who lay shot through the spine, feebly trying to drag +herself downhill into cover. It is an awful thing to see a big beast +die, when the soul is wrenched out of the struggling body in ten +seconds. Wild horses shall not make the Englishman disclose the exact +number of shots that were fired. It is enough to say that four +Englishmen, now scattered to the four winds of heaven, are each morally +certain that he and he alone shot that panther. In time, when distance +and the mirage of the sands of Uodhpur shall have softened the harsh +outlines of truth, the Englishman who did <i>not</i> fire a shot will come to +believe that he was the real slayer, and will carefully elaborate that +lie.</p> + +<p>A few minutes after the murder, a two-year-old cub came trotting along +the hillside, and was bowled over by a very pretty shot behind the left +ear and through the palate. Then the beaters' lances showed through the +bushes, and the guns began to realise that they had allowed to escape, +or had driven back by their fire, a multitude of pig.</p> + +<p>This ended the beat, and the procession returned to the Residency to +heap dead panthers upon those who had called them "pork butchers," and +to stir up the lake of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> envy with the torpedo of brilliant description. +The Englishman's attempt to compare the fusillade which greeted the +panther to the continuous drumming of a ten-barrelled Nordenfeldt was, +however, coldly received. Thus harshly is truth treated all the world +over.</p> + +<p>And then, after a little time, came the end, and a return to the road in +search of new countries. But shortly before the departure, the +Padre-Sahib, who knows every one in Udaipur, read a sermon in a +sentence. The Maharana's investiture, which has already been described +in the Indian papers, had taken place, and the carriages, duly escorted +by the Erinpura Horse, were returning to the Residency. In a niche of +waste land, under the shadow of the main gate, a place strewn with +rubbish and shards of pottery, a dilapidated old man was trying to +control his horse and a <i>hookah</i> on the saddle-bow. The blundering +garron had been made restive by the rush past, and the <i>hookah</i> all but +fell from the hampered hands. "See that man," said the Padre, tersely. +"That's —— Singh. He intrigued for the throne not so very long ago." +It was a pitiful little picture, and needed no further comment.</p> + +<p>For the benefit of the loafer it should be noted that Udaipur will never +be pleasant or accessible until the present Mail Contractors have been +hanged. They are extortionate and untruthful, and their one set of +harness and one tonga are as rotten as pears. However, the weariness of +the flesh must be great indeed, to make the wanderer blind to the +beauties of a journey by clear starlight and in biting cold to Chitor. +About six miles from Udaipur, the granite hills close in upon the road, +and the air grows warmer until, with a rush and a rattle, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> tonga +swings through the great Dobarra, the gate in the double circle of hills +round Udaipur on to the pastures of Mewar. More than once the Girwa has +been a death-trap to those who rashly entered it; and an army has been +cut up on the borders of the Pichola Lake. Even now the genius of the +place is strong upon the hills, and as he felt the cold air from the +open ground without the barrier, the Englishman found himself repeating +the words of one of the Hat-marked tribe whose destiny kept him within +the Dobarra. "You must have a hobby of some kind in these parts or +you'll die." Very lovely is Udaipur, and thrice pleasant are a few days +spent within her gates, but ... read what Tod said who stayed two years +behind the Dobarra, and accepted the deserts of Marwar as a delightful +change.</p> + +<p>It is good to be free, a wanderer upon the highways, knowing not what +to-morrow will bring forth—whether the walled-in niceties of an English +household, rich in all that makes life fair and desirable, or a +sleepless night in the society of a +goods-<i>cum</i>-booking-office-<i>cum</i>-parcels-clerk, on fifteen rupees a +month, who tells in stilted English the story of his official life, +while the telegraph gibbers like a maniac once in an hour and then is +dumb, and the pariah-dogs fight and howl over the cotton-bales on the +platform.</p> + +<p>Verily, there is no life like life on the road—when the skies are cool +and all men are kind.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> + +<p>A LITTLE OF THE HISTORY OF CHITOR, AND THE MALPRACTICES OF A +SHE-ELEPHANT.</p> + + +<p>There is a certain want of taste, an almost actual indecency, in seeing +the sun rise on the earth. Until the heat-haze begins and the distances +thicken, Nature is so very naked that the Actæon who has surprised her +dressing, blushes. Sunrise on the plains of Mewar is an especially +brutal affair.</p> + +<p>The moon was burnt out and the air was bitterly cold, when the +Englishman headed due east in his tonga, and the patient sowar behind +nodded and yawned in the saddle. There was no warning of the day's +advent. The horses were unharnessed, at one halting-stage, in the thick, +soft shadows of night, and ere their successors had limped under the +bar, a raw and cruel light was upon all things, so that the Englishman +could see every rent seam in the rocks around. A little further, and he +came upon the black bulk of Chitor between him and the morning sun. It +has already been said that the Fort resembles a man-of-war. Every +distant view heightens this impression, for the swell of the sides +follows the form of a ship, and the bastions on the south wall make the +sponsons in which the machine-guns are mounted. From bow to stern, the +thing more than three miles long, is between three and five hundred feet +high, and from one-half to one-quarter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> of a mile broad. Have patience, +now, to listen to a rough history of Chitor.</p> + +<p>In the beginning, no one knows clearly who scraped the hillsides of the +hill rising out of the bare plain, and made of it a place of strength. +It is written that, eleven and a half centuries ago, Bappa Rawul, the +demi-god whose stature was twenty cubits, whose loin-cloth was five +hundred feet long, and whose spear was beyond the power of mortal man to +lift, took Chitor from "Man Singh, the Mori Prince," and wrote the first +chapter of the history of Mewar, which he received ready-made from Man +Singh who, if the chronicles speak sooth, was his uncle. Many and very +marvellous legends cluster round the name of Bappa Rawul; and he is said +to have ended his days far away from India, in Khorasan, where he +married an unlimited number of the Daughters of Heth, and was the father +of all the Nowshera Pathans. Some who have wandered, by the sign-posts +of inscription, into the fogs of old time, aver that, two centuries +before Bappa Rawul took Chitor the Mori division of the Pramar Rajputs, +who are the ruling family of Mewar, had found a hold in Bhilwara, and +for four centuries before that time had ruled in Kathiawar; and had +royally sacked and slain, and been sacked and slain in turn. But these +things are for the curious and the scholar, and not for the reader who +reads lightly. Nine princes succeeded Bappa, between 728 and 1068 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span>, +and among these was one Alluji, who built a Jain tower upon the brow of +the hill, for in those days, though the Sun was worshipped, men were all +Jains.</p> + +<p>And here they lived and sallied into the plains, and fought and +increased the borders of their kingdom, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> were suddenly and stealthily +murdered, or stood shoulder to shoulder against the incursions of the +"Devil men" from the north. In 1150 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> was born Samar Singh, and he +married into the family of Prithi Raj, the last Hindu Emperor of Delhi, +who was at feud, in regard to a succession question, with the Prince of +Kanauj. In the war that followed, Kanauj, being hard pressed by Prithi +Raj, and Samar Singh, called Shahabuddin Ghori to his aid. At first, +Samar Singh and Prithi Raj broke the army of the Northern somewhere in +the lower Punjab, but two years later Shahabuddin came again, and, after +three days' fighting on the banks of the Kaggar, slew Samar Singh, +captured and murdered Prithi Raj, and sacked Delhi and Amber, while +Samar Singh's favourite queen became <i>sati</i> at Chitor. But another wife, +a princess of Patun, kept her life, and when Shahabuddin sent down +Kutbuddin to waste her lands, led the Rajput army, in person, from +Chitor, and defeated Kutbuddin.</p> + +<p>Then followed confusion, through eleven turbulent reigns that the +annalist has failed to unravel. Once in the years between 1193 and the +opening of the fourteenth century, Chitor must have been taken by the +Mussulman, for it is written that one prince "recovered Chitor and made +the name of Rana to be recognised by all." Six princes were slain in +battles against the Mussulman, in vain attempts to clear the land from +the presence of the infidel.</p> + +<p>Then Ala-ud-din Khilji, the Pathan Emperor, swept the country to the +Dekkan. In those days, and these things are confusedly set down as +having happened at the end of the thirteenth century, a relative of Rana +Lakhsman Singh, the then Rana of Chitor, had married<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> a Rajput princess +of Ceylon—Pudmini, "And she was fairest of all flesh on earth." Her +fame was sung through the land by the poets, and she became, in some +sort, the Helen of Chitor. Ala-ud-din heard of her beauty and promptly +besieged the Fort. When he found his enterprise too difficult, he prayed +that he might be permitted to see Pudmini's face in a mirror, and this +wish, so says the tale, was granted. Knowing that the Rajput was a +gentleman, he entered Chitor almost unarmed, saw the face in the mirror, +and was well treated; the husband of the fair Pudmini accompanying him, +in return, to the camp at the foot of the hill. Like Raja Runjeet in the +ballad the Rajput he—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"... trusted a Mussulman's word<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wah! Wah! Trust a liar to lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of his eyrie they tempted my bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fettered his wings that he could not fly."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Pudmini's husband was caught by a trick, and Ala-ud-din demanded Pudmini +as the price of his return. The Rajputs here showed that they too could +scheme, and sent, in great state, Pudmini's litter to the besiegers' +intrenchments. But there was no Pudmini in the litter, and her following +of handmaidens was a band of seven hundred armed men. Thus, in the +confusion of a camp-fight, Pudmini's husband was rescued, and +Ala-ud-din's soldiery followed hard on his heels to the gates of Chitor, +where the best and bravest on the rock were killed before Ala-ud-din +withdrew, only to return soon after and, with a doubled army, besiege in +earnest. His first attack men called the half-sack of Chitor, for, +though he failed to win within the walls, he killed the flower of the +Rajputs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> The second attack ended in the first sack and the awful <i>sati</i> +of the women on the rock.</p> + +<p>When everything was hopeless and the very terrible Goddess, who lives in +the bowels of Chitor, had spoken and claimed for death eleven out of the +twelve of the Rana's sons, all who were young or fair women betook +themselves to a great underground chamber, and the fires were lit and +the entrance was walled up and they died. The Rajputs opened the gates +and fought till they could fight no more, and Ala-ud-din the victorious +entered a wasted and desolated city. He wrecked everything except only +the palace of Pudmini and the old Jain tower before mentioned. That was +all he could do, for there were few men alive of the defenders of Chitor +when the day was won, and the women were ashes underground.</p> + +<p>Ajai Singh, the one surviving son of Lakshman Singh, had at his father's +insistence, escaped from Chitor to "carry on the line" when better days +should come. He brought up Hamir, son of one of his elder brothers, to +be a thorn in the side of the invader, and Hamir overthrew Maldeo, chief +of Jhalore and vassal of Ala-ud-din, into whose hands Ala-ud-din had, +not too generously, given what was left of Chitor. So the Sesodias came +to their own again, and the successors of Hamir extended their kingdoms +and rebuilt Chitor, as kings know how to rebuild cities in a land where +human labour and life are cheaper than bread and water. For two +centuries, saith Tod, Mewar flourished exceedingly and was the paramount +kingdom of all Rajasthan. Greatest of all the successors of Hamir, was +Kumbha Rana who, when the Ghilzai dynasty was rotting away and Viceroys +declared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> themselves kings, met, defeated, took captive, and released +without ransom, Mahmoud of Malwa. Kumbha Rana built a Tower of Victory, +nine stories high, to commemorate this and the other successes of his +reign, and the tower stands to-day a mark for miles across the plains.</p> + +<p>But the well-established kingdom weakened, and the rulers took +favourites and disgusted their best supporters—after the immemorial +custom of too prosperous rulers. Also they murdered one another. In 1535 +<span class="smcap">A.D.</span> Bahadur Shah, King of Gujarat, seeing the decay, and remembering +how one of his predecessors, together with Mahmoud of Malwa, had been +humbled by Mewar in years gone by, set out to take his revenge of Time +and Mewar then ruled by Rana Bikrmajit, who had made a new capital at +Deola. Bikrmajit did not stay to give battle in that place. His chiefs +were out of hand, and Chitor was the heart and brain of Mewar; so he +marched thither, and the Gods were against him. Bahadur Shah mined one +of the Chitor bastions, and wiped out in the explosion the Hara Prince +of Boondee, with five hundred followers. Jowahir Bae, Bikrmajit's +mother, headed a sally from the walls, and was slain. There were Frank +gunners among Bahadur Shah's forces, and they hastened the end. The +Rajputs made a second <i>johur</i>, a sacrifice greater than the sacrifice of +Pudmini; and thirteen thousand were blown up in the magazines, or +stabbed or poisoned, before the gates were opened and the defenders +rushed down.</p> + +<p>Out of the carnage was saved Udai Singh, a babe of the Blood Royal, who +grew up to be a coward, and a shame to his line. The story of his +preservation is written large in Tod, and Edwin Arnold sings it. Read<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +it, who are interested. But, when Udai Singh came to the throne of +Chitor, through blood and misrule, after Bahadur Shah had withdrawn from +the wreck of the Fort, Akbar sat on the throne of Delhi, and it was +written that few people should withstand the "Guardian of Mankind." +Moreover, Udai Singh was the slave of a woman. It was Akbar's destiny to +subdue the Rajputs, and to win many of them to his own service; sending +a Rajput Prince of Amber to get him far-away Arrakan. Akbar marched +against Chitor once, and was repulsed; the woman who ruled Udai Singh +heading a charge against the besiegers because of the love she bore to +her lover. Something of this sort had happened in Ala-ud-din's time, +and, like Ala-ud-din, Akbar returned and sat down, in a huge camp, +before Chitor in 1568 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> Udai Singh fled what was coming; and because +the Goddess of Chitor demands always that a crowned head must fall if +the defence of her home is to be successful, Chitor fell as it had +fallen before—in a <i>johur</i> of thousands, a last rush of the men, and +the entry of the conqueror into a reeking, ruined slaughter-pen. Akbar's +sack was the most terrible of the three, for he killed everything that +had life upon the rock, and wrecked and overturned and spoiled. The +wonder, the lasting wonder, is that he did not destroy Kumbha Rana's +Tower of Victory, the memorial of the defeat of a Mahometan prince. With +the third sack the glory of Chitor departed, and Udai Singh founded +himself a new capital, the city of Udaipur. Though Chitor was recovered +in Jehangir's time by Udai Singh's grandson, it was never again made the +capital of Mewar. It stood, and rotted where it stood, till enlightened +and loyal feudatories, in the present years of grace,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> made attempts, +with the help of Executive Engineers, to sweep it up and keep it in +repair. The above is roughly, very roughly indeed, the tale of the sacks +of Chitor.</p> + +<p>Follows an interlude, for the study even of inaccurate history is +indigestible to many. There was an elephant at Chitor, to take birds of +passage up the hill, and she—she was fifty-one years old, and her name +was Gerowlia—came to the dak-bungalow for the Englishman. Let not the +word dak-bungalow deceive any man into believing that there is even +moderate comfort at Chitor. Gerowlia waited in the sunshine, and +chuckled to herself like a female pauper when she receives snuff. Her +<i>mahout</i> said that he would go away for a drink of water. So he walked, +and walked, and walked, till he disappeared on the stone-strewn plains, +and the Englishman was left alone with Gerowlia, aged fifty-one. She had +been tied by the chain on her near hind leg to a pillar of the verandah; +but the string was coir, and more an emblem of authority than a means of +restraint. When she had thoroughly exhausted all the resources of the +country within range of her trunk, she ate up the string and began to +investigate the verandah. There was more coir string, and she ate it +all, while the carpenter, who was repairing the dak-bungalow, cursed her +and her ancestry from afar. About this time the Englishman was roused to +a knowledge of the business, for Gerowlia, having exhausted the string, +tried to come into the verandah. She had, most unwisely, been pampered +with biscuits an hour before. The carpenter stood on an outcrop of rock, +and said angrily: "See what damage your <i>hathi</i> has done, Sahib." +"'Tisn't my <i>hathi</i>," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> the Sahib, plaintively. "You ordered it," +quoth he, "and it has been here ever so long, eating up everything." He +threw pieces of stone at Gerowlia, and went away. It is a terrible thing +to be left alone with an unshackled elephant, even though she be a +venerable spinster. Gerowlia moved round the dak-bungalow, blowing her +nose in a nervous and undecided manner, and presently found some more +string and thatch, which she ate. This was too much. The Englishman went +out and spoke to her. She opened her mouth and salaamed; meaning thereby +"biscuits." So long as she remained in this position she could do no +harm.</p> + +<p>Imagine a boundless rock-strewn plain, broken here and there by low +hills, dominated by the rock of Chitor, and bisected by a single +metre-gauge railway track running into the Infinite, and unrelieved by +even a way-inspector's trolly. In the foreground put a brand-new +dak-bungalow, furnished with a French bedstead, and nothing else; in the +verandah place an embarrassed Englishman, smiling into the open mouth of +an idiotic female elephant. But Gerowlia could not live on smiles alone. +Finding that no food was forthcoming, she shut her mouth, and renewed +her attempts to get into the verandah, and ate more thatch. To say "Hi!" +to an elephant is a misdirected courtesy. It quickens the pace, and if +you flick her on the trunk with a wet towel, she curls the trunk out of +harm's way. Special education is necessary. A little breechless boy +passed, carrying a lump of stone. "Hit her on the feet, Sahib," said he; +"hit her on the feet." Gerowlia had by this time nearly scraped off her +pad, and there were no signs of the <i>mahout</i>. The Englishman went out +and found a tent-peg,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> and returning, in the extremity of his wrath +smote her bitterly on the nails of the near forefoot.</p> + +<p>Gerowlia held up her foot to be beaten, and made the most absurd +noises—squawked in fact, exactly like an old lady who has narrowly +escaped being run over. She backed out of the verandah, still squawking, +on three feet and in the open held up near and off forefoot alternately +to be beaten. It was very pitiful, for one swing of her trunk could have +knocked the Englishman flat. He ceased whacking her, but she squawked +for some minutes and then fell placidly asleep in the sunshine. When the +<i>mahout</i> returned, he beat her for breaking her tether exactly as the +Englishman had done, but much more severely, and the ridiculous old +thing hopped on three legs for fully five minutes. "Come along, Sahib," +said the <i>mahout</i>. "I will show this mother of bastards who is the +driver. Fat daughter of the Devil, sit down. You would eat thatch, would +you? How does the iron taste?" And he gave Gerowlia a headache, which +affected her temper all through the afternoon. She set off, across the +railway line which runs below the rock of Chitor, into broken ground cut +up with <i>nullahs</i> and covered with low scrub, over which it would have +been difficult to have taken a sure-footed horse, so fragmentary and +disconnected was its nature.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI.</h2> + +<p>PROVES CONCLUSIVELY THE EXISTENCE OF THE DARK TOWER VISITED BY CHILDE +ROLANDE, AND OF "BOGEY" WHO FRIGHTENS CHILDREN.</p> + + +<p>The Gamberi River—clear as a trout-stream—runs through the waste round +Chitor, and is spanned by an old bridge, very solid and massive, said to +have been built before the sack of Ala-ud-din. The bridge is in the +middle of the stream—the floods have raced round either end of it—and +is reached by a steeply sloping stone causeway. From the bridge to the +new town of Chitor, which lies at the foot of the hill, runs a straight +and well-kept road, flanked on either side by the scattered remnants of +old houses, and, here and there, fallen temples. The road, like the +bridge, is no new thing, and is wide enough for twenty horsemen to ride +abreast.</p> + +<p>New Chitor is a very dirty, and apparently thriving, little town, full +of grain-merchants and sellers of arms. The ways are barely wide enough +for the elephant of dignity and the little brown babies of impudence. +The Englishman went through, always on a slope painfully accentuated by +Gerowlia who, with all possible respect to her years, must have been a +baggage-animal and no true <i>Sahib's</i> mount. Let the local Baedeker speak +for a moment: "The ascent to Chitor, which begins from within the +southeast angle of the town, is nearly a mile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> to the upper gate, with a +slope of about 1 in 15. There are two zig-zag bends, and on the three +portions thus formed, are seven gates, of which one, however, has only +the basement left." This is the language of fact, which, very properly, +leaves out of all account the Genius of the Place who sits at the gate +nearest the new city and is with the sightseer throughout. The first +impression of repulsion and awe is given by a fragment of tumbled +sculpture close to a red daubed <i>lingam</i>, near the Padal Pol or lowest +gate. It is a piece of frieze, and the figures of the men are worn +nearly smooth by time. What is visible is finely and frankly obscene to +an English mind.</p> + +<p>The road is protected on the cliff side by a thick stone wall, loopholed +for musketry, one aperture to every two feet, between fifteen and twenty +feet high. This wall is being repaired throughout its length by the +Maharana of Udaipur. On the hillside, among the boulders, loose stones, +and <i>dhak</i>-scrub, lips stone wreckage that must have come down from the +brown bastions above.</p> + +<p>As Gerowlia laboured up the stone-shod slope, the Englishman wondered +how much life had flowed down this sluice of battles, and been lost at +the Padal Pol—the last and lowest gate—where, in the old days, the +besieging armies put their best and bravest battalions. Once at the head +of the lower slope, there is a clear run-down of a thousand yards with +no chance of turning aside either to the right or left. Even as he +wondered, he was brought abreast of two stone chhatris, each carrying a +red daubed stone. They were the graves of two very brave men, Jeemal of +Bedmore, and Kalla, who fell in Akbar's sack fighting like Rajputs. Read +the story of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> their deaths, and learn what manner of warriors they were. +Their graves were all that spoke openly of the hundreds of struggles on +the lower slope where the fight was always fiercest.</p> + +<p>At last, after half an hour's climb, the main gate, the Ram Pol, was +gained, and the Englishman passed into the City of Chitor and—then and +there formed a resolution, since broken, not to write one word about it +for fear that he should be set down as a babbling and a gushing +enthusiast. Objects of archæological interest are duly described in an +admirable little book of Chitor which, after one look, the Englishman +abandoned. One cannot "do" Chitor with a guide-book. The Chaplain of the +English Mission to Jehangir said the best that was to be said, when he +described the place three hundred years ago, writing quaintly: "Chitor, +an ancient great kingdom, the chief city so called which standeth on a +mighty high hill, flat on the top, walled about at the least ten English +miles. There appear to this day above a hundred churches ruined and +divers fair palaces which are lodged in like manner among their ruins, +as many Englishmen by the observation have guessed. Its chief +inhabitants to-day are Zum and Ohim, birds and wild beasts, but the +stately ruins thereof give a shadow of its beauty while it flourished in +its pride." Gerowlia struck into a narrow pathway, forcing herself +through garden-trees and disturbing the peacocks. An evil guide-man on +the ground waved his hand, and began to speak; but was silenced. The +death of Amber was as nothing to the death of Chitor—a body whence the +life had been driven by riot and the sword. Men had parcelled the +gardens of her palaces and the courtyards of her temples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> into fields; +and cattle grazed among the remnants of the shattered tombs. But over +all—over rent and bastion, split temple-wall, pierced roof, and prone +pillar—lay the "shadow of its beauty while it flourished in its pride." +The Englishman walked into a stately palace of many rooms, where the +sunlight streamed in through wall and roof, and up crazy stone +stairways, held together, it seemed, by the marauding trees. In one +bastion, a wind-sown peepul had wrenched a thick slab clear of the wall, +but held it tight pressed in a crook of a branch, as a man holds down a +fallen enemy under his elbow, shoulder, and forearm. In another place, a +strange, uncanny wind sprung from nowhere, was singing all alone among +the pillars of what may have been a Hall of Audience. The Englishman +wandered so far in one palace that he came to an almost black-dark room, +high up in a wall, and said proudly to himself: "I must be the first man +who has been here;" meaning no harm or insult to any one. But he tripped +and fell, and as he put out his hands, he felt that the stairs had been +worn hollow and smooth by the thread of innumerable naked feet. Then he +was afraid, and came away very quickly, stepping delicately over fallen +friezes and bits of sculptured men, so as not to offend the Dead; and +was mightily relieved when he recovered his elephant and allowed the +guide to take him to Kumbha Rana's Tower of Victory.</p> + +<p>This stands, like all things in Chitor, among ruins, but time and the +other enemies have been good to it. It is a Jain edifice, nine storeys +high, crowned atop—was this designed insult or undesigned repair?—with +a purely Mahometan dome, where the pigeons and the bats live. Excepting +this blemish, the Tower of Victory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> is nearly as fair as when it left +the hands of the builder whose name has not been handed down to us. It +is to be observed here that the first, or more ruined, Tower of Victory, +built in Alluji's days, when Chitor was comparatively young, was raised +by some pious Jain as proof of conquest over things spiritual. The +second tower is more worldly in intent.</p> + +<p>Those who care to look, may find elsewhere a definition of its +architecture and its more striking peculiarities. It was in kind, but +not in degree, like the Jugdesh Temple at Udaipur, and, as it exceeded +it in magnificence, so its effect upon the mind was more intense. The +confusing intricacy of the figures with which it was wreathed from top +to bottom, the recurrence of the one calm face, the God enthroned, +holding the Wheel of the Law, and the appalling lavishness of +decoration, all worked toward the instilment of fear and aversion.</p> + +<p>Surely this must have been one of the objects of the architect. The +tower, in the arrangement of its stairways, is like the interior of a +Chinese carved ivory puzzle-ball. The idea given is that, even while you +are ascending, you are wrapping yourself deeper and deeper in the tangle +of a mighty maze. Add to this the half-light, the thronging armies of +sculptured figures, the mad profusion of design splashed as impartially +upon the undersides of the stone window-slabs as upon the door-beam of +the threshold—add, most abhorrent of all, the slippery sliminess of the +walls always worn smooth by naked men, and you will understand that the +tower is not a soothing place to visit. The Englishman fancied +presumptuously that he had, in a way, grasped the builder's idea; and +when he came to the top storey and sat among<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> the pigeons his theory was +this: To attain power, wrote the builder of old, in sentences of fine +stone, it is necessary to pass through all sorts of close-packed +horrors, treacheries, battles, and insults, in darkness and without +knowledge whether the road leads upward or into a hopeless <i>cul-de-sac</i>. +Kumbha Rana must many times have climbed to the top storey, and looked +out toward the uplands of Malwa on the one side and his own great Mewar +on the other, in the days when all the rock hummed with life and the +clatter of hooves upon the stony ways, and Mahmoud of Malwa was safe in +hold. How he must have swelled with pride—fine insolent pride of life +and rule and power—power not only to break things but to compel such +builders as those who piled the tower to his royal will! There was no +decoration in the top storey to bewilder or amaze—nothing but +well-grooved stone-slabs, and a boundless view fit for kings who traced +their ancestry—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"From times when forth from the sunlight, the first of our Kings came down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And had the earth for his footstool, and wore the stars for his crown."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The builder had left no mark behind him—not even a mark on the +threshold of the door, or a sign in the head of the topmost step. The +Englishman looked in both places, believing that those were the places +generally chosen for mark-cutting. So he sat and meditated on the +beauties of kingship and the unholiness of Hindu art, and what power a +shadowland of lewd monstrosities had upon those who believed in it, and +what Lord Dufferin, who is the nearest approach to a king in this India, +must have thought when aide-de-camps clanked after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> him up the narrow +steps. But the day was wearing, and he came down—in both senses—and, +in his descent, the carven things on every side of the tower, and above +and below, once more took hold of and perverted his fancy, so that he +arrived at the bottom in a frame of mind eminently fitted for a descent +into the Gau-Mukh, which is nothing more terrible than a little spring, +falling into a reservoir, in the side of the hill.</p> + +<p>He stumbled across more ruins and passed between tombs of dead Ranis, +till he came to a flight of steps, built out and cut out from rock, +going down as far as he could see into a growth of trees on a terrace +below him. The stone of the steps had been worn and polished by the +terrible naked feet till it showed its markings clearly as agate; and +where the steps ended in a rock-slope, there was a visible glair, a +great snail-track, upon the rocks. It was hard to keep safe footing upon +the sliminess. The air was thick with the sick smell of stale incense, +and grains of rice were scattered upon the steps. But there was no one +to be seen. Now this in itself was not specially alarming; but the +Genius of the Place must be responsible for making it so. The Englishman +slipped and bumped on the rocks, and arrived, more suddenly than he +desired, upon the edge of a dull blue tank, sunk between walls of +timeless masonry. In a slabbed-in recess, water was pouring through a +shapeless stone gargoyle, into a trough; which trough again dripped into +the tank. Almost under the little trickle of water, was the loathsome +Emblem of Creation, and there were flowers and rice around it. Water was +trickling from a score of places in the cut face of the hill; oozing +between the edges of the steps and welling up between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> the stone slabs +of the terrace. Trees sprouted in the sides of the tank and hid its +surroundings. It seemed as though the descent had led the Englishman, +firstly, two thousand years away from his own century, and secondly, +into a trap, and that he would fall off the polished stones into the +stinking tank, or that the Gau-Mukh would continue to pour water until +the tank rose up and swamped him, or that some of the stone slabs would +fall forward and crush him flat.</p> + +<p>Then he was conscious of remembering, with peculiar and unnecessary +distinctness, that, from the Gau-Mukh, a passage led to the subterranean +chambers in which the fair Pudmini and her handmaids had slain +themselves. And, that Tod had written and the Station-master at Chitor +had said, that some sort of devil, or ghoul, or Something, stood at the +entrance of that approach. All of which was a nightmare bred in full day +and folly to boot; but it was the fault of the Genius of the Place, who +made the Englishman feel that he had done a great wrong in trespassing +into the very heart and soul of all Chitor. And, behind him, the +Gau-Mukh guggled and choked like a man in his death-throe. The +Englishman endured as long as he could—about two minutes. Then it came +upon him that he must go quickly out of this place of years and +blood—must get back to the afternoon sunshine, and Gerowlia, and the +dak-bungalow with the French bedstead. He desired no archæological +information, he wished to take no notes, and, above all, he did not care +to look behind him, where stood the reminder that he was no better than +the beasts that perish. But he had to cross the smooth, worn rocks, and +he felt their sliminess through his bootsoles. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> was as though he were +treading on the soft, oiled skin of a Hindu. As soon as the steps gave +refuge, he floundered up them, and so came out of the Gau-Mukh, bedewed +with that perspiration which follows alike on honest toil or—childish +fear.</p> + +<p>"This," said he to himself, "is absurd!" and sat down on the fallen top +of a temple to review the situation. But the Gau-Mukh had disappeared. +He could see the dip in the ground and the beginning of the steps, but +nothing more.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was absurd. It undoubtedly appeared so, later. Yet there was +something uncanny about it all. It was not exactly a feeling of danger +or pain, but an apprehension of great evil.</p> + +<p>In defence, it may be urged that there is moral, just as much as there +is mine, choke-damp. If you get into a place laden with the latter you +die, and if into the home of the former you ... behave unwisely, as +constitution and temperament prompt. If any man doubt this, let him sit +for two hours in a hot sun on an elephant, stay half an hour in the +Tower of Victory, and then go down into the Gau-Mukh, which, it must +never be forgotten, is merely a set of springs "three or four in number, +issuing from the cliff face at cow-mouth carvings, now mutilated. The +water, evidently percolating from the Hathi Kund above, falls first in +an old pillared hall and thence into the masonry reservoir below, +eventually, when abundant enough, supplying a little waterfall lower +down." That, Gentlemen and Ladies, on the honour of one who has been +frightened of the dark in broad daylight, is the Gau-Mukh, as though +photographed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Englishman regained Gerowlia and demanded to be taken away, but +Gerowlia's driver went forward instead and showed him a new Mahal just +built by the present Maharana. Carriage drives, however, do not consort +well with Chitor and the "shadow of her ancient beauty." The return +journey, past temple after temple and palace upon palace, began in the +failing light, and Gerowlia was still blundering up and down narrow +by-paths—for she possessed all an old woman's delusion as to the +slimness of her waist when the twilight fell, and the smoke from the +town below began to creep up the brown flanks of Chitor, and the jackals +howled. Then the sense of desolation, which had been strong enough in +all conscience in the sunshine, began to grow and grow.</p> + +<p>Near the Ram Pol there was some semblance of a town with living people +in it, and a priest sat in the middle of the road and howled aloud upon +his gods, until a little boy came and laughed in his face and he went +away grumbling. This touch was deeply refreshing; in the contemplation +of it, the Englishman clean forgot that he had overlooked the gathering +in of materials for an elaborate statistical, historical, geographical +account of Chitor. All that remained to him was a shuddering +reminiscence of the Gau-Mukh and two lines of the "Holy Grail,"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And up into the sounding halls he passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nothing in the sounding halls he saw."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><i>Post Scriptum.</i>—There was something very uncanny about the Genius of +the Place. He dragged an ease-loving egotist out of the French bedstead +with the gilt knobs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> at head and foot, into a more than usually big +folly—nothing less than a seeing of Chitor by moonlight. There was no +possibility of getting Gerowlia out of <i>her</i> bed, and a mistrust of the +Maharana's soldiery who in the day-time guarded the gates, prompted the +Englishman to avoid the public way, and scramble straight up the +hillside, along an attempt at a path which he had noted from Gerowlia's +back. There was no one to interfere, and nothing but an infinity of +pestilent nullahs and loose stones to check. Owls came out and hooted at +him, and animals ran about in the dark and made uncouth noises. It was +an idiotic journey, and it ended—Oh, horror! in that unspeakable +Gau-Mukh—this time entered from the opposite or brushwooded side, as +far as could be made out in the dusk and from the chuckle of the water +which, by night, was peculiarly malevolent.</p> + +<p>Escaping from this place, crab-fashion, the Englishman crawled into +Chitor and sat upon a flat tomb till the moon, a very inferior and +second-hand one, rose, and turned the city of the dead into a city of +scurrying ghouls—in sobriety, jackals. The ruins took strange shapes +and shifted in the half light and cast objectionable shadows.</p> + +<p>It was easy enough to fill the rock with the people of old times, and a +very beautiful account of Chitor restored, made out by the help of Tod, +and bristling with the names of the illustrious dead, would undoubtedly +have been written, had not a woman, a living breathing woman, stolen out +of a temple—what was she doing in that galley?—and screamed in +piercing and public-spirited fashion. The Englishman got off the tomb +and departed rather more noisily than a jackal; feeling for the moment +that he was not much better. Somebody opened a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> door with a crash, and a +man cried out: "Who is there?" But the cause of the disturbance was, for +his sins, being most horribly scratched by some thorny scrub over the +edge of the hill—there are no bastions worth speaking of near the +Gau-Mukh—and the rest was partly rolling, partly scrambling, and mainly +bad language.</p> + +<p>When you are too lucky sacrifice something, a beloved pipe for choice, +to Ganesh. The Englishman has seen Chitor by moonlight—not the best +moonlight truly, but the watery glare of a nearly spent moon—and his +sacrifice to Luck is this. He will never try to describe what he has +seen—but will keep it as a love-letter, a thing for one pair of eyes +only—a memory that few men to-day can be sharers in. And does he, +through this fiction, evade insulting, by pen and ink, a scene as +lovely, wild, and unmatchable as any that mortal eyes have been +privileged to rest upon?</p> + +<p>An intelligent and discriminating public are perfectly at liberty to +form their own opinions.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> + +<p>CONTAINS THE HISTORY OF THE BHUMIA OF JHASWARA, AND THE RECORD OF A +VISIT TO THE HOUSE OF STRANGE STORIES. DEMONSTRATES THE FELICITY OF +LOAFERDOM, WHICH IS THE VERITABLE COMPANIONSHIP OF THE INDIAN EMPIRE, +AND PROPOSES A SCHEME FOR THE BETTER OFFICERING OF TWO DEPARTMENTS.</p> + + +<p>Come away from the monstrous gloom of Chitor and escape northwards. The +place is unclean and terrifying. Let us catch To-day by both hands and +return to the Station-master who is also booking-parcels and +telegraph-clerk, and who never seems to go to bed—and to the +comfortably wadded bunks of the Rajputana-Malwa line.</p> + +<p>While the train is running, be pleased to listen to the perfectly true +story of the <i>bhumia</i> of Jhaswara, which is a story the sequel whereof +has yet to be written. Once upon a time, a Rajput landholder; a +<i>bhumia</i>, and a Mahometan <i>jaghirdar</i>, were next-door neighbours in +Ajmir territory. They hated each other thoroughly for many reasons, all +connected with land; and the <i>jaghirdar</i> was the bigger man of the two. +In those days, it was the law that the victims of robbery or dacoity +should be reimbursed by the owner of the lands on which the affair had +taken place. The ordinance is now swept away as impracticable. There was +a highway robbery on the <i>bhumia's</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> holding; and he vowed that it had +been "put up" by the Mahometan who, he said, was an Ahab. The reive-gelt +payable nearly ruined the Rajput, and he, labouring under a galling +grievance or a groundless suspicion, fired the <i>jaghirdar's</i> crops, was +detected and brought up before the English Judge who gave him four +years' imprisonment. To the sentence was appended a recommendation that, +on release, the Rajput should be put on heavy securities for good +behaviour. "Otherwise," wrote the Judge, who seems to have known the +people he was dealing with, "he will certainly kill the <i>jaghirdar</i>." +Four years passed, and the <i>jaghirdar</i> obtained wealth and +consideration, and was made, let us say, a Khan Bahadur, and an Honorary +Magistrate; but the <i>bhumia</i> remained in gaol and thought over the +highway robbery. When the day of release came, a new Judge hunted up his +predecessor's finding and recommendation, and would have put the +<i>bhumia</i> on security. "Sahib," said the <i>bhumia</i>, "I have no people. I +have been in gaol. What am I now? And who will find security for me? If +you will send me back to gaol again I can do nothing, and I have no +friends." So they released him, and he went away into an outlying +village and borrowed a sword from one house, and had it sharpened in +another, for love. Two days later fell the birthday of the Khan Bahadur +and the Honorary Magistrate, and his friends and servants and dependants +made a little levee and did him honour after the native custom. The +<i>bhumia</i> also attended the levee, but no one knew him, and he was +stopped at the door of the courtyard by the servant. "Say that the +<i>bhumia</i> of Jhaswara has come to pay his salaams," said he. They let him +in, and in the heart of Ajmir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> City, in broad daylight, and before all +the <i>jaghirdar's</i> household, he smote off his enemy's head so that it +rolled upon the ground. Then he fled, and though they raised the +countryside against him he was never caught, and went into Bikanir.</p> + +<p>Five years later, word came to Ajmir that Chimbo Singh, the <i>bhumia</i> of +Jhaswara, had taken service under the Thakur Sahib of Palitana. The case +was an old one, and the chances of identification misty, but the +suspected was caught and brought in, and one of the leading native +barristers of the Bombay Bar was retained to defend him. He said nothing +and continued to say nothing, and the case fell through. He is believed +to be "wanted" now for a fresh murder committed within the last few +months, out Bikanir way.</p> + +<p>And now that the train has reached Ajmir, the Crewe of Rajputana, +whither shall a tramp turn his feet? The Englishman set his stick on +end, and it fell with its point Northwest as nearly as might be. This +being translated, meant Jodhpur, which is the city of the Houyhnhnms. If +you would enjoy Jodhpur thoroughly, quit at Ajmir the decent +conventionalities of "station" life, and make it your business to move +among gentlemen—gentlemen in the Ordnance or the Commissariat, or, +better still, gentlemen on the Railway. At Ajmir, gentlemen will tell +you what manner of place Jodhpur is, and their accounts, though +flavoured with oaths, are amusing. In their eyes the desert that rings +the city has no charms, and they discuss affairs of the State, as they +understand them, in a manner that would curl the hair on a Political's +august head. Jodhpur has been, but things are rather better now, a +much-favoured camping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> ground for the light-cavalry of the Road—the +loafers with a certain amount of brain and great assurance. The +explanation is simple. There are more than four hundred horses in His +Highness's city stables alone; and where the Houyhnhnm is, there also +will be the Yahoo. This is sad but true.</p> + +<p>Besides the Uhlans who come and go on Heaven knows what mysterious +errands, there are bag-men travelling for the big English firms. Jodhpur +is a good customer, and purchases all sorts of things, more or less +useful, for the State or its friends. These are the gentlemen to know, +if you would understand something of matters which are not written in +reports.</p> + +<p>The Englishman took a train from Ajmir to Marwar Junction, which is on +the road to Mount Abu, westward from Ajmir, and at five in the morning, +under pale moonlight, was uncarted at the beginning of the Jodhpur State +Railway—one of the quaintest little lines that ever ran a locomotive. +It is the Maharaja's very own, and pays about ten per cent; but its +quaintness does not lie in these things. It is worked with rude economy, +and started life by singularly and completely falsifying the Government +estimates for its construction. An intelligent bureau asserted that it +could not be laid down for less than—but the error shall be glossed +over. It was laid down for a little more than seventeen thousand rupees +a mile, with the help of second-hand rails and sleepers; and it is +currently asserted that the Station-masters are flagmen, pointsmen, +ticket-collectors, and everything else, except platforms, and +lamp-rooms. As only two trains are run in the twenty-four hours, this +economy of staff does not matter. The State line, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> the +comparatively new branch to the Pachpadra salt-pits, pays handsomely and +is exactly suited to the needs of its users. True, there is a certain +haziness as to the hour of starting, but this allows laggards more time, +and fills the packed carriages to overflowing.</p> + +<p>From Marwar Junction to Jodhpur, the train leaves the Aravalis and goes +northwards into the region of death that lies beyond the Luni River. +Sand, <i>ak</i> bushes, and sand-hills, varied with occasional patches of +unthrifty cultivation, make up the scenery. Rain has been very scarce in +Marwar this year, and the country, consequently, shows at its worst, for +almost every square mile of a kingdom nearly as large as Scotland is +dependent on the sky for its crops. In a good season, a large village +can pay from seven to nine thousand rupees revenue without blenching. In +a bad one, "all the king's horses and all the king's men" may think +themselves lucky if they raise fifteen rupees from the same place. The +fluctuation is startling.</p> + +<p>From a countryside, which to the uninitiated seems about as valuable as +a stretch of West African beach, the State gets a revenue of nearly +forty lakhs; and men who know the country vow that it has not been one +tithe exploited, and that there is more to be made from salt marble +and—curious thing in this wilderness—good forest conservancy, than an +open-handed Durbar dreams of. An amiable weakness for unthinkingly +giving away villages where ready cash failed, has somewhat hampered the +revenue in past years; but now—and for this the Maharaja deserves great +credit—Jodhpur has a large and genuine surplus and a very compact +little scheme of railway extension. Before turning to a consideration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +of the City of Jodhpur, hear a true story in connection with the +Hyderabad-Pachpadra project which those interested in the scheme may lay +to heart.</p> + +<p>His State line, his "ownest own," as has been said, very much delighted +the Maharaja who, in one or two points, is not unlike Sir Theodore Hope +of sainted memory. Pleased with the toy, he said effusively, in words +which may or may not have reached the ears of the Hyderabad-Pachpadra +people: "This is a good business. If the Government will give me +independent jurisdiction, I'll make and open the line straight away from +Pachpadra to the end of my dominions, <i>i.e.</i>, all but to Hyderabad."</p> + +<p>Then "up and spake an elder knight, sat at the King's right knee," who +knew something about the railway map of India and the Controlling Power +of strategical lines: "Maharaja Sahib—here is the Indus Valley State +line and here is the Bombay-Baroda line. Where would <i>you</i> be?" "By +Jove," quoth the Maharaja, though he swore by quite another god: "I +see!" and thus he abandoned the idea of a Hyderabad line, and turned his +attention to an extension to Nagore, with a branch to the Makrana marble +quarries which are close to the Sambhar salt lake near Jeypore. And, in +the fulness of time, that extension will be made and perhaps extended to +Bahawalpur.</p> + +<p>The Englishman came to Jodhpur at midday, in a hot, fierce sunshine that +struck back from the sands and the ledges of red rock, as though it were +May instead of December. The line scorned such a thing as a regular +ordained terminus. The single track gradually melted away into the +sands. Close to the station was a grim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> stone dak-bungalow, and in the +verandah stood a brisk, bag-and-flask-begirdled individual, cracking his +joints with excess of irritation.</p> + +<p><i>Nota Bene.</i>—When one is on the Road it is above all things necessary +to "pass the time o' day" to fellow-wanderers. Failure to comply with +this law implies that the offender is "too good for his company"; and +this, on the Road, is the unpardonable sin. The Englishman "passed the +time o' day" in due and ample form. "Ha! Ha!" said the gentleman with +the bag. "Isn't this a sweet place? There ain't no <i>ticca-gharies</i>, and +there ain't nothing to eat, if you haven't brought your vittles, an' +they charge you three-eight for a bottle of whisky. Oh! it's a sweet +place." Here he skipped about the verandah and puffed. Then turning upon +the Englishman, he said fiercely: "What have you come here for?" Now +this was rude, because the ordinary form of salutation on the Road is +usually "And what are you for?" meaning "what house do you represent?" +The Englishman answered dolefully that he was travelling for pleasure, +which simple explanation offended the little man with the courier-bag. +He snapped his joints more excruciatingly than ever: "For pleasure? My +God! For pleasure? Come here an' wait five weeks for your money, an', +mark what I'm tellin' you now, you don't get it then! But per'aps your +ideas of pleasure is different from most people's. For pleasure! Yah!" +He skipped across the sands toward the station, for he was going back +with the down train, and vanished in a whirlwind of luggage and the +fluttering of female skirts: in Jodhpur the women are baggage coolies. A +level, drawling voice spoke from an inner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> room: "'E's a bit upset. +That's what 'e is! I remember when I was at Gworlior"—the rest of the +story was lost, and the Englishman set to work to discover the nakedness +of the dak-bungalow. For reasons which do not concern the public, it is +made as bitterly uncomfortable as possible. The food is infamous, and +the charges seem to be wilfully pitched about eighty per cent above the +tariff, so that some portion of the bill, at least, may be paid without +bloodshed, or the unseemly defilement of walls with the contents of +drinking glasses. This is short-sighted policy, and it would, perhaps, +be better to lower the prices and hide the tariff, and put a guard about +the house to prevent jackal-molested donkeys from stampeding into the +verandahs. But these be details. Jodhpur dak-bungalow is a merry, merry +place, and any writer in search of new ground to locate a madly +improbable story in, could not do better than study it diligently. In +front lies sand, riddled with innumerable ant-holes, and beyond the sand +the red sandstone wall of the city, and the Mahometan burying-ground +that fringes it. Fragments of sandstone set on end mark the resting +places of the Faithful, who are of no great account here. Above +everything, a mark for miles around, towers the dun-red pile of the Fort +which is also a Palace. This is set upon sandstone rock whose sharper +features have been worn smooth by the wash of the windblown sand. It is +as monstrous as anything in Dore's illustrations of the <i>Contes +Drolatiques</i> and, wherever it wanders, the eye comes back at last to its +fantastic bulk. There is no greenery on the rock, nothing but fierce +sunlight or black shadow. A line of red hills forms the background of +the city, and this is as bare as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> the picked bones of camels that lie +bleaching on the sand below.</p> + +<p>Wherever the eye falls, it sees a camel or a string of camels—lean, +racer-built <i>sowarri</i> camels, or heavy, black, shag-haired trading ships +bent on their way to the Railway Station. Through the night the air is +alive with the bubbling and howling of the brutes, who assuredly must +suffer from nightmare. In the morning the chorus round the station is +deafening.</p> + +<p>Knowing what these camels meant, but trusting nevertheless that the road +would not be <i>very</i> bad, the Englishman went into the city, left a +well-kunkered road, turned through a sand-worn, red sandstone gate, and +sank ankle-deep in fine reddish white sand. This was the main +thoroughfare of the city. Two tame lynxes shared it with a donkey; and +the rest of the population seemed to have gone to bed. In the hot +weather, between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon all +Jodhpur stays at home for fear of death by sun-stroke, and it is +possible that the habit extends far into what is officially called the +"cold weather"; or, perhaps, being brought up among sands, men do not +care to tramp them for pleasure. The city internally is a walled and +secret place; each courtyard being hidden from view by a red sandstone +wall except in a few streets where the shops are poor and mean.</p> + +<p>In an old house now used for the storing of tents, Akbar's mother lay +two months, before the "Guardian of Mankind" was born, drawing breath +for her flight to Umarkot across the desert. Seeing this place, the +Englishman thought of many things not worth the putting down on paper, +and went on till the sand grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> deeper and deeper, and a great camel, +heavily laden with stone, came round a corner and nearly stepped on him. +As the evening fell, the city woke up, and the goats and the camels and +the kine came in by hundreds, and men said that wild pig, which are +strictly preserved by the Princes for their own sport, were in the habit +of wandering about the roads. Now if they do this in the capital, what +damage must they not do to the crops in the district? Men said that they +did a very great deal of damage, and it was hard to keep their noses out +of anything they took a fancy to. On the evening of the Englishman's +visit, the Maharaja went out, as is his laudable custom, alone and +unattended, to a road actually <i>in</i> the city along which one specially +big pig was in the habit of passing. His Highness got his game with a +single shot behind the shoulder, and in a few days it was pickled and +sent off to the Maharana of Udaipur, as a love-gift. There is great +friendship between Jodhpur and Udaipur, and the idea of one King going +abroad to shoot game for another has something very pretty and quaint in +it.</p> + +<p>Night fell and the Englishman became aware that the conservancy of +Jodhpur might be vastly improved. Strong stenches, say the doctors, are +of no importance; but there came upon every breath of heated air—and in +Jodhpur City the air is warm in mid-winter—the faint, sweet, sickly +reek that one has always been taught to consider specially deadly. A few +months ago there was an impressive outbreak of cholera in Jodhpur, and +the Residency Doctor, who really hoped that the people would be brought +to see sense, did his best to bring forward a general cleansing-scheme. +But the city fathers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> would have none of it. Their fathers had been +trying to poison themselves in well-defined ways for an indefinite +number of years; and they were not going to have any of the Sahib's +"sweeper-nonsense."</p> + +<p>To clinch everything, one travelled member of the community rose in his +place and said: "Why, I've been to Simla. Yes, to Simla! And even <i>I</i> +don't want it!"</p> + +<p>When the black dusk had shut down, the Englishman climbed up a little +hill and saw the stars come out and shine over the desert. Very far +away, some camel-drivers had lighted a fire and were singing as they sat +by the side of their beasts. Sound travels as far over sand as over +water, and their voices came into the city wall and beat against it in +multiplied echoes.</p> + +<p>Then he returned to the House of Strange Stories—the Dak-bungalow—and +passed the time o' day with a light-hearted bagman—a Cockney, in whose +heart there was no thought of India, though he had travelled for years +throughout the length and breadth of the Empire and over New Burma as +well. There was a fort in Jodhpur, but you see that was not in his line +of business exactly, and there were stables, but "you may take my word +for it, them who has much to do with horses is a bad lot. You get hold +of the Maharaja's coachman and he'll drive you all round the shop. I'm +only waiting here collecting money." Jodhpur dak-bungalow seems to be +full of men "waiting here." They lie in long chairs in the verandah and +tell each other interminable stories, or stare citywards and express +their opinion of some dilatory debtor. They are all waiting for +something; and they vary the monotony of a life they make wilfully dull +beyond words, by waging war<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> with the dak-bungalow khansama. Then they +return to their long chairs or their couches, and sleep. Some of them, +in old days, used to wait as long as six weeks—six weeks in May, when +the sixty miles from Marwar Junction to Jodhpur was covered in three +days by slow-pacing bullock carts! Some of them are bagmen, able to +describe the demerits of every dak-bungalow from the Peshin to Pagan, +and southward to Hyderabad—men of substance who have "The Trades" at +their back. It is a terrible thing to be in "The Trades," that great +Doomsday Book of Calcutta, in whose pages are written the names of +doubtful clients. Let light-hearted purchasers take note.</p> + +<p>And the others, who wait and swear and spit and exchange anecdotes—what +are they? Bummers, land-sharks, skirmishers for their bread. It would be +cruel in a fellow-tramp to call them loafers. Their lien upon the State +may have its origin in horses, or anything else; for the State buys +anything vendible, from Abdul Rahman's most promising importations to a +patent, self-acting corkscrew. They are a mixed crew, but amusing and +full of strange stories of adventure by land and sea. And their ends are +as curiously brutal as their lives. A wanderer was once swept into the +great, still back-water that divides the loaferdom of Upper India—that +is to say, Calcutta and Bombay—from the north-going current of Madras, +where Nym and Pistol are highly finished articles with certificates of +education. This back-water is a dangerous place to break down in, as the +men on the Road know well. "You can run Rajputana in a pair o' sack +breeches an' an old hat, but go to Central Injia with money," says the +wisdom of the Road. So the waif<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> died in the bazaar, and the +Barrack-master Sahib gave orders for his burial. It might have been the +bazaar sergeant, or it might have been an hireling who was charged with +the disposal of the body. At any rate, it was an Irishman who said to +the Barrack-master Sahib: "Fwhat about that loafer?" "Well, what's the +matter?" "I'm considtherin whether I'm to mash in his thick head, or to +break his long legs. He won't fit the store-coffin anyways."</p> + +<p>Here the story ends. It may be an old one; but it struck the Englishman +as being rather unsympathetic in its nature; and he has preserved it for +this reason. Were the Englishman a mere Secretary of State instead of an +enviable and unshackled vagabond, he would remodel that Philanthropic +Institution of Teaching Young Subalterns how to Spell—variously called +the Intelligence and the Political Department—and giving each boy the +pair of sack breeches and old hat, above prescribed, would send him out +for a twelvemonth on the Road. Not that he might learn to swear +Australian oaths (which are superior to any ones in the market) or to +drink bazaar-drinks (which are very bad indeed), but in order that he +might gain an insight into the tertiary politics of States—things less +imposing than succession-cases and less wearisome than boundary +disputes, but very well worth knowing.</p> + +<p>A small volume might be written of the ways and the tales of Indian +loafers of the more brilliant order—such Chevaliers of the Order of +Industry as would throw their glasses in your face did you call them +loafers. They are a genial, blasphemous, blustering crew, and preëminent +even in a land of liars.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> + +<p>A KING'S HOUSE AND COUNTRY. FURTHER CONSIDERATION OF THE HAT-MARKED +CASTE.</p> + + +<p>The hospitality that spreads tables in the wilderness, and shifts the +stranger from the back of the hired camel into a two-horse victoria, +must be experienced to be appreciated.</p> + +<p>To those unacquainted with the peculiarities of the native-trained +horse, this advice may be worth something. Sit as far back as ever you +can, and, if Oriental courtesy have put an English bit and bridoon in a +mouth by education intended for a spiked curb, leave the whole +contraption alone. Once acquainted with the comparative smoothness of +English iron-mongery, your mount will grow frivolous. In which event a +four-pound steeplechase saddle, accepted through sheer shame, offers the +very smallest amount of purchase to untrained legs.</p> + +<p>The Englishman rode up to the Fort, and by the way learnt all these +things and many more. He was provided with a racking, female horse who +swept the gullies of the city by dancing sideways.</p> + +<p>The road to the Fort, which stands on the Hill of Strife, wound in and +out of sixty-foot hills, with a skilful avoidance of all shade; and this +was at high noon, when puffs of heated air blew from the rocks on all +sides. "What must the heat be in May?" The Englishman's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> companion was a +cheery Brahmin, who wore the lightest of turbans and sat the smallest of +neat little country-breds. "Awful!" said the Brahmin. "But not so bad as +in the district. Look there!" and he pointed from the brow of a bad +eminence, across the quivering heat-haze, to where the white sand faded +into bleach blue sky and the horizon was shaken and tremulous. "It's +very bad in summer. Would knock you—oh yes—all to smash, but <i>we</i> are +accustomed to it." A rock-strewn hill, about half a mile, as the crow +flies, from the Fort was pointed out as the place whence, at the +beginning of this century, the Pretender Sowae besieged Raja Maun for +five months, but could make no headway against his foe. One gun of the +enemy's batteries specially galled the Fort, and the Jodhpur King +offered a village to any of his gunners who should dismount it. "It was +smashed," said the Brahmin. "Oh yes, all to pieces." Practically, the +city which lies below the Fort is indefensible, and during the many wars +of Marwar has generally been taken up by the assailants without +resistance.</p> + +<p>Entering the Fort by the Jeypore Gate, and studiously refraining from +opening his umbrella, the Englishman found shadow and coolth, took off +his hat to the tun-bellied, trunk-nosed God of Good-Luck who had been +very kind to him in his wanderings, and sat down near half a dozen of +the Maharaja's guns bearing the mark, "A. Broome, Cossipore, 1857," or +"G. Hutchinson, Cossipore, 1838." Now rock and masonry are so curiously +blended in this great pile that he who walks through it loses sense of +being among buildings. It is as though he walked through +mountain-gorges. The stone-paved, inclined planes, and the tunnel-like +passages driven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> under a hundred feet height of buildings, increase this +impression. In many places the wall and rock runs up unbroken by any +window for forty feet.</p> + +<p>It would be a week's work to pick out even roughly the names of the dead +who have added to the buildings, or to describe the bewildering +multiplicity of courts and ranges of rooms; and, in the end, the result +would be as satisfactory as an attempt to describe a nightmare. It is +said that the rock on which the Fort stands is four miles in circuit, +but no man yet has dared to estimate the size of the city that they call +the Palace, or the mileage of its ways. Ever since Ras Joda, four +hundred years ago, listened to the voice of a <i>Jogi</i>, and leaving +Mundore built his eyrie on the "Bird's nest" as the Hill of Strife was +called, the Palaces have grown and thickened. Even to-day the builders +are still at work. Takht Singh, the present ruler's predecessor, built +royally. An incomplete bastion and a Hall of Flowers are among the works +of his pleasure. Hidden away behind a mighty wing of carved red +sandstone lie rooms set apart for Viceroys, Durbar Halls and +dinner-rooms without end. A gentle gloom covers the evidences of the +catholic taste of the State in articles of "bigotry and virtue"; but +there is enough light to show the <i>raison d'être</i> of the men who wait in +the dak-bungalow. And, after all, what is the use of Royalty in these +days if a man may not take delight in the pride of the eye? Kumbha Rana, +the great man of Chitor, fought like a Rajput, but he had an instinct +which made him build the Tower of Victory at, who knows what cost of +money and life. The fighting-instinct thrown back upon itself must have +some sort of outlet; and a merciful Providence wisely ordains that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> the +Kings of the East in the nineteenth century shall take pleasure in +shopping on an imperial scale. Dresden China snuff-boxes, mechanical +engines, electro-plated fish-slicers, musical boxes, and gilt +blown-glass Christmas-tree balls do not go well with the splendours of a +Palace that might have been built by Titans and coloured by the morning +sun. But there are excuses to be made for Kings who have no fighting to +do.</p> + +<p>In one of the higher bastions stands a curious specimen of one of the +earliest <i>mitrailleuses</i>—a cumbrous machine carrying twenty gun-barrels +in two rows, which small-arm fire is flanked by two tiny cannon. As a +muzzle-loading implement its value after the first discharge would be +insignificant; but the soldiers lounging by assured the Englishman that +it had done good service in its time.</p> + +<p>A man may spend a long hour in the upper tiers of the Palaces, but still +far from the roof-tops, in looking out across the desert. There are +Englishmen in these wastes, who say gravely that there is nothing so +fascinating as the sand of Bikanir and Marwar. "You see," explained an +enthusiast of the Hat-marked Caste, "you are not shut in by roads, and +you can go just as you please. And, somehow, it grows upon you as you +get used to it, and you end, y'know, by falling in love with the place." +Look steadily from the Palace westward where the city with its tanks and +serais is spread at your feet, and you will, in a lame way, begin to +understand the fascination of the Desert which, by those who have felt +it, is said to be even stronger than the fascination of the Road. The +city is of red sandstone and dull and sombre to look at. Beyond it, +where the white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> sand lies, the country is dotted with camels limping +into the Eiwigkeit or coming from the same place. Trees appear to be +strictly confined to the suburbs of the city. Very good. If you look +long enough across the sands, while a voice in your ear is telling you +of half-buried cities, old as old Time, and wholly unvisited by Sahibs, +of districts where the white man is unknown, and of the wonders of +far-away Jeysulmir ruled by a half-distraught king, sand-locked and now +smitten by a terrible food and water famine, you will, if it happen that +you are of a sedentary and civilised nature, experience a new +emotion—will be conscious of a great desire to take one of the lobbing +camels and get away into the desert, away from the last touch of To-day, +to meet the Past face to face. Some day a novelist will exploit the +unknown land from the Rann, where the wild ass breeds, northward and +eastward, till he comes to the Indus.</p> + +<p>But the officials of Marwar do not call their country a desert. On the +contrary, they administer it very scientifically and raise, as has been +said, about thirty-eight lakhs from it. To come back from the influence +and the possible use of the desert to more prosaic facts. Read quickly a +rough record of things in modern Marwar. The old is drawn in Tod, who +speaks the truth. The Maharaja's right hand in the work of the State is +Maharaj Sir Pertab Singh, Prime Minister A.—D.—C. to the Prince of +Wales, capable of managing the Marwari who intrigues like a—Marwari, +equally capable, as has been seen, of moving in London Society, and +Colonel of a newly raised crack cavalry corps. The Englishman would have +liked to have seen him, but he was away in the desert somewhere, either +marking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> a boundary or looking after a succession case. Not very long +ago, as the Setts of Ajmir knew well, there was a State debt of fifty +lakhs. This has now been changed into a surplus of three lakhs, and the +revenue is growing. Also, the simple Dacoit who used to enjoy himself +very pleasantly, has been put into a department, and the Thug with him.</p> + +<p>Consequently, for the department takes a genuine interest in this form +of <i>shikar</i>, and the gaol leg-irons are not too light, dacoities have +been reduced to such an extent that men say "you may send a woman, with +her ornaments upon her, from Sojat to Phalodi, and she will not lose a +nose-ring." Again, and this in a Rajput State is an important matter, +the boundaries of nearly every village in Marwar have been demarcated, +and boundary fights, in which both sides preferred small-arm fire to the +regulation club, are unknown. The open-handed system of giving away +villages had raised a large and unmannerly crop of <i>jaghirdars</i>. These +have been taken up and brought in hand by Sir Pertab Singh, to the +better order of the State.</p> + +<p>A Punjabi Sirdar, Har Dyal Singh, has reformed, or made rather, Courts +on the Civil and Criminal Side; and his hand is said to be found in a +good many sweepings out of old corners. It must always be borne in mind +that everything that has been done, was carried through over and under +unlimited intrigue, for Jodhpur is a Native State. Intrigue must be met +with intrigue by all except Gordons or demi-gods; and it is curious to +hear how a reduction in tariff, or a smoothing out of some tangled +Court, had to be worked by shift and byway. The tales are comic, but not +for publication.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> Howbeit, Har Dyal Singh got his training in part under +the Punjab Government, and in part in a little Native State far away in +the Himalayas, where intrigue is not altogether unknown. To the credit +of the "Pauper Province" be it said, it is not easy to circumvent a +Punjabi. The details of his work would be dry reading. The result of it +is good, and there is justice in Marwar, and order and firmness in its +administration.</p> + +<p>Naturally, the land-revenue is the most interesting thing in Marwar from +an administrative point of view. The basis of it is a tank about the +size of a swimming-bath, with a catchment of several hundred square +yards, draining through leeped channels. When God sends the rain, the +people of the village drink from the tank. When the rains fail, as they +failed this year, they take to their wells, which are brackish and breed +guinea-worm. For these reasons the revenue, like the Republic of San +Domingo, is never alike for two years running. There are no canal +questions to harry the authorities; but the fluctuations are enormous. +Under the Aravalis the soil is good: further north they grow millet and +pasture cattle, though, said a Revenue Officer cheerfully, "God knows +what the brutes find to eat." <i>Apropos</i> of irrigation, the one canal +deserves special mention, as showing how George Stephenson came to +Jodhpur and astonished the inhabitants. Six miles from the city proper +lies the Balsaman Sagar, a great tank. In the hot weather, when the city +tanks ran out or stank, it was the pleasant duty of the women to tramp +twelve miles at the end of the day's work to fill their lotahs. In the +hot weather Jodhpur is—let a simile suffice. Sukkur in June would be +Simla to Jodhpur.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>The State Engineer, who is also the Jodhpur State Line, for he has no +European subordinates, conceived the idea of bringing the water from the +Balsaman into the city. Was the city grateful? Not in the least. It is +said that the Sahib wanted the water to run uphill and was throwing +money into the tank. Being true Marwaris, men betted on the subject. The +canal—a built out one, for water must not touch earth in these +parts—was made at a cost of something over a lakh, and the water came +down because its source was a trifle higher than the city. Now, in the +hot weather, the women need not go for long walks, but the Marwari +cannot understand how it was that the waters came down to Jodhpur. From +the Marwari to money matters is an easy step. Formerly, that is to say, +up to within a very short time, the Treasury of Jodhpur was conducted in +a shiftless, happy-go-lucky sort of fashion, not uncommon in Native +States, whereby the Mahajuns "held the bag" and made unholy profits on +discount and other things, to the confusion of the Durbar Funds and +their own enrichment. There is now a Treasury modelled on English lines, +and English in the important particular that money is not to be got from +it for the asking, and the items of expenditure are strictly looked +after.</p> + +<p>In the middle of all this bustle of reform planned, achieved, +frustrated, and replanned, and the never-ending underground warfare that +surges in a Native State, move the English officers—the irreducible +minimum of exiles. As a caste, the working Englishmen in Native States +are curiously interesting; and the traveller whose tact by this time has +been blunted by tramping, sits in judgment upon them as he has seen +them. In the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> place, they are, they must be, the fittest who have +survived; for though, here and there, you shall find one chafing +bitterly against the burden of his life in the wilderness, one to be +pitied more than any chained beast, the bulk of the caste are honestly +and unaffectedly fond of their work, fond of the country around them, +and fond of the people they deal with. In each State their answer to a +question is the same. The men with whom they are in contact are "all +right" when you know them, but you've got to "know them first," as the +music-hall song says. Their hands are full of work; so full that, when +the incult wanderer said: "What do you find to do?" they look upon him +with contempt and amazement, exactly as the wanderer himself had once +looked upon a Globe-trotter, who had put to him the same impertinent +query. And—but here the Englishman may be wrong—it seemed to him that +in one respect their lives were a good deal more restful and +concentrated than those of their brethren under the British Government. +There was no talk of shiftings and transfers and promotions, stretching +across a Province and a half, and no man said anything about Simla. To +one who has hitherto believed that Simla is the hub of the Empire, it is +disconcerting to hear: "Oh, Simla! That's where you Bengalis go. We +haven't anything to do with Simla down here." And no more they have. +Their talk and their interests run in the boundaries of the States they +serve, and, most striking of all, the gossipy element seems to be cut +altogether. It is a backwater of the river of Anglo-Indian life—or is +it the main current, the broad stream that supplies the motive power, +and is the other life only the noisy ripple on the surface? You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> who +have lived, not merely looked at, both lives, decide. Much can be learnt +from the talk of the caste, many curious, many amusing, and some +startling things. One hears stories of men who take a poor, impoverished +State as a man takes a wife, "for better or worse," and, moved by some +incomprehensible ideal of virtue, consecrate—that is not too big a +word—consecrate their lives to that State in all single-heartedness and +purity. Such men are few, but they exist to-day, and their names are +great in lands where no Englishman travels. Again the listener hears +tales of grizzled diplomats of Rajputana—Machiavellis who have hoisted +a powerful intriguer with his own intrigue, and bested priestly cunning, +and the guile of the Oswal, simply that the way might be clear for some +scheme which should put money into a tottering Treasury, or lighten the +taxation of a few hundred thousand men—or both; for this can be done. +One tithe of that force spent on their own personal advancement would +have carried such men very far.</p> + +<p>Truly the Hat-marked Caste are a strange people. They are so few and so +lonely and so strong. They can sit down in one place for years, and see +the works of their hands and the promptings of their brain grow to +actual and beneficent life, bringing good to thousands. Less fettered +than the direct servant of the Indian Government, and working over a +much vaster charge, they seem a bigger and a more large-minded breed. +And that is saying a good deal.</p> + +<p>But let the others, the little people bound down and supervised, and +strictly limited and income-taxed, always remember that the Hat-marked +are very badly off for shops. If they want a neck-tie they must get it +up from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> Bombay, and in the Rains they can hardly move about; and they +have no amusements and must go a day's railway journey for a rubber, and +their drinking-water is doubtful: and there is less than one white woman +<i>per</i> ten thousand square miles.</p> + +<p>After all, comparative civilisation has its advantages.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> + +<p>AMONG THE HOUYHNHNMS.</p> + + +<p>Jodhpur differs from the other States of Rajputana in that its Royalty +are peculiarly accessible to an inquiring public. There are wanderers, +the desire of whose life it is "to see Nabobs," which is the +Globe-trotter's title for any one in unusually clean clothes, or an Oudh +Taluqdar in gala dress. Men asked in Jodhpur whether the Englishman +would like to see His Highness. The Englishman had a great desire to do +so, if His Highness would be in no way inconvenienced. Then they +scoffed: "Oh, he won't <i>durbar</i> you, you needn't flatter yourself. If +he's in the humour he'll receive you like an English country-gentleman." +How in the world could the owner of such a place as Jodhpur Palace be in +any way like an English country-gentleman? The Englishman had not long +to wait in doubt. His Highness intimated his readiness to see the +Englishman between eight and nine in the morning at the Raika-Bagh. The +Raika-Bagh is not a Palace, for the lower storey and all the detached +buildings round it are filled with horses. Nor can it in any way be +called a stable, because the upper storey contains sumptuous apartments +full of all manner of valuables both of the East and the West. Nor is it +in any sense a pleasure-garden, for it stands on soft white sand, close +to a multitude of litter and sand training tracks, and is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> devoid of +trees for the most part. Therefore the Raika-Bagh is simply the +Raika-Bagh and nothing else. It is now the chosen residence of the +Maharaja who loves to live among his four hundred or more horses. All +Jodhpur is horse-mad by the way, and it behoves any one who wishes to be +any one to keep his own race-course. The Englishman went to the +Raika-Bagh, which stands half a mile or so from the city, and passing +through a long room filled with saddles by the dozen, bridles by the +score, and bits by the hundred, was aware of a very small and lively +little cherub on the roof of a garden-house. He was carefully muffled, +for the morning was chill. "Good morning," he cried cheerfully in +English, waving a mittened hand. "Are you going to see my faver and the +horses?" It was the Maharaja Kanwar, the Crown Prince, the apple of the +Maharaja's eye, and one of the quaintest little bodies that ever set an +Englishman disrespectfully laughing. He studies English daily with one +of the English officials of the State, and stands a very good chance of +being thoroughly spoiled, for he is a general pet. As befits his +dignity, he has his own carriage or carriages, his own twelve-hand +stable, his own house and retinue.</p> + +<p>A few steps further on, in a little enclosure in front of a small +two-storied white bungalow, sat His Highness the Maharaja, deep in +discussion with the State Engineer. He wore an English ulster, and +within ten paces of him was the first of a long range of stalls. There +was an informality of procedure about Jodhpur which, after the strained +etiquette of other States, was very refreshing. The State Engineer, who +has a growing line to attend to, cantered away and His Highness after a +few introductory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> words, knowing what the Englishman would be after, +said: "Come along, and look at the horses." Other formality there was +absolutely none. Even the indispensable knot of hangers-on stood at a +distance, and behind a paling, in this most rustic country residence. A +well-bred fox-terrier took command of the proceedings, after the manner +of dogs the world over, and the Maharaja led to the horse-boxes. But a +man turned up, bending under the weight of much bacon. "Oh! here's the +pig I shot for Udaipur last night. You see that is the best piece. It's +pickled, and that's what makes it yellow to look at." He patted the +great side that was held up. "There will be a camel sowar to meet it +half way to Udaipur; and I hope Udaipur will be pleased with it. It was +a very big pig." "And where did you shoot it, Maharaja Sahib?" "Here," +said His Highness, smiting himself high up under the armpit. "Where else +would you have it?" Certainly this descendant of Raja Maun was more like +an English country-gentleman than the Englishman in his ignorance had +deemed possible. He led on from horse-box to horse-box, the terrier at +his heels, pointing out each horse of note; and Jodhpur has many. +"There's <i>Raja</i>, twice winner of the Civil Service Cup." The Englishman +looked reverently and <i>Raja</i> rewarded his curiosity with a vicious snap, +for he was being dressed over, and his temper was out of joint. Close to +him stood <i>Autocrat</i>, the grey with the nutmeg marks on the +off-shoulder, a picture of a horse, also disturbed in his mind. Next to +him was a chestnut Arab, a hopeless cripple, for one of his knees had +been smashed and the leg was doubled up under him. It was <i>Turquoise</i>, +who, six or eight years ago, rewarded good feeding by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> getting away from +his groom, falling down and ruining himself, but who, none the less, has +lived an honoured pensioner on the Maharaja's bounty ever since. No +horses are shot in the Jodhpur stables, and when one dies—they have +lost not more than twenty-five in six years—his funeral is an event. He +is wrapped in a white sheet which is strewn with flowers, and, amid the +weeping of the <i>saises</i>, is borne away to the burial ground.</p> + +<p>After doing the honours for nearly half an hour the Maharaja departed, +and as the Englishman has not seen more than forty horses, he felt +justified in demanding more. And he got them. <i>Eclipse</i> and <i>Young +Revenge</i> were out down-country, but <i>Sherwood</i> at the stud, <i>Shere Ali</i>, +<i>Conqueror</i>, <i>Tynedale</i>, <i>Sherwood II</i>, a maiden of Abdul Rahman's, and +many others of note, were in, and were brought out. Among the veterans, +a wrathful, rampant, red horse still, came <i>Brian Boru</i>, whose name has +been written large in the chronicles of the Indian turf, jerking his +<i>sais</i> across the road. His near-fore is altogether gone, but as a +pensioner he condescends to go in harness, and is then said to be a +"handful." He certainly looks it.</p> + +<p>At the two hundred and fifty-seventh horse, and perhaps the twentieth +block of stables, the Englishman's brain began to reel, and he demanded +rest and information on a certain point. He had gone into some fifty +stalls, and looked into all the rest, and in the looking had searchingly +sniffed. But, as truly as he was then standing far below <i>Brian Boru's</i> +bony withers, never the ghost of a stench had polluted the keen morning +air. The City of the Houyhnhnms was specklessly clean—cleaner than any +stable, racing or private, that he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> been into. How was it done? The +pure white sand accounted for a good deal, and the rest was explained by +one of the Masters of Horse: "Each horse has one <i>sais</i> at least—old +<i>Ringwood</i> has four—and we make 'em work. If we didn't, we'd be mucked +up to the horses' bellies in no time. Everything is cleaned off at once; +and whenever the sand's tainted it's renewed. There's quite enough sand +you see hereabouts. Of course we can't keep their coats so good as in +other stables, by reason of the rolling; but we can keep 'em pretty +clean."</p> + +<p>To the eye of one who knew less than nothing about horse-flesh, this +immaculate purity was very striking, and quite as impressive was the +condition of the horses, which was English—quite English. Naturally, +none of them were in any sort of training beyond daily exercise, but +they were fit and in such thoroughly good fettle. Many of them were out +on the various tracks, and many were coming in. Roughly, two hundred go +out of a morning, and, it is to be feared, learn from the heavy going of +the Jodhpur courses how to hang in their stride. This is a matter for +those who know, but it struck the Englishman that a good deal of the +unsatisfactory performances of the Jodhpur stables might be accounted +for by their having lost their clean stride on the sand, and having to +pick it up gradually on the less holding down-country +courses—unfortunately when they were <i>not</i> doing training gallops, but +the real thing.</p> + +<p>It was pleasant to sit down and watch the rush of the horses through the +great opening—gates are not affected—going on to the countryside where +they take the air. Here a boisterous, unschooled Arab shot out across +the road and cried, "Ha! Ha!" in the scriptural manner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> before trying +to rid himself of the grinning black imp on his back. Behind him a +Cabuli—surely all Cabulis must have been born with Pelhams in their +mouths—bored sulkily across the road, or threw himself across the path +of a tall, mild-eyed Kurnal-bred youngster, whose cocked ears and +swinging head showed that, though he was so sedate, he was thoroughly +taking in his surroundings, and would very much like to know if there +were anybody better than himself on the course that morning. Impetuous +as a schoolboy and irresponsible as a monkey, one of the Prince's polo +ponies, not above racing in his own set, would answer the question by +rioting past the pupil of Parrott, the monogram on his bodycloth +flapping free in the wind, and his head and hogged tail in the elements. +The youngster would swing himself round, and polka-mazurka for a few +paces, till his attention would be caught by some dainty Child of the +Desert, fresh from the Bombay stables, sweating at every sound, backing +and filling like a rudderless ship. Then, thanking his stars that he was +wiser than some people, Number 177 would lob on to the track and settle +down to his spin like the gentleman he was. Elsewhere, the eye fell upon +a cloud of nameless ones, purchases from Abdul Rahman, whose worth will +be proved next hot weather, when they are seriously taken in +hand—skirmishing over the face of the land and enjoying themselves +immensely. High above everything else, like a collier among barges, +screaming shrilly, a black, flamboyant Marwari stallion, with a crest +like the crest of a barb, barrel-bellied, goose-rumped, and river-maned, +pranced through the press, while the slow-pacing waler carriage-horses +eyed him with deep disfavour, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> Maharaja Kanwar's tiny mount +capered under his pink, Roman nose, kicking up as much dust as the +<i>Foxhall</i> colt who had got on to a lovely patch of sand and was dancing +a saraband in it. In and out of the tangle, going down to or coming back +from the courses, ran, shuffled, rocketed, plunged, sulked, or stampeded +countless horses of all kinds, shapes, and descriptions—so that the eye +at last failed to see what they were, and only retained a general +impression of a whirl of bays, greys, iron greys, and chestnuts with +white stockings, some as good as could be desired, others average, but +not one distinctly bad.</p> + +<p>"We have no downright bad 'uns in this stable. What's the use?" said the +Master of Horse, calmly. "They are all good beasts and, one with +another, must cost more than a thousand rupees each. This year's new +ones bought from Bombay and the pick of our own studs are a hundred +strong about. May be more. Yes, they look all right enough; but you can +never know what they are going to turn out. Live-stock is very +uncertain." "And how are the stables managed? how do you make room for +the fresh stock?" Something this way. Here are all the new ones and +Parrott's lot, and the English colts that Maharaja Pertab Singh brought +out with him from Home. <i>Winterlake</i> out o' <i>Queen's Consort</i> that +chestnut is with the two white stockings you're looking at now. Well, +next hot weather we shall see what they're made of and which is who. +There's so many that the trainer hardly knows 'em one from another till +they begin to be a good deal forward. Those that haven't got the pace, +or that the Maharaja don't fancy, they're taken out and sold for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> what +they'll bring. The man who takes the horses out has a good job of it. He +comes back and says: "I sold such and such for so much, and here's the +money." That's all. Well, our rejections are worth having. They have +taken prizes at the Poona Horse Show. See for yourself. Is there one of +those that you wouldn't be glad to take for a hack, and look well after +too? Only they're no use to us, and so out they go by the score. We've +got sixty riding-boys, perhaps more, and they've got their work cut out +to keep them all going. What you've seen are only the stables. We've got +one stud at Bellara, eighty miles out, and they come in sometimes in +droves of three and four hundred from the stud. They raise Marwaris +there too, but that's entirely under native management. We've got +nothing to do with that. The natives reckon a Marwari the best +country-bred you can lay hands on; and some of them are beauties! Crests +on 'em like the top of a wave. Well, there's that stud and another stud +and, reckoning one with another, I should say the Maharaja has nearer +twelve hundred than a thousand horses of his own. For this place here, +two wagon-loads of grass come in every day from Marwar Junction. Lord +knows how many saddles and bridles we've got. I never counted. I suppose +we've about forty carriages, not counting the ones that get shabby and +are stacked in places in the city, as I suppose you've seen. We take 'em +out in the morning, a regular string altogether, brakes and all; but the +prettiest turn-out we ever turned out was Lady Dufferin's pony +four-in-hand. Walers—thirteen-two the wheelers, I think, and +thirteen-one the leaders. They took prizes in Poona. That <i>was</i> a pretty +turn-out. The prettiest in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> India. Lady Dufferin, she drove it when the +Viceroy was down here last year. There are bicycles and tricycles in the +carriage department too. I don't know how many, but when the Viceroy's +camp was held, there was about one apiece for the gentlemen, with +remounts. They're somewhere about the place now, if you want to see +them. How do we manage to keep the horses so quiet? You'll find some o' +the youngsters play the goat a good deal when they come out o' stable, +but, as you say, there's no vice generally. It's this way. We don't +allow any curry-combs. If we did, the <i>saises</i> would be wearing out +their brushes on the combs. It's all elbow-grease here. They've got to +go over the horses with their hands. They must handle 'em, and a native +he's afraid of a horse. Now an English groom, when a horse is doing the +fool, clips him over the head with a curry-comb, or punches him in the +belly; and that hurts the horse's feelings. A native, he just stands +back till the trouble is over. He <i>must</i> handle the horse or he'd get +into trouble for not dressing him, so it comes to all handling and no +licking, and that's why you won't get hold of a really vicious brute in +these stables. Old <i>Ringwood</i> he had four <i>saises</i>, and he wanted 'em +every one, but the other horses have no more than one <i>sais</i> apiece. The +Maharaja he keeps fourteen or fifteen horses for his own riding. Not +that he cares to ride now, but he likes to have his horses; and no one +else can touch 'em. Then there's the horses that he mounts his visitors +on, when they come for pig-sticking and such like, and then there's a +lot of horses that go to Maharaja Pertab Singh's new cavalry regiment. +So you see a horse can go through all three degrees sometimes before he +gets sold, and be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> good horse at the end of it. And I think that's +about all!"</p> + +<p>A cloud of youngsters, sweating freely and ready for any mischief, shot +past on their way to breakfast, and the conversation ended in a cloud of +sand and the drumming of hurrying hooves.</p> + +<p>In the Raika-Bagh are more racing cups than this memory holds the names +of. Chiefest of all was the Delhi Assemblage Cup—the Imperial Vase, of +solid gold, won by <i>Crown Prince</i>. The other pieces of plate were not so +imposing. But of all the Crown Jewels, the most valuable appeared at the +end of the inspection. It was the small Maharaja Kanwar lolling in state +in a huge barouche—his toes were at least two feet off the floor—that +was taking him from his morning drive. "Have you seen <i>my</i> horses?" said +the Maharaja Kanwar. The four twelve-hand ponies had been duly looked +over, and the future ruler of Jodhpur departed satisfied.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> + +<p>TREATS OF THE STARTLING EFFECT OF A REDUCTION IN WAGES AND THE PLEASURES +OF LOAFERDOM. PAINTS THE STATE OF THE BOONDI ROAD AND THE TREACHERY OF +GANESH OF SITUR.</p> + + +<p>"A twenty-five per cent reduction all roun' an' no certain leave when +you wants it. <i>Of</i> course the best men goes somewhere else. That's only +natural, and 'ere's this sanguinary down mail a-stickin' in the eye of +the Khundwa down! I tell you, Sir, Injia's a bad place—a very bad +place. 'Tisn't what it was when I came out one and thirty year ago, an' +the drivers was getting their seven and eight 'undred rupees a month an' +was treated as <i>men</i>."</p> + +<p>The Englishman was on his way to Nasirabad, and a gentleman in the +Railway was explaining to him the real reason of the decadence of the +Empire. It was because, the Rajputana-Malwa Railway had cut all its +employés twenty-five per cent. It is ungenerous to judge a caste by a +few samples; but the Englishman had on the Road and elsewhere seen a +good deal of gentlemen on the Railway, and they spend their pay in a +manner that would do credit to an income of a thousand a month. Now they +say that the twenty-five per cent reduction deprives them of all the +pleasures of life. So much the better if it makes them moderately +economical in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> expenditure. Revolving these things in his mind, +together with one or two stories of extravagances not quite fit for +publication, the Englishman came to Nasirabad, before sunrise, and there +to an evil-looking tonga. Quoth Ram Baksh, proprietor, driver, <i>sais</i>, +and everything else, calmly: "At this time of the year and having regard +to the heat of the sun who wants a top to a tonga? I have no top. I have +a top, but it would take till twelve o'clock to put it on. And behold +Sahib, Padre Martum Sahib went in this tonga to Deoli. All the officer +Sahibs of Deoli and Nasirabad go in this tonga for <i>shikar</i>. This is a +'shutin-tonga'!" "When Church and Army are brought against one, argument +is in vain." But to take a soft, office-bred unfortunate into the +wilderness, upon a skeleton, a diagram of a conveyance, is brutality. +Ram Baksh did not see it, and headed his two thirteen-hand rats straight +towards the morning sun, along a beautiful military road. "We shall get +to Deoli in six hours," said Ram Baksh the boastful, and, even as he +spoke, the spring of the tonga bar snapt "mit a harp-like melodious +twang." "What does it matter?" said Ram Baksh. "Has the Sahib never seen +a tonga-iron break before? Padre Martum Sahib and all the Officer Sahibs +in Deoli—" "Ram Baksh," said the Englishman, sternly, "I am not a Padre +Sahib nor an Officer Sahib, and if you say anything more about Padre +Martum Sahib or the officer in Deoli I shall grow very angry, Ram +Baksh."</p> + +<p>"Humph," said Ram Baksh, "I knew you were not a Padre Sahib." The little +mishap was patched up with string, and the tonga went on merrily. It is +Stevenson who says that the "invitation to the road," nature's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> great +morning song, has not yet been properly understood or put to music. The +first note of it is the sound of the dawn-wind through long grass. It is +good, good beyond expression, to see the sun rise upon a strange land +and to know that you have only to go forward and possess that land—that +it will dower you before the day is ended with a hundred new impressions +and, perhaps, one idea. It is good to snuff the wind when it comes in +over large uplands or down from the tops of the blue Aravalis—dry and +keen as a new-ground sword. Best of all is to light the First Pipe—is +there any tobacco so good as that we burn in honour of the breaking +day?—and, while the ponies wake the long white road with their hooves +and the birds go abroad in companions together, to thank your stars that +you are neither the Subaltern who has Orderly Room, the 'Stunt who has +office, or the Judge who has the Court to attend; but are only a loafer +in a flannel shirt bound, if God pleases, to "little Boondi," somewhere +beyond the faint hills beyond the plain.</p> + +<p>But there was alloy in this delight. Men had told the Englishman darkly +that Boondi State had no love for Englishmen, that there was nowhere to +stop, and that no one would do anything for money. Love was out of the +question. Further, it was an acknowledged fact that there were no +Englishmen of any kind in Boondi. But the Englishman trusted that Ganesh +would be good to him, and that he would, somehow or other, fall upon his +feet as he had fallen before. The road from Nasirabad to Deoli, being +military in its nature, is nearly as straight as a ruler and about as +smooth. Here and there little rocky hills, the last off-shoots of the +Aravalis to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> west, break the ground; but the bulk of it is fair and +without pimples. The Deoli Force are apparently so utterly Irregular +that they can do without a telegraph, have their mails carried by +runners, and dispense with bridges over all the fifty-six miles that +separate them from Nasirabad. However, a man who goes shikarring for any +length of time in one of Ram Baksh's tongas would soon learn to dispense +with anything and everything. "<i>All</i> the Sahibs use my tonga; I've got +eight of them and twenty pairs of horses," said Ram Baksh. "They go as +far as Gangra, where the tigers are, for they are 'shutin-tongas.'" Now +the Englishman knew Gangra slightly, having seen it on the way to +Udaipur; and it was as perverse and rocky a place as any man would +desire to see. He politely expressed doubt. "I tell you my tongas go +anywhere," said Ram Baksh, testily. A hay-wagon—they cut and stack +their hay in these parts—blocked the road. Ram Baksh ran the tonga to +one side, into a rut, fetched up on a tree-stump, rebounded on to a +rock, and struck the road again. "Observe," said Ram Baksh; "but that is +nothing. You wait till we get on the Boondi Road, and I'll make you +shake, shake like a bottle." "Is it <i>very</i> bad?" "I've never been to +Boondi myself, but I hear it is all rocks—great rocks as big as this +tonga." But though he boasted himself and his horses nearly all the way, +he could not reach Deoli in anything like the time he had set forth. "If +I am not at Boondi by four," he had said, at six in the morning, "let me +go without my fee." But by midday he was still far from Deoli, and +Boondi lay twenty-eight miles beyond that station. "What can I do?" said +he. "I've laid out lots of horses—any amount. But the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> fact is I've +never been to Boondi. I shan't go there in the night." Ram Baksh's "lots +of horses" were three pair between Nasirabad and Deoli—three pair of +undersized ponies who did wonders. At one place, after he had quitted a +cotton wagon, a drove of gipsies, and a man on horseback, with his +carbine across his saddle-bow, the Englishman came to a stretch of road +so utterly desolate that he said: "Now I am clear of everybody who ever +knew me. This is the beginning of the waste into which the scape-goat +was sent."</p> + +<p>From a bush by the roadside sprang up a fat man who cried aloud in +English: "How does Your Honour do? I met Your Honour in Simla this year. +Are you quite well? Ya-as, I am here. Your Honour remembers me? I am +travelling. Ya-as. Ha! Ha!" and he went on, leaving His Honour bemazed. +It was a Babu—a Simla Babu, of that there could be no doubt; but who he +was or what he was doing, thirty miles from anywhere, His Honour could +not make out. The native moves about more than most folk, except railway +people, imagine. The big banking firms of Upper India naturally keep in +close touch with their great change-houses in Ajmir, despatching and +receiving messengers regularly. So it comes to pass that the necessitous +circumstances of Lieutenant McRannamack, of the Tyneside Tailtwisters, +quartered on the Frontier, are thoroughly known and discussed, a +thousand miles south of the cantonment where the light-hearted +Lieutenant goes to his money-lender.</p> + +<p>This is by the way. Let us return to the banks of the Banas River, where +"poor Carey," as Tod calls him, came when he was sickening for his last +illness. The Banas is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> one of those streams which runs "over golden +sands with feet of silver," but, from the scarp of its banks, Deoli in +the rains must be isolated. Ram Baksh, questioned hereon, vowed that all +the Officer Sahibs never dreamed of halting, but went over in boats or +on elephants. According to Ram Baksh the men of Deoli must be wonderful +creatures. They do nothing but use his tongas. A break in some low hills +gives on to the dead flat plain in which Deoli stands. "You must stop +here for the night," said Ram Baksh. "I will <i>not</i> take my horses +forward in the dark; God knows where the dak-bungalow is. I've +forgotten, but any one of the Officer Sahibs in Deoli will tell you."</p> + +<p>Those in search of a new emotion would do well to run about an +apparently empty cantonment, in a disgraceful shooting-tonga, hunting +for a place to sleep in. Chaprassis come out of back verandahs, and are +rude, and regimental Babus hop off godowns, and are flippant, while in +the distance a Sahib looks out of his room, and eyes the dusty +forlorn-hope with silent contempt. It should be mentioned that the dust +on the Deoli Road not only powders but masks the face and raiment of the +passenger.</p> + +<p>Next morning Ram Baksh was awake with the dawn, and clamorous to go on +to Boondi. "I've sent a pair of horses, big horses, out there and the +<i>sais</i> is a fool. Perhaps they will be lost; I want to find them." He +dragged his unhappy passenger on the road once more and demanded of all +who passed the dak-bungalow which was the way to Boondi. "Observe," said +he, "there can be only one road, and if I hit it we are all right, and +I'll show you what the tonga can do." "Amen," said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> Englishman, +devoutly, as the tonga jumped into and out of a larger hole. "Without +doubt this is the Boondi Road," said Ram Baksh; "it is so bad."</p> + +<p>It has been before said that the Boondi State has no great love for +Sahibs. The state of the road proves it. "This," said Ram Baksh, tapping +the wheel to see whether the last plunge had smashed a spoke, "is a very +good road. You wait till you see what is ahead." And the funeral +staggered on—over irrigation cuts, through buffalo wallows, and dried +pools stamped with the hundred feet of kine (this, by the way, is the +most cruel road of all), up rough banks where the rock ledges peered out +of the dust, down steep-cut dips ornamented with large stones, and along +two-feet deep ruts of the rains, where the tonga went slantwise even to +the verge of upsetting. It was a royal road—a native road—a Raj road +of the roughest, and, through all its jolts and bangs and bumps and dips +and heaves, the eye of Ram Baksh rolled in its blood-shot socket, +seeking for the "big horses" he had so rashly sent into the wilderness. +The ponies that had done the last twenty miles into Deoli were nearly +used up, and did their best to lie down in the dry beds of nullahs.</p> + +<p>A man came by on horseback, his servant walking before with platter and +meal-bag. "Have you seen any horses hereabouts?" cried Ram Baksh. +"Horses? What the Devil have I to do with your horses? D'you think I've +stolen them?" Now this was decidedly a strange answer, and showed the +rudeness of the land. An old woman under a tree cried out in a strange +tongue and ran away. It was a dream-like experience, this hunting for +horses in a wilderness with neither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> house nor hut nor shed in sight. +"If we keep to the road long enough we must find them. Look at the road. +This Raj ought to be smitten with bullets." Ram Baksh had been pitched +forward nearly on the off-pony's rump, and was in a very bad temper +indeed. The funeral found a house—a house walled with thorns—and near +by were two big horses, thirteen-two if an inch, and harnessed quite +regardless of expense.</p> + +<p>Everything was repacked and rebound with triple ropes, and the Sahib was +provided with an extra cushion; but he had reached a sort of dreamsome +Nirvana, having several times bitten his tongue through, cut his boot +against the wheel-edge, and twisted his legs into a true-lovers'-knot. +There was no further sense of suffering in him. He was even beginning to +enjoy himself faintly and by gasps. The road struck boldly into hills +with all their teeth on edge, that is to say, their strata breaking +across the road in little ripples. The effect of this was amazing. The +tonga skipped merrily as a young fawn, from ridge to ridge. It shivered, +it palpitated, it shook, it slid, it hopped, it waltzed, it ricochetted, +it bounded like a kangaroo, it blundered like a sledge, it swayed like a +top-heavy coach on a down-grade, it "kicked" like a badly coupled +railway carriage, it squelched like a country-cart, it squeaked in its +torment, and lastly, it essayed to plough up the ground with its nose. +After three hours of this performance, it struck a tiny little ford, set +between steeply sloping banks of white dust, where the water was clear +brown and full of fish. And here a blissful halt was called under the +shadow of the high bank of a tobacco field.</p> + +<p>Would you taste one of the real pleasures of Life?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Go through severe +acrobatic exercises in and about a tonga for four hours; then, having +eaten and drank till you can no more, sprawl in the cool of a nullah bed +with your head among the green tobacco, and your mind adrift with the +one little cloud in a royally blue sky. Earth has nothing more to offer +her children than this deep delight of animal well-being. There were +butterflies in the tobacco—six different kinds, and a little rat came +out and drank at the ford. To him succeeded the flight into Egypt. The +white banks of the ford framed the picture perfectly—the Mother in +blue, on a great white donkey, holding the Child in her arms, and Joseph +walking beside, his hand upon the donkey's withers. By all the laws of +the East, Joseph should have been riding and the Mother walking. This +was an exception decreed for the Englishman's special benefit. It was +very warm and very pleasant, and, somehow, the passers by the ford grew +indistinct, and the nullah became a big English garden, with a cuckoo +singing far down in the orchard, among the apple-blossoms. The cuckoo +started the dream. He was the only real thing in it, for on waking the +garden slipped back into the water, but the cuckoo remained and called +and called for all the world as though he had been a veritable English +cuckoo. "Cuckoo—cuckoo—cuck;" then a pause and renewal of the cry from +another quarter of the horizon. After that the ford became distasteful, +so the procession was driven forward and in time plunged into what must +have been a big city once, but the only inhabitants were oil-men. There +were abundance of tombs here, and one carried a life-like carving in +high relief of a man on horseback spearing a foot-soldier.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> Hard by this +place the road or rut turned by great gardens, very cool and pleasant, +full of tombs and black-faced monkeys who quarrelled among the tombs, +and shut in from the sun by gigantic banians and mango trees. Under the +trees and behind the walls, priests sat singing; and the Englishman +would have inquired into what strange place he had fallen, but the men +did not understand him.</p> + +<p>Ganesh is a mean little God of circumscribed powers. He was dreaming, +with a red and flushed face, under a banian tree; and the Englishman +gave him four annas to arrange matters comfortably at Boondi. His priest +took the four annas, but Ganesh did nothing whatever, as shall be shown +later. His only excuse is that his trunk was a good deal worn, and he +would have been better for some more silver leaf, but that was no fault +of the Englishman.</p> + +<p>Beyond the dead city was a jhil, full of snipe and duck, winding in and +out of the hills; and beyond the jhil, hidden altogether among the +hills, was Boondi. The nearer to the city the viler grew the road and +the more overwhelming the curiosity of the inhabitants. But what befel +at Boondi must be reserved for another chapter.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> + +<p>THE COMEDY OF ERRORS AND THE EXPLOITATION OF BOONDI. THE CASTAWAY OF THE +DISPENSARY AND THE CHILDREN OF THE SCHOOLS. A CONSIDERATION OF THE +SHIELDS OF RAJASTHAN AND OTHER TRIFLES.</p> + + +<p>It is high time that a new treaty were made with Maha Rao Raja Ram +Singh, Bahadur, Raja of Boondi. He keeps the third article of the old +one too faithfully, which says that he "shall not enter into +negotiations with any one without the consent of the British +Government." He does not negotiate at all. Arrived at Boondi Gate, the +Englishman asked where he might lay his head for the night, and the +Quarter Guard with one accord said: "The Sukh Mahal, which is beyond the +city," and the tonga went thither through the length of the town till it +arrived at a pavilion on a lake—a place of two turrets connected by an +open colonnade. The "house" was open to the winds of heaven and the +pigeons of the Raj; but the latter had polluted more than the first +could purify. A snowy-bearded <i>chowkidar</i> crawled out of a place of +tombs, which he seemed to share with some monkeys, and threw himself +into Anglo-Saxon attitudes. He was a great deal worse than Ram Baksh, +for he said that all the Officer Sahibs of Deoli came to the Sukh Mahal +for <i>shikar</i> and—never went away again, so pleased were they. The Sahib +had brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> the Honour of his Presence, and he was a very old man, and +without a written permit could do nothing. Then he fell deeply asleep +without warning; and there was a pause, of one hour only, which the +Englishman spent in seeing the lake. It, like the jhils on the road, +wound in and out among the hills, and, on the bund side, was bounded by +a hill of black rock crowned with a <i>chhatri</i> of grey stone. Below the +bund was a garden as fair as eye could wish, and the shores of the lake +were dotted with little temples. Given a habitable house,—a mere +dak-bungalow,—it would be a delightful spot to rest in. Warned by some +bitter experiences in the past, the Englishman knew that he was in for +the demi-semi-royal or embarrassing reception, when a man, being the +unwelcome guest of a paternal State, is neither allowed to pay his way +and make himself comfortable, nor is he willingly entertained. When he +saw a one-eyed <i>munshi</i> (clerk), he felt certain that Ganesh had turned +upon him at last. The <i>munshi</i> demanded and received the <i>purwana</i>, or +written permit. Then he sat down and questioned the traveller +exhaustively as to his character and profession. Having thoroughly +satisfied himself that the visitor was in no way connected with the +Government or the "Agenty Sahib Bahadur," he took no further thought of +the matter and the day began to draw in upon a grassy bund, an open-work +pavilion, and a disconsolate tonga.</p> + +<p>At last the faithful servitor, who had helped to fight the Battle of the +Mail Bags at Udaipur, broke his silence, and vowing that all these +devil-people—not more than twelve—had only come to see the fun, +suggested the breaking of the <i>munshi's</i> head. And, indeed, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> seemed +the best way of breaking the ice; for the <i>munshi</i> had, in the politest +possible language, put forward the suggestion that there was nothing +particular to show that the Sahib who held the <i>purwana</i> had really any +right to hold it. The <i>chowkidar</i> woke up and chanted a weird chant, +accompanied by the Anglo-Saxon attitudes, a new set. He was an old man, +and all the Sahib-log said so, and within the pavilion were tables and +chairs and lamps and bath-tubs, and everything that the heart of man +could desire. Even now an enormous staff of menials were arranging all +these things for the comfort of the Sahib Bahadur and Protector of the +Poor, who had brought the honour and glory of his Presence all the way +from Deoli. What did tables and chairs and eggs and fowls and very +bright lamps matter to the Raj? He was an old man and ... "Who put the +present Raja on the throne?" "Lake Sahib," promptly answered the +<i>chowkidar</i>. "I was there. That is the news of many old years." Now Tod +says it was he himself who installed "Lalji the beloved" in the year +1821. The Englishman began to lose faith in the <i>chowkidar</i>. The +<i>munshi</i> said nothing but followed the Englishman with his one workable +eye. A merry little breeze crisped the waters of the lake, and the fish +began to frolic before going to bed.</p> + +<p>"Is nobody going to do or bring anything?" said the Englishman, faintly, +wondering whether the local gaol would give him a bed if he killed the +<i>munshi</i>. "I am an old man," said the <i>chowkidar</i>, "and because of their +great respect and reverence for the Sahib in whose Presence I am only a +bearer of orders and a servant awaiting them, men, many men, are +bringing now tent-flies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> which I with my own hands will wrap, here and +there, there and here, in and about the pillars of the place; and thus +you, O Sahib, who have brought the honour of your Presence to the Boondi +Raj over the road to Deoli, which is a <i>kutcha</i> road, will be provided +with a very fine and large apartment over which I will watch while you +go to kill the tigers in these hills."</p> + +<p>By this time two youths had twisted <i>canvas</i> round some of the pillars +of the colonnade, making a sort of loose-box with a two-foot air-way all +round the top. There was no door, but there were unlimited windows. Into +this enclosure the <i>chowkidar</i> heaped furniture on which many +generations of pigeons had evidently been carried off by cholera, until +he was entreated to desist. "What," said he, scornfully, "are tables and +chairs to this Raj? If six be not enough, let the Presence give an +order, and twelve shall be forthcoming. Everything shall be +forthcoming." Here he filled a native lamp with kerosene oil and set it +in a box upon a stick. Luckily, the oil which he poured so lavishly from +a quart bottle was bad, or he would have been altogether consumed.</p> + +<p>Night had fallen long before this magnificence was ended. The +superfluous furniture—chairs for the most part—was shovelled out into +the darkness, and by the light of a flamboyant lamplet—a merry wind +forbade candles—the Englishman went to bed, and was lulled to sleep by +the rush of the water escaping from the overflow trap and the splash of +the water-turtle as he missed the evasive fish. It was a curious sight. +Cats and dogs rioted about the enclosure, and a wind from the lake +bellied the canvas. The brushwood of the hills around<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> snapped and +cracked as beasts went through it, and creatures—not jackals—made +dolorous noises. On the lake it seemed that hundreds of water-birds were +keeping a hotel, and that there were arrivals and departures throughout +the night. The Raj insisted upon providing a guard of two sepoys, very +pleasant men, on four rupees a month. These said that tigers sometimes +wandered about on the hills above the lake, but were most generally to +be found five miles away. And the Englishman promptly dreamed that a +one-eyed tiger came into his tent without a <i>purwana</i>. But it was only a +wild cat after all; and it fled before the shoes of civilisation.</p> + +<p>The Sukh Mahal was completely separated from the city, and might have +been a country-house. It should be mentioned that Boondi is jammed into +a V-shaped gorge—the valley at the main entrance being something less +than five hundred yards across. As it splays out, the thickly packed +houses follow its lines, and, seen from above, seem like cattle herded +together preparatory to a stampede through the gate. Owing to the set of +the hills, very little of the city is visible except from the Palace. It +was in search of this latter that the Englishman went abroad and became +so interested in the streets that he forgot all about it for a time. +Jeypore is a show-city and is decently drained; Udaipur is blessed with +a State Engineer and a printed form of Government; for Jodhpur the dry +sand, the burning sun, and an energetic doctor have done a good deal, +but Boondi has none of these things. The crampedness of the locality +aggravates the evil, and it can only be in the rains which channel and +furrow the rocky hillsides that Boondi is at all swept out. The Nal +Sagar, a lovely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> little stretch of water, takes up the head of the +valley called Banda Gorge, and must, in the nature of things, receive a +good deal of unholy drainage. But setting aside this weakness, it is a +fascinating place—this jumbled city of straight streets and cool +gardens, where gigantic mangoes and peepuls intertwine over gurgling +watercourses, and the cuckoo comes at midday. It boasts no foolish +Municipality to decree when a house is dangerous and uninhabitable. The +newer shops are built into, on to, over, and under time-blackened ruins +of an older day, and the little children skip about tottering arcades +and grass-grown walls, while their parents chatter below in the crowded +bazaar. In the black slums, the same stones seem to be used over and +over again for house-building. Wheeled conveyances are scarce in Boondi +city—there is scant room for carts, and the streets are paved with +knobsome stones, unpleasant to walk over. From time to time an inroad of +<i>Bunjaras'</i> pack-bullocks sweeps the main streets clear of life, or one +of the Raja's elephants—he has twelve of them—blocks the way. But, for +the most part, the foot-passengers have all the city for their own.</p> + +<p>They do not hurry themselves. They sit in the sun and think, or put on +all the arms in the family, and, hung with ironmongery, parade before +their admiring friends. Others, lean, dark men, with bound jaws and only +a tulwar for weapon, dive in and out of the dark alleys, on errands of +State. It is a beautifully lazy city, doing everything in the real, +true, original native way, and it is kept in very good order by the +Durbar. There either is or is not an order for everything. There is no +order to sell fishing-hooks, or to supply an Englishman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> with milk, or +to change for him currency notes. He must only deal with the Durbar for +whatever he requires; and wherever he goes he must be accompanied by at +least two armed men. They will tell him nothing, for they know or affect +to know nothing of the city. They will do nothing except shout at the +little innocents who joyfully run after the stranger and demand <i>pice</i>, +but there they are, and there they will stay till he leaves the city, +accompanying him to the gate, and waiting there a little to see that he +is fairly off and away. Englishmen are not encouraged in Boondi. The +intending traveller would do well to take a full suit of Political +uniform with the sunflowers, and the little black sword to sit down +upon. The local god is the "Agenty Sahib," and he is an incarnation +without a name—at least among the lower classes. The educated, when +speaking of him, always use the courtly "Bahadur" affix; and yet it is a +mean thing to gird at a State which, after all, is not bound to do +anything for intrusive Englishmen without any visible means of +livelihood. The King of this fair city should declare the blockade +absolute, and refuse to be troubled with any one except "Colon-nel +Baltah, Agenty Sahib Bahadur" and the Politicals. If ever a railway is +run through Kotah, as men on the Bombay side declare it must be, the +cloistered glory of Boondi will depart, for Kotah is only twenty miles +easterly of the city and the road is moderately good. In that day the +Globe-trotter will pry about the place, and the Charitable Dispensary—a +gem among dispensaries—will be public property.</p> + +<p>The Englishman was hunting for the statue of a horse, a great horse +hight Hunja, who was a steed of Irak, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> a King's gift to Rao Omeda, +one time monarch of Boondi. He found it in the city square as Tod had +said; and it was an unlovely statue, carven after the dropsical fashion +of later Hindu art. No one seemed to know anything about it. A little +further on, one cried from a byway in rusty English: "Come and see my +Dispensary." There are only two men in Boondi who speak English. One is +the head, and the other the assistant, teacher of the English side of +Boondi Free School. The third was, some twenty years ago, a pupil of the +Lahore Medical College when that institution was young; and he only +remembered a word here and there. He was head of the Charitable +Dispensary; and insisted upon, then and there, organising a small levee +and pulling out all his books. Escape was hopeless: nothing less than a +formal inspection and introduction to all the native physicians would +serve. There were sixteen beds in and about the courtyard, and between +twenty and thirty out-patients stood in attendance. Making allowances +for untouched Orientalism, the Dispensary is a good one, and must +relieve a certain amount of human misery. There is no other in all +Boondi. The operation-book, kept in English, showed the principal +complaints of the country. They were: "Asthama," "Numonia," +"Skindiseas," "Dabalaty" and "Loin-bite." This last item occurred again +and again—three and four cases per week—and it was not until the +Doctor said "<i>Sher se mara</i>" that the Englishman read it aright. It was +"lion-bite," or tiger, if you insist upon zoological accuracy. There was +one incorrigible idiot, a handsome young man, naked as the day, who sat +in the sunshine, shivering and pressing his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> hands to his head. "I have +given him blisters and setons—have tried native and English treatment +for two years, but it is no use. He is always as you see him, and now he +stays here by the favour of the Durbar, which is a very good and pitiful +Durbar," said the Doctor. There were many such pensioners of the +Durbar—men afflicted with chronic "asthama" who stayed "by favour," and +were kindly treated. They were resting in the sunshine their hands on +their knees, sure that their daily dole of grain and tobacco and opium +would be forthcoming. "All folk, even little children, eat opium here," +said the Doctor, and the diet-book proved it. After +laborious-investigation of everything, down to the last indent to Bombay +for Europe medicines, the Englishman was suffered to depart. "Sir, I +thank ...," began the Native Doctor, but the rest of the sentence stuck. +Sixteen years in Boondi does not increase knowledge of English; and he +went back to his patients, gravely conning over the name of the +Principal of the Lahore Medical School—a College now—who had taught +him all he knew, and to whom he intended to write. There was something +pathetic in the man's catching at news from the outside world of men he +had known as Assistant and House Surgeons who are now Rai Bahadurs, and +his parade of the few shreds of English that still clung to him. May he +treat "loin-bites" and "catrack" successfully for many years. In the +happy, indolent fashion that must have merits which we cannot +understand, he is doing a good work, and the Durbar allows his +Dispensary as much as it wants.</p> + +<p>Close to the Dispensary stood the Free School, and thither an +importunate <i>munshi</i> steered the Englishman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> who, by this time, was +beginning to persuade herself that he really was an accredited agent of +Government, sent to report on the progress of Boondi. From a +peepul-shaded courtyard came a clamour of young voices. Thirty or forty +little ones, from five to eight years old, were sitting in an open +verandah learning accounts and Hindustani, said the teacher. No need to +ask from what castes they came, for it was written on their faces that +they were Mahajans, Oswals, Aggerwals, and in one or two cases, it +seemed, Sharawaks of Guzerat. They were learning the business of their +lives, and, in time, would take their father's places, and show in how +many ways money might be manipulated. Here the profession-type came out +with startling distinctness. Through the chubbiness of almost babyhood, +or the delicate suppleness of maturer years, in mouth and eyes and +hands, it betrayed itself. The Rahtor, who comes of a fighting stock, is +a fine animal, and well bred; the Hara, who seems to be more compactly +built, is also a fine animal; but for a race that show blood in every +line of their frame, from the arch of the instep to the modelling of the +head, the financial—trading is too coarse a word—the financial class +of Rajputana appears to be the most remarkable. Later in life may become +clouded with fat jowl and paunch; but in his youth, his quick-eyed, +nimble youth, the young Marwar, to give him his business title, is +really a thing of beauty. His manners are courtly. The bare ground and a +few slates sufficed for the children who were merely learning the ropes +that drag States; but the English class, of boys from ten to twelve, was +supplied with real benches and forms and a table with a cloth top. The +assistant teacher, for the head was on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> leave, was a self-taught man of +Boondi, young and delicate looking, who preferred reading to speaking +English. His youngsters were supplied with "The Third English Reading +Book," and were painfully thumbing their way through a doggerel poem +about an "old man with hoary hair." One boy, bolder than the rest, slung +an English sentence at the visitor, and collapsed. It was his little +stock-in-trade, and the rest regarded him enviously. The Durbar supports +the school, which is entirely free and open; a just distinction being +maintained between the various castes. The old race prejudice against +payment for knowledge came out in reply to a question. "You must not +sell teaching," said the teacher; and the class murmured applausively, +"You must not sell teaching."</p> + +<p>The population of Boondi seems more obviously mixed than that of the +other States. There are four or five thousand Mahometans within its +walls, and a sprinkling of aborigines of various varieties, besides the +human raffle that the Bunjaras bring in their train, with Pathans and +sleek Delhi men. The new heraldry of the State is curious—something +after this sort. <i>Or</i>, a demi-god, <i>sable</i>, issuant of flames, holding +in right hand a sword and in the left a bow—<i>all proper</i>. In chief, a +dagger of the <i>second</i>, sheathed <i>vert</i>, fessewise over seven arrows in +sheaf of the <i>second</i>. This latter blazon Boondi holds in commemoration +of the defeat of an Imperial Prince who rebelled against the Delhi +Throne in the days of Jehangir, when Boondi, for value received, took +service under the Mahometan. It might also be, but here there is no +certainty, the memorial of Rao Rutton's victory over Prince Khoorm, when +the latter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> strove to raise all Rajputana against Jehangir his father; +or of a second victory over a riotous lordling who harried Mewar a +little later. For this exploit, the annals say, Jehangir gave Rao Rutton +honorary flags and kettle-drums which may have been melted down by the +science of the Heralds College into the blazon aforesaid. All the +heraldry of Rajputana is curious, and, to such as hold that there is any +worth in the "Royal Science," interesting. Udaipur's shield is, +naturally <i>gules</i>, a sun in splendour, as befits the "children of the +Sun and Fire," and one of the most ancient houses in India. Her crest is +the straight Rajput sword, the <i>Khanda</i>, for an account of the worship +of which very powerful divinity read Tod. The supporters are a Bhil and +a Rajput, attired for the forlorn-hope; commemorating not only the +defences of Chitor, but also the connection of the great Bappa Rawul +with the Bhils, who even now play the principal part in the +Crown-Marking of a Rana of Udaipur. Here, again, Tod explains the matter +at length. Banswara claims alliance with Udaipur, and carries a sun, +with a label of difference of some kind. Jeypore has the five-coloured +flag of Amber with a sun, because the House claim descent from Rama, and +her crest is a kuchnar tree, which is the bearing of Dasaratha, father +of Rama. The white horse, which faces the tiger as supporter, may or may +not be memorial of the great <i>aswamedha yuga</i>, or horse sacrifice, that +Jey Singh, who built Jeypore, did—<i>not</i> carry out.</p> + +<p>Jodhpur has the five-coloured flag, with a falcon, in which shape Durga, +the patron Goddess of the State, has been sometimes good enough to +appear. She has perched in the form of a wagtail on the howdah of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +Chief of Jeysulmir, whose shield is blazoned with "forts in a desert +land," and a naked left arm holding a broken spear, because, the legend +goes, Jeysulmir was once galled by a horse with a magic spear. They tell +the story to-day, but it is a long one. The supporters of the +shield—this is canting heraldry with a vengeance!—are antelopes of the +desert spangled with gold coin, because the State was long the refuge of +the wealthy bankers of India.</p> + +<p>Bikanir, a younger House of Jodhpur, carries three white hawks on the +five-coloured flag. The patron Goddess of Bikanir once turned the thorny +jungle round the city to fruit trees, and the crest therefore is a green +tree—strange emblem for a desert principality. The motto, however, is a +good one. When the greater part of the Rajput States were vassals of +Akbar, and he sent them abroad to do his will, certain Princes objected +to crossing the Indus, and asked Bikanir to head the mutiny because his +State was the least accessible. He consented, on condition that they +would all for one day greet him thus: "<i>Jey Jangal dar Badshah!</i>" +History shows what became of the objectors, and Bikanir's motto: "Hail +to the King of the Waste!" proves that the tale <i>must</i> be true. But from +Boondi to Bikanir is a long digression, bred by idleness on the bund of +the Burra. It would have been sinful not to let down a line into those +crowded waters, and the Guards, who were Mahometans, said that if the +Sahib did not eat fish, they did. And the Sahib fished luxuriously, +catching two and three pounders, of a perch-like build, whenever he +chose to cast. He was wearied of schools and dispensaries, and the +futility of heraldry accorded well with sloth—that is to say Boondi.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>It should be noted, none the less, that in this part of the world the +soberest mind will believe anything—believe in the ghosts by the Gau +Mukh, and the dead Thakurs who get Out of their tombs and ride round the +Burra Talao at Boondi—will credit every legend and lie that rises as +naturally as the red flush of sunset, to gild the dead glories of +Rajasthan.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> + +<p>SHOWS THAT THERE MAY BE POETRY IN A BANK, AND ATTEMPTS TO SHOW THE +WONDERS OF THE PALACE OF BOONDI.</p> + + +<p>"This is a devil's place you have come to, Sahib. No grass for the +horses, and the people don't understand anything, and their dirty <i>pice</i> +are no good in Nasirabad. Look here." Ram Baksh wrathfully exhibited a +handful of lumps of copper. The nuisance of taking a native out of his +own beat is that he forthwith regards you not only as the author of his +being, but of all his misfortunes as well. He is as hampering as a +frightened child and as irritating as a man. "Padre Martum Sahib never +came here," said Ram Baksh, with an air of one who had been led against +his will into bad company.</p> + +<p>A story about a rat that found a piece of turmeric and set up a bunnia's +shop had sent the one-eyed <i>munshi</i> away, but a company of lesser +<i>munshis</i>, runners, and the like were in attendance, and they said that +money might be changed at the Treasury, which was in the Palace. It was +quite impossible to change it anywhere else—there was no order. From +the Sukh Mahal to the Palace the road ran through the heart of the city, +and by reason of the continual shouting of the <i>munshis</i>, not more than +ten thousand of the fifty thousand people of Boondi knew for what +purpose the Sahib was journeying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> through their midst. Cataract was the +most prevalent affliction, cataract in its worst forms, and it was, +therefore, necessary that men should come very close to look at the +stranger. They were in no sense rude, but they stared devoutly. "He has +not come for <i>shikar</i>, and he will not take petitions. He has come to +see the place, and God knows what he is." The description was quite +correct, as far as it went; but, somehow or another, when shouted out at +four crossways in the midst of a very pleasant little gathering it did +not seem to add to dignity or command respect.</p> + +<p>It has been written "the <i>coup d'œil</i> of the castellated Palace of +Boondi, from whichever side you approach it, is perhaps the most +striking in India. Whoever has seen the Palace of Boondi can easily +picture to himself the hanging gardens of Semiramis." This is true—and +more too. To give on paper any adequate idea of the Boondi-ki-Mahal is +impossible. Jeypore Palace may be called the Versailles of India; +Udaipur's House of State is dwarfed by the hills round it and the spread +of the Pichola Lake; Jodhpur's House of Strife, grey towers on red rock, +is the work of giants, but the Palace of Boondi, even in broad daylight, +is such a Palace as men build for themselves in uneasy dreams—the work +of goblins more than of men. It is built into and out of the hillside, +in gigantic terrace on terrace, and dominates the whole of the city. But +a detailed description of it were useless. Owing to the dip of the +valley in which the city stands, it can only be well seen from one +place, the main road of the city; and from that point looks like an +avalanche of masonry ready to rush down and block the gorge. Like all +the other Palaces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> of Rajputana, it is the work of many hands, and the +present Raja has thrown out a bastion of no small size on one of the +lower levels, which has been four or five years in the building. No one +knows where the hill begins and where the Palace ends. Men say that +there are subterranean chambers leading into the heart of the hills, and +passages communicating with the extreme limits of Taragarh, the giant +fortress that crowns the hill and flanks the whole of the valley on the +Palace side. They say that there is as much room under as above ground, +and that none have traversed the whole extent of the Palace. Looking at +it from below, the Englishman could readily believe that nothing was +impossible for those who had built it. The dominant impression was of +height—height that heaved itself out of the hillside and weighed upon +the eyelids of the beholder. The steep slope of the land had helped the +builders in securing this effect. From the main road of the city a steep +stone-paved ascent led to the first gate—name not communicated by the +zealous following. Two gaudily painted fishes faced each other over the +arch, and there was little except glaring colour ornamentation visible. +This gate gave into what they called the <i>chowk</i> of the Palace, and one +had need to look twice ere realising that this open space, crammed with +human life, was a spur of the hill on which the Palace stood, paved and +built over. There had been little attempt at levelling the ground. The +foot-worn stones followed the contours of the ground, and ran up to the +walls of the Palace smooth as glass. Immediately facing the Gate of the +Fish was the Quarter-Guard barracks, a dark and dirty room, and here, in +a chamber hollowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> out in a wall, were stored the big drums of State, +the <i>nakarras</i>. The appearance of the Englishman seemed to be the signal +for smiting the biggest of all, and the dull thunder rolled up the +Palace <i>chowk</i>, and came back from the unpierced Palace walls in hollow +groaning. It was an eerie welcome—this single, sullen boom. In this +enclosure, four hundred years ago, if the legend be true, a son of the +great Rao Bando, who dreamed a dream as Pharaoh did and saved Boondi +from famine, left a little band of Haras to wait his bidding while he +went up into the Palace and slew his two uncles who had usurped the +throne and abandoned the faith of their fathers. When he had pierced one +and hacked the other, as they sat alone and unattended, he called out to +his followers, who made a slaughter-house of the enclosure and cut up +the usurpers' adherents. At the best of times men slip on these smooth +stones; and when the place was swimming in blood, foothold must have +been treacherous indeed.</p> + +<p>An inquiry for the place of the murder of the uncles—it is marked by a +staircase slab, or Tod, the accurate, is at fault—was met by the answer +that the Treasury was close at hand. They speak a pagan tongue in +Boondi, swallow half their words, and adulterate the remainder with +local patois. What can be extracted from a people who call four miles +variously <i>do kosh</i>, <i>do kush</i>, <i>dhi hkas</i>, <i>doo-a koth</i>, and <i>diakast</i> +all one word? The country-folk are quite unintelligible; which +simplifies matters. It is the catching of a shadow of a meaning here and +there, the hunting for directions cloaked in dialect, that is annoying. +Foregoing his archæological researches, the Englishman sought the +Treasury. He took careful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> notes; he even made a very bad drawing, but +the Treasury of Boondi defied pinning down before the public. There was +a gash in the brown flank of the Palace—and this gash was filled with +people. A broken bees' comb with the whole hive busily at work on +repairs will give a very fair idea of this extraordinary place—the +Heart of Boondi. The sunlight was very vivid without and the shadows +were heavy within, so that little could be seen except this clinging +mass of humanity wriggling like maggots in a carcass. A stone staircase +ran up to a rough verandah built out of the wall, and in the wall was a +cave-like room, the guardian of whose depths was one of the refined +financial classes, a man with very small hands and soft, low voice. He +was girt with a sword, and held authority over the Durbar funds. He +referred the Englishman courteously to another branch of the department, +to find which necessitated a blundering progress up another narrow +staircase crowded with loungers of all kinds. Here everything shone from +constant contact of bare feet and hurrying bare shoulders. The staircase +was the thing that, seen from without, had produced the bees' comb +impression. At the top was a long verandah shaded from the sun, and here +the Boondi Treasury worked, under the guidance of a grey-haired old man, +whose sword lay by the side of his comfortably wadded cushion. He +controlled twenty or thirty writers, each wrapped round a huge, country +paper account-book, and each far too busy to raise his eyes.</p> + +<p>The babble on the staircase might have been the noise of the sea so far +as these men were concerned. It ebbed and flowed in regular beats, and +spread out far into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> courtyard below. Now and again the +<i>click-click-click</i> of a scabbard tip being dragged against the wall, +cut the dead sound of tramping naked feet, and a soldier would stumble +up the narrow way into the sunlight. He was received, and sent back or +forward by a knot of keen-eyed loungers, who seemed to act as a buffer +between the peace of the Secretariat and the pandemonium of the +Administrative. <i>Saises</i> and grass-cutters, mahouts of elephants, +brokers, mahajuns, villagers from the district, and here and there a +shock-headed aborigine, swelled the mob on and at the foot of the +stairs. As they came up, they met the buffer-men who spoke in low voices +and appeared to filter them according to their merits. Some were sent to +the far end of the verandah, where everything melted away in a fresh +crowd of dark faces. Others were sent back, and joined the detachment +shuffling for their shoes in the <i>chowk</i>. One servant of the Palace +withdrew himself to the open, underneath the verandah, and there sat +yapping from time to time like a hungry dog: "The grass! The grass! The +grass!" But the men with the account-books never stirred. And they bowed +their heads gravely and made entry or erasure, turning back the rustling +leaves. Not often does a reach of the River of Life so present itself +that it can without alteration be transferred to canvas. But the +Treasury of Boondi, the view up the long verandah, stood complete and +ready for any artist who cared to make it his own. And by that lighter +and less malicious irony of Fate, who is always giving nuts to those who +have no teeth, the picture was clinched and brought together by a +winking, brass hookah-bowl of quaint design, pitched carelessly upon a +roll of dull red cloth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> in the foreground. The faces of the accountants +were of pale gold, for they were an untanned breed, and the face of the +old man, their controller, was frosted silver.</p> + +<p>It was a strange Treasury, but no other could have suited the Palace. +The Englishman watched, open-mouthed, blaming himself because he could +not catch the meaning of the orders given to the flying chaprassies, nor +make anything of the hum in the verandah and the tumult on the stairs. +The old man took the commonplace currency note and announced his +willingness to give change in silver. "We have no small notes here," he +said. "They are not wanted. In a little while, when you next bring the +Honour of your Presence this way, you shall find the silver."</p> + +<p>The Englishman was taken down the steps and fell into the arms of a +bristly giant who had left his horse in the courtyard, and the giant +spoke at length waving his arms in the air, but the Englishman could not +understand him and dropped into the hubbub at the Palace foot. Except +the main lines of the building there is nothing straight or angular +about it. The rush of people seems to have rounded and softened every +corner, as a river grinds down boulders. From the lowest tier, two +zigzags, all of rounded stones sunk in mortar, took the Englishman to a +gate where two carved elephants were thrusting at each other over the +arch; and, because neither he nor any one round him could give the gate +a name, he called it the "Gate of the Elephants." Here the noise from +the Treasury was softened, and entry through the gate brought him into a +well-known world, the drowsy peace of a King's Palace. There was a +courtyard surrounded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> by stables, in which were kept chosen horses, and +two or three grooms were sleeping in the sun. There was no other life +except the whir and coo of the pigeons. In time—though there really is +no such a thing as time off the line of railway—an official appeared +begirt with the skewer-like keys that open the native bayonet-locks, +each from six inches to a foot long. Where was the Raj Mahal in which, +sixty-six years ago, Tod formally installed Ram Singh, "who is now in +his eleventh year, fair and with a lively, intelligent cast of face"? +The warden made no answer, but led to a room, overlooking the courtyard, +in which two armed men stood before an empty throne of white marble. +They motioned silently that none must pass immediately before the seat +of the King, but go round, keeping to the far side of the double row of +pillars. Near the walls were stone slabs pierced to take the butts of +long, venomous, black bamboo lances; rude coffers were disposed about +the room, and ruder sketches of Ganesh adorned the walls. "The men," +said the warden, "watch here day and night because this place is the +Rutton Daulat." That, you will concede, is lucid enough. He who does not +understand it, may go to for a thick-headed barbarian.</p> + +<p>From the Rutton Daulat the warden unlocked doors that led into a hall of +audience—the Chutter Mahal—built by Raja Chutter Lal, who was killed +more than two hundred years ago in the latter days of Shah Jehan for +whom he fought. Two rooms, each supported on double rows of pillars, +flank the open space, in the centre of which is a marble reservoir. Here +the Englishman looked anxiously for some of the atrocities of the West, +and was pleased to find that, with the exception of a vase<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> of +artificial flowers and a clock, there was nothing that jarred with the +exquisite pillars, and the raw blaze of colour in the roofs of the +rooms. In the middle of these impertinent observations, something +sighed—sighed like a distressed ghost. Unaccountable voices are at all +times unpleasant, especially when the hearer is some hundred feet or so +above ground in an unknown Palace in an unknown land. A gust of wind had +found its way through one of the latticed balconies, and had breathed +upon a thin plate of metal, some astrological instrument, slung gongwise +on a tripod. The tone was as soft as that of an Æolian harp, and, +because of the surroundings, infinitely more plaintive.</p> + +<p>There was an inlaid ivory door, set in lintel and posts crusted with +looking-glass—all apparently old work. This opened into a darkened room +where there were gilt and silver charpoys, and portraits, in the native +fashion, of the illustrious dead of Boondi. Beyond the darkness was a +balcony clinging to the sheer side of the Palace, and it was then that +the Englishman realised to what a height he had climbed without knowing +it. He looked down upon the bustle of the Treasury and the stream of +life flowing into and out of the Gate of the Fishes where the big drums +lie. Lifting his eyes, he saw how Boondi City had built itself, +spreading from west to east as the confined valley became too narrow and +the years more peaceable. The Boondi hills are the barrier that +separates the stony, uneven ground near Deoli from the flats of Kotah, +twenty miles away. From the Palace balcony the road to the eye is clear +to the banks of the Chumbul River, which was the Debatable Ford in times +gone by and was leaped, as all rivers with any pretensions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> to a +pedigree have been, by more than one magic horse. Northward and easterly +the hills run out to Indurgarh, and southward and westerly to territory +marked "disputed" on the map in the present year of grace. From this +balcony the Raja can see to the limit of his territory eastward, his +empire all under his hand. He is, or the Politicals err, that same Ram +Singh who was installed by Tod in 1821, and for whose success in killing +his first deer, Tod was, by the Queen-Mother of Boondi, bidden to +rejoice. To-day the people of Boondi say: "This Durbar is very old; so +old that few men remember its beginning, for that was in our father's +time." It is related also of Boondi that, on the occasion of the Queen's +Jubilee, they said proudly that their ruler had reigned for sixty years, +and he was a man. They saw nothing astonishing in the fact of a woman +having reigned for fifty. History does not say whether they jubilated; +for there are no Englishmen in Boondi to write accounts of +demonstrations and foundation-stone laying to the daily newspaper, and +Boondi is very, very small. In the early morning you may see a man +pantingly chased out of the city by another man with a naked sword. This +is the mail and the mail-guard; and the effect is as though runner and +swordsman lay under a doom—the one to fly with the fear of death always +before him, as men fly in dreams, and the other to perpetually fail of +his revenge.</p> + +<p>The warden unlocked more doors and led the Englishman still higher, but +into a garden—a heavily timbered garden with a tank for gold fish in +the midst. For once the impassive following smiled when they saw that +the Englishman was impressed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This," said they, "is the Rang Bilas." "But who made it?" "Who knows? +It was made long ago." The Englishman looked over the garden-wall, a +foot-high parapet, and shuddered. There was only the flat side of the +Palace, and a drop on to the stones of the zigzag scores of feet below. +Above him was the riven hillside and the decaying wall of Taragarh, and +behind him this fair garden, hung like Mahomet's coffin, but full of the +noise of birds and the talking of the wind in the branches. The warden +entered into a lengthy explanation of the nature of the delusion, +showing how—but he was stopped before he was finished. His listener did +not want to know "how the trick was done." Here was the garden, and +there were three or four storeys climbed to reach it. At one end of the +garden was a small room, under treatment by native artists who were +painting the panels with historical pictures, in distemper. Theirs was +florid polychromatic art, but skirting the floor was a series of +frescoes in red, black, and white, of combats with elephants, bold and +temperate as good German work. They were worn and defaced in places; but +the hand of some bygone limner, who did not know how to waste a line, +showed under the bruises and scratches, and put the newer work to shame.</p> + +<p>Here the tour of the Palace ended; and it must be remembered that the +Englishman had not gone the depth of three rooms into one flank. Acres +of building lay to the right of him, and above the lines of the terraces +he could see the tops of green trees. "Who knew how many gardens, such +as the Rang Bilas, were to be found in the Palace?" No one answered +directly, but all said that there were many. The warden gathered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> up his +keys, and, locking each door behind him as he passed, led the way down +to earth. But before he had crossed the garden the Englishman heard, +deep down in the bowels of the Palace, a woman's voice singing, and the +voice rang as do voices in caves. All Palaces in India excepting dead +ones, such as that of Amber, are full of eyes. In some, as has been +said, the idea of being watched is stronger than in others. In Boondi +Palace it was overpowering—being far worse than in the green shuttered +corridors of Jodhpur. There were trap-doors on the tops of terraces, and +windows veiled in foliage, and bull's-eyes set low in unexpected walls, +and many other peep-holes and places of vantage. In the end, the +Englishman looked devoutly at the floor, but when the voice of the woman +came up from under his feet, he felt that there was nothing left for him +but to go. Yet, excepting only this voice, there was deep silence +everywhere, and nothing could be seen.</p> + +<p>The warden returned to the Chutter Mahal to pick up a lost key. The +brass table of the planets was sighing softly to itself as it swung to +and fro in the wind. That was the last view of the interior of the +Palace, the empty court, and the swinging, sighing astrolabe.</p> + +<p>About two hours afterwards, when he had reached the other side of the +valley and seen the full extent of the buildings, the Englishman began +to realise first that he had not been taken through one-tenth of the +Palace; and secondly, that he would do well to measure its extent by +acres, in preference to meaner measures. But what made him blush hotly, +all alone among the tombs on the hillside, was the idea that he with his +ridiculous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> demands for eggs, firewood, and sweet drinking water should +have clattered and chattered through any part of it at all.</p> + +<p>He began to understand why Boondi does not encourage Englishmen.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> + +<p>OF THE UNCIVILISED NIGHT AND THE DEPARTURE TO THINGS CIVILISED. SHOWING +HOW A FRIEND MAY KEEP AN APPOINTMENT TOO WELL.</p> + + +<p>"Let us go hence my songs, she will not hear. Let us go hence together +without fear." But Ram Baksh the irrepressible sang it in altogether a +baser key. He came by night to the pavilion on the lake, while the +sepoys were cooking their fish, and reiterated his whine about the +devildom of the country into which the Englishman had dragged him. Padre +Martum Sahib would never have thus treated the owner of sixteen horses, +all fast and big ones, and eight superior "shutin-tongas." "Let us get +away," said Ram Baksh. "You are not here for <i>shikar</i>, and the water is +very bad." It was indeed, except when taken from the lake, and then it +only tasted fishy. "We will go, Ram Baksh," said the Englishman. "We +will go in the very early morning, and in the meantime here is fish to +stay your stomach with."</p> + +<p>When a transparent piece of canvas, which fails by three feet to reach +ceiling or floor, is the only bar between the East and the West, he +would be a churl indeed who stood upon invidious race distinctions. The +Englishman went out and fraternised with the Military—the four-rupee +soldiers of Boondi who guarded him. They were armed, one with an old +Tower musket crazy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> as to nipple and hammer, one with a native-made +smooth-bore, and one with a composite contrivance—English sporting +muzzle-loader stock with a compartment for a jointed cleaning-rod, and +hammered octagonal native barrel, wire-fastened, a tuft of cotton on the +foresight. All three guns were loaded, and the owners were very proud of +them. They were simple folk, these men-at-arms, with an inordinate +appetite for broiled fish. They were not <i>always</i> soldiers they +explained. They cultivated their crops until called for any duty that +might turn up. They were paid now and again, at intervals, but they were +paid in coin and not in kind.</p> + +<p>The <i>munshis</i> and the vakils and the runners had departed after seeing +that the Englishman was safe for the night, so the freedom of the little +gathering on the bund was unrestrained. The <i>chowkidar</i> came out of his +cave into the firelight. He took a fish and incontinently choked, for he +was a feeble old man. Set right again, he launched into a very long and +quite unintelligible story while the sepoys said reverently: "He is an +old man and remembers many things." As he babbled, the night shut in +upon the lake and the valley of Boondi. The last cows were driven into +the water for their evening drink, the waterfowl and the monkeys went to +bed, and the stars came out and made a new firmament in the untroubled +bosom of the lake. The light of the fire showed the ruled lines of the +bund springing out of the soft darkness of the wooded hill on the left +and disappearing into the solid darkness of a bare hill on the right. +Below the bund a man cried aloud to keep wandering pigs from the gardens +whose tree-tops rose to a level with the bund-edge. Beyond the trees all +was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> swaddled in gloom. When the gentle buzz of the unseen city died +out, it seemed as though the bund were the very Swordwide Bridge that +runs, as every one knows, between this world and the next. The water +lapped and muttered, and now and again a fish jumped, with the shatter +of broken glass, blurring the peace of the reflected heavens.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And duller should I be than some fat weed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rolls itself at ease on Lethe's wharf."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The poet who wrote those lines knew nothing whatever of Lethe's wharf. +The Englishman had found it, and it seemed to him, at that hour and in +that place, that it would be good and desirable never to return to the +Commissioners and the Deputy Commissioners any more, but to lie at ease +on the warm sunlit bund by day, and, at night, near a shadow-breeding +fire, to listen for the strangled voices and whispers of the darkness in +the hills. Thus after as long a life as the <i>chowkidar's</i>, dying easily +and pleasantly, and being buried in a red tomb on the borders of the +lake. Surely no one would come to reclaim him, across those weary, weary +miles of rock-strewn road.... "And this," said the <i>chowkidar</i>, raising +his voice to enforce attention, "is true talk. Everybody knows it, and +now the Sahib knows it. I am an old man." He fell asleep at once, with +his head on the clay pipe that was doing duty for a whole <i>huqa</i> among +the company. He had been talking for nearly a quarter of an hour.</p> + +<p>See how great a man is the true novelist! Six or seven thousand miles +away, Walter Besant of the Golden Pen had created Mr. Maliphant—the +ancient of figure-heads<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> in the <i>All Sorts and Conditions of Men</i>, and +here, in Boondi, the Englishman had found Mr. Maliphant in the withered +flesh. So he drank Walter Besant's health in the water of the Burra +Talao. One of the sepoys turned himself round, with a clatter of +accoutrements, shifted his blanket under his elbow, and told a tale. It +had something to do with his <i>khet</i>, and a <i>gunna</i> which certainly was +not sugar-cane. It was elusive. At times it seemed that it was a woman, +then changed to a right of way, and lastly appeared to be a tax; but the +more he attempted to get at its meaning through the curious patois in +which its doings or its merits were enveloped, the more dazed the +Englishman became. None the less the story was a fine one, embellished +with much dramatic gesture which told powerfully against the firelight. +Then the second sepoy, who had been enjoying the pipe all the time, told +a tale, the purport of which was that the dead in the tombs round the +lake were wont to get up of nights and go hunting. This was a fine and +ghostly story; and its dismal effect was much heightened by some clamour +of the night far up the lake beyond the floor of stars.</p> + +<p>The third sepoy said nothing. He had eaten too much fish and was fast +asleep by the side of the <i>chowkidar</i>.</p> + +<p>They were all Mahometans, and consequently all easy to deal with. A +Hindu is an excellent person, but ... but ... there is no knowing what +is in his heart, and he is hedged about with so many strange +observances.</p> + +<p>This Hindu or Musalman bent, which each Englishman's mind must take +before he has been three years in the country, is, of course, influenced +by Province<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> or Presidency. In Rajputana generally, the Political swears +by the Hindu, and holds that the Mahometan is untrustworthy. But a man +who will eat with you and take your tobacco, sinking the fiction that it +has been doctored with infidel wines, cannot be very bad after all.</p> + +<p>That night when the tales were all told and the guard, bless them, were +snoring peaceably in the starlight, a man came stealthily into the +enclosure of canvas and woke the Englishman, muttering "Sahib, Sahib," +in his ear. It was no robber but some poor devil with a petition—a +grimy, welted paper. He was absolutely unintelligible, and stammered +almost to dumbness. He stood by the bed, alternately bowing to the earth +and standing erect, his arms spread aloft, and his whole body working as +he tried to force out some rebellious word in a key that should not wake +the men without. What could the Englishman do? He was no Government +servant, and had no concern with petitions. The man clicked and choked +and gasped in his desperate desire to make the Sahib understand. But it +was no use; and in the end he departed as he had come-bowed, abject, and +unintelligible.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Let every word written against Ganesh be rescinded. It was by his +ordering that the Englishman saw such a dawn on the Burra Talao as he +had never before set eyes on. Every fair morning is a reprint, blurred +perhaps, of the First Day; but this splendour was a thing to be put +aside from all other days and remembered. The stars had no fire in them +and the fish had stopped jumping, when the black water of the lake +paled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> and grew grey. While he watched it seemed to the Englishman that +voices on the hills were intoning the first verses of Genesis. The grey +light moved on the face of the waters till, with no interval, a +blood-red glare shot up from the horizon and, inky black against the +intense red, a giant crane floated out towards the sun. In the +still-shadowed city the great Palace Drum boomed and throbbed to show +that the gates were open, while the dawn swept up the valley and made +all things clear. The blind man who said, "The blast of a trumpet is +red," spoke only the truth. The breaking of the red dawn is like the +blast of a trumpet.</p> + +<p>"What," said the <i>chowkidar</i>, picking the ashes of the overnight fire +out of his beard, "what, I say, are five eggs or twelve eggs to such a +Raj as ours? What also are fowls—what are" ... "There was no talk of +fowls. Where is the fowl-man from whom you got the eggs?" "He is here. +No, he is there. I do not know. I am an old man, and I and the Raj +supply everything without price. The fowl-man will be paid by the +State—liberally paid. Let the Sahib be happy. <i>Wah. Wah.</i>"</p> + +<p>Experience of forced labour in Himalayan villages had made the +Englishman very tender in raising supplies that were given gratis; but +the fowl-man could not be found, and the value of his wares was, later, +paid to Ganesh—Ganesh of Situr, for that is the name of the village +full of priests, through which the Englishman had passed in ignorance +two days before. A double handful of sweet smelling flowers made the +receipt.</p> + +<p>Boondi was wide-awake before half-past seven in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> morning. Her +hunters, on foot and on horse, were filing towards the Deoli Gate. They +would hunt tiger and deer they said, even with matchlocks and muzzle +loaders as uncouth as those the Sahib saw. They were a merry company and +chaffed the Quarter-Guard at the gate unmercifully when a bullock-cart, +laden with the cases of the "Batoum Naphtha and Oil Company" blocked the +road. One of them had been a soldier of the Queen, and, excited by the +appearance of a Sahib, did so rebuke and badger the Quarter-Guard for +their slovenliness that they threatened to come out of the barracks and +destroy him.</p> + +<p>So, after one last look at the Palace high up the hillside, the +Englishman was borne away along the Deoli Road. The peculiarity of +Boondi is the peculiarity of the covered pitfall. One does not see it +till one falls into it. A quarter of a mile from the gate, town and +Palace were invisible. But the Englishman was grieved at heart. He had +fallen in love with Boondi the beautiful, and believed that he would +never again see anything half so fair. The utter untouchedness of the +town was one-half the charm and its association the other. Read Tod, who +is far too good to be chipped or sampled; read Tod luxuriously on the +bund of the Burra Talao, and the spirit of the place will enter into you +and you will be happy.</p> + +<p>To enjoy life thoroughly, haste and bustle must be abandoned. Ram Baksh +has said that Englishmen are always bothering to go forward, and for +this reason, though beyond doubt they pay well and readily, are not wise +men. He gave utterance to this philosophy after he had mistaken his road +and pulled up in what must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> been a disused quarry hard by a +cane-field. There were patches and pockets of cultivation along the +rocky road, where men grew cotton, chillies, tobacco, and sugar-cane. "I +will get you sugar-cane," said Ram Baksh. "Then we will go forward, and +perhaps some of these jungly-fools will tell us where the road is." A +"jungly fool," a tender of goats, did in time appear, but there was no +hurry; the sugar-cane was sweet and purple and the sun warm.</p> + +<p>The Englishman lay out at high noon on the crest of a rolling upland +crowned with rock, and heard, as a loafer had told him he would hear, +the "set of the day," which is as easily discernible as the change of +tone between the rising and the falling tide. At a certain hour the +impetus of the morning dies out, and all things, living and inanimate, +turn their thoughts to the prophecy of the coming night. The little +wandering breezes drop for a time, and, when they blow afresh, bring the +message. The "set of the day," as the loafer said, has changed, the +machinery is beginning to run down, the unseen tides of the air are +falling. This moment of change can only be felt in the open and in touch +with the earth, and once discovered, seems to place the finder in deep +accord and fellowship with all things on earth. Perhaps this is why the +genuine loafer, though "frequently drunk," is "always polite to the +stranger," and shows such a genial tolerance towards the weaknesses of +mankind, black, white, or brown.</p> + +<p>In the evening when the jackals were scuttling across the roads and the +cranes had gone to roost, came Deoli the desolate, and an unpleasant +meeting. Six days away from his kind had bred in a Cockney heart a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +great desire to see a fellow-subject. An elaborate loaf through the +cantonment—fifteen minutes' walk from end to end—showed only one +distant dog-cart and a small English child with an ayah. There was grass +in the soldierly straight roads, and some of the cross-cuts had never +been used at all since the days when the cantonment had been first laid +out. In the western corner lay the cemetery—the only carefully tended +and newly whitewashed thing in this God-forgotten place. Some years ago +a man had said good-by to the Englishman; adding cheerily: "We shall +meet again. The world's a very little place y' know."</p> + +<p>His prophecy was a true one, for the two met indeed, but the prophet was +lying in Deoli Cemetery near the well, which is decorated so +ecclesiastically with funeral urns.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> + +<p>COMES BACK TO THE RAILWAY, AFTER REFLECTIONS ON THE MANAGEMENT OF THE +EMPIRE; AND SO HOME AGAIN, WITH APOLOGY TO ALL WHO HAVE READ THUS FAR.</p> + + +<p>In the morning the tonga rattled past Deoli Cemetery into the open, +where the Deoli Irregulars were drilling. They marked the beginning of +civilisation and white shirts; and so they seemed altogether detestable. +Yet another day's jolting, enlivened by the philosophy of Ram Baksh, and +then came Nasirabad. The last pair of ponies suggested serious thought. +They had covered eighteen miles at an average speed of eight miles an +hour, and were well-conditioned little rats. "A Colonel Sahib gave me +this one for a present," said Ram Baksh, flicking the near one. "It was +his child's pony. The child was five years old." When he went away, the +Colonel Sahib said: "Ram Baksh, you are a good man. Never have I seen +such a good man. This horse is yours." Ram Baksh was getting a horse's +work out of a child's pony. Surely we in India work the land much as the +Colonel Sahib worked his son's mount; making it do child's work when so +much more can be screwed out of it. A native and a native State deals +otherwise with horse and holding. Perhaps our extreme scrupulousness in +handling may be statecraft, but, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> even a short sojourn in places +which are dealt with not so tenderly, it seems absurd. There are States +where things are done, and done without protest, that would make the +hair of the educated native stand on end with horror. These things are +of course not expedient to write; because their publication would give a +great deal of unnecessary pain and heart-searching to estimable native +administrators who have the hope of a Star before their eyes and would +not better matters in the least.</p> + +<p>Note this fact though. With the exception of such journals as, occupying +a central position in British territory, levy blackmail from the +neighbouring States, there are no independent papers in Rajputana. A +King may start a weekly, to encourage a taste for Sanskrit and high +Hindi, or a Prince may create a Court Chronicle; but that is all. A +"free press" is not allowed, and this the native journalist knows. With +good management he can, keeping under the shadow of our flag, raise two +hundred rupees from a big man here, and five hundred from a rich man +there, but he does not establish himself across the Border. To one who +has reason to hold a stubborn disbelief in even the elementary morality +of the native press, this bashfulness and lack of enterprise is amusing. +But to return to the native States' administrations. There is nothing +exactly wrong in the methods of government that are overlaid with +English terms and forms. They are vigorous, in certain points; and where +they are not vigorous, there is a cheery happy-go-luckiness about the +arrangement that must be seen to be understood. The shift and play of a +man's fortune across the Border is as sudden as anything in the days of +Haroun-al-Raschid of blessed memory, and there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> stories, to be got +for the unearthing, as wild and as improbable as those in the <i>Thousand +and One Nights</i>. Most impressive of all is the way in which the country +is "used," and its elasticity under pressure. In the good old days the +Durbar raised everything it could from the people, and the King spent as +much as ever he could on his personal pleasures. Now the institution of +the Political agent has stopped the grabbing, for which, by the way, +some of the monarchs are not in the least grateful—and smoothed the +outward face of things. But there is still a difference, between our +ways and the ways of the other places. A year spent among native States +ought to send a man back to the Decencies and the Law Courts and the +Rights of the Subject with a supreme contempt for those who rave about +the oppressions of our brutal bureaucracy. One month nearly taught an +average Englishman that it was the proper thing to smite anybody of mean +aspect and obstructive tendencies on the mouth with a shoe. Hear what an +intelligent loafer said. His words are at least as valuable as these +babblings. He was, as usual, wonderfully drunk, and the gift of speech +came upon him. The conversation—he was a great politician, this +loafer—had turned on the poverty of India. "Poor?" said he. "Of course, +it's poor. Oh, yes, d——d poor. And I'm poor, an' you're poor, +altogether. Do you expect people will give you money without you ask +'em? No, I tell you, Sir, there's enough money in India to pave Hell +with if you could only get at it. I've kep' servants in my day. Did they +ever leave me without a hundred or a hundred and fifty rupees put +by—and never touched? You mark that. Does any black man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> who had been +in Guv'ment service go away without hundreds an' hundreds put by, and +never touched? You mark that. Money? The place stinks o' money—just +kept out o' sight. Do you ever know a native that didn't say <i>Garib +admi</i> (I'm a poor man)? They've been sayin' <i>Garib admi</i> so long that +the Guv'ment learns to believe 'em, and now they're all bein' treated as +though they was paupers. I'm a pauper, an' you're a pauper—<i>we</i> 'aven't +got anything hid in the ground—an' so's every white man in this +forsaken country. But the Injian he's a rich man. How do I know? Because +I've tramped on foot, or warrant pretty well from one end of the place +to the other, an' I know what I'm talkin' about, and this 'ere Guv'ment +goes peckin' an' fiddlin' over its tuppenny-ha'penny little taxes as if +it was afraid. Which it is. You see how they do things in ——. It's six +sowars here, and ten sowars there, and—'Pay up, you brutes, or we'll +pull your ears over your head.' And when they've taken all they can get, +the headman, he says: 'This is a dashed poor yield. I'll come again.' +<i>Of course</i> the people digs up something out of the ground, and they +pay. I know the way it's done, and that's the way to do it. You can't go +to an Injian an' say: 'Look here. Can you pay me five rupees?' He says: +'<i>Garib admi</i>,' of course, an' would say it if he was as rich as banker. +But if you send half a dozen swords at him and shift the thatch off of +his roof, he'll pay. Guv'ment can't do that. I don't suppose it could. +There is no reason why it shouldn't. But it might do something like it, +to show that it wasn't going to have no nonsense. Why, I'd undertake to +raise a hundred million—what am I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> talking of?—a hundred and fifty +million pounds from this country <i>per annum</i>, and it wouldn't be +strained <i>then</i>. One hundred and fifty millions you could raise as easy +as paint, if you just made these 'ere Injians understand that they had +to pay an' make no bones about it. It's enough to make a man sick to go +in over yonder to —— and see what they do; and then come back an' see +what we do. Perfectly sickenin' it is. Borrer money? Why the country +could pay herself an' everything she wants, if she was only made to do +it. It's this blooomin' <i>Garib admi</i> swindle that's been going on all +these years, that has made fools o' the Guv'ment."</p> + +<p>Then he became egotistical, this ragged ruffian who conceived that he +knew the road to illimitable wealth and told the story of his life, +interspersed with anecdotes that would blister the paper they were +written on. But through all his ravings, he stuck to his +hundred-and-fifty-million theory, and though the listener dissented from +him and the brutal cruelty with which his views were stated, an +unscientific impression remained not to be shaken off. Across the Border +one feels that the country is being used, exploited, "made to sit up," +so to speak. In our territories the feeling is equally strong of wealth +"just round the corner," as the loafer said, of a people wrapped up in +cotton wool and ungetatable. Will any man, who really knows something of +a little piece of India and has not the fear of running counter to +custom before his eyes, explain how this impression is produced, and why +it is an erroneous one?</p> + +<p>Nasirabad marked the end of the Englishman's holiday, and there was +sorrow in his heart. "Come back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> again," said Ram Baksh, cheerfully, +"and bring a gun with you. Then I'll take you to Gungra, and I'll drive +you myself. 'Drive you just as well as I've driven these four days +past." An amicable open-minded soul was Ram Baksh. May his tongas never +grow less!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"This 'ere Burma fever is a bad thing to have. It's pulled me down +awful; an' now I am going to Peshawar. Are you the Station-master?" It +was Thomas—white-cheeked, sunken-eyed, drawn-mouthed Thomas—travelling +from Nasirabad to Peshawar on pass; and with him was a Corporal new to +his stripes and doing station duty. Every Thomas is interesting, except +when he is too drunk to speak. This Thomas was an enthusiast. He had +volunteered, from a Home-going regiment shattered by Burma fever, into a +regiment at Peshawar, had broken down at Nasirabad on his way up with +his draft, and was now journeying into the unknown to pick up another +medal. "There's sure to be something on the Frontier," said this gaunt, +haggard boy—he was little more, though he reckoned four years' service +and considered himself somebody. "When there's anything going, +Peshawar's the place to be in, they tell me; but I hear we shall have to +march down to Calcutta in no time." The Corporal was a little man and +showed his friend off with great pride: "Ah, you should have come to +<i>us</i>," said he; "we're the regiment, we are." "Well, I went with the +rest of our men," said Thomas. "There's three hundred of us volunteered +to stay on, and we all went for the same regiment. Not but what I'm +saying yours is a good regiment," he added with grave courtesy. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +loosed the Corporal's tongue, and he descanted on the virtues of the +regiment and the merits of the officers. It has been written that Thomas +is devoid of <i>esprit de corps</i>, because of the jerkiness of the +arrangements under which he now serves. If this be true, he manages to +conceal his feelings very well; for he speaks most fluently in praise of +his own regiment; and, for all his youth, has a keen appreciation of the +merits of his officers. Go to him when his heart is opened, and hear him +going through the roll of the subalterns, by a grading totally unknown +in the Army List, and you will pick up something worth the hearing. +Thomas, with the Burma fever on him, tried to cut in, from time to time, +with stories of his officers and what they had done "when we was +marchin' all up and down Burma," but the little Corporal went on gayly.</p> + +<p>They made a curious contrast—these two types. The lathy, town-bred +Thomas with hock-bottle shoulders, a little education, and a keen desire +to get more medals and stripes; and the little, deep-chested, +bull-necked Corporal brimming over with vitality and devoid of any ideas +beyond the "regiment." And the end of both lives, in all likelihood, +would be a nameless grave in some cantonment burying-ground with, if the +case were specially interesting and the Regimental Doctor had a turn for +the pen, an obituary notice in the Indian Medical Journal. It was an +unpleasant thought.</p> + +<p>From the Army to the Navy is a perfectly natural transition, but one +hardly to be expected in the heart of India. Dawn showed the railway +carriage full of riotous boys, for the Agra and Mount Abu schools had +broken up for holidays. Surely it was natural enough to ask a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +child—not a boy, but a child—whether he was going home for the +holidays; and surely it was a crushing, a petrifying thing to hear in a +clear treble tinged with icy scorn: "No. I'm on leave. I'm a +midshipman." Two "officers of Her Majesty's Navy"—mids of a man-o'-war +at Bombay—were going up-country on ten days' leave. They had not +travelled much more than twice round the world; but they should have +printed the fact on a label. They chattered like daws, and their talk +was as a whiff of fresh air from the open sea, while the train ran +eastward under the Aravalis. At that hour their lives were bound up in +and made glorious by the hope of riding a horse when they reached their +journey's end. Much had they seen "cities and men," and the artless way +in which they interlarded their conversation with allusions to "one of +those shore-going chaps, you see," was delicious. They had no cares, no +fears, no servants, and an unlimited stock of wonder and admiration for +everything they saw, from the "cute little well-scoops" to a herd of +deer grazing on the horizon. It was not until they had opened their +young hearts with infantile abandon that the listener could guess from +the incidental <i>argot</i> where these pocket-Ulysseses had travelled. South +African, Norwegian, and Arabian words were used to help out the slang of +shipboard, and a copious vocabulary of shipboard terms, complicated with +modern Greek. As free from self-consciousness as children, as ignorant +as beings from another planet of the Anglo-Indian life into which they +were going to dip for a few days, shrewd and observant as befits men of +the world who have authority, and neat-handed and resourceful as —— +blue-jackets, they were a delightful study, and accepted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> freely and +frankly the elaborate apologies tendered to them for the unfortunate +mistake about the "holidays." The roads divided and they went their way; +and there was a shadow after they had gone, for the Globe-trotter said +to his wife, "What I like about Jeypore"—accent on the first syllable, +if you please—"is its characteristic easternness." And the +Globe-trotter's wife said: "Yes. It is purely Oriental."</p> + +<p>This was Jeypore with the gas-jets and the water-pipes as was shown at +the beginning of these trivial letters; and the Globe-trotter and his +wife had not been to Amber. Joyful thought! They had not seen the soft +splendours of Udaipur, the nightmare of Chitor, the grim power of +Jodhpur, and the virgin beauties of Boondi—fairest of all places that +the Englishman had set eyes on. The Globe-trotter was great in the +matter of hotels and food, but he had not lain under the shadow of a +tonga in soft warm sand, eating cold pork with a pocket-knife, and +thanking Providence who put sweet-water streams where wayfarers wanted +them. He had not drunk out the brilliant cold-weather night in the +company of a King of Loafers, a grimy scallawag with a six days' beard +and an unholy knowledge of native States. He had attended service in +cantonment churches; but he had not known what it was to witness the +simple, solemn ceremonial in the dining room of a far-away Residency, +when all the English folk within a hundred-mile circuit bowed their +heads before the God of the Christians. He had blundered about temples +of strange deities with a guide at his elbow; but he had not known what +it was to attempt conversation, with a temple dancing-girl (<i>not</i> such +an one as Edwin Arnold invented),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> and to be rewarded for a misturned +compliment with a deftly heaved bunch of marigold buds in his +respectable bosom. Yet he had undoubtedly lost much, and the measure of +his loss was proven in his estimate of the Orientalism of Jeypore.</p> + +<p>But what had he who sat in judgment upon him gained? One perfect month +of loaferdom, to be remembered above all others and the night of the +visit to Chitor, to be remembered even when the month is forgotten. Also +the sad knowledge that of all the fair things seen, the inept pen gives +but a feeble and blurred picture.</p> + +<p>Let those who have read to the end, pardon a hundred blemishes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + + +<p> </p> +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>FROM SEA TO SEA</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>FROM SEA TO SEA</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">March-September, 1889</span></p> + +<p class="center">No. I</p> + +<p>OF FREEDOM AND THE NECESSITY OF USING HER. THE MOTIVE AND THE SCHEME +THAT WILL COME TO NOTHING. A DISQUISITION UPON THE OTHERNESS OF THINGS +AND THE TORMENTS OF THE DAMNED.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When all the world is young, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the trees are green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every goose a swan, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every lass a queen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then hey for boot and horse, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And o'er the world away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young blood must have its course, lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And every dog its day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>After seven years it pleased Necessity, whom we all serve, to turn to me +and say: "Now you need do Nothing Whatever. You are free to enjoy +yourself. I will take the yoke of bondage from your neck for one year. +What do you choose to do with my gift?" And I considered the matter in +several lights. At first I held notions of regenerating Society; but it +appeared that this would demand more than a year, and perhaps Society +would not be grateful after all. Then I would fain enter upon one +monumental "bust"; but I reflected that this at the outside could endure +but three months, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> headache would last for nine. Then came by +the person that I most hate,—a Globe-trotter. He, sitting in my chair, +discussed India with the unbridled arrogance of five weeks on a Cook's +ticket. He was from England and had dropped his manners in the Suez +Canal. "I assure you," said he, "that you who live so close to the +actual facts of things cannot form dispassionate judgments of their +merits. You are too near. Now I—" he waved his hand modestly and left +me to fill the gaps.</p> + +<p>I considered him, from his new helmet to his deck-shoes, and I perceived +that he was but an ordinary man. I thought of India, maligned and silent +India, given up to the ill-considered wanderings of such as he—of the +land whose people are too busy to reply to the libels upon their life +and manners. It was my destiny to avenge India upon nothing less than +three-quarters of the world. The idea necessitated sacrifices,—painful +sacrifices,—for I had to become a Globe-trotter, with a helmet and +deck-shoes. In the interests of our little world I would endure these +things and more. I would deliver "brawling judgments all day long; on +all things unashamed." I would go toward the rising sun till I reached +the heart of the world and once more smelt London asphalt.</p> + +<p>The Indian public never gave me a brief. I took it, appointing myself +Commissioner in General for Our Own Sweet Selves. Then all the aspects +of life changed, as, they say, the appearance of his room grows strange +to a dying man when he sees it upon the last morning, and knows that it +will confront him no more. I had wilfully stepped aside from the current +of our existence, and had no part in any of Our interests. Up-country +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> peach was beginning to bud, and men said that by cause of the heavy +snows in the Hills the hot weather would be a short one. That was +nothing to me. The punkahs and their pullers sat together in the +verandah, and the public buildings spawned thermantidotes. The +copper-smith sang in the garden and the early wasp hummed low down by +the door-handle, and they prophesied of the hot weather to come. These +things were no concern of mine. I was dead, and looked upon the old life +as a dead man—without interest and without concern.</p> + +<p>It was a strange life; I had lived it for seven years or one day, I +could not be certain which. All that I knew was that I could watch men +going to their offices, while I slept luxuriously; could go out at any +hour of the day and sit up to any hour of the night, secure that each +morning would bring no toil. I understood with what emotions the freed +convict regards the prison he has quitted—insight which had hitherto +been denied me; and I further saw how intense is the selfishness of the +irresponsible man. Some said that the coming year would be one of +scarcity and distress because unseasonable rains were falling. I was +grieved. I feared that the Rains might break the railway line to the +sea, and so delay my departure. Again, the season would be a sickly one. +I fancied that Necessity might repent of her gift and for mere jest wipe +me off the face of the earth ere I had seen anything of what lay upon +it. There was trouble on the Afghan frontier; perhaps an army-corps +would be mobilised, and perhaps many men would die, leaving folk to +mourn for them at the hill-stations. My dread was that a Russian +man-of-war might intercept the steamer which carried my precious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> self +between Yokohama and San Francisco. Let Armageddon be postponed, I +prayed, for my sake, that my personal enjoyments may not be interfered +with. War, famine, and pestilence would be so inconvenient to me. And I +abased myself before Necessity, the great Goddess, and said +ostentatiously: "It is naught, it is naught, and you needn't look at me +when I wander about." Surely we are only virtuous by compulsion of +earning our daily bread.</p> + +<p>So I looked upon men with new eyes, and pitied them very much indeed. +They worked. They had to. I was an aristocrat. I could call upon them at +inconvenient hours and ask them why they worked, and whether they did it +often. Then they grunted, and the envy in their eyes was a delight to +me. I dared not, however, mock them too pointedly, lest Necessity should +drag me back by the collar to take my still warm place by their side. +When I had disgusted all who knew me, I fled to Calcutta, which, I was +pained to see, still persisted in being a city and transacting commerce +after I had formally cursed it one year ago. That curse I now repeat, in +the hope that the unsavoury capital will collapse. One must begin to +smoke at five in the morning—which is neither night nor day—on coming +across the Howrah Bridge, for it is better to get a headache from honest +nicotine than to be poisoned by evil smells. And a man, who otherwise +was a nice man, though he worked with his hands and his head, asked me +why the scandal of the Simla Exodus was allowed to continue. To him I +made answer: "It is because this sewer is unfit for human habitation. It +is because you are all one gigantic mistake,—you and your monuments and +your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> merchants and everything about you. I rejoice to think that scores +of lakhs of rupees have been spent on public offices at a place called +Simla, that scores and scores will be spent on the Delhi-Kalka line, in +order that civilised people may go there in comfort. When that line is +opened, your big city will be dead and buried and done with, and I hope +it will teach you a lesson. Your city will rot, Sir." And he said: "When +people are buried here, they turn into adipocere in five days if the +weather is rainy. They saponify, you know." I said: "Go and saponify, +for I hate Calcutta." But he took me to the Eden Gardens instead, and +begged me for my own sake not to go round the world in this prejudiced +spirit. I was unhappy and ill, but he vowed that my spleen was due to my +"Simla way of looking at things."</p> + +<p>All this world of ours knows something about the Eden Gardens, which are +supposed by the uninitiated of the mofussil to represent the gilded +luxury of the metropolis. As a matter of fact they are hideously dull. +The inhabitants appear in top-hats and frock-coats, and walk dolorously +to and fro under the glare of jerking electric lamps, when they ought to +be sitting in their shirt-sleeves round little tables and treating their +wives to iced lager beer. My friend—it was a muggy March night—wrapped +himself in the prescribed garments and said graciously: "You can wear a +round hat, but you mustn't wear deck-shoes; and for goodness' sake, my +dear fellow, don't smoke on the Red Road—all the people one knows go +there." Most of the people who were people sat in their carriages, in an +atmosphere of hot horse, harness, and panel-lacquer, outside the +gardens, and the remnant tramped up and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> down, by twos and threes, upon +squashy green grass, until they were wearied, while a band played at +them. "And is this all you do?" I asked. "It is," said my friend. "Isn't +it good enough? We meet every one we know here, and walk with him or +her, unless he or she is among the carriages."</p> + +<p>Overhead was a woolly warm sky; underfoot feverish soft grass; and from +all quarters the languorous breeze bore faint reminiscences of stale +sewage upon its wings. Round the horizon were stacked lines of +carriages, and the electric flare bred aches in the strained eyebrow. It +was a strange sight and fascinating. The doomed creatures walked up and +down without cessation, for when one fled away into the lamp-spangled +gloom twenty came to take his place. Slop-hatted members of the +mercantile marine, Armenian merchants, Bengal civilians, shop-girls and +shop-men, Jews, Parthians, and Mesopotamians, were all there in the +tepid heat and the fetid smell.</p> + +<p>"This," said my friend, "is how we enjoy ourselves. There are the +Viceregal liveries. Lady Lansdowne comes here." He spoke as though +reading to me the Government House list of Paradise. I reflected that +these people would continue to walk up and down until they died, +drinkless, dusty, sad, and blanched.</p> + +<p>In saying this last thing I had made a mistake. Calcutta is no more +Anglo-Indian than West Brompton. In common with Bombay, it has achieved +a mental attitude several decades in advance of that of the raw and +brutal India of fact. An intelligent and responsible financier, +discussing the Empire, said: "But why do we want so large an army in +India? Look at the country all about."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> I think he meant as far as the +Circular Road or perhaps Raneegunge. Some of these days, when the voice +of the two uncomprehending cities carries to London, and its advice is +acted upon, there will be trouble. Till this second journey to Calcutta +I was unable to account for the acid tone and limited range of the +Presidency journals. I see now that they are ward papers and ought to be +treated as such.</p> + +<p>In the fulness of time—there was no hurry—imagine that, O you toilers +of the land—I took ship and fled from Calcutta by that which they call +the Mutton-Mail, because it takes sheep and correspondence to Rangoon. +Half the Punjab was going with us to serve the Queen in the Burma +Military Police, and it was grateful to catch once more the raw, rasping +up-country speech amid the jabber of Burmese and Bengali.</p> + +<p>To Rangoon, then, aboard the <i>Madura</i>, come with me down the Hughli, and +try to understand what sort of life is led by the pilots, those strange +men who only seem to know the land by watching it from the river.</p> + +<p>"And I fetched up under the north ridge with six inches o' water under +me, with a sou'west monsoon blowing, an' me not knowing any more than +the dead where in—Paradise—I was taking her," says one deep voice.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you expect?" says another. "They ought not all to be +occulting lights. Give me a red with two flashes for outlying danger +anyhow. The Hughli's the worst river in the world. Why, off the Lower +Gasper only last year...."</p> + +<p>"And look at the way Government treats you!"</p> + +<p>The Hughli pilot is human. He may talk Greek in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> the exercise of his +profession, but he can unite at swearing at the Government as thoroughly +as though he were an uncovenanted civilian. His life is a hard one; but +he is full of strange stories, and when treated with proper respect may +condescend to tell some of them. If he has served on the river for six +years as a "cub," and is neither dead nor decrepit, I believe he can +earn as much as fifty rupees by sending two thousand tons of ship and a +few hundred souls flying down the reaches at twelve miles an hour. Then +he drops over the side with your last love-letters and wanders about the +estuary in a tug until he finds another steamer and brings her up. It +does not take much to comfort him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><i>Somewhere in the open sea some days later.</i> I give it up. I <i>cannot</i> +write, and to sleep I am not ashamed. A glorious idleness has taken +entire possession of me; journalism is an imposture; so is Literature; +so is Art. All India dropped out of sight yesterday and the rocking +pilot-brig at the Sandheads bore my last message to the prison that I +quit. We have reached blue water—crushed sapphire—and a little breeze +is bellying the awning. Three flying-fish were sighted this morning; the +tea at <i>chota-hazri</i> is not nice, but the captain is excellent. Is this +budget of news sufficiently exciting, or must I in strict confidence +tell you the story of the Professor and the compass? You will hear more +about the Professor later, if, indeed, I ever touch pen again. When he +was in India he worked about nine hours a day. At noon to-day he +conceived an interest in cyclones and things of that kind—would go to +his cabin to get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> a compass and a meteorological book. He went, but +stopped to reflect by the brink of a drink. "The compass is in a box," +said he, drowsily, "but the nuisance of it is that to get it I shall +have to pull the box out from under my berth. All things considered, I +don't think it's worth while." He loafed on deck, and I think by this +time is fast asleep. There was no trace of shame in his voice for his +mighty sloth. I would have reproved him, but the words died on my +tongue. I was guiltier than he.</p> + +<p>"Professor," said I, "there is a foolish little paper in Allahabad +called the <i>Pioneer</i>. I am supposed to be writing it a letter—a letter +with my hands! Did you ever hear of anything so absurd?"</p> + +<p>"I wonder if Angostura bitters really go with whisky," said the +Professor, toying with the neck of the bottle.</p> + +<p>There is no such place as India; there never was a daily paper called +the <i>Pioneer</i>. It was all a weary dream. The only real things in the +world are crystal seas, clean-swept decks, soft rugs, warm sunshine, the +smell of salt in the air, and fathomless, futile indolence.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>No. II</h2> + +<p>THE RIVER OF THE LOST FOOTSTEPS AND THE GOLDEN MYSTERY UPON ITS BANKS. +THE INIQUITY OF JORDAN. SHOWS HOW A MAN MAY GO TO THE SHWAY DAGON PAGODA +AND SEE IT NOT AND TO THE PEGU CLUB AND HEAR TOO MUCH. A DISSERTATION ON +MIXED DRINKS.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I am a part of all that I have met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet all experience is an arch where through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ever and for ever when I move."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>There was a river and a bar, a pilot and a great deal of nautical +mystery, and the Captain said the journey from Calcutta was ended and +that we should be in Rangoon in a few hours. It is not an impressive +stream, being low-banked, scrubby, and muddy; but as we gave the +staggering rice-boats the go-by, I reflected that I was looking upon the +River of the Lost Footsteps—the road that so many, many men of my +acquaintance had travelled, never to return, within the past three +years. Such a one had gone up to open out Upper Burma, and had himself +been opened out by a Burmese dah in the cruel scrub beyond Minhla; such +another had gone to rule the land in the Queen's name, but could not +rule a hill stream and was carried down under his horse. One had been +shot by his servant; another by a dacoit while he sat at dinner; and a +pitifully long list had found in jungle-fever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> their sole reward for +"the difficulties and privations inseparably connected with military +service," as the Bengal Army Regulations put it. I ran over half a score +of names—policemen, subalterns, young civilians, employés of big +trading firms, and adventurers. They had gone up the river and they had +died. At my elbow stood one of the workers in New Burma, going to report +himself at Rangoon, and he told tales of interminable chases after +evasive dacoits, of marchings and counter-marchings that came to +nothing, and of deaths in the wilderness as noble as they were sad.</p> + +<p>Then, a golden mystery upheaved itself on the horizon—a beautiful +winking wonder that blazed in the sun, of a shape that was neither +Muslim dome nor Hindu temple spire. It stood upon a green knoll, and +below it were lines of warehouses, sheds, and mills. Under what new god, +thought I, are we irrepressible English sitting now?</p> + +<p>"There's the old Shway Dagon" (pronounced Dagone, <i>not</i> like the god in +the Scriptures), said my companion. "Confound it!" But it was not a +thing to be sworn at. It explained in the first place why we took +Rangoon, and in the second why we pushed on to see what more of rich or +rare the land held. Up till that sight my uninstructed eyes could not +see that the land differed much in appearance from the Sunderbuns, but +the golden dome said: "This is Burma, and it will be quite unlike any +land you know about." "It's a famous old shrine o' sorts," said my +companion, "and now the Tounghoo-Mandalay line is open, pilgrims are +flocking down by the thousand to see it. It lost its big gold +top—'thing that they call a <i>'htee</i>—in an earthquake: that's why it's +all hidden by bamboo-work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> for a third of its height. You should see it +when it's all uncovered. They're regilding it now."</p> + +<p>Why is it that when one views for the first time any of the wonders of +the earth a bystander always strikes in with, "You should see it, etc."? +Such men given twenty minutes from the tomb at the Day of Judgment, +would patronize the naked souls as they hurried up with the glare of +Tophet on their faces, and say: "You should have seen this when Gabriel +first began to blow." What the Shway Dagon really is and how many books +may have been written upon its history and archæology is no part of my +business. As it stood overlooking everything it seemed to explain all +about Burma—why the boys had gone north and died, why the troopers +bustled to and fro, and why the steamers of the Irrawaddy Flotilla lay +like black-backed gulls upon the water.</p> + +<p>Then we came to a new land, and the first thing that one of the regular +residents said was: "This place isn't India at all. They ought to have +made it a Crown colony." Judging the Empire as it ought to be judged, by +its most prominent points—<i>videlicet</i>, its smells—he was right; for +though there is one stink in Calcutta, another in Bombay, and a third +and most pungent one in the Punjab, yet they have a kinship of stinks, +whereas Burma smells quite otherwise. It is not exactly what China ought +to smell like, but it is not India. "What is it?" I asked; and the man +said "<i>Napi</i>," which is fish pickled when it ought to have been buried +long ago. This food, in guide-book language, is inordinately consumed by +... but everybody who has been within downwind range of Rangoon knows +what <i>napi</i> means, and those who do not will not understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>Yes, it was a very new land—a land where the people understood +colour—a delightfully lazy land full of pretty girls and very bad +cheroots.</p> + +<p>The worst of it was that the Anglo-Indian was a foreigner, a creature of +no account. He did not know Burman,—which was no great loss,—and the +Madrassi insisted upon addressing him in English. The Madrassi, by the +way, is a great institution. He takes the place of the Burman, who will +not work, and in a few years returns to his native coast with rings on +his fingers and bells on his toes. The consequences are obvious. The +Madrassi demands, and receives, enormous wages, and gets to know that he +is indispensable. The Burman exists beautifully, while his women-folk +marry the Madrassi and the Chinaman, because these support them in +affluence. When the Burman wishes to work he gets a Madrassi to do it +for him. How he finds the money to pay the Madrassi I was not informed, +but all men were agreed in saying that under no circumstances will the +Burman exert himself in the paths of honest industry. Now, if a +bountiful Providence had clothed you in a purple, green, amber or puce +petticoat, had thrown a rose-pink scarf-turban over your head, and had +put you in a pleasant damp country where rice grew of itself and fish +came up to be caught, putrified and pickled, would <i>you</i> work? Would you +not rather take a cheroot and loaf about the streets seeing what was to +be seen? If two-thirds of your girls were grinning, good-humoured little +maidens and the remainder positively pretty, would you not spend your +time in making love?</p> + +<p>The Burman does both these things, and the Englishman, who after all +worked himself to Burma, says hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> things about him. Personally I love +the Burman with the blind favouritism born of first impression. When I +die I will be a Burman, with twenty yards of real King's silk, that has +been made in Mandalay, about my body, and a succession of cigarettes +between my lips. I will wave the cigarette to emphasise my conversation, +which shall be full of jest and repartee, and I will always walk about +with a pretty almond-coloured girl who shall laugh and jest too, as a +young maiden ought. She shall not pull a sari over her head when a man +looks at her and glare suggestively from behind it, nor shall she tramp +behind me when I walk: for these are the customs of India. She shall +look all the world between the eyes, in honesty and good fellowship, and +I will teach her not to defile her pretty mouth with chopped tobacco in +a cabbage leaf, but to inhale good cigarettes of Egypt's best brand.</p> + +<p>Seriously, the Burmese girls are very pretty, and when I saw them I +understood much that I had heard about—about our army in Flanders let +us say.</p> + +<p>Providence really helps those who do not help themselves. I went up a +street, name unknown, attracted by the colour that was so wantonly +flashed down its length. There is colour in Rajputana and in Southern +India, and you can find a whole paletteful of raw tints at any +down-country durbar; but the Burmese way of colouring is different. With +the women the scarf, petticoat, and jacket are of three lively hues, and +with the men putso and head-wrap are gorgeous. Thus you get your colours +dashed down in dots against a background of dark timber houses set in +green foliage. There are no canons of art anywhere, and every scheme of +colouring depends on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> the power of the sun above. That is why men in a +London fog do still believe in pale greens and sad reds. Give me lilac, +pink, vermilion, lapis lazuli, and blistering blood red under fierce +sunlight that mellows and modifies all. I had just made this discovery +and was noting that the people treated their cattle kindly, when the +driver of an absurd little hired carriage built to the scale of a fat +Burma pony, volunteered to take me for a drive, and we drove in the +direction of the English quarter of the town where the sahibs live in +dainty little houses made out of the sides of cigar boxes. They looked +as if they could be kicked in at a blow and (trust a Globe-trotter for +evolving a theory at a minute's notice) it is to avoid this fate that +they are built for the most part on legs. The houses are not cantonment +bred in any way—nor did the uneven ground and dusty reddish roads fit +in with any part of the Indian Empire except it may be Ootacamund.</p> + +<p>The pony wandered into a garden studded with lovely little lakes which, +again, were studded with islands, and there were sahibs in flannels in +the boats. Outside the park were pleasant little monasteries full of +clean-shaved gentlemen in gold amber robes learning to renounce the +world, the flesh, and the devil by chatting furiously amongst +themselves, and at every corner stood the three little maids from +school, almost exactly as they had been dismissed from the side scenes +of the Savoy after the <i>Mikado</i> was over: and the strange part of it all +was that every one laughed—laughed, so it seemed, at the sky above them +because it was blue, at the sun because it was sinking, and at each +other because they had nothing better to do. A small fat child laughed +loudest of all, in spite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> of the fact that it was smoking a cheroot that +ought to have made it deathly sick. The pagoda was always close at +hand—as brilliant a mystery as when first sighted far down the river; +but it changed its shape as we came nearer, and showed in the middle of +a nest of hundreds of smaller pagodas. There appeared suddenly two +colossal tigers (after the Burmese canons) in plaster on a hillside, and +they were the guardians of Burma's greatest pagoda. Round them rustled a +great crowd of happy people in pretty dresses, and the feet of all were +turned towards a great stoneway that ran from between the tigers even to +the brow of the mound. But the nature of the stairs was peculiar. They +were covered in for the most part by a tunnel, or it may have been a +walled-in colonnade, for there were heavily gilt wooden pillars visible +in the gloom. The afternoon was drawing on as I came to this strange +place and saw that I should have to climb up a long, low hill of stairs +to get to the pagoda.</p> + +<p>Once or twice in my life I have seen a Globe-trotter literally gasping +with jealous emotion because India was so much larger and more lovely +than he had ever dreamed, and because he had only set aside three months +to explore it in. My own sojourn in Rangoon was countable by hours, so I +may be forgiven when I pranced with impatience at the bottom of the +staircase because I could not at once secure a full, complete, and +accurate idea of everything that was to be seen. The meaning of the +guardian tigers, the inwardness of the main pagoda, and the countless +little ones, was hidden from me. I could not understand why the pretty +girls with cheroots sold little sticks and coloured candles to be used +before the image of Buddha. Everything was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> incomprehensible to me, and +there was none to explain. All that I could gather was that in a few +days the great golden <i>'htee</i> that has been defaced by the earthquake +would be hoisted into position with feasting and song, and that half +Upper Burma was coming down to see the show.</p> + +<p>I went forward between the two great beasts, across a whitewashed court, +till I came to a flat-headed arch guarded by the lame, the blind, the +leper, and the deformed. These plucked at my clothes as I passed, and +moaned and whined: but the stream that disappeared up the gentle slope +of the stairway took no notice of them. And I stepped into the +semi-darkness of a long, long corridor flanked by booths, and floored +with stones worn very smooth by human feet.</p> + +<p>At the far end of the roofed corridor there was a breadth of evening +sky, and at this point rose a second and much steeper flight of stairs, +leading directly to the Shwedagon (this, by the way, is its real +spelling). Down this staircase fell, from gloom to deeper gloom, a +cascade of colour. At this point I stayed, because there was a beautiful +archway of Burmese build, and adorned with a Chinese inscription, +directly in front of me, and I conceived foolishly that I should find +nothing more pleasant to look at if I went farther. Also, I wished to +understand how such a people could produce the dacoit of the newspaper, +and I knew that a great deal of promiscuous knowledge comes to him who +sits down by the wayside. Then I saw a Face—which explained a good +deal. The chin, jowl, lips, and neck were modelled faithfully on the +lines of the worst of the Roman Empresses—the lolloping, walloping +women that Swinburne<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> sings about, and that we sometimes see pictures +of. Above this gross perfection of form came the Mongoloid nose, narrow +forehead, and flaring pig's eyes. I stared intently, and the man stared +back again, with admirable insolence, that puckered one corner of his +mouth. Then he swaggered forward, and I was richer by a new face and a +little knowledge. "I must make further inquiries at the Club," said I, +"but that man seems to be of the proper dacoit type. He could crucify on +occasion."</p> + +<p>Then a brown baby came by in its mother's arms and laughed, wherefore I +much desired to shake hands with it, and grinned to that effect. The +mother held out the tiny soft pud and laughed, and the baby laughed, and +we all laughed together, because that seemed to be the custom of the +country, and returned down the now dark corridor where the lamps of the +stall-keepers were twinkling and scores of people were helping us to +laugh. They must be a mild-mannered nation, the Burmese, for they leave +little three-year-olds in charge of a whole wilderness of clay dolls or +a menagerie of jointed tigers.</p> + +<p>I had not actually entered the Shwedagon, but I felt just as happy as +though I had.</p> + +<p>In the Pegu Club I found a friend—a Punjabi—upon whose broad bosom I +threw myself and demanded food and entertainment. He had not long since +received a visit from the Commissioner of Peshawar, of all places in the +world, and was not to be upset by sudden arrivals. But he had come down +in the world hideously. Years ago in the Black North he used to speak +the vernacular as it should be spoken, and was one of us.</p> + +<p>"<i>Daniel, how many socks master got?</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>The unfinished peg fell from my fist. "Good Heavens!" said I, "is it +possible that you—you—speak that disgusting pidgin-talk to your +<i>nauker</i>? It's enough to make one cry. You're no better than a +Bombaywallah."</p> + +<p>"I'm a Madrassi," said he, calmly. "We all talk English to our boys +here. Isn't it beautiful? Now come along to the Gymkhana and then we'll +dine here. Daniel, master's hat and stick get."</p> + +<p>There must be a few hundred men who are fairly behind the scenes of the +Burma War—one of the least known and appreciated of any of our little +affairs. The Pegu Club seemed to be full of men on their way up or down, +and the conversation was but an echo of the murmur of conquest far away +to the north.</p> + +<p>"See that man over there. He was cut over the head the other day at +Zoungloung-goo. Awfully tough man. That chap next him has been on the +dacoit-hunt for about a year. He broke up Boh Mango's gang: caught the +Boh in a paddy field, y'know. The other man's going home on sick +leave—got a lump of iron somewhere in his system. Try our mutton; I +assure you the Club is the only place in Rangoon where you get mutton. +Look here, you must <i>not</i> speak vernacular to our boys. Hi, boy! get +master some more ice. They're all Bombay men or Madrassis. Up at the +front there are some Burman servants: but a real Burman will never work. +He prefers being a simple little <i>daku</i>."</p> + +<p>"How much?"</p> + +<p>"Dear little dacoit. We call 'em <i>dakus</i> for short—sort o' pet name. +That's the butter-fish. I forgot you didn't get much fish up-country. +Yes, I s'pose Rangoon has its advantages. You pay like a Prince. Take +an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> ordinary married establishment. Little furnished house—one hundred +and fifty rupees. Servants' wages two twenty or two fifty. That's four +hundred at once. My dear fellow, a sweeper won't take less than twelve +or sixteen rupees a month here, and even then he'll work for other +houses. It's worse than Quetta. Any man who comes to Lower Burma in the +hope of living on his pay is a fool."</p> + +<p><i>Voice from lower end of table.</i> "Dee fool. It's different in Upper +Burma, where you get command and travelling allowances."</p> + +<p><i>Another voice in the middle of a conversation.</i> "They never got that +story into the papers, but I can tell you we weren't quite as quick in +rushing the fort as they made believe. You see Boh Gwee had us in a +regular trap, and by the time we had closed the line our men were being +peppered front and rear: that jungle-fighting is the deuce and all. More +ice please."</p> + +<p>Then they told me of the death of an old school-fellow under the ramp of +the Minhla redoubt—does any one remember the affair at Minhla that +opened the third Burmese ball?</p> + +<p>"I was close to him," said a voice. "He died in A.'s arms, I fancy, but +I'm not quite sure. Anyhow, I know he died easily. He was a good +fellow."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said I, "and now I think I'll go;" and I went out into the +steamy night, my head ringing with stories of battle, murder, and sudden +death. I had reached the fringe of the veil that hides Upper Burma, and +I would have given much to have gone up the river and seen a score of +old friends, now jungle-worn men of war. All that night I dreamed of +interminable staircases<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> down which swept thousands of pretty girls, so +brilliantly robed that my eyes ached at the sight. There was a great +golden bell at the top of the stairs, and at the bottom, his face turned +to the sky, lay poor old D——dead at Minhla, and a host of unshaven +ragamuffins in khaki were keeping guard over him.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>No. III</h2> + +<p>THE CITY OF ELEPHANTS WHICH IS GOVERNED BY THE GREAT GOD OF IDLENESS, +WHO LIVES ON THE TOP OF A HILL. THE HISTORY OF THREE GREAT DISCOVERIES +AND THE NAUGHTY CHILDREN OF IQUIQUE.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein at ease for aye to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I said: Oh, soul, make merry and carouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear soul, for all is well."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>So much for making definite programmes of travel beforehand. In my first +letter I told you that I would go from Rangoon to Penang direct. Now we +are lying off Moulmein in a new steamer which does not seem to run +anywhere in particular. Why she should go to Moulmein is a mystery; but +as every soul on the ship is a loafer like myself, no one is +discontented. Imagine a shipload of people to whom time is no object, +who have no desires beyond three meals a day and no emotions save those +caused by a casual cockroach.</p> + +<p>Moulmein is situated up the mouth of a river which ought to flow through +South America, and all manner of dissolute native craft appear to make +the place their home. Ugly cargo-steamers that the initiated call +"Geordie tramps" grunt and bellow at the beautiful hills all round, and +the pot-bellied British India liners wallow down the reaches. Visitors +are rare in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> Moulmein—so rare that few but cargo-boats think it worth +their while to come off from the shore.</p> + +<p>Strictly in confidence I will tell you that Moulmein is not a city of +this earth at all. Sindbad the Sailor visited it, if you recollect, on +that memorable voyage when he discovered the burial-ground of the +elephants.</p> + +<p>As the steamer came up the river we were aware of first one elephant and +then another hard at work in timber-yards that faced the shore. A few +narrow-minded folk with binoculars said that there were <i>mahouts</i> upon +their backs, but this was never clearly proven. I prefer to believe in +what I saw—a sleepy town, just one house thick, scattered along a +lovely stream and inhabited by slow, solemn elephants, building +stockades for their own diversion. There was a strong scent of freshly +sawn teak in the air—we could not see any elephants sawing—and +occasionally the warm stillness was broken by the crash of the log. When +the elephants had got an appetite for luncheon they loafed off in +couples to their club, and did not take the trouble to give us greeting +and the latest mail papers; at which we were much disappointed, but took +heart when we saw upon a hill a large white pagoda surrounded by scores +of little pagodas. "This," we said with one voice, "is the place to make +an excursion to," and then shuddered at our own profanity, for above all +things we did not wish to behave like mere vulgar tourists.</p> + +<p>The <i>ticca-gharies</i> at Moulmein are three sizes smaller than those of +Rangoon, as the ponies are no bigger than decent sheep. Their drivers +trot them uphill and down, and as the <i>ghari</i> is extremely narrow and +the roads are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> anything but good, the exercise is refreshing. Here again +all the drivers are Madrassis.</p> + +<p>I should better remember what that pagoda was like had I not fallen +deeply and irrevocably in love with a Burmese girl at the foot of the +first flight of steps. Only the fact of the steamer starting next noon +prevented me from staying at Moulmein forever and owning a pair of +elephants. These are so common that they wander about the streets, and, +I make no doubt, could be obtained for a piece of sugar-cane.</p> + +<p>Leaving this far too lovely maiden, I went up the steps only a few +yards, and, turning me round, looked upon a view of water, island, broad +river, fair grazing ground, and belted wood that made me rejoice that I +was alive. The hillside below me and above me was ablaze with +pagodas—from a gorgeous golden and vermilion beauty to a delicate grey +stone one just completed in honour of an eminent priest lately deceased +at Mandalay. Far above my head there was a faint tinkle, as of golden +bells, and a talking of the breezes in the tops of the toddy-palms. +Wherefore I climbed higher and higher up the steps till I reached a +place of great peace, dotted with Burmese images, spotlessly clean. Here +women now and again paid reverence. They bowed their heads and their +lips moved, because they were praying. I had an umbrella—a black +one—in my hand, deck-shoes upon my feet, and a helmet upon my head. I +did not pray—I swore at myself for being a Globe-trotter, and wished +that I had enough Burmese to explain to these ladies that I was sorry +and would have taken off my hat but for the sun. A Globe-trotter is a +brute. I had the grace to blush as I tramped round the pagoda. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +will be remembered to me for righteousness. But I stared horribly—at a +gold and red side-temple with a beautifully gilt image of Buddha in +it—at the grim figures in the niches at the base of the main pagoda—at +the little palms that grew out of the cracks in the tiled paving of the +court—at the big palms above, and at the low hung bronze bells that +stood at each corner for the women to smite with stag-horns. Upon one +bell rang this amazing triplet in English, evidently the composition of +the caster, who completed his work—and now, let us hope, has reached +Nibban—thirty-five years ago:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He who destroyed this Bell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They must be in the great Hel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unable to coming out."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I respect a man who is not able to spell Hell properly. It shows that he +has been brought up in an amiable creed. You who come to Moulmein treat +this bell with respect, and refrain from playing with it, for that hurts +the feelings of the worshippers.</p> + +<p>In the base of the pagoda were four rooms, lined as to three sides with +colossal plaster figures, before each of whom burned one solitary dip +whose rays fought with the flood of evening sunshine that came through +the windows, and the room was filled with a pale yellow light—unearthly +to stand in. Occasionally a woman crept in to one of these rooms to +pray, but nearly all the company stayed in the courtyard; but those that +faced the figures prayed more zealously than the others, so I judged +that their troubles were the greater. Of the actual cult I knew less +than nothing; for the neatly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> bound English books that we read make no +mention of pointing red-tipped straws at a golden image, or of the +banging of bells after the custom of worshippers in a Hindu temple. It +must be a genial one, however. To begin with, it is quiet and carried on +among the fairest possible surroundings that ever landscape offered.</p> + +<p>In this particular case, the massive white pagoda shot into the blue +from the west of a walled hill that commanded four separate and +desirable views as you looked either at the steamer in the river below, +the polished silver reaches to the left, the woods to the right, or the +roofs of Moulmein to the landward. Between each pause of the rustling of +dresses and the low-toned talk of the women fell, from far above, the +tinkle of innumerable metal leaves which were stirred by the breeze as +they hung from the <i>'htee</i> of the pagoda. A golden image winked in the +sun; the painted ones stared straight in front of them over the heads of +the worshippers, and somewhere below a mallet and a plane were lazily +helping to build yet another pagoda in honour of the Lord of the Earth.</p> + +<p>Sitting in meditation while the Professor went round with a sacrilegious +camera, to the vast terror of the Burmese youth, I made two notable +discoveries and nearly went to sleep over them. The first was that the +Lord of the Earth is Idleness—thick slab idleness with a little +religion stirred in to keep it sweet, and the second was that the shape +of the pagoda came originally from a bulging toddy-palm trunk. There was +one between me and the far-off sky line, and it exactly duplicated the +outlines of a small grey stone building.</p> + +<p>Yet a third discovery, and a much more important one,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> came to me later +on. A dirty little imp of a boy ran by clothed more or less in a +beautifully worked silk putso, the like of which I had in vain attempted +to secure at Rangoon. A bystander told me that such an article would +cost one hundred and ten rupees—exactly ten rupees in excess of the +price demanded at Rangoon, when I had been discourteous to a pretty +Burmese girl with diamonds in her ears, and had treated her as though +she were a Delhi boxwallah.</p> + +<p>"Professor," said I, when the camera spidered round the corner, "there +is something wrong with this people. They won't work, they aren't all +dacoits, and their babies run about with hundred-rupees putsoes on them, +while their parents speak the truth. How in the world do they get a +living?"</p> + +<p>"They exist beautifully," said the Professor; "and I only brought half a +dozen plates with me. I shall come again in the morning with some more. +Did I ever dream of a place like this?"</p> + +<p>"No," said I. "It's perfect, and for the life of me I can't quite see +where the precise charm lies."</p> + +<p>"In its Beastly Laziness," said the Professor, as he packed the camera, +and we went away, regretfully, haunted by the voices of many wind-blown +bells.</p> + +<p>Not ten minutes from the pagoda we saw a real British bandstand, a +shanty labelled "Municipal Office," a collection of P. W. D. bungalows +that in vain strove to blast the landscape, and a Madras band. I had +never seen Madrassi troops before. They seem to dress just like Tommies, +and have an air of much culture and refinement. It is said that they +read English books and know all about their rights and privileges. For +further details<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> apply to the Pegu Club, second table from the top on +the right hand side as you enter.</p> + +<p>In an evil hour I attempted to revive the drooping trade of Moulmein, +and to this end bound a native of the place to come on board the steamer +next morn with a collection of Burmese silks. It was only a five +minutes' pull, and he could have sat in the stern all the while. Morning +came, but not the man. Not a boat of watermelons, pink fleshy +watermelons, neared the ship. We might have been in quarantine. As we +slipped down the river on our way to Penang, I saw the elephants playing +with the teak logs as solemnly and as mysteriously as ever. They were +the chief inhabitants, and, for aught I know, the rulers of the place. +Their lethargy had corrupted the town, and when the Professor wished to +photograph them, I believe they went away in scorn.</p> + +<p>We are now running down to Penang with the thermometer 87° in the +cabins, and anything you please on deck. We have exhausted all our +literature, drunk two hundred lemon squashes; played forty different +games of cards (Patience mostly), organised a lottery on the run (had it +been a thousand rupees instead of ten I should not have won it), and +slept seventeen hours out of the twenty-four. It is perfectly impossible +to write, but you may be morally the better for the story of the Bad +People of Iquique which, "as you have not before heard, I will now +proceed to relate." It has just been told me by a German orchid-hunter, +fresh from nearly losing his head in the Lushai hills, who has been over +most of the world.</p> + +<p>Iquique is somewhere in South America—at the back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> of or beyond +Brazil—and once upon a time there came to it a tribe of Aborigines from +out of the woods, so innocent that they wore nothing at all—absolutely +nothing at all. They had a grievance, but no garments, and the former +they came to lay before His Excellency, the Governor of Iquique. But the +news of their coming and their exceeding nakedness had gone before them, +and good Spanish ladies of the town agreed that the heathen should first +of all be clothed. So they organised a sewing-bee, and the result, which +was mainly aprons, was served out to the Bad People with hints as to its +use. Nothing could have been better. They appeared in their aprons +before the Governor and all the ladies of Iquique, ranged on the steps +of the cathedral, only to find that the Governor could not grant their +demands. And do you know what these children of nature did? In the +twinkling of an eye they had off those aprons, slung them round their +necks, and were dancing naked as the dawn before the scandalised ladies +of Iquique, who fled with their fans before their eyes into the +sanctuary of the cathedral. And when the steps were deserted the Bad +People withdrew, shouting and leaping, their aprons still round their +necks, for good cloth is valuable property. They encamped near the town, +knowing their own power. 'Twas impossible to send the military against +them, and equally impossible that Donnas and Señoritas should be exposed +to the chance of being shocked whenever they went abroad. No one knew at +what hour the Bad People would sweep through the streets. Their demands +were therefore granted and Iquique had rest. Nuda est Veritas et +prevalebit.</p> + +<p>"But," said I, "what is there so awful in a naked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> Indian—or two +hundred naked Indians for that matter?"</p> + +<p>"My friend," said the German, "dey vas Indians of Sout' America. I dell +you dey do not demselves shtrip vell."</p> + +<p>I put my hand on my mouth and went away.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>No. IV</h2> + +<p>SHOWING HOW I CAME TO PALMISTE ISLAND AND THE PLACE OF PAUL AND +VIRGINIA, AND FELL ASLEEP IN A GARDEN. A DISQUISITION ON THE FOLLY OF +SIGHT-SEEING.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Some for the glories of this world and some<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sigh for the Prophet's paradise to come.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, take the cash and let the credit go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor heed the rumble of a distant drum."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>There is something very wrong in the Anglo-Saxon character. Hardly had +the <i>Africa</i> dropped anchor in Penang Straits when two of our +fellow-passengers were smitten with madness because they heard that +another steamer was even then starting for Singapur. If they went by it +they would gain several days. Heaven knows why time should have been so +precious to them. The news sent them flying into their cabins, and +packing their trunks as though their salvation depended upon it. Then +they tumbled over the side and were rowed away in a sampan, hot, but +happy. They were on a pleasure-trip, and they had gained perhaps three +days. That was their pleasure.</p> + +<p>Do you recollect Besant's description of Palmiste Island in <i>My Little +Girl</i> and <i>So They Were Married</i>? Penang is Palmiste Island. I found +this out from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> the ship, looking at the wooded hills that dominate the +town, and at the regiments of palm trees three miles away that marked +the coast of Wellesley Province. The air was soft and heavy with +laziness, and at the ship's side were boat-loads of much jewelled +Madrassis—even those to whom Besant has alluded. A squall swept across +the water and blotted out the rows of low, red-tiled houses that made up +Penang, and the shadows of night followed the storm.</p> + +<p>I put my twelve-inch rule in my pocket to measure all the world by, and +nearly wept with emotion when on landing at the jetty I fell against a +Sikh—a beautiful bearded Sikh, with white leggings and a rifle. As is +cold water in a thirsty land so is a face from the old country. My +friend had come from Jandiala in the Umritsar district. Did I know +Jandiala? Did I not? I began to tell all the news I could recollect +about crops and armies and the movements of big men in the far, far +north while the Sikh beamed. He belonged to the military police, and it +was a good service, but of course it was far from the old country. There +was no hard work, and the Chinamen gave but little trouble. They had +fights among themselves, but "they do not care to give <i>us</i> any +impudence;" and the big man swaggered off with the long roll and swing +of a whole Pioneer regiment, while I cheered myself with the thought +that India—the India I pretend to hold in hatred—was not so far off, +after all.</p> + +<p>You know our ineradicable tendency to damn everything in the mofussil. +Calcutta professes astonishment that Allahabad has a good dancing floor; +Allahabad wonders if it is true that Lahore really has an ice-factory;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +and Lahore pretends to believe that everybody in Peshawar sleeps armed. +Very much in the same way I was amused at seeing a steam tramway in +Rangoon, and after we had quitted Moulmein fully expected to find the +outskirts of civilisation. Vanity and ignorance were severely shocked +when they confronted a long street of business—a street of two-storied +houses, full of <i>ticca-gharies</i>, shop signs, and above all +<i>jinrickshaws</i>.</p> + +<p>You in India have never seen a proper <i>'rickshaw</i>. There are about two +thousand of them in Penang, and no two seem alike. They are lacquered +with bold figures of dragons and horses and birds and butterflies: their +shafts are of black wood bound with white metal, and so strong that the +coolie sits upon them when he waits for his fare. There is only one +coolie, but he is strong, and he runs just as well as six bell-men. He +ties up his pigtail,—being a Cantonese,—and this is a disadvantage to +sahibs who cannot speak Tamil, Malay, or Cantonese. Otherwise he might +be steered like a camel.</p> + +<p>The <i>'rickshaw</i> men are patient and long-suffering. The evil-visaged +person who drove my carriage lashed at them when they came within whip +range, and did his best to drive over them as he headed for the +Waterfalls, which are five miles away from Penang Town. I expected that +the buildings should stop, choked out among the dense growth of +cocoanut. But they continued for many streets, very like Park and +Middleton streets in Calcutta, where shuttered houses, which were +half-bred between an Indian bungalow and a Rangoon rabbit-hutch, fought +with the greenery and crotons as big as small trees. Now and again there +blazed the front of a Chinese house, all open-work vermilion, +lamp-black, and gold, with six-foot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> Chinese lanterns over the doorways +and glimpses of quaintly cut shrubs in the well-kept gardens beyond.</p> + +<p>We struck into roads fringed with native houses on piles, shadowed by +the everlasting cocoanut palms heavy with young nuts. The heat was heavy +with the smell of vegetation, and it was not the smell of the earth +after the rains. Some bird-thing called out from the deeps of the +foliage, and there was a mutter of thunder in the hills which we were +approaching: but all the rest was very still—and the sweat ran down our +faces in drops.</p> + +<p>"Now you've got to walk up that hill," said the driver, pointing to a +small barrier outside a well-kept botanical garden; "all the carriages +stop here." One's limbs moved as though leaden, and the breath came +heavily, drawing in each time the vapour of a Turkish bath. The soil was +alive with wet and warmth, and the unknown trees—I was too sleepy to +read the labels that some offensively energetic man has written—were +wet and warm too. Up on the hillside the voice of the water was saying +something, but I was too sleepy to listen; and on the top of the hill +lay a fat cloud just like an eider-down quilt tucking everything in +safely.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And in the afternoon they came unto a land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which it seemed always afternoon."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I sat down where I was, for I saw that the upward path was very steep +and was cut into rude steps, and an exposition of sleep had come upon +me. I was at the mouth of a tiny gorge, exactly where the lotus-eaters +had sat down when they began their song, for I recognised the Waterfall +and the air round my ears "breathing as one that has a weary dream."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>I looked and beheld that I could not give in words the genius of the +place. "I can't play the flute, but I have a cousin who plays the +violin." I knew a man who could. Some people said he was not a nice man, +and I might run the risk of contaminating morals, but nothing mattered +in such a climate. See now, go to the very worst of Zola's novels and +read there his description of a conservatory. That was it. Several +months passed away, but there was neither chill nor burning heat to mark +the passage of time. Only, with a sense of acute pain I felt that I must +"do" the Waterfall, and I climbed up the steps in the hillside, though +every boulder cried "sit down," until I found a small stream of water +coursing down the face of a rock, and a much bigger one down my own.</p> + +<p>Then we went away to breakfast, the stomach being always more worthy +than any amount of sentiment. A turn in the road hid the gardens and +stopped the noise of the waters, and that experience was over for all +time. Experiences are very like cheroots. They generally begin badly, +taste perfect half way through, and at the butt-end are things to be +thrown away and never picked up again....</p> + +<p>His name was John, and he had a pigtail five feet long—all real hair +and no silk braided, and he kept an hotel by the way and fed us with a +chicken, into whose innocent flesh onions and strange vegetables had +been forced. Till then we had feared Chinamen, especially when they +brought food, but now we will eat anything at their hands. The +conclusion of the meal was a half-guinea pineapple and a siesta. This is +a beautiful thing which we of India—but I am of India no more—do not +understand. You lie down and wait for time to pass. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> are not in the +least wearied—and you would not go to sleep. You are filled with a +divine drowsiness—quite different from the heavy sodden slumber of a +hot-weather Sunday, or the businesslike repose of a Europe morning. Now +I begin to despise novelists who write about <i>siestas</i> in cold climates. +I know what the real thing means.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I have been trying to buy a few things—a <i>sarong</i>, which is a <i>putso</i> +which is a <i>dhoti</i>; a pipe; and a "damned Malayan kris." The <i>sarongs</i> +come chiefly from Germany, the pipes from the pawn-shops, and there are +no krises except little toothpick things that could not penetrate the +hide of a Malay. In the native town, I found a large army of +Chinese—more than I imagined existed in China itself—encamped in +spacious streets and houses, some of them sending block-tin to Singapur, +some driving fine carriages, others making shoes, chairs, clothes, and +every other thing that a large town desires. They were the first army +corps on the march of the Mongol. The scouts are at Calcutta, and a +flying column at Rangoon. Here begins the main body, some hundred +thousand strong, so they say. Was it not De Quincey that had a horror of +the Chinese—of their inhumaneness and their inscrutability? Certainly +the people in Penang are not nice; they are even terrible to behold. +They work hard, which in this climate is manifestly wicked, and their +eyes are just like the eyes of their own pet dragons. Our Hindu gods are +passable, some of them even jolly—witness our pot-bellied Ganesh; but +what can you do with a people who revel in D. T. monsters and crown +their roof-ridges with flames of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> fire, or the waves of the sea? They +swarmed everywhere, and wherever three or four met, there they eat +things without name—the insides of ducks for choice. Our deck +passengers, I know, fared sumptuously on offal begged from the steward +and flavoured with insect-powder to keep the ants off. This, again, is +not natural, for a man should eat like a man if he works like one. I +could quite understand after a couple of hours (this has the true +Globe-trotter twang to it) spent in Chinatown why the lower-caste +Anglo-Saxon hates the Celestial. He frightened me, and so I could take +no pleasure in looking at his houses, at his wares, or at himself....</p> + +<p>The smell of printer's ink is marvellously penetrating. It drew me up +two pair of stairs into an office where the exchanges lay about in +delightful disorder, and a little hand-press was clacking out proofs +just in the old sweet way. Something like the <i>Gazette of India</i> showed +that the Straits Settlements—even they—had a Government of their own, +and I sighed for a dead past as my eye caught the beautiful official +phraseology that never varies. How alike we English are! Here is an +extract from a report: "And the Chinese form of decoration which +formerly covered the office has been wisely obliterated with whitewash."</p> + +<p>That was just what I came to inquire about. What were they going to do +with the Chinese decoration all over Penang? Would they try to wisely +obliterate that?</p> + +<p>The Straits Settlement Council which lives at Singapur had just passed a +Bill (Ordinance they call it) putting down all Chinese secret societies +in the colony, which measure only awaited the Imperial assent. A little +business in Singapur connected with some municipal measure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> for clearing +away overhanging verandahs created a storm, and for three days those who +were in the place say the town was entirely at the mercy of the Chinese, +who rose all together and made life unpleasant for the authorities. This +incident forced the Government to take serious notice of the secret +societies who could so control the actions of men, and the result has +been a measure which it will not be easy to enforce. A Chinaman <i>must</i> +have a secret society of some kind. He has been bred up in a country +where they were necessary to his comfort, his protection, and the +maintenance of his scale of wages from time immemorial, and he will +carry them with him as he will carry his opium and his coffin.</p> + +<p>"Do you expect then that the societies will collapse by proclamation?" I +asked the editor.</p> + +<p>"No. There will be a row."</p> + +<p>"What row? what sort of a row?"</p> + +<p>"More troops, perhaps, and perhaps some gunboats. You see, we shall have +Sir Charles Warren then as our Commander-in-Chief at Singapur. Up till +the present our military administration has been subordinate to that of +Hong-Kong; when that is done away with and we have Sir Charles Warren, +things will be different. But there will be a row. Neither you nor I nor +any one else will be able to put these things down. Every joss house +will be the head of a secret society. What can one do? In the past the +Government made some use of them for the detection of crime. Now they +are too big and too important to be treated in that way. You will know +before long whether we have been able to suppress them. There will be a +row."</p> + +<p>Certainly the great grievance of Penang is the Chinese<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> question. She +would not be human did she not revile her Municipal Commissioners and +talk about the unsanitary condition of the island. If nose and eyes and +ears be any guide, she is far cleaner even in her streets than many an +Indian cantonment, and her water-supply seems perfection. But I sat in +that little newspaper office and listened to stories of municipal +intrigue that might have suited Serampore or Calcutta, only the names +were a little different, and in place of Ghose and Chuckerbutty one +heard titles such as Yih Tat, Lo Eng, and the like. The Englishman's +aggressive altruism always leads him to build towns for others, and +incite aliens to serve on municipal boards. Then he gets tired of his +weakness and starts papers to condemn himself. They had a Chinaman on +the Municipality last year. They have now got rid of him, and the +present body is constituted of two officials and four non-officials. +<i>Therefore</i> they complain of the influence of officialdom.</p> + +<p>Having thoroughly settled all the differences of Penang to my own great +satisfaction, I removed myself to a Chinese theatre set in the open +road, and made of sticks and old gunny-bags. The orchestra alone +convinced me that there was something radically wrong with the Chinese +mind. Once, long ago in Jummu, I heard the infernal clang of the horns +used by the Devil-dancers who had come from far beyond Ladakh to do +honour to the Prince that day set upon his throne. That was about three +thousand miles to the north, but the character of the music was +unchanged. A thousand Chinamen stood as close as possible to the horrid +din and enjoyed it. Once more, can anything be done to a people without +nerves as without digestion, and, if reports speak truly, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +morals? But it is not true that they are born with full-sized pigtails. +The thing grows, and in its very earliest stages is the prettiest +head-dressing imaginable, being soft brown, very fluffy, about three +inches long, and dressed as to the end with red silk. An infant pigtail +is just like the first tender sprout of a tulip bulb, and would be +lovable were not the Chinese baby so very horrible of hue and shape. He +isn't as pretty as the pig that Alice nursed in Wonderland, and he lies +quite still and never cries. This is because he is afraid of being +boiled and eaten. I saw cold boiled babies on a plate being carried +through the heart of the town. They said it was only sucking-pig, but I +knew better. Dead sucking-pigs don't grin with their eyes open.</p> + +<p>About this time the faces of the Chinese frightened me more than ever, +so I ran away to the outskirts of the town and saw a windowless house +that carried the Square and Compass in gold and teakwood above the door. +I took heart at meeting these familiar things again, and knowing that +where they were was good fellowship and much charity, in spite of all +the secret societies in the world. Penang is to be congratulated on one +of the prettiest little lodges in the East.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>No. V</h2> + +<p>OF THE THRESHOLD OF THE FAR EAST AND THE DWELLERS THEREON. A +DISSERTATION UPON THE USE OF THE BRITISH LION.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How the world is made for each of us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How all we perceive and know in it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tends to some moment's product—thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a soul declares itself—to wit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By its fruit, the thing it does."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>"I assure you, Sir, weather as hot as this has not been felt in Singapur +for years and years. March is always reckoned our hottest month, but +this is quite abnormal."</p> + +<p>And I made answer to the stranger wearily:—</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. They always told that lie in the other places. Leave me +alone and let me drip."</p> + +<p>This is the heat of an orchid-house,—a clinging, remorseless, +steam-sweat that knows no variation between night and day. Singapur is +another Calcutta, but much more so. In the suburbs they are building +rows of cheap houses; in the city they run over you and jostle you into +the kennel. These are unfailing signs of commercial prosperity. India +ended so long ago that I cannot even talk about the natives of the +place. They are all Chinese, except where they are French or Dutch or +German. England is by the uninformed supposed to own the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> island. The +rest belongs to China and the Continent, but chiefly China. I knew I had +touched the borders of the Celestial Empire when I was thoroughly +impregnated with the reek of Chinese tobacco, a fine-cut, greasy, glossy +weed, to whose smoke the aroma of a huqa in the cookhouse is all +Rimmell's shop.</p> + +<p>Providence conducted me along a beach, in full view of five miles of +shipping,—five solid miles of masts and funnels,—to a place called +Raffles Hotel, where the food is as excellent as the rooms are bad. Let +the traveller take note. Feed at Raffles and sleep at the Hotel de +l'Europe. I would have done this but for the apparition of two large +ladies tastefully attired in bedgowns, who sat with their feet propped +on a chair. This Joseph ran; but it turned out that they were Dutch +ladies from Batavia, and that that was their national costume till +dinner time.</p> + +<p>"If, as you say, they had on stockings and dressing-gowns, you have +nothing to complain of. They generally wear nothing but a night-gown +till five o'clock," quoth a man versed in the habits of the land.</p> + +<p>I do not know whether he spoke the truth; I am inclined to think that he +did; but now I know what "Batavian grace" really means, I don't approve +of it. A lady in a dressing-gown disturbs the mind and prevents careful +consideration of the political outlook in Singapur, which is now +supplied with a set of very complete forts, and is hopefully awaiting +some nine-inch breach-loaders that are to adorn them. There is something +very pathetic in the trustful, clinging attitude of the Colonies, who +ought to have been soured and mistrustful long ago. "We hope the Home +Government<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> may do this. It is possible that the Home Government may do +that," is the burden of the song, and in every place where the +Englishman cannot breed successfully must continue to be. Imagine an +India fit for permanent habitation by our kin, and consider what a place +it would be this day, with the painter cut fifty years ago, fifty +thousand miles of railways laid down and ten thousand under survey, and +possibly an annual surplus. Is this sedition? Forgive me, but I am +looking at the shipping outside the verandah, at the Chinamen in the +streets, and at the lazy, languid Englishmen in banians and white +jackets stretched on the cane chairs, and these things are not nice. The +men are not really lazy, as I will try to show later on, but they lounge +and loaf and seem to go to office at eleven, which must be bad for work. +And they all talk about going home at indecently short intervals, as +though that were their right. Once more, if we could only rear children +that did not run to leg and nose in the second generation in this part +of the world and one or two others, what an amazing disruption of the +Empire there would be before half of a Parnell Commission sitting was +accomplished! And then, later, when the freed States had plunged into +hot water, fought their fights, overborrowed, overspeculated, and +otherwise conducted themselves like younger sons, what a coming together +and revision of tariffs, ending in one great iron band girdling the +earth. Within that limit free trade. Without, rancorous Protection. It +would be too vast a hornet's nest for any combination of Powers to +disturb. The dream will not come about for a long time, but we shall +accomplish something like it one of these days. The birds of passage +from Canada,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> from Borneo,—Borneo that will have to go through a +general rough-and-tumble before she grips her possibilities,—from +Australia, from a hundred scattered islands, are saying the same thing: +"We are not strong enough yet, but some day We shall be."</p> + +<p>Oh! dear people, stewing in India and swearing at all the Governments, +it is a glorious thing to be an Englishman. "Our lot has fallen unto us +in a fair ground. Yea, we have a goodly heritage." Take a map and look +at the long stretch of the Malay Peninsula,—a thousand miles southerly +it runs, does it not?—whereon Penang, Malacca, and Singapur are so +modestly underlined in red ink. See, now. We have our Residents at every +one of the Malay native States of any importance, and right up the line +to Kedah and Siam our influence regulates and controls all. Into this +land God put first gold and tin, and after these the Englishman, who +floats companies, obtains concessions and goes forward. Just at present, +one company alone holds a concession of two thousand square miles in the +interior. That means mining rights; and that means a few thousand +coolies and a settled administration such as obtains in the big Indian +collieries, where the heads of the mines are responsible kings.</p> + +<p>With the companies will come the railroads. So far the Straits papers +spend their space in talking about them, for at present there are only +twenty-three or twenty-four miles of narrow-gauge railway open, near a +civilised place called Pirates' Creek, in the Peninsula. The Sultan of +Johore is, or has been, wavering over a concession for a railway through +his country, which will ultimately connect with this Pirates' Creek<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +line. Singapur is resolved ere long to bridge over the mile or +mile-and-a-half Straits between herself and the State of Johore. In this +manner a beginning will be made of the southerly extension of +Colquhoun's great line running, let us say, from Singapur through the +small States and Siam, without a break, into the great Indian railway +systems, so that a man will be able to book from here to Calcutta +direct. Anything like a business summary of the railway schemes that +come up for discussion from time to time would fill a couple of these +letters, and would be uncommonly dry reading. You know the sort of +"shop" talk that rages among engineers when a new line is being run in +India through perfectly known ground, whose traffic-potentialities may +be calculated to the last pie. It is very much the same here, with the +difference that no one knows for a certainty what the country ahead of +the surveys is like, or where the development is likely to stop. This +gives breeziness to the conversation. The audacity of the speakers is +amazing to one who has been accustomed to see things through Indian +eyes. They hint at "running up the Peninsula," establishing +communications here, consolidating influence there, and Providence only +knows what else; but never a word do they breathe about the necessity +for increased troops to stand by and back these little operations. +Perhaps they assume that the Home Government will provide, but it does +seem strange to hear them cold-bloodedly discussing notions that will +inevitably demand doubled garrisons to keep the ventures out of alien +hands. However, the merchant-men will do their work, and I suppose we +shall borrow three files and a sergeant from somewhere or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> other when +the time comes, and people begin to realise what sort of a gift our +Straits Settlements are. It is so cheap to prophesy. They will in the +near future grow into—</p> + +<p>The Professor looked over my shoulder at this point. "Bosh!" said he. +"They will become just a supplementary China—another field for Chinese +cheap labour. When the Dutch Settlements were returned in 1815,—all +these islands hereabouts, you know,—we should have handed over these +places as well. Look!" He pointed at the swarming Chinamen below.</p> + +<p>"Let me dream my dream, 'Fessor. I'll take my hat in a minute and settle +the question of Chinese immigration in five minutes." But I confess it +was mournful to look into the street, which ought to have been full of +Beharis, Madrassis, and men from the Konkan—from our India.</p> + +<p>Then up and spake a sunburned man who had interests in North Borneo—he +owned caves in the mountains, some of them nine hundred feet high, so +please you, and filled with the guano of ages, and had been telling me +leech-stories till my flesh crawled. "North Borneo," said he, calmly, +"wants a million of labourers to do her any good. One million coolies. +Men are wanted everywhere,—in the Peninsula, in Sumatra for the tobacco +planting, in Java,—everywhere; but Borneo—the Company's provinces that +is to say—needs a million coolies." It is pleasant to oblige a +stranger, and I felt that I spoke with India at my back. "We could +oblige you with two million or twenty, for the matter of that," said I, +generously.</p> + +<p>"Your men are no good," said the North Borneo man.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> "If one man goes +away, he must have a whole village to look after his wants. India as a +labour field is no good to us, and the Sumatra men say that your coolies +either can't or won't tend tobacco properly. We must have China coolies +as the land develops."</p> + +<p>Oh, India, oh, my country! This it is to have inherited a highly +organised civilisation and an ancient precedence code. That your +children shall be scoffed at by the alien as useless outside their own +pot-bound provinces. Here was a labour outlet, a door to full dinners, +through which men—yellow men with pigtails—were pouring by the ten +thousand, while in Bengal the cultured native editor was shrieking over +"atrocities" committed in moving a few hundred souls a few hundred miles +into Assam.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>No. VI</h2> + +<p>OF THE WELL-DRESSED ISLANDERS OF SINGAPUR AND THEIR DIVERSIONS; PROVING +THAT ALL STATIONS ARE EXACTLY ALIKE. SHOWS HOW ONE CHICAGO JEW AND AN +AMERICAN CHILD CAN POISON THE PUREST MIND.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"We are not divided,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All one body we—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One in hope and doctrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One in Charity."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>When one comes to a new station the first thing to do is to call on the +inhabitants. This duty I had neglected, preferring to consort with +Chinese till the Sabbath, when I learnt that Singapur went to the +Botanical Gardens and listened to secular music.</p> + +<p>All the Englishmen in the island congregated there. The Botanical +Gardens would have been lovely at Kew, but here, where one knew that +they were the only place of recreation open to the inhabitants, they +were not pleasant. All the plants of all the tropics grew there +together, and the orchid-house was roofed with thin battens of +wood—just enough to keep off the direct rays of the sun. It held +waxy-white splendours from Manila, the Philippines, and tropical +Africa—plants that were half-slugs, drawing nourishment apparently from +their own wooden labels; but there was no difference between the +temperature of the orchid-house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> and the open air; both were heavy, +dank, and steaming. I would have given a month's pay—but I have no +month's pay—for a clear breath of stifling hot wind from the sands of +Sirsa, for the darkness of a Punjab dust-storm, in exchange for the +perspiring plants, and the tree-fern that sweated audibly.</p> + +<p>Just when I was most impressed with my measureless distance from India, +my carriage advanced to the sound of slow music, and I found myself in +the middle of an Indian station—not quite as big as Allahabad, and +infinitely prettier than Lucknow. It overlooked the gardens that sloped +in ridge and hollow below; and the barracks were set in much greenery, +and there was a mess-house that suggested long and cooling drinks, and +there walked round about a British band. It was just We Our Noble +Selves. In the centre was the pretty <i>Memsahib</i> with light hair and +fascinating manners, and the plump little <i>Memsahib</i> that talks to +everybody and is in everybody's confidence, and the spinster fresh from +home, and the bean-fed, well-groomed subaltern with the light coat and +fox-terrier. On the benches sat the fat colonel, and the large judge, +and the engineer's wife, and the merchant-man and his family after their +kind—male and female met I them, and but for the little fact that they +were entire strangers to me, I would have saluted them all as old +friends. I knew what they were talking about, could see them taking +stock of one another's dresses out of the corners of their eyes, could +see the young men backing and filling across the ground in order to walk +with the young maidens, and could hear the "Do you think so's" and "Not +really's" of our polite conversation. It is an awful thing to sit in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> a +hired carriage and watch one's own people, and know that though you know +their life, you have neither part nor lot in it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I am a shadow now; alas! alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the skirts of human nature dwelling,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I said mournfully to the Professor. He was looking at Mrs. ——, or some +one so like her that it came to the same thing. "Am I travelling round +the world to discover <i>these</i> people?" said he. "I've seen 'em all +before. There's Captain Such-an-one and Colonel Such-another and Miss +What's-its-name as large as life and twice as pale."</p> + +<p>The Professor had hit it. That was the difference. People in Singapur +are dead-white—as white as Naaman—and the veins on the backs of their +hands are painted in indigo.</p> + +<p>It is as though the Rains were just over, and none of the womenfolk had +been allowed to go to the hills. Yet no one talks about the +unhealthiness of Singapur. A man lives well and happily until he begins +to feel unwell. Then he feels worse because the climate allows him no +chance of pulling himself together—and then he dies. Typhoid fever +appears to be one gate of death, as it is in India; also liver. The +nicest thing in the civil station which lies, of course, far from the +native town, and boasts pretty little bungalows—is Thomas—dear, +white-robed, swaggering, smoking, swearing Thomas Atkins the +unchangeable, who listens to the band and wanders down the bazaars, and +slings the unmentionable adjective about the palm trees exactly as +though he were in Mian Mir. The 58th (Northamptonshire)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> live in these +parts; so Singapur is quite safe, you see.</p> + +<p>Nobody would speak to me in the gardens, though I felt that they ought +to have invited me to drink, and I crept back to my hotel to eat six +different fresh chutnies with one curry.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I want to go Home! I want to go back to India! I am miserable. The +steamship <i>Nawab</i> at this time of the year ought to have been empty, +instead of which we have one hundred first-class passengers and +sixty-six second. All the pretty girls are in the latter class. +Something must have happened at Colombo—two steamers must have clashed. +We have the results of the collision, and we are a menagerie. The +captain says that there ought to have been only ten or twelve passengers +by rights, and had the rush been anticipated, a larger steamer would +have been provided. Personally, I consider that half our shipmates ought +to be thrown overboard. They are only travelling round the world for +pleasure, and that sort of dissipation leads to the forming of hasty and +intemperate opinions. Anyhow, give me freedom and the cockroaches of the +British India, where we dined on deck, altered the hours of the meals by +plebiscite, and were lords of all we saw. You know the chain-gang +regulations of the P. and O.: how you must approach the captain standing +on your head with your feet waving reverently; how you must crawl into +the presence of the chief steward on your belly and call him +Thrice-Puissant Bottle-washer; how you must not smoke abaft the +sheep-pens; must not stand in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> companion; must put on a clean coat +when the ship's library is opened; and crowning injustice, must order +your drinks for tiffin and dinner one meal in advance? How can a man +full of Pilsener beer reach that keen-set state of quiescence needful +for ordering his dinner liquor? This shows ignorance of human nature. +The P. and O. want healthy competition. They call their captains +commanders and act as though 'twere a favour to allow you to embark. +Again, freedom and the British India for ever, and down with the +comforts of a coolie ship and the prices of a palace!</p> + +<p>There are about thirty women on board, and I have been watching with a +certain amount of indignation their concerted attempt at killing the +stewardess,—a delicate and sweet-mannered lady. I think they will +accomplish their end. The saloon is ninety feet long, and the stewardess +runs up and down it for nine hours a day. In her intervals of relaxation +she carries cups of beef-tea to the frail sylphs who cannot exist +without food between 9 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> and 1 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> This morning she advanced to me +and said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world: "Shall +I take away your tea-cup, sir?" She was a real white woman, and the +saloon was full of hulking, half-bred Portuguese. One young Englishman +let her take his cup, and actually did not turn round when he handed it. +This is awful, and teaches me, as nothing else has done, how far I am +from the blessed East. She (the stewardess) talks standing up, to men +who sit down!</p> + +<p>We in India are currently supposed to be unkind to our servants. I +should very much like to see a sweeper doing one-half of the work these +strapping white matrons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> and maids exact from their sister. They make +her carry things about and don't even say, "Thank you." She has no name, +and if you bawl, "Stewardess," she is bound to come. Isn't it degrading?</p> + +<p>But the real reason of my wish to return is because I have met a lump of +Chicago Jews and am afraid that I shall meet many more. The ship is full +of Americans, but the American-German-Jew boy is the most awful of all. +One of them has money, and wanders from bow to stern asking strangers to +drink, bossing lotteries on the run, and committing other atrocities. It +is currently reported that he is dying. Unfortunately he does not die +quickly enough.</p> + +<p>But the real monstrosity of the ship is an American who is not quite +grown up. I cannot call it a boy, though officially it is only eight, +wears a striped jacket, and eats with the children. It has the wearied +appearance of an infant monkey—there are lines round its mouth and +under its eyebrows. When it has nothing else to do it will answer to the +name of Albert. It has been two years on the continuous travel; has +spent a month in India; has seen Constantinople, Tripoli, Spain; has +lived in tents and on horseback for thirty days and thirty nights, as it +was careful to inform me; and has exhausted the round of this world's +delights. There is no flesh on its bones, and it lives in the +smoking-room financing the arrangements of the daily lottery. I was +afraid of it, but it followed me, and in a level expressionless voice +began to tell me how lotteries were constructed. When I protested that I +knew, it continued without regarding the interruption, and finally, as a +reward for my patience, volunteered to give me the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> names and +idiosyncracies of all on board. Then it vanished through the +smoking-room window because the door was only eight feet high, and +therefore too narrow for that bulk of abnormal experiences. On certain +subjects it was partly better informed than I; on others it displayed +the infinite credulity of a two-year-old. But the wearied eyes were ever +the same. They will be the same when it is fifty. I was more sorry for +it than I could say. All its reminiscences had got jumbled, and +incidents of Spain were baled into Turkey and India. Some day a +schoolmaster will get hold of it and try to educate it, and I should +dearly like to see at which end he will begin. The head is too full +already and the—the other part does not exist. Albert is, I presume, +but an ordinary American child. He was to me a revelation. Now I want to +see a little American girl—but not now—not just now. My nerves are +shattered by the Jews and Albert; and unless they recover their tone I +shall turn back at Yokohama.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>No. VII</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW I ARRIVED IN CHINA AND SAW ENTIRELY THROUGH THE GREAT WALL AND +OUT UPON THE OTHER SIDE.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i18">"Where naked ignorance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delivers brawling judgments all day long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On all things unashamed."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>The past few days on the <i>Nawab</i> have been spent amid a new people and a +very strange one. There were speculators from South Africa: financiers +from home (these never talked in anything under hundreds of thousands of +pounds and, I fear, bluffed awfully); there were Consuls of far-off +China ports and partners of China shipping houses talking a talk and +thinking thoughts as different from Ours as is Our slang from the slang +of London. But it would not interest you to learn the story of our +shipload—to hear about the hard-headed Scotch merchant with a taste for +spiritualism, who begged me to tell him whether there was really +anything in Theosophy and whether Tibet was full of levitating <i>chelas</i>, +as he believed; or of the little London curate out for a holiday who had +seen India and had faith in the progress of missionary work there—who +believed that the C. M. S. was shaking the thoughts and convictions of +the masses, and that the Word of the Lord would ere long prevail above +all other councils. He in the night-watches tackled and disposed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> of the +great mysteries of Life and Death, and was looking forward to a lifetime +of toil amid a parish without a single rich man in it.</p> + +<p>When you are in the China Seas be careful to keep all your flannel-wear +to hand. In an hour the steamer swung from tropical heat (including +prickly) to a cold raw fog, as wet as a Scotch mist. Morning gave us a +new world—somewhere between Heaven and Earth. The sea was smoked glass: +reddish grey islands lay upon it under fog-banks that hovered fifty feet +above our heads. The squat sails of junks danced for an instant like +autumn leaves in the breeze and disappeared, and there was no solidity +in the islands against which the glassy levels splintered in snow. The +steamer groaned and grunted and howled because she was so damp and +miserable, and I groaned also because the guide-book said that Hong-Kong +had the finest harbour in the world, and I could not see two hundred +yards in any direction. Yet this ghost-like in-gliding through the +belted fog was livelily mysterious, and became more so when the movement +of the air vouchsafed us a glimpse of a warehouse and a derrick, both +apparently close aboard, and behind them the shoulder of a mountain. We +made our way into a sea of flat-nosed boats all manned by most muscular +humans, and the Professor said that the time to study the Chinese +question was now. We, however, were carrying a new general to these +parts, and nice, new, well-fitting uniforms came off to make him +welcome; and in the contemplation of things too long withheld from me I +forgot about the Pigtails. Gentlemen of the mess-room, who would wear +linen coats on parade if you could,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> wait till you have been a month +without seeing a patrol-jacket or hearing a spur go <i>ling-a-ling</i>, and +you will know why civilians want you always to wear uniform. The +General, by the way, was a nice General. He did not know much about the +Indian Army or the ways of a gentleman called Roberts, if I recollect +aright; but he said that Lord Wolseley was going to be +Commander-in-Chief one of these days on account of the pressing needs of +our Army. He was a revelation because he talked about nothing but +English military matters, which are very, very different from Indian +ones, and are mixed up with politics.</p> + +<p>All Hong-Kong is built on the sea face; the rest is fog. One muddy road +runs for ever in front of a line of houses which are partly Chowringhee +and partly Rotherhithe. You live in the houses, and when wearied of +this, walk across the road and drop into the sea, if you can find a +square foot of unencumbered water. So vast is the accumulation of +country shipping, and such is its dirtiness as it rubs against the bund, +that the superior inhabitants are compelled to hang their boats from +davits above the common craft, who are greatly disturbed by a multitude +of steam-launches. These ply for amusement and the pleasure of +whistling, and are held in such small esteem that every hotel owns one, +and the others are masterless. Beyond the launches lie more steamers +than the eye can count, and four out of five of these belong to Us. I +was proud when I saw the shipping at Singapur, but I swell with +patriotism as I watch the fleets of Hong-Kong from the balcony of the +Victoria Hotel. I can almost spit into the water; but many mariners +stand below and they are a strong breed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>How recklessly selfish does a traveller become! We had dropped for more +than ten days all the world outside our trunks, and almost the first +word in the hotel was: "John Bright is dead, and there has been an awful +hurricane at Samoa."</p> + +<p>"Ah! indeed that's very sad; but look here, where do you say my rooms +are?" At home the news would have given talk for half a day. It was +dismissed in half the length of a hotel corridor. One cannot sit down to +think with a new world humming outside the window—with all China to +enter upon and possess.</p> + +<p>A rattling of trunks in the halls—a click of heels—and the apparition +of an enormous gaunt woman wrestling with a small Madrassi servant.... +"Yes—I haf travelled everywhere and I shall travel everywhere else. I +go now to Shanghai and Pekin. I have been in Moldavia, Russia, Beyrout, +all Persia, Colombo, Delhi, Dacca, Benares, Allahabad, Peshawar, the Ali +Musjid in that pass, Malabar, Singapur, Penang, here in this place, and +Canton. I am Austrian-Croat, and I shall see the States of America and +perhaps Ireland. I travel for ever; I am—how you call?—<i>veuve</i>—widow. +My husband, he was dead; and so I am sad—I am always sad und so I +trafel. I am alife of course, but I do not live. You onderstandt? Always +sad. Vill you tell them the name of the ship to which they shall warf my +trunks now. You trafel for pleasure? So! I trafel because I am alone und +sad—always sad."</p> + +<p>The trunks disappeared, the door shut, the heels clicked down the +passage, and I was left scratching my head in wonder. How did that +conversation begin—why did it end, and what is the use of meeting +eccentricities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> who never explained themselves? I shall never get an +answer, but that conversation is true, every word of it. I see now where +the fragmentary school of novelists get their material from.</p> + +<p>When I went into the streets of Hong-Kong I stepped into thick slushy +London mud of the kind that strikes chilly through the boot, and the +rattle of innumerable wheels was as the rattle of hansoms. A soaking +rain fell, and all the sahibs hailed 'rickshaws,—they call them 'ricks +here,—and the wind was chillier than the rain. It was the first touch +of honest weather since Calcutta. No wonder with such a climate that +Hong-Kong was ten times livelier than Singapur, that there were signs of +building everywhere, and gas-jets in all the houses, that colonnades and +domes were scattered broadcast, and the Englishmen walked as Englishmen +should—hurriedly and looking forward. All the length of the main street +was verandahed, and the Europe shops squandered plate glass by the +square yard. (<i>Nota bene.</i>—As in Simla so elsewhere: mistrust the plate +glass shops. You pay for their fittings in each purchase.)</p> + +<p>The same Providence that runs big rivers so near to large cities puts +main thoroughfares close to big hotels. I went down Queen Street, which +is not very hilly. All the other streets that I looked up were built in +steps after the fashion of Clovelly, and under blue skies would have +given the Professor scores of good photographs. The rain and the fog +blotted the views. Each upward-climbing street ran out in white mist +that covered the sides of a hill, and the downward-sloping ones were +lost in the steam from the waters of the harbour, and both were very +strange to see. "Hi-yi-yow,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> said my 'rickshaw coolie and balanced me +on one wheel. I got out and met first a German with a beard, then three +jolly sailor boys from a man-of-war, then a sergeant of Sappers, then a +Parsee, then two Arabs, then an American, then a Jew, then a few +thousand Chinese all carrying something, and then the Professor.</p> + +<p>"They make plates—instantaneous plates—in Tokio, I'm told. What d'you +think of that?" he said. "Why, in India, the Survey Department are the +only people who make their own plates. Instantaneous plates in Tokio; +think of it!"</p> + +<p>I had owed the Professor one for a long time. "After all," I replied, +"it strikes me that we have made the mistake of thinking too much of +India. We thought we were civilised, for instance. Let us take a lower +place. This beats Calcutta into a hamlet."</p> + +<p>And in good truth it did, because it was clean beyond the ordinary, +because the houses were uniform, three storied, and verandahed, and the +pavements were of stone. I met one horse, very ashamed of himself, who +was looking after a cart on the sea road, but upstairs there are no +vehicles save 'rickshaws. Hong-Kong has killed the romance of the +'rickshaw in my mind. They ought to be sacred to pretty ladies, instead +of which men go to office in them, officers in full canonicals use them; +tars try to squeeze in two abreast, and from what I have heard down at +the barracks they do occasionally bring to the guard-room the drunken +defaulter. "He falls asleep inside of it, Sir, and saves trouble." The +Chinese naturally have the town for their own, and profit by all our +building improvements and regulations. Their golden and red signs flame +down the Queen's Road,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> but they are careful to supplement their own +tongue by well-executed Europe lettering. I found only one exception, +thus:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Fussing, Garpenter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Gabinet Naktr<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has good Gabi<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Nets tor Sale.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The shops are made to catch the sailor and the curio hunter, and they +succeed admirably. When you come to these parts put all your money in a +bank and tell the manager man not to give it you, however much you ask. +So shall you be saved from bankruptcy.</p> + +<p>The Professor and I made a pilgrimage from Kee Sing even unto Yi King, +who sells the decomposed fowl, and each shop was good. Though it sold +shoes or sucking pigs, there was some delicacy of carving or gilded +tracery in front to hold the eye, and each thing was quaint and striking +of its kind. A fragment of twisted roots helped by a few strokes into +the likeness of huddled devils, a running knop and flower cornice, a +dull red and gold half-door, a split bamboo screen—they were all good, +and their joinings and splicings and mortisings were accurate. The +baskets of the coolies were good in shape, and the rattan fastenings +that clenched them to the polished bamboo yoke were whipped down, so +that there were no loose ends. You could slide in and out the drawers in +the slung chests of the man who sold dinners to the 'rickshaw coolies; +and the pistons of the little wooden hand-pumps in the shops worked +accurately in their sockets.</p> + +<p>I was studying these things while the Professor was roaming through +carved ivories, broidered silks, panels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> of inlay, tortoise-shell +filigree, jade-tipped pipes, and the God of Art only knows what else.</p> + +<p>"I don't think even as much of him (meaning our Indian craftsman) as I +used to do," said the Professor, taking up a tiny ivory grotesque of a +small baby trying to pull a water-buffalo out of its wallow—the whole +story of beast and baby written in the hard ivory. The same thought was +in both our minds; we had gone near the subject once or twice before.</p> + +<p>"They are a hundred times his superior in mere idea—let alone +execution," said the Professor, his hand on a sketch in woods and gems +of a woman caught in a gale of wind protecting her baby from its +violence.</p> + +<p>"Yes; and don't you see that <i>they</i> only introduce aniline dyes into +things intended for <i>us</i>. Whereas <i>he</i> wears them on his body whenever +he can. What made this yellow image of a shopman here take delight in a +dwarf orange tree in a turquoise blue pot?" I continued, sorting a +bundle of cheap China spoons—all good in form, colour, and use. The +big-bellied Chinese lanterns above us swayed in the wind with a soft +chafing of oiled paper, but they made no sign, and the shopkeeper in +blue was equally useless.</p> + +<p>"You wanchee buy? Heap plitty things here," said he; and he filled a +tobacco-pipe from a dull green leather pouch held at the mouth with a +little bracelet of plasma, or it might have been the very jade. He was +playing with a brown-wood abacus, and by his side was his day-book bound +in oiled paper, and the tray of Indian ink, with the brushes and the +porcelain supports for the brushes. He made an entry in his book and +daintily painted in his latest transaction. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> Chinese of course have +been doing this for a few thousand years, but Life, and its experiences, +is as new to me as it was to Adam, and I marvelled.</p> + +<p>"Wanchee buy?" reiterated the shopman after he had made his last +flourish.</p> + +<p>"You," said I, in the new tongue which I am acquiring, "wanchee know one +piecee information b'long my pidgin. Savvy these things? Have got soul, +you?"</p> + +<p>"Have got how?"</p> + +<p>"Have got one piecee soul—allee same spilit? No savvy? This way +then—your people lookee allee same devil; but makee culio allee same +pocket-Joss, and not giving any explanation. Why-for are you such a +horrible contradiction?"</p> + +<p>"No savvy. Two dollar an' half," he said, balancing a cabinet in his +hand. The Professor had not heard. His mind was oppressed with the fate +of the Hindu.</p> + +<p>"There are three races who can work," said the Professor, looking down +the seething street where the 'rickshaws tore up the slush, and the +babel of Cantonese, and pidgin went up to the yellow fog in a jumbled +snarl.</p> + +<p>"But there is only one that can swarm," I answered. "The Hindu cuts his +own throat and dies, and there are too few of the Sahib-log to last for +ever. These people work and spread. They must have souls or they +couldn't understand pretty things."</p> + +<p>"I can't make it out," said the Professor. "They are better artists than +the Hindu,—that carving you are looking at is Japanese, by the +way,—better artists and stronger workmen, man for man. They pack close +and eat everything, and they can live on nothing."</p> + +<p>"And I've been praising the beauties of Indian Art all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> my days." It was +a little disappointing when you come to think of it, but I tried to +console myself by the thought that the two lay so far apart there was no +comparison possible. And yet accuracy is surely the touchstone of all +Art.</p> + +<p>"They will overwhelm the world," said the Professor, calmly, and he went +out to buy tea.</p> + +<p>Neither at Penang, Singapur, nor this place have I seen a single +Chinaman asleep while daylight lasted. Nor have I seen twenty men who +were obviously loafing. All were going to some definite end—if it were +only like the coolie on the wharf, to steal wood from the scaffolding of +a half-built house. In his own land, I believe, the Chinaman is treated +with a certain amount of carelessness, not to say ferocity. Where he +hides his love of art, the Heaven that made him out of the yellow earth +that holds so much iron only knows. His love is for little things, or +else why should he get quaint pendants for his pipe, and at the backmost +back of his shop build up for himself a bowerbird's collection of odds +and ends, every one of which has beauty if you hold it sufficiently +close to the eye. It grieves me that I cannot account for the ideas of a +few hundred million men in a few hours. This much, however, seems +certain. If we had control over as many Chinamen as we have natives of +India, and had given them one tithe of the cossetting, the painful +pushing forward, and studious, even nervous, regard of their interests +and aspirations that we have given to India, we should long ago have +been expelled from, or have reaped the reward of, the richest land on +the face of the earth. A pair of my shoes have been, oddly enough, +wrapped in a newspaper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> which carries for its motto the words, "There is +no Indian nation, though there exists the germs of an Indian +nationality," or something very like that. This thing has been moving me +to unholy laughter. The great big lazy land that we nurse and wrap in +cotton-wool, and ask every morning whether it is strong enough to get +out of bed, seems like a heavy soft cloud on the far-away horizon; and +the babble that we were wont to raise about its precious future and its +possibilities, no more than the talk of children in the streets who have +made a horse out of a pea-pod and match-sticks, and wonder if it will +ever walk. I am sadly out of conceit of mine own other—not +mother—country now that I have had my boots blacked at once every time +I happened to take them off. The blacker did not do it for the sake of a +gratuity, but because it was his work. Like the beaver of old, he had to +climb that tree; the dogs were after him. There was competition.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Is there really such a place as Hong-Kong? People say so, but I have not +yet seen it. Once indeed the clouds lifted and I saw a granite house +perched like a cherub on nothing, a thousand feet above the town. It +looked as if it might be the beginning of a civil station, but a man +came up the street and said, "See this fog It will be like this till +September. You'd better go away." I shall not go. I shall encamp in +front of the place until the fog lifts and the rain ceases. At present, +and it is the third day of April, I am sitting in front of a large coal +fire and thinking of the "frosty Caucasus"—you poor creatures in +torment afar. And you think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> as you go to office and orderly-room that +you are helping forward England's mission in the East. 'Tis a pretty +delusion, and I am sorry to destroy it, but you have conquered the wrong +country.</p> + +<p>Let us annex China.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>No. VIII</h2> + +<p>OF JENNY AND HER FRIENDS. SHOWING HOW A MAN MAY GO TO SEE LIFE AND MEET +DEATH THERE. OF THE FELICITY OF LIFE AND THE HAPPINESS OF CORINTHIAN +KATE. THE WOMAN AND THE CHOLERA.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Love and let love, and so will I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, sweet, for me no more with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not while I live, not though I die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good night, good-by!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>I am entirely the man about town, and sickness is no word for my +sentiments. It began with an idle word in a bar-room. It ended goodness +knows where. That the world should hold French, German, and Italian +ladies of the ancient profession is no great marvel; but it is, to one +who has lived in India, something shocking to meet again Englishwomen in +the same sisterhood. When an opulent papa sends his son and heir round +the world to enlarge his mind, does he reflect, I wonder, on the places +into which the innocent strolls under the guidance of equally +inexperienced friends? I am disposed to think that he does not. In the +interest of the opulent papa, and from a genuine desire to see what they +call Life, with a capital Hell, I went through Hong-Kong for the space +of a night. I am glad that I am not a happy father with a stray son who +thinks that he knows all the ropes. Vice must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> pretty much the same +all the round world over, but if a man wishes to get out of pleasure +with it, let him go to Hong-Kong.</p> + +<p>"Of course things are out and away better at 'Frisco," said my guide, +"but we consider this very fair for the Island." It was not till a fat +person in a black dressing-gown began to squeal demands for horrible +stuff called "a bottle of wine" that I began to understand the glory of +the situation. I was seeing Life. "Life" is a great thing. It consists +in swigging sweet champagne that was stolen from a steward of the P. and +O., and exchanging bad words with pale-faced baggages who laugh demnibly +without effort and without emotion. The <i>argot</i> of the real "chippy" +(this means man of the world—<i>Anglice</i>, a half-drunk youth with his hat +on the back of his head) is not easy to come at. It requires an +apprenticeship in America. I stood appalled at the depth and richness of +the American language, of which I was privileged to hear a special +dialect. There were girls who had been to Leadville and Denver and the +wilds of the wilder West, who had acted in minor companies, and who had +generally misconducted themselves in a hundred weary ways. They +chattered like daws and shovelled down the sickly liquor that made the +rooms reek. As long as they talked sensibly things were amusing, but a +sufficiency of liquor made the mask drop, and verily they swore by all +their gods, chief of whom is Obidicut. Very many men have heard a white +woman swear, but some few, and among these I have been, are denied the +experience. It is quite a revelation; and if nobody tilts you backwards +out of your chair, you can reflect on heaps of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> things connected with +it. So they cursed and they drank and they told tales, sitting in a +circle, till I felt that this was really Life and a thing to be quitted +if I wished to like it. The young man who knew a thing or two, and gave +the girls leave to sell him if they could, was there of course, and the +hussies sold him as he stood for all he considered himself worth; and I +saw the by-play. Surely the safest way to be fooled is to know +everything. Then there was an interlude and some more shrieks and howls, +which the generous public took as indicating immense mirth and enjoyment +of Life; and I came to yet another establishment, where the landlady +lacked the half of her left lung, as a cough betrayed, but was none the +less amusing in a dreary way, until she also dropped the mask and the +playful jesting began. All the jokes I had heard before at the other +place. It is a poor sort of Life that cannot spring one new jest a day. +More than ever did the youth cock his hat and explain that he was a real +"chippy," and that there were no flies on him. Any one without a +cast-iron head would be "real chippy" next morning after one glass of +that sirupy champagne. I understand now why men feel insulted when sweet +fizz is offered to them. The second interview closed as the landlady +gracefully coughed us into the passage, and so into the healthy, silent +streets. She was very ill indeed, and announced that she had but four +months more to live.</p> + +<p>"Are we going to hold these dismal levees all through the night?" I +demanded at the fourth house, where I dreaded the repetition of the +thrice-told tales.</p> + +<p>"It's better in 'Frisco. Must amuse the girls a little bit, y'know. Walk +round and wake 'em up. That's Life. You never saw it in India?" was the +reply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, thank God, I didn't. A week of this would make me hang myself," I +returned, leaning wearily against a door-post. There were very loud +sounds of revelry by night here, and the inmates needed no waking up. +One of them was recovering from a debauch of three days, and the other +was just entering upon the same course. Providence protected me all +through. A certain austere beauty of countenance had made every one take +me for a doctor or a parson—a qualified parson, I think; and so I was +spared many of the more pronounced jokes, and could sit and contemplate +the Life that was so sweet. I thought of the Oxonian in <i>Tom and Jerry</i> +playing jigs at the spinet,—you seen the old-fashioned plate,—while +Corinthian Tom and Corinthian Kate danced a stately saraband in a little +carpeted room. The worst of it was, the women were real women and +pretty, and like some people I knew, and when they stopped the insensate +racket for a while they were well behaved.</p> + +<p>"Pass for real ladies anywhere," said my friend. "Aren't these things +well managed?"</p> + +<p>Then Corinthian Kate began to bellow for more drinks,—it was three in +the morning,—and the current of hideous talk recommenced.</p> + +<p>They spoke about themselves as "gay." This does not look much on paper. +To appreciate the full grimness of the sarcasm hear it from their lips +amid their own surroundings. I winked with vigour to show that I +appreciated Life and was a real chippy, and that upon me, too, there +were no flies. There is an intoxication in company that carries a man to +excess of mirth; but when a party of four deliberately sit down to +drink<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> and swear, the bottom tumbles out of the amusement somehow, and +loathing and boredom follow. A night's reflection has convinced me that +there is no hell for these women in another world. They have their own +in this Life, and I have been through it a little way. Still carrying +the brevet rank of doctor, it was my duty to watch through the night to +the dawn a patient—gay, <i>toujours</i> gay, remember—quivering on the +verge of a complaint called the "jumps." Corinthian Kate will get hers +later on. Her companion, emerging from a heavy drink, was more than +enough for me. She was an unmitigated horror, until I lost detestation +in genuine pity. The fear of death was upon her for a reason that you +shall hear.</p> + +<p>"I say, you say you come from India. Do you know anything about +cholera?"</p> + +<p>"A little," I answered. The voice of the questioner was cracked and +quavering. A long pause.</p> + +<p>"I say, Doctor, what are the symptoms of cholera? A woman died just over +the street there last week."</p> + +<p>"This is pleasant," I thought. "But I must remember that it is Life."</p> + +<p>"She died last week—cholera. My God, I tell you she was dead in six +hours! I guess I'll get cholera, too. I can't, though. Can I? I thought +I had it two days ago. It hurt me terribly. I can't get it, can I? It +never attacks people twice, does it? Oh, say it doesn't and be damned to +you. Doctor, what are the symptoms of cholera?"</p> + +<p>I waited till she had detailed her own attack, assured her that these +and no others were the symptoms, and—may this be set to my credit—that +cholera never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> attacked twice. This soothed her for ten minutes. Then +she sprang up with an oath and shrieked:—</p> + +<p>"I won't be buried in Hong-Kong. That frightens me. When I die—of +cholera—take me to 'Frisco and bury me there. In 'Frisco—Lone Mountain +'Frisco—you hear, Doctor?"</p> + +<p>I heard and promised. Outside the birds were beginning to twitter and +the dawn was pencilling the shutters.</p> + +<p>"I say, Doctor, did you ever know Cora Pearl?"</p> + +<p>"'Knew <i>of</i> her." I wondered whether she was going to walk round the +room to all eternity with her eyes glaring at the ceiling and her hands +twisting and untwisting one within the other.</p> + +<p>"Well," she began, in an impressive whisper, "it was young Duval shot +himself on her mat and made a bloody mess there. I mean real bloody. You +don't carry a pistol, Doctor? Savile did. You didn't know Savile. He was +my husband in the States. But I'm English, pure English. That's what I +am. Let's have a bottle of wine, I'm so nervous. Not good for me? What +the—No, you're a doctor. You know what's good against cholera. Tell me! +Tell me."</p> + +<p>She crossed to the shutters and stared out, her hand upon the bolt, and +the bolt clacked against the wood because of the tremulous hand.</p> + +<p>"I tell you Corinthian Kate's drunk—full as she can hold. She's always +drinking. Did you ever see my shoulder—these two marks on it? They were +given me by a man—a gentleman—the night before last. I <i>didn't</i> fall +against any furniture. He struck me with his cane twice, the beast, the +beast, the beast! If I had been full, I'd have knocked the dust out of +him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> The beast! But I only went into the verandah and cried fit to +break my heart. Oh, the beast!"</p> + +<p>She paced the room, chafing her shoulder and crooning over it as though +it were an animal. Then she swore at the man. Then she fell into a sort +of stupor, but moaned and swore at the man in her sleep, and wailed for +her <i>amah</i> to come and dress her shoulder.</p> + +<p>Asleep she was not unlovely, but the mouth twitched and the body was +shaken with shiverings, and there was no peace in her at all. Daylight +showed her purple-eyed, slack-cheeked, and staring, racked with a +headache and the nervous twitches. Indeed I was seeing Life; but it did +not amuse me, for I felt that I, though I only made capital of her +extreme woe, was guilty equally with the rest of my kind that had +brought her here.</p> + +<p>Then she told lies. At least I was informed that they were lies later on +by the real man of the world. They related to herself and her people, +and if untrue must have been motiveless, for all was sordid and +sorrowful, though she tried to gild the page with a book of photos which +linked her to her past. Not being a man of the world, I prefer to +believe that the tales were true, and thank her for the honour she did +me in the telling.</p> + +<p>I had fancied that the house had nothing sadder to show me than her +face. Here was I wrong. Corinthian Kate had really been drinking, and +rose up reeling drunk, which is an awful thing to witness, and makes +one's head ache sympathetically. Something had gone wrong in the +slatternly menage where the plated tea-services were mixed with cheap +China; and the household was being called to account. I watched her +clutching the mosquito net for support, a horror and an offence in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +eye of the guiltless day. I heard her swear in a thick, sodden voice as +I have never yet heard a man swear, and I marvelled that the house did +not thunder in on our heads. Her companion interposed, but was borne +down by a torrent of blasphemy, and the half a dozen little dogs that +infested the room removed themselves beyond reach of Corinthian Kate's +hand or foot. That she was a handsome woman only made the matter worse. +The companion collapsed shivering on one of the couches, and Kate swayed +to and fro and cursed God and man and earth and heaven with puffed lips. +If Alma Tadema could have painted her,—an arrangement in white, black +hair, flashing eyes, and bare feet,—we should have seen the true +likeness of the Eternal Priestess of Humanity. Or she would have been +better drawn when the passion was over, tottering across the room, a +champagne glass held high above her head, shouting, at ten o'clock in +the morning, for some more of the infamous brewage that was even then +poisoning the air of the whole house. She got her liquor, and the two +women sat down to share it together. That was their breakfast.</p> + +<p>I went away very sick and miserable, and as the door closed I saw the +two drinking.</p> + +<p>"Out and away better in 'Frisco," said the real "chippy" one. "But you +see they are awfully nice—could pass for ladies any time they like. I +tell you a man has to go round and keep his eyes open among them when +he's seeing a little sporting life."</p> + +<p>I have seen all that I wish to see, and henceforward I will pass. There +may be better champagne and better drinkers in 'Frisco and elsewhere, +but the talk will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> the same, and the mouldiness and staleness of it +all will be the same till the end of time. If this be Life, give me a +little honest death, without drinks and without foul jesting. Anyway you +look at it 'tis a poor performance, badly played, and too near to a +tragedy to be pleasant. But it seems to amuse the young man wandering +about the world, and I cannot believe that it is altogether good for +him—unless, indeed, it makes him fonder of his home.</p> + +<p>And mine was the greater sin! I was driven by no gust of passion, but +went in cold blood to make my account of this Inferno, and to measure +the measureless miseries of life. For the wholly insignificant sum of +thirty dollars I had purchased information and disgust more than I +required, and the right to look after a woman half crazed with drink and +fear the third part of a terrible night. Mine was the greater sin.</p> + +<p>When we stepped back into the world I was glad that the fog stood +between myself and the heaven above.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>No. IX</h2> + +<p>SOME TALK WITH A TAIPAN AND A GENERAL; PROVES IN WHAT MANNER A SEA +PICNIC MAY BE A SUCCESS.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I should like to rise and go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the golden apples grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where beneath another sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Parrot-islands anchored lie."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<i>R. L. Stevenson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Hong-Kong was so much alive, so built, so lighted, and so bloatedly rich +to all outward appearance that I wanted to know how these things came +about. You can't lavish granite by the cubic ton for nothing, or rivet +your cliffs with Portland cement, or build a five-mile bund, or +establish a club like a small palace. I sought a <i>Taipan</i>, which means +the head of an English trading firm. He was the biggest <i>Taipan</i> on the +island, and quite the nicest. He owned ships and wharves and houses and +mines and a hundred other things. To him said I:—</p> + +<p>"O <i>Taipan</i>, I am a poor person from Calcutta, and the liveliness of +your place astounds me. How is it that every one smells of money; whence +come your municipal improvements; and why are the White Men so +restless?"</p> + +<p>Said the <i>Taipan</i>: "It is because the island is going ahead mightily. +Because everything pays. Observe this share-list."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took me down a list of thirty or less companies—steam-launch +companies, mining, rope-weaving, dock, trading, agency and general +companies—and with five exceptions all the shares were at premium—some +a hundred, some five hundred, and others only fifty.</p> + +<p>"It is not a boom," said the <i>Taipan</i>. "It is genuine. Nearly every man +you meet in these parts is a broker, and he floats companies."</p> + +<p>I looked out of the window and beheld how companies were floated. Three +men with their hats on the back of their heads converse for ten minutes. +To these enters a fourth with a pocket-book. Then all four dive into the +Hong-Kong Hotel for material wherewith to float themselves and—there is +your company!</p> + +<p>"From these things," said the <i>Taipan</i>, "comes the wealth of Hong-Kong. +Every notion here pays, from the dairy-farm upwards. We have passed +through our bad times and come to the fat years."</p> + +<p>He told me tales of the old times—pityingly because he knew I could not +understand. All I could tell was that the place dressed by America—from +the hair-cutters' saloons to the liquor-bars. The faces of men were +turned to the Golden Gate even while they floated most of the Singapur +companies. There is not sufficient push in Singapur alone, so Hong-Kong +helps. Circulars of new companies lay on the bank counters. I moved amid +a maze of interests that I could not comprehend, and spoke to men whose +minds were at Hankow, Foochoo, Amoy, or even further—beyond the Yangtze +gorges where the Englishman trades.</p> + +<p>After a while I escaped from the company-floaters because I knew I could +not understand them, and ran<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> up a hill. Hong-Kong is all hill except +when the fog shuts out everything except the sea. Tree ferns sprouted on +the ground and azaleas mixed with the ferns, and there were bamboos over +all. Consequently it was only natural that I should find a tramway that +stood on its head and waved its feet in the mist. They called it the +Victoria Gap Tramway and hauled it up with a rope. It ran up a hill into +space at an angle of 65°, and to those who have seen the Rigi, Mount +Washington, a switchback railway, and the like would not have been +impressive. But neither you nor I have ever been hauled from Annandale +to the Chaura Maidàn in a bee-line with a five-hundred-foot drop on the +off-side, and we are at liberty to marvel. It is not proper to run up +inclined ways at the tail of a string, more especially when you cannot +see two yards in front of you and all earth below is a swirling cauldron +of mist. Nor, unless you are warned of the opticalness of the delusion, +is it nice to see from your seat, houses and trees at magic-lantern +angles. Such things, before tiffin, are worse than the long roll of the +China seas.</p> + +<p>They turned me out twelve hundred feet above the city on the military +road to Dalhousie, as it will be when India has a surplus. Then they +brought me a glorified dandy which, not knowing any better, they called +a chair. Except that it is too long to run corners easily, a chair is +vastly superior to a dandy. It is more like a Bombay side <i>tonjon</i>—the +kind we use at Mahableshwar. You sit in a wicker chair, slung low on ten +feet of elastic wooden shafting, and there are light blinds against the +rain.</p> + +<p>"We are now," said the Professor, as he wrung out his hat gemmed with +the dews of the driving mist, "we are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> now on a pleasure trip. This is +the road to Chakrata in the rains."</p> + +<p>"Nay," said I; "it is from Solon to Kasauli that we are going. Look at +the black rocks."</p> + +<p>"Bosh!" said the Professor. "This is a civilised country. Look at the +road, look at the railings—look at the gutters."</p> + +<p>And as I hope never to go to Solon again, the road was cemented, the +railings were of iron mortised into granite blocks, and the gutters were +paved. 'Twas no wider than a hill-path, but if it had been the Viceroy's +pet promenade it could not have been better kept. There was no view. +That was why the Professor had taken his camera. We passed coolies +widening the road, and houses shut up and deserted, solid squat little +houses made of stone, with pretty names after our hill-station +custom—Townend, Craggylands, and the like—and at these things my heart +burned within me. Hong-Kong has no right to mix itself up with Mussoorie +in this fashion. We came to the meeting-place of the winds, eighteen +hundred feet above all the world, and saw forty miles of clouds. That +was the Peak—the great view-place of the island. A laundry on a washing +day would have been more interesting.</p> + +<p>"Let us go down, Professor," said I, "and we'll get our money back. This +isn't a view."</p> + +<p>We descended by the marvellous tramway, each pretending to be as little +upset as the other, and started in pursuit of a Chinese burying-ground.</p> + +<p>"Go to the Happy Valley," said an expert. "The Happy Valley, where the +racecourse and the cemeteries are."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's Mussoorie," said the Professor. "I knew it all along."</p> + +<p>It was Mussoorie, though we had to go through a half-mile of Portsmouth +Hard first. Soldiers grinned at us from the verandahs of their most +solid three-storied barracks; all the blue-jackets of all the China +squadron were congregated in the Royal Navy Seaman's Club, and they +beamed upon us. The bluejacket is a beautiful creature, and very +healthy, but ... I gave my heart to Thomas Atkins long ago, and him I +love.</p> + +<p>By the way, how is it that a Highland regiment—the Argyll and +Southerlandshire for instance—get such good recruits? Do the kilt and +sporran bring in brawny youngsters of five-foot nine, and thirty-nine +inch round the chest? The Navy draws well-built men also. How is it that +Our infantry regiments fare so badly?</p> + +<p>We came to the Happy Valley by way of a monument to certain dead +Englishmen. Such things cease to move emotion after a little while. They +are but the seed of the great harvest whereof our children's children +shall assuredly reap the fruits. The men were killed in a fight, or by +disease. We hold Hong-Kong, and by Our strength and wisdom it is a great +city, built upon a rock, and furnished with a dear little seven-furlong +racecourse set in the hills, and fringed as to one side with the homes +of the dead—Mahometan, Christian, and Parsee. A wall of bamboos shuts +off the course and the grand-stand from the cemeteries. It may be good +enough for Hong-Kong, but would you care to watch your pony running with +a grim reminder of "gone to the drawer" not fifty feet behind you? Very +beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> are the cemeteries, and very carefully tended. The rocky +hillside rises so near to them that the more recent dead can almost +command a view of the racing as they lie. Even this far from the strife +of the Churches they bury the different sects of Christians apart. One +creed paints its wall white, and the other blue. The latter, as close to +the race-stand as may be, writes in straggling letters, "<i>Hodie mihi +cras tibi.</i>" No, I should <i>not</i> care to race in Hong-Kong. The scornful +assemblage behind the grand-stand would be enough to ruin any luck.</p> + +<p>Chinamen do not approve of showing their cemeteries. We hunted ours from +ledge to ledge of the hillsides, through crops and woods and crops +again, till we came to a village of black and white pigs and riven red +rocks beyond which the dead lay. It was a third-rate place, but was +pretty. I have studied that oilskin mystery, the Chinaman, for at least +five days, and why he should elect to be buried in good scenery, and by +what means he knows good scenery when he sees it, I cannot fathom. But +he gets it when the sight is taken from him, and his friends fire +crackers above him in token of the triumph.</p> + +<p>That night I dined with the <i>Taipan</i> in a palace. They say the merchant +prince of Calcutta is dead—killed by exchange. Hong-Kong ought to be +able to supply one or two samples. The funny thing in the midst of all +this wealth—wealth such as one reads about in novels—is to hear the +curious deference that is paid to Calcutta. Console yourselves with +that, gentlemen of the Ditch, for by my faith, it is the one thing that +you can boast of. At this dinner I learned that Hong-Kong was +impregnable and that China was rapidly importing twelve and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> forty ton +guns for the defence of her coasts. The one statement I doubted, but the +other was truth. Those who have occasion to speak of China in these +parts do so deferentially, as who should say: "Germany intends such and +such," or "These are the views of Russia." The very men who talk thus +are doing their best to force upon the great Empire all the stimulants +of the West—railways, tram lines, and so forth. What will happen when +China really wakes up, runs a line from Shanghai to Lhassa, starts +another line of imperial Yellow Flag immigrant steamers, and really +works and controls her own gun-factories and arsenals? The energetic +Englishmen who ship the forty-tonners are helping to this end, but all +they say is: "We're well paid for what we do. There's no sentiment in +business, and anyhow, China will never go to war with England." Indeed, +there is no sentiment in business. The <i>Taipan's</i> palace, full of all +things beautiful, and flowers more lovely than the gem-like cabinets +they adorned, would have made happy half a hundred young men craving for +luxury, and might have made them writers, singers, and poets. It was +inhabited by men with big heads and straight eyes, who sat among the +splendours and talked business.</p> + +<p>If I were not going to be a Burman when I die I would be a <i>Taipan</i> at +Hong-Kong. He knows so much and he deals so largely with Princes and +Powers, and he has a flag of his very own which he pins on to all his +steamers.</p> + +<p>The blessed chance that looks after travellers sent me next day on a +picnic, and all because I happened to wander into the wrong house. This +is quite true, and very like our Anglo-Indian ways of doing things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said the hostess, "this will be our only fine day. Let us +spend it in a steam-launch."</p> + +<p>Forthwith we embarked upon a new world—that of Hong-Kong harbour—and +with a dramatic regard for the fitness of things our little ship was the +<i>Pioneer</i>. The picnic included the new General—he that came from +England in the <i>Nawab</i> and told me about Lord Wolseley—and his +aide-de-camp, who was quite English and altogether different from an +Indian officer. He never once talked shop, and if he had a grievance hid +it behind his mustache.</p> + +<p>The harbour is a great world in itself. Photographs say that it is +lovely, and this I can believe from the glimpses caught through the mist +as the <i>Pioneer</i> worked her way between the lines of junks, the tethered +liners, the wallowing coal hulks, the trim, low-lying American corvette, +the <i>Orontes</i>, huge and ugly, the <i>Cockchafer</i>, almost as small as its +namesake, the ancient three-decker converted into a military +hospital,—Thomas gets change of air thus,—and a few hundred thousand +sampans manned by women with babies tied on to their backs. Then we +swept down the sea face of the city and saw that it was great, till we +came to an unfinished fort high up on the side of a green hill, and I +watched the new General as men watch an oracle. Have I told you that he +is an Engineer General, specially sent out to attend to the +fortifications? He looked at the raw earth and the granite masonry, and +there was keen professional interest in his eye. Perhaps he would say +something. I edged nearer in that hope. He did:—</p> + +<p>"Sherry and sandwiches? Thanks, I will. 'Stonishing how hungry the +sea-air makes a man feel," quoth the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> General; and we went along under +the grey-green coast, looking at stately country houses made of granite, +where Jesuit fathers and opulent merchants dwell. It was the Mashobra of +this Simla. It was also the Highlands, it was also Devonshire, and it +was specially grey and chilly.</p> + +<p>Never did <i>Pioneer</i> circulate in stranger waters. On the one side was a +bewildering multiplicity of islets; on the other, the deeply indented +shores of the main island, sometimes running down to the sea in little +sandy coves, at others falling sheer in cliff and sea-worn cave full of +the boom of the breakers. Behind, rose the hills into the mist, the +everlasting mist.</p> + +<p>"We are going to Aberdeen," said the hostess; "then to Stanley, and then +across the island on foot by way of the Ti-tam reservoir. That will show +you a lot of the country."</p> + +<p>We shot into a fiord and discovered a brown fishing village which kept +sentry over two docks, and a Sikh policeman. All the inhabitants were +rosy-cheeked women, each owning one-third of a boat, and a whole baby, +wrapped up in red cloth and tied to the back. The mother was dressed in +blue for a reason,—if her husband whacked her over the shoulders, he +would run a fair chance of crushing the baby's head unless the infant +were of a distinct colour.</p> + +<p>Then we left China altogether, and steamed into far Lochaber, with a +climate to correspond. Good people under the punkah, think for a moment +of cloud-veiled headlands running out into a steel-grey sea, crisped +with a cheek-rasping breeze that makes you sit down under the bulwarks +and gasp for breath. Think of the merry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> pitch and roll of a small craft +as it buzzes from island to island, or venturously cuts across the mouth +of a mile-wide bay, while you mature amid fresh scenery, fresh talk, and +fresh faces, an appetite that shall uphold the credit of the great +empire in a strange land. Once more we found a village which they called +Stanley; but it was different from Aberdeen. Tenantless buildings of +brownstone stared seaward from the low downs, and there lay behind them +a stretch of weather-beaten wall. No need to ask what these things +meant. They cried aloud: "It is a deserted cantonment, and the +population is in the cemetery."</p> + +<p>I asked, "What regiment?"</p> + +<p>"The Ninety-second, I think," said the General. "But that was in the old +times—in the Sixties. I believe they quartered a lot of troops here and +built the barracks on the ground; and the fever carried all the men off +like flies. Isn't it a desolate place?"</p> + +<p>My mind went back to a neglected graveyard a stone's throw from +Jehangir's tomb in the gardens of Shalimar, where the cattle and the +cowherd look after the last resting-places of the troops who first +occupied Lahore. We are a great people and very strong, but we build Our +empire in a wasteful manner—on the bones of the dead that have died of +disease.</p> + +<p>"But about the fortifications, General? Is it true that etc., etc.?"</p> + +<p>"The fortifications are right enough as things go; what we want is men."</p> + +<p>"How many?"</p> + +<p>"Say about three thousand for the Island—enough to stop any expedition +that might come. Look at all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> little bays and coves. There are +twenty places at the back of the island where you could land men and +make things unpleasant for Hong-Kong."</p> + +<p>"But," I ventured, "isn't it the theory that any organised expedition +ought to be stopped by our fleet before it got here? Whereas the forts +are supposed to prevent cutting out, shelling, and ransoming by a +disconnected man-of-war or two."</p> + +<p>"If you go on that theory," said the General, "the men-of-war ought to +be stopped by our fleets, too. That's all nonsense. If any Power can +throw troops here, you want troops to turn 'em out, and—don't we wish +we may get them!"</p> + +<p>"And you? Your command here is for five years, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Eighteen months ought to see me out. I don't want to stick here +for ever. I've other notions for myself," said the General, scrambling +over the boulders to get at his tiffin.</p> + +<p>And that is just the worst of it. Here was a nice General helping to lay +out fortifications, with one eye on Hong-Kong and the other, his right +one, on England. He would be more than human not to sell himself and his +orders for the command of a brigade in the next English affair. He would +be afraid of being too long away from home lest he should drop out of +the running and ... Well, we are just the same in India, and there is +not the least hope of raising a Legion of the Lost for colonial +service—of men who would do their work in one place for ever and look +for nothing beyond it. But remember that Hong-Kong—with five million +tons of coal, five miles of shipping, docks, wharves, huge civil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +station, forty million pounds of trade, and the nicest picnic parties +that you ever did see—wants three thousand men and—she won't get them. +She has two batteries of garrison artillery, a regiment, and a lot of +gun lascars—about enough to prevent the guns from rusting on their +carriages. There are three forts on an island—Stonecutter's +Island—between Hong-Kong and the mainland, three on Hong-Kong itself, +and three or four scattered about elsewhere. Naturally the full +complement of guns has not arrived. Even in India you cannot man forts +without trained gunners. But tiffin under the lee of a rock was more +interesting than colonial defence. A man cannot talk politics if he be +empty.</p> + +<p>Our one fine day shut in upon the empty plates in wind and rain, and the +march across the island began.</p> + +<p>As the launch was blotted out in the haze we squelched past sugar-cane +crops and fat pigs, past the bleak cemetery of dead soldiers on the +hill, across a section of moor, till we struck a hill-road above the +sea. The views shifted and changed like a kaleidoscope. First a shaggy +shoulder of land tufted with dripping rushes and naught above, beneath, +or around but mist and the straight spikes of the rain; then red road +swept by water that fell into the unknown; then a combe, straight walled +almost as a house, at the bottom of which crawled the jade-green sea; +then a vista of a bay, a bank of white sand, and a red-sailed junk +beating out before the squall; then only wet rock and fern, and the +voice of thunder calling from peak to peak.</p> + +<p>A landward turn in the road brought us to the pine woods of Theog and +the rhododendrons—but they called them azaleas—of Simla, and ever the +rain fell as though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> it had been July in the hills instead of April at +Hong-Kong. An invading army marching upon Victoria would have a sad time +of it even if the rain did not fall. There are but one or two gaps in +the hills through which it could travel, and there is a scheme in +preparation whereby they shall be cut off and annihilated when they +come. When I had to climb a clay hill backwards digging my heels into +the dirt, I very much pitied that invading army.</p> + +<p>Whether the granite-faced reservoir and two-mile tunnel that supplies +Hong-Kong with water be worth seeing I cannot tell. There was too much +water in the air for comfort even when one tried to think of Home.</p> + +<p>But go you and take the same walk—ten miles, and only two of 'em on +level ground. Steam to the forsaken cantonment of Stanley and cross the +island, and tell me whether you have seen anything so wild and wonderful +in its way as the scenery. I am going up the river to Canton, and cannot +stay for word-paintings.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>No. X</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW I CAME TO GOBLIN MARKET AND TOOK A SCUNNER AT IT AND CURSED +THE CHINESE PEOPLE. SHOWS FURTHER HOW I INITIATED ALL HONG-KONG INTO OUR +FRATERNITY.</p> + + +<p>Providence is pleased to be sarcastic. It sent rain and a raw wind from +the beginning till the end. That is one of the disadvantages of leaving +India. You cut yourself adrift, from the only trustworthy climate in the +world. I despise a land that has to waste half its time in watching the +clouds. The Canton trip (I have been that way) introduces you to the +American river steamer, which is not in the least like one of the +Irrawaddy flotilla or an omnibus, as many people believe. It is composed +almost entirely of white paint, sheet-lead, a cow-horn, and a +walking-beam, and holds about as much cargo as a P. and O. The trade +between Canton and Hong-Kong seems to be immense, and a steamer covers +the ninety miles between port and port daily. None the less are the +Chinese passengers daily put under hatches or its equivalent after they +leave port, and daily is the stand of loaded Sniders in the cabin +inspected and cleaned up. Daily, too, I should imagine, the captain of +each boat tells his Globe-trotting passengers the venerable story of the +looting of a river steamer—how two junks fouled her at a convenient +bend in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> river, while the native passengers on her rose and made +things very lively for the crew, and ended by clearing out that steamer. +The Chinese are a strange people! They had a difficulty at Hong-Kong not +very long ago about photographing labour coolies, and in the excitement, +which was considerable, a rickety old war junk got into position off the +bund with the avowed intention of putting a three-pound shot through the +windows of the firm who had suggested the photographing. And this though +vessel and crew could have been blown in cigarette-ash in ten minutes!</p> + +<p>But no one pirated the <i>Ho-nam</i>, though the passengers did their best to +set her on fire by upsetting the lamps of their opium pipes. She blared +her unwieldy way across the packed shipping of the harbour and ran into +grey mist and driving rain. When I say that the scenery was like the +West Highlands you will by this time understand what I mean. Large screw +steamers, China pig-boats very low in the water and choked with +live-stock, wallowing junks and ducking sampans filled the waterways of +a stream as broad as the Hughli and much better defended so far as the +art of man was concerned. Their little difficulty with the French a few +years ago has taught the Chinese a great many things which, perhaps, it +were better for us that they had left alone.</p> + +<p>The first striking object of Canton city is the double tower of the big +Catholic Church. Take off your hat to this because it means a great +deal, and stands as the visible standard of a battle that has yet to be +fought. Never have the missionaries of the Mother of the Churches +wrestled so mightily with any land as with China, and never has nation +so scientifically tortured the missionary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> as has China. Perhaps when +the books are audited somewhere else, each race, the White and the +Yellow, will be found to have been right according to their lights.</p> + +<p>I had taken one fair look at the city from the steamer, and threw up my +cards. "I can't describe this place, and besides, I hate Chinamen."</p> + +<p>"Bosh! It is only Benares, magnified about eight times. Come along."</p> + +<p>It was Benares, without any wide streets or chauks, and yet darker than +Benares, in that the little skyline was entirely blocked by tier on tier +of hanging signs,—red, gold, black, and white. The shops stood on +granite plinths, pukka brick above, and tile-roofed. Their fronts were +carved wood, gilt, and coloured savagely. John knows how to dress a +shop, though he may sell nothing more lovely than smashed fowl and +chitterlings. Every other shop was a restaurant, and the space between +them crammed with humanity. Do you know those horrible sponges full of +worms that grow in warm seas? You break off a piece of it and the worms +break too. Canton was that sponge. "Hi, low yah. To hoh wang!" yelled +the chair-bearers to the crowd, but I was afraid that if the poles +chipped the corner of a house the very bricks would begin to bleed. +Hong-Kong showed me how the Chinaman could work. Canton explained why he +set no value on life. The article was cheaper than in India. I hated the +Chinaman before; I hated him doubly as I choked for breath in his +seething streets where nothing short of the pestilence could clear a +way. There was of course no incivility from the people, but the mere mob +was terrifying. There are three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> or four places in the world where it is +best for an Englishman to agree with his adversary swiftly, whatever the +latter's nationality may be. Canton heads the list. Never argue with +anybody in Canton. Let the guide do it for you. Then the stinks rose up +and overwhelmed us. In this respect Canton was Benares twenty times +magnified. The Hindu is a sanitating saint compared to the Chinaman. He +is a rigid Malthusian in the same regard.</p> + +<p>"Very bad stink, this place. You come right along," said Ah Cum, who had +learned his English from Americans. He was very kind. He showed me +feather-jewellery shops where men sat pinching from the gorgeous wings +of jays, tiny squares of blue and lilac feathers, and pasting them into +gold settings, so that the whole looked like Jeypore enamel of the +rarest. But we went into a shop. Ah Cum drew us inside the big door and +bolted it, while the crowd blocked up the windows and shutter-bars. I +thought more of the crowd than the jewellery. The city was so dark and +the people were so very many and so unhuman.</p> + +<p>The March of the Mongol is a pretty thing to write about in magazines. +Hear it once in the gloom of an ancient curio shop, where nameless +devils of the Chinese creed make mouths at you from back-shelves, where +brazen dragons, revelations of uncleanliness, all catch your feet as you +stumble across the floor—hear the tramp of the feet on the granite +blocks of the road and the breaking wave of human speech, that is not +human! "Watch the yellow faces that glare at you between the bars, and +you will be afraid, as I was afraid.</p> + +<p>"It's beautiful work," said the Professor, bending over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> a Cantonese +petticoat—a wonder of pale green, blue, and Silver. "Now I understand +why the civilised European of Irish extraction kills the Chinaman in +America. It is justifiable to kill him. It would be quite right to wipe +the city of Canton off the face of the earth, and to exterminate all the +people who ran away from the shelling. The Chinaman ought not to count."</p> + +<p>I had gone off on my own train of thought, and it was a black and bitter +one.</p> + +<p>"Why on earth can't you look at the lions and enjoy yourself, and leave +politics to the men who pretend to understand 'em?" said the Professor.</p> + +<p>"It's no question of politics," I replied. "This people ought to be +killed off because they are unlike any people I ever met before. Look at +their faces. They despise us. You can see it, and they aren't a bit +afraid of us either."</p> + +<p>Then Ah Cum took us by ways that were dark to the temple of the Five +Hundred Genii, which was one of the sights of the rabbit-warren. This +was a Buddhist temple with the usual accessories of altars and altar +lights and colossal figures of doorkeepers at the gates. Round the inner +court runs a corridor lined on both sides with figures about half +life-size, representing most of the races of Asia. Several of the Jesuit +Fathers are said to be in that gallery,—you can find it all in the +guide-books,—and there is one image of a jolly-looking soul in a hat +and full beard, but, like the others, naked to the waist. "That European +gentleman," said Ah Cum. "That Marco Polo." "Make the most of him," I +said. "The time is coming when there will be no European +gentlemen—nothing but yellow people with black hearts—black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> hearts, +Ah Cum—and a devil-born capacity for doing more work than they ought."</p> + +<p>"Come and see a clock," said he. "Old clock. It runs by water. Come on +right along." He took us to another temple and showed us an old +water-clock of four <i>gurrahs</i>: just the same sort of thing as they have +in out-of-the-way parts of India for the use of the watchmen. The +Professor vows that the machine, which is supposed to give the time to +the city, is regulated by the bells of the steamers in the river, Canton +water being too thick to run through anything smaller than a half-inch +pipe. From the pagoda of this temple we could see that the roofs of all +the houses below were covered with filled water-jars. There is no sort +of fire organisation in the city. When lighted it burns till it stops.</p> + +<p>Ah Cum led us to the Potter's Field, where the executions take place. +The Chinese slay by the hundred, and far be it from me to say that such +generosity of bloodshed is cruel. They could afford to execute in Canton +alone at the rate of ten thousand a year without disturbing the steady +flow of population. An executioner who happened to be wandering +about—perhaps in search of employment—offered us a sword under +guarantee that it had cut off many heads. "Keep it," I said. "Keep it, +and let the good work go on. My friend, you cannot execute too freely in +this land. You are blessed, I apprehend, with a purely literary +bureaucracy recruited—correct me if I am wrong—from all social strata, +more especially those in which the idea of cold-blooded cruelty has, as +it were, become embedded. Now, when to inherited devildom is superadded +a purely literary education of grim and formal tendencies, the result,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +my evil-looking friend,—the result, I repeat,—is a state of affairs +which is faintly indicated in the Little Pilgrim's account of the Hell +of Selfishness. You, I presume, have not yet read the works of the +Little Pilgrim."</p> + +<p>"He looks as if he was going to cut at you with that sword," said the +Professor. "Come away and see the Temple of Horrors."</p> + +<p>That was a sort of Chinese Madame Tussaud's—life-like models of men +being brayed in mortars, sliced, fried, toasted, stuffed, and variously +bedevilled—that made me sick and unhappy. But the Chinese are merciful +even in their tortures. When a man is ground in a mill, he is, according +to the models, popped in head first. This is hard on the crowd who are +waiting to see the fun, but it saves trouble to the executioners. A +half-ground man has to be carefully watched, or else he wriggles out of +his place. To crown all, we went to the prison, which was a pest-house +in a back street. The Professor shuddered. "It's all right," I said. +"The people who sent the prisoners here don't care. The men themselves +look hideously miserable, but I suppose they don't care, and goodness +knows I don't care. They are only Chinamen. If they treat each other +like dogs, why should we regard 'em as human beings? Let 'em rot. I want +to get back to the steamer. I want to get under the guns of Hong-Kong. +Phew!"</p> + +<p>Then we ran through a succession of second-rate streets and houses till +we reached the city wall on the west by a long flight of steps. It was +clean here. The wall had a drop of thirty or forty feet to paddy fields. +Beyond these were a semicircle of hills, every square<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> yard of which is +planted out with graves. Her dead watch Canton the abominable, and the +dead are more than the myriads living. On the grass-grown top of the +wall were rusty English guns spiked and abandoned after the war. They +ought not to be there. A five-storied pagoda gave us a view of the city, +but I was wearied of these rats in their pit—wearied and scared and +sullen. The excellent Ah Cum led us to the Viceroy's summer garden-house +on the cityward slope of an azalea-covered hill surrounded by cotton +trees. The basement, was a handsome joss house: upstairs was a +durbar-hall with glazed verandahs and ebony furniture ranged across the +room in four straight lines. It was only an oasis of cleanliness. Ten +minutes later we were back in the swarming city, cut off from light and +sweet air. Once or twice we met a mandarin with thin official mustache +and "little red button a-top." Ah Cum was explaining the nature and +properties of a mandarin when we came to a canal spanned by an English +bridge and closed by an iron gate, which was in charge of a Hong-Kong +policeman. We were in an Indian station with Europe shops and Parsee +shops and everything else to match. This was English Canton, with two +hundred and fifty sahibs in it. 'Twould have been better for a Gatling +behind the bridge gate. The guide-books tell you that it was taken from +the Chinese by the treaty of 1860, the French getting a similar slice of +territory. Owing to the binding power of French officialism, "La +concession Française" has never been let or sold to private individuals, +and now a Chinese regiment squats on it. The men who travel tell you +somewhat similar tales about land in Saigon and Cambodia. Something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +seems to attack a Frenchman as soon as he dons a colonial uniform. Let +us call it the red-tape-worm.</p> + +<p>"Now where did you go and what did you see?" said the Professor, in the +style of the pedagogue, when we were once more on the <i>Ho-nam</i> and +returning as fast as steam could carry us to Hong-Kong.</p> + +<p>"A big blue sink of a city full of tunnels, all dark and inhabited by +yellow devils, a city that Doré ought to have seen. I'm devoutly +thankful that I'm never going back there. The Mongol will begin to march +in his own good time. I intend to wait until he marches up to me. Let us +go away to Japan by the next boat."</p> + +<p>The Professor says that I have completely spoiled the foregoing account +by what he calls "intemperate libels on a hard-working nation." He did +not see Canton as I saw it—through the medium of a fevered imagination.</p> + +<p>Once, before I got away, I climbed to the civil station of Hong-Kong, +which overlooks the town. There in sumptuous stone villas built on the +edge of the cliff and facing shaded roads, in a wilderness of beautiful +flowers and a hushed calm unvexed even by the roar of the traffic below, +the residents do their best to imitate the life of an India up-country +station. They are better off than we are. At the bandstand the ladies +dress all in one piece—shoes, gloves, and umbrellas come out from +England with the dress, and every <i>memsahib</i> knows what that means—but +the mechanism of their life is much the same. In one point they are +superior. The ladies have a club of their very own to which, I believe, +men are only allowed to come on sufferance. At a dance there are about +twenty men to one lady, and there are practically no spinsters in the +island. The inhabitants complain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> of being cooped in and shut up. They +look at the sea below them and they long to get away. They have their +"At Homes" on regular days of the week, and everybody meets everybody +else again and again. They have amateur theatricals and they quarrel and +all the men and women take sides, and the station is cleaved asunder +from the top to the bottom. Then they become reconciled and write to the +local papers condemning the local critic's criticism. Isn't it touching? +A lady told me these things one afternoon, and I nearly wept from sheer +home-sickness.</p> + +<p>"And then, you know, after she had said <i>that</i> he was obliged to give +the part to the other, and that made <i>them</i> furious, and the races were +so near that nothing could be done, and Mrs. —— said that it was +altogether impossible. You understand how very unpleasant it must have +been, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"Madam," said I, "I do. I have been there before. My heart goes out to +Hong-Kong. In the name of the great Indian Mofussil I salute you. +Henceforward Hong-Kong is one of Us, ranking before Meerut, but after +Allahabad, at all public ceremonies and parades."</p> + +<p>I think she fancied I had sunstroke; but you at any rate will <ins title="known in original.">know</ins> what +I mean.</p> + +<p>We do not laugh any more on the P. and O. S. S. <i>Ancona</i> on the way to +Japan. We are deathly sick, because there is a cross-sea beneath us and +a wet sail above. The sail is to steady the ship who refuses to be +steadied. She is full of Globe-trotters who also refuse to be steadied. +A Globe-trotter is extreme cosmopolitan. He will be sick anywhere.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>No. XI</h2> + +<p>OF JAPAN AT TEN HOURS' SIGHT, CONTAINING A COMPLETE ACCOUNT OF THE +MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF ITS PEOPLE, A HISTORY OF ITS CONSTITUTION, +PRODUCTS, ART, AND CIVILISATION, AND OMITTING A MEAL IN A TEA-HOUSE WITH +O-TOYO.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thou canst not wave thy staff in air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dip thy paddle in the lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it carves the bow of beauty there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ripples in rhyme the oar forsake."—<i>Emerson.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>This morning, after the sorrows of the rolling night, my cabin porthole +showed me two great grey rocks studded and streaked with green and +crowned by two stunted blue-black pines. Below the rocks a boat, that +might have been carved sandal wood for colour and delicacy, was shaking +out an ivory-white frilled sail to the wind of the morning. An +indigo-blue boy with an old ivory face hauled on a rope. Rock and tree +and boat made a panel from a Japanese screen, and I saw that the land +was not a lie. This "good brown earth" of ours has many pleasures to +offer her children, but there be few in her gift comparable to the joy +of touching a new country, a completely strange race, and manners +contrary. Though libraries may have been written aforetime, each new +beholder is to himself another Cortez. And I was in Japan—the Japan of +cabinets and joinery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> gracious folk and fair manners. Japan, whence the +camphor and the lacquer and the shark-skin swords come: among what was +it the books said?—a nation of artists. To be sure, we should only stop +at Nagasaki for twelve hours ere going on to Kobé, but in twelve hours +one can pack away a very fair collection of new experiences.</p> + +<p>An execrable man met me on the deck, with a pale-blue pamphlet fifty +pages thick. "Have you," said he, "seen the Constitution of Japan? The +Emperor made it himself only the other day. It is on entirely European +lines."</p> + +<p>I took the pamphlet and found a complete paper Constitution stamped with +the Imperial Chrysanthemum—an excellent little scheme of +representation, reforms, payment of members, budget estimates, and +legislation. It is a terrible thing to study at close quarters, because +it is so pitifully English.</p> + +<p>There was a yellow-shot greenness upon the hills round Nagasaki +different, so my willing mind was disposed to believe, from the green of +other lands. It was the green of a Japanese screen, and the pines were +screen pines. The city itself hardly showed from the crowded harbour. It +lay low among the hills, and its business face—a grimy bund—was sloppy +and deserted. Business, I was rejoiced to learn, was at a low ebb in +Nagasaki. The Japanese should have no concern with business. Close to +one of the still wharves lay a ship of the Bad People; a Russian steamer +down from Vladivostok. Her decks were cumbered with raffle of all kinds; +her rigging was as frowsy and draggled as the hair of a lodging-house +slavey, and her sides were filthy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That," said a man of my people, "is a very fair specimen of a Russian. +You should see their men-of-war; they are just as filthy. Some of 'em +come into Nagasaki to clean."</p> + +<p>It was a small piece of information and perhaps untrue, but it put the +roof to my good humour as I stepped on to the bund and was told in +faultless English by a young gentleman, with a plated chrysanthemum in +his forage cap and badly fitting German uniform on his limbs, that he +did not understand my language. He was a Japanese customs official. Had +our stay been longer, I would have wept over him because he was a +hybrid—partly French, partly German, and partly American—a tribute to +civilisation. All the Japanese officials from police upwards seem to be +clad in Europe clothes, and never do those clothes fit. I think the +Mikado made them at the same time as the Constitution. They will come +right in time.</p> + +<p>When the 'rickshaw, drawn by a beautiful apple-cheeked young man with a +Basque face, shot me into the <i>Mikado</i>, First Act, I did not stop and +shout with delight, because the dignity of India was in my keeping. I +lay back on the velvet cushions and grinned luxuriously at Pittising, +with her sash and three giant hair-pins in her blue-black hair, and +three-inch clogs on her feet. She laughed—even as did the Burmese girl +in the old Pagoda at Moulmein. And her laugh, the laugh of a lady, was +my welcome to Japan. Can the people help laughing? I think not. You see +they have such thousands of children in their streets that the elders +must perforce be young lest the babes should grieve. Nagasaki is +inhabited entirely by children. The grown-ups exist on sufferance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> A +four-foot child walks with a three-foot child, who is holding the hand +of a two-foot child, who carries on her back a one-foot child, who—but +you will not believe me if I say that the scale runs down to six-inch +little Jap dolls such as they used to sell in the Burlington Arcade. +These dolls wriggle and laugh. They are tied up in a blue bed-gown which +is tied by a sash, which again ties up the bed-gown of the carrier. Thus +if you untie that sash, baby and but little bigger brother are at once +perfectly naked. I saw a mother do this, and it was for all the world +like the peeling of hard-boiled eggs.</p> + +<p>If you look for extravagance of colour, for flaming shop fronts and +glaring lanterns, you shall find none of these things in the narrow +stone-paved streets of Nagasaki. But if you desire details of house +construction, glimpses of perfect cleanliness, rare taste, and perfect +subordination of the thing made to the needs of the maker, you shall +find all you seek and more. All the roofs are dull lead colour, being +shingled or tiled, and all the house fronts are of the colour of the +wood as God made it. There is neither smoke nor haze, and in the clear +light of a clouded sky I could see down the narrowest alleyway as into +the interior of a cabinet.</p> + +<p>The books have long ago told you how a Japanese house is constructed, +chiefly of sliding screens and paper partitions, and everybody knows the +story of the burglar of Tokio who burgled with a pair of scissors for +jimmy and centrebit and stole the Consul's trousers. But all the telling +in print will never make you understand the exquisite finish of a +tenement that you could kick in with your foot and pound to match-wood +with your fists. Behold a <i>bunnia's</i><a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> shop. He sells rice and chillies +and dried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> fish and wooden scoops made of bamboo. The front of his shop +is very solid. It is made of half-inch battens nailed side by side. Not +one of the battens is broken; and each one is foursquare perfectly. +Feeling ashamed of himself for this surly barring up of his house, he +fills one-half the frontage with oiled paper stretched upon quarter-inch +framing. Not a single square of oil paper has a hole in it, and not one +of the squares, which in more uncivilised countries would hold a pane of +glass if strong enough, is out of line. And the <i>bunnia</i>, clothed in a +blue dressing-gown, with thick white stockings on his feet, sits behind, +not among his wares, on a pale gold-coloured mat of soft rice straw +bound with black list at the edges. This mat is two inches thick, three +feet wide and six long. You might, if you were a sufficient pig, eat +your dinner off any portion of it. The <i>bunnia</i> lies with one wadded +blue arm round a big brazier of hammered brass on which is faintly +delineated in incised lines a very terrible dragon. The brazier is full +of charcoal ash, but there is no ash on the mat. By the <i>bunnia's</i> side +is a pouch of green leather tied with a red silk cord, holding tobacco +cut fine as cotton. He fills a long black and red lacquered pipe, lights +it at the charcoal in the brazier, takes two whiffs, and the pipe is +empty. Still there is no speck on the mat. Behind the <i>bunnia</i> is a +shadow-screen of bead and bamboo. This veils a room floored with pale +gold and roofed with panels of grained cedar. There is nothing in the +room save a blood-red blanket laid out smoothly as a sheet of paper. +Beyond the room is a passage of polished wood, so polished that it gives +back the reflections of the white paper wall. At the end of the passage +and clearly visible to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> this unique <i>bunnia</i> is a dwarfed pine two feet +high in a green glazed pot, and by its side is a branch of azalea, blood +red as the blanket, set in a pale grey crackle-pot. The <i>bunnia</i> has put +it there for his own pleasure, for the delight of his eyes, because he +loves it. The white man has nothing whatever to do with his tastes, and +he keeps his house specklessly pure because he likes cleanliness and +knows it is artistic. What shall we say to such a <i>bunnia</i>?</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> grain-dealer's.</p></div> + +<p>His brother in Northern India may live behind a front of time-blackened +open-work wood, but ... I do not think he would grow anything save +<i>tulsi</i><a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> in a pot, and that only to please the Gods and his +womenfolk.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> A sacred herb of the Hindus.</p></div> + +<p>Let us not compare the two men, but go on through Nagasaki.</p> + +<p>Except for the horrible policemen who insist on being Continental, the +people—the common people, that is—do not run after unseemly costumes +of the West. The young men wear round felt hats, occasionally coats and +trousers, and semi-occasionally boots. All these are vile. In the more +metropolitan towns men say Western dress is rather the rule than the +exception. If this be so, I am disposed to conclude that the sins of +their forefathers in making enterprising Jesuit missionaries into +beefsteak have been visited on the Japanese in the shape of a partial +obscuration of their artistic instincts. Yet the punishment seems rather +too heavy for the offence.</p> + +<p>Then I fell admiring the bloom on the people's cheeks, the +three-cornered smiles of the fat babes, and the surpassing "otherness" +of everything round me. It is so strange to be in a clean land, and +stranger to walk among doll's houses. Japan is a soothing place for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +small man. Nobody comes to tower over him, and he looks down upon all +the women, as is right and proper. A dealer in curiosities bent himself +double on his own door-mat, and I passed in, feeling for the first time +that I was a barbarian, and no true Sahib. The slush of the streets was +thick on my boots, and he, the immaculate owner, asked me to walk across +a polished floor and white mats to an inner chamber. He brought me a +foot-mat, which only made matters worse, for a pretty girl giggled round +the corner as I toiled at it. Japanese shopkeepers ought not to be so +clean. I went into a boarded passage about two feet wide, found a gem of +a garden of dwarfed trees, in the space of half a tennis court, whacked +my head on a fragile lintel, and arrived at a four-walled daintiness +where I involuntarily lowered my voice. Do you recollect Mrs. +Molesworth's <i>Cuckoo Clock</i>, and the big cabinet that Griselda entered +with the cuckoo? I was not Griselda, but my low-voiced friend, in his +long, soft wraps, was the cuckoo, and the room was the cabinet. Again I +tried to console myself with the thought that I could kick the place to +pieces; but this only made me feel large and coarse and dirty,—a most +unfavourable mood for bargaining. The cuckoo-man caused pale tea to be +brought,—just such tea as you read of in books of travel,—and the tea +completed my embarrassment. What I wanted to say was, "Look here, you +person. You're much too clean and refined for this life here below, and +your house is unfit for a man to live in until he has been taught a lot +of things which I have never learned. Consequently I hate you because I +feel myself your inferior, and you despise me and my boots because you +know me for a savage. Let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> me go, or I'll pull your house of cedar-wood +over your ears." What I really said was, "Oh, ah yes. Awf'ly pretty. +Awful queer way of doing business."</p> + +<p>The cuckoo-man proved to be a horrid extortioner; but I was hot and +uncomfortable till I got outside, and was a bog-trotting Briton once +more. You have never blundered into the inside of a three-hundred-dollar +cabinet, therefore you will not understand me.</p> + +<p>We came to the foot of a hill, as it might have been the hill on which +the Shway Dagon stands, and up that hill ran a mighty flight of grey, +weather-darkened steps, spanned here and there by monolithic <i>torii</i>. +Every one knows what a <i>torii</i> is. They have them in Southern India. A +great King makes a note of the place where he intends to build a huge +arch, but being a King does so in stone, not ink—sketches in the air +two beams and a cross-bar, forty or sixty feet high, and twenty or +thirty wide. In Southern India the cross-bar is humped in the middle. In +the Further East it flares up at the ends. This description is hardly +according to the books, but if a man begins by consulting books in a new +country he is lost. Over the steps hung heavy blue-green or green-black +pines, old, gnarled, and bossed. The foliage of the hillside was a +lighter green, but the pines set the keynote of colour, and the blue +dresses of the few folk on the steps answered it. There was no sunshine +in the air, but I vow that sunshine would have spoilt all. We climb for +five minutes,—I and the Professor and the camera,—and then we turned, +and saw the roofs of Nagasaki lying at our feet—a sea of lead and +dull-brown, with here and there a smudge of creamy pink to mark the +bloom of the cherry trees. The hills round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> town were speckled with +the resting-places of the dead, with clumps of pine and feathery bamboo.</p> + +<p>"What a country!" said the Professor, unstrapping his camera. "And have +you noticed, wherever we go there's always some man who knows how to +carry my kit? The <i>gharri</i> driver at Moulmein handed me my stops; the +fellow at Penang knew all about it, too; and the 'rickshaw coolie has +seen a camera before. Curious, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Professor," said I, "it's due to the extraordinary fact that we are not +the only people in the world. I began to realise it at Hong-Kong. It's +getting plainer now. I shouldn't be surprised if we turned out to be +ordinary human beings, after all."</p> + +<p>We entered a courtyard where an evil-looking bronze horse stared at two +stone lions, and a company of children babbled among themselves. There +is a legend connected with the bronze horse, which may be found in the +guide-books. But the real true story of the creature is that he was made +long ago out of the fossil ivory of Siberia by a Japanese Prometheus, +and got life and many foals, whose descendants closely resemble their +father. Long years have almost eliminated the ivory in the blood, but it +crops out in creamy mane and tail; and the pot-belly and marvellous feet +of the bronze horse may be found to this day among the pack-ponies of +Nagasaki, who carry pack-saddles adorned with velvet and red cloth, who +wear grass shoes on their hind feet, and who are made like to horses in +a pantomime.</p> + +<p>We could not go beyond this courtyard because a label said, "No +admittance," and thus all we saw of the temple was rich-brown high roofs +of blackened thatch,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> breaking back and back in wave and undulation till +they were lost in the foliage. The Japanese can play with thatch as men +play with modelling clay, but how their light underpinnings can carry +the weight of the roof is a mystery to the lay eye.</p> + +<p>We went down the steps to tiffin, and a half-formed resolve was shaping +itself in my heart the while. Burma was a very nice place, but they eat +<i>gnapi</i> there, and there were smells, and after all, the girls weren't +so pretty as some others—</p> + +<p>"You must take off your boots," said Y-Tokai.</p> + +<p>I assure you there is no dignity in sitting down on the steps of a +tea-house and struggling with muddy boots. And it is impossible to be +polite in your stockinged feet when the floor under you is as smooth as +glass and a pretty girl wants to know where you would like tiffin. Take +at least one pair of beautiful socks with you when you come this way. +Get them made of embroidered <i>sambhur</i> skin, of silk if you like; but do +not stand as I did in cheap striped brown things with a darn at the +heel, and try to talk to a tea-girl.</p> + +<p>They led us—three of them and all fresh and pretty—into a room +furnished with a golden-brown bearskin. The <i>tokonoma</i>, recess +aforementioned, held one scroll-picture of bats wheeling in the +twilight, a bamboo flower-holder, and yellow flowers. The ceiling was of +panelled wood, with the exception of one strip at the side nearest the +window, and this was made of plaited shavings of cedar-wood, marked off +from the rest of the ceiling by a wine-brown bamboo so polished that it +might have been lacquered. A touch of the hand sent one side of the room +flying back, and we entered a really large room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> with another <i>tokonoma</i> +framed on one side by eight or ten feet of an unknown wood, bearing the +same grain as a Penang lawyer, and above by a stick of unbarked tree set +there purely because it was curiously mottled. In this second <i>tokonoma</i> +was a pearl-grey vase, and that was all. Two sides of the room were of +oiled paper, and the joints of the beams were covered by the brazen +images of crabs, half life-size. Save for the sill of the <i>tokonoma</i>, +which was black lacquer, every inch of wood in the place was natural +grain without flaw. Outside was the garden, fringed with a hedge of +dwarf-pines and adorned with a tiny pond, water-smoothed stones sunk in +the soil, and a blossoming cherry tree.</p> + +<p>They left us alone in this paradise of cleanliness and beauty, and being +only a shameless Englishman without his boots—a white man is always +degraded when he goes barefoot—I wandered round the wall, trying all +the screens. It was only when I stooped to examine the sunk catch of a +screen that I saw it was a plaque of inlay work representing two white +cranes feeding on fish. The whole was about three inches square and in +the ordinary course of events would never be looked at. The screens hid +a cupboard in which all the lamps and candlesticks and pillows and +sleeping-bags of the household seemed to be stored. An Oriental nation +that can fill a cupboard tidily is a nation to bow down to. Upstairs I +went by a staircase of grained wood and lacquer, into rooms of rarest +device with circular windows that opened on nothing, and so were filled +with bamboo tracery for the delight of the eye. The passages floored +with dark wood shone like ice, and I was ashamed.</p> + +<p>"Professor," said I, "they don't spit; they don't eat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> like pigs; they +can't quarrel, and a drunken man would reel straight through every +portion in the house and roll down the hill into Nagasaki. They can't +have any children." Here I stopped. Downstairs was full of babies.</p> + +<p>The maidens came in with tea in blue china and cake in a red lacquered +bowl—such cake as one gets at one or two houses in Simla. We sprawled +ungracefully on red rugs over the mats, and they gave us chopsticks to +separate the cake with. It was a long task.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" growled the Professor. "I'm hungry, and cake and tea +oughtn't to come till four o'clock." Here he took a wedge of cake +furtively with his hands.</p> + +<p>They returned—five of them this time—with black lacquer stands a foot +square and four inches high. Those were our tables. They bore a red +lacquered bowlful of fish boiled in brine, and sea-anemones. At least +they were not mushrooms. A paper napkin tied with gold thread enclosed +our chopsticks; and in a little flat saucer lay a smoked crayfish, a +slice of a compromise that looked like Yorkshire pudding and tasted like +sweet omelette, and a twisted fragment of some translucent thing that +had once been alive but was now pickled. They went away, but not empty +handed, for thou, oh, O-Toyo, didst take away my heart—same which I +gave to the Burmese girl in the Shway Dagon pagoda!</p> + +<p>The Professor opened his eyes a little, but said no word. The chopsticks +demanded all his attention, and the return of the girls took up the +rest. O-Toyo, ebon-haired, rosy-cheeked, and made throughout of delicate +porcelain, laughed at me because I devoured all the mustard sauce that +had been served with my raw fish,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> and wept copiously till she gave me +<i>saki</i> from a lordly bottle about four inches high. If you took some +very thin hock, and tried to mull it and forgot all about the brew till +it was half cold, you would get <i>saki</i>. I had mine in a saucer so tiny +that I was bold to have it filled eight or ten times and loved O-Toyo +none the less at the end.</p> + +<p>After raw fish and mustard sauce came some other sort of fish cooked +with pickled radishes, and very slippery on the chopsticks. The girls +knelt in a semicircle and shrieked with delight at the Professor's +clumsiness, for indeed it was not I that nearly upset the dinner table +in a vain attempt to recline gracefully. After the bamboo-shoots came a +basin of white beans in sweet sauce—very tasty indeed. Try to convey +beans to your mouth with a pair of wooden knitting-needles and see what +happens. Some chicken cunningly boiled with turnips, and a bowlful of +snow-white boneless fish and a pile of rice, concluded the meal. I have +forgotten one or two of the courses, but when O-Toyo handed me the tiny +lacquered Japanese pipe full of hay-like tobacco, I counted nine dishes +in the lacquer stand—each dish representing a course. Then O-Toyo and I +smoked by alternate pipefuls.</p> + +<p>My very respectable friends at all the clubs and messes, have you ever +after a good tiffin lolled on cushions and smoked, with one pretty girl +to fill your pipe and four to admire you in an unknown tongue? You do +not know what life is. I looked round me at that faultless room, at the +dwarf pines and creamy cherry blossoms without, at O-Toyo bubbling with +laughter because I blew smoke through my nose, and at the ring of +<i>Mikado</i> maidens over against the golden-brown bearskin rug. Here was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +colour, form, food, comfort, and beauty enough for half a year's +contemplation. I would not be a Burman any more. I would be a +Japanese—always with O-Toyo—in a cabinet workhouse on a +camphor-scented hillside.</p> + +<p>"Heigho!" said the Professor. "There are worse places than this to live +and die in. D'you know our steamer goes at four? Let's ask for the bill +and get away."</p> + +<p>Now I have left my heart with O-Toyo under the pines. Perhaps I shall +get it back at Kobé.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>No. XII</h2> + +<p>A FURTHER CONSIDERATION OF JAPAN. THE INLAND SEA, AND GOOD COOKERY. THE +MYSTERY OF PASSPORTS AND CONSULATES, AND CERTAIN OTHER MATTERS.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Rome! Rome! Wasn't that the place where I got the good cigars?"</p> + +<p class="sign">—<i>Memoirs of a Traveller.</i> </p></div> + + + +<p>Alas for the incompleteness of the written word! There was so much more +that I meant to tell you about Nagasaki and the funeral procession that +I found in her streets. You ought to have read about the wailing women +in white who followed the dead man shut up in a wooden sedan chair that +rocked on the shoulders of the bearers, while the bronze-hued Buddhist +priest tramped on ahead, and the little boys ran alongside.</p> + +<p>I had prepared in my mind moral reflections, purviews of political +situations, and a complete essay on the future of Japan. Now I have +forgotten everything except O-Toyo in the tea-garden.</p> + +<p>From Nagasaki we—the P. and O. Steamer—are going to Kobé by way of the +Inland Sea. That is to say, we have for the last twenty hours been +steaming through a huge lake, studded as far as the eye can reach with +islands of every size, from four miles long and two wide to little +cocked-hat hummocks no bigger than a decent hayrick. Messrs. Cook and +Son charge about one hundred rupees extra for the run through this part +of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> world, but they do not know how to farm the beauties of nature. +Under any skies the islands—purple, amber, grey, green, and black—are +worth five times the money asked. I have been sitting for the last +half-hour among a knot of whooping tourists, wondering how I could give +you a notion of them. The tourists, of course, are indescribable. They +say, "Oh my!" at thirty-second intervals, and at the end of five minutes +call one to another: "Sa-ay, don't you think it's vurry much the same +all along?" Then they play cricket with a broomstick till an unusually +fair prospect makes them stop and shout "Oh my!" again. If there were a +few more oaks and pines on the islands, the run would be three hundred +miles of Naini Tal lake. But we are not near Naini Tal; for as the big +ship drives down the alleys of water, I can see the heads of the +breakers flying ten feet up the side of the echoing cliffs, albeit the +sea is dead-still.</p> + +<p>Now we have come to a stretch so densely populated with islands that all +looks solid ground. We are running through broken water thrown up by the +race of the tide round an outlying reef, and apparently are going to hit +an acre of solid rock. Somebody on the bridge saves us, and we head out +for another island, and so on, and so on, till the eye wearies of +watching the nose of the ship swinging right and left, and the finite +human soul, which, after all, cannot repeat "Oh my!" through a chilly +evening, goes below. When you come to Japan—it can be done comfortably +in three months, or even ten weeks—sail through this marvellous sea, +and see how quickly wonder sinks to interest, and interest to apathy. We +brought oysters with us from Nagasaki. I am much more interested in +their appearance at dinner to-night<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> than in the shag-backed starfish of +an islet that has just slidden by like a ghost upon the silver-grey +waters, awakening under the touch of the ripe moon. Yes, it is a sea of +mystery and romance, and the white sails of the junks are silver in the +moonlight. But if the steward curries those oysters instead of serving +them on the shell, all the veiled beauties of cliff and water-carven +rock will not console me. To-day being the seventeenth of April, I am +sitting in an ulster under a thick rug, with fingers so cold I can +barely hold the pen. This emboldens me to ask how your thermantidotes +are working. A mixture of steatite and kerosene is very good for +creaking cranks, I believe, and if the coolie falls asleep, and you wake +up in Hades, try not to lose your temper. I go to my oysters.</p> + +<p><i>Two days later.</i> This comes from Kobé (thirty hours from Nagasaki), the +European portion of which is a raw American town. We walked down the +wide, naked streets between houses of sham stucco, with Corinthian +pillars of wood, wooden verandahs and piazzas, all stony grey beneath +stony grey skies, and keeping guard over raw green saplings miscalled +shade trees. In truth, Kobé is hideously American in externals. Even I, +who have only seen pictures of America, recognised at once that it was +Portland, Maine. It lives among hills, but the hills are all scalped, +and the general impression is of out-of-the-wayness. Yet, ere I go +further, let me sing the praises of the excellent M. Begeux, proprietor +of the Oriental Hotel, upon whom be peace. His is a house where you can +dine. He does not merely feed you. His coffee is the coffee of the +beautiful France. For tea he gives you Peliti cakes (but better) and +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> <i>vin ordinaire</i> which is <i>compris</i>, is good. Excellent Monsieur and +Madame Begeux! If the <i>Pioneer</i> were a medium for puffs, I would write a +leading article upon your potato salad, your beefsteaks, your fried +fish, and your staff of highly trained Japanese servants in blue tights, +who looked like so many small Hamlets without the velvet cloak, and who +obeyed the unspoken wish. No, it should be a poem—a ballad of good +living. I have eaten curries of the rarest at the Oriental at Penang, +the turtle steaks of Raffles's at Singapur still live in my regretful +memory, and they gave me chicken liver and sucking-pig in the Victoria +at Hong-Kong which I will always extol. But the Oriental at Kobé was +better than all three. Remember this, and so shall you who come after +slide round a quarter of the world upon a sleek and contented stomach.</p> + +<p>We are going from Kobé to Yokohama by various roads. This necessitates a +passport, because we travel in the interior and do not run round the +coast on shipboard. We take a railroad, which may or may not be complete +as to the middle, and we branch off from that railroad, complete or not, +as the notion may prompt. This will be an affair of some twenty days, +and ought to include forty or fifty miles by 'rickshaw, a voyage on a +lake, and, I believe, bedbugs. <i>Nota bene.</i>—When you come to Japan stop +at Hong-Kong and send on a letter to the "Envoy Extraordinary and +Minister Plenipotentiary at Tokio," if you want to travel in the +interior of this Fairyland. Indicate your route as roughly as ever you +choose, but for your own comfort give the two extreme towns you intend +to touch. Throw in any details about your age, profession, colour of +hair, and the like that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> may occur to you, and ask to have a passport +sent to the British Consulate at Kobé to meet you. Allow the man with a +long title a week's time to prepare the passport, and you will find it +at your service when you land. Only write distinctly, to save your +vanity. My papers are addressed to a Mister Kyshrig—Radjerd Kyshrig.</p> + +<p>As in Nagasaki, the town was full of babies, and as in Nagasaki, every +one smiled except the Chinamen. I do not like Chinamen. There was +something in their faces which I could not understand, though it was +familiar enough.</p> + +<p>"The Chinaman's a native," I said. "That's the look on a native's face, +but the Jap isn't a native, and he isn't a sahib either. What is it?" +The Professor considered the surging street for a while.</p> + +<p>"The Chinaman's an old man when he's young, just as a native is, but the +Jap is a child all his life. Think how grown-up people look among +children. That's the look that's puzzling you."</p> + +<p>I dare not say that the Professor is right, but to my eyes it seemed he +spoke sooth. As the knowledge of good and evil sets its mark upon the +face of a grown man of Our people, so something I did not understand had +marked the faces of the Chinamen. They had no kinship with the crowd +beyond that which a man has to children.</p> + +<p>"They are the superior race," said the Professor, ethnologically.</p> + +<p>"They can't be. They don't know how to enjoy life," I answered +immorally. "And, anyway, their art isn't human."</p> + +<p>"What does it matter?" said the Professor. "Here's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> a shop full of the +wrecks of old Japan. Let's go in and look." We went in, but I want +somebody to solve the Chinese question for me. It's too large to handle +alone.</p> + +<p>We entered the curio-shop aforementioned, with our hats in our hands, +through a small avenue of carved stone lanterns and wooden sculptures of +devils unspeakably hideous, to be received by a smiling image who had +grown grey among <i>netsukes</i> and lacquer. He showed us the banners and +insignia of daimios long since dead, while our jaws drooped in ignorant +wonder. He showed us a sacred turtle of mammoth size, carven in wood +down to minutest detail. Through room after room he led us, the light +fading as we went, till we reached a tiny garden and a woodwork cloister +that ran round it. Suits of old-time armour made faces at us in the +gloom, ancient swords clicked at our feet, quaint tobacco pouches as old +as the swords swayed to and fro from some invisible support, and the +eyes of a score of battered Buddhas, red dragons, Jain <i>tirthankars</i>, +and Burmese <i>beloos</i> glared at us from over the fence of tattered gold +brocade robes of state. The joy of possession lives in the eye. The old +man showed us his treasures, from crystal spheres mounted in sea-worn +wood to cabinet on cabinet full of ivory and wood carvings, and we were +as rich as though we owned all that lay before us. Unfortunately the +merest scratch of Japanese characters is the only clew to the artist's +name, so I am unable to say who conceived, and in creamy ivory executed, +the old man horribly embarrassed by a cuttle-fish; the priest who made +the soldier pick up a deer for him and laughed to think that the brisket +would be his and the burden his companion's; or the dry, lean snake +coiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> in derision on a jawless skull mottled with the memories of +corruption; or the Rabelaisan badger who stood on his head and made you +blush though he was not half an inch long; or the little fat boy +pounding his smaller brother; or the rabbit that had just made a joke; +or—but there were scores of these notes, born of every mood of mirth, +scorn, and experience that sways the heart of man; and by this hand that +has held half a dozen of them in its palm I winked at the shade of the +dead carver! He had gone to his rest, but he had worked out in ivory +three or four impressions that I had been hunting after in cold print.</p> + +<p>The Englishman is a wonderful animal. He buys a dozen of these things +and puts them on the top of an overcrowded cabinet, where they look like +blobs of ivory, and forgets them in a week. The Japanese hides them in a +beautiful brocaded bag or a quiet lacquer box till three congenial +friends come to tea. Then he takes them out slowly, and they are looked +over with appreciation amid quiet chuckles to the deliberative clink of +cups, and put back again till the mood for inspection returns. That is +the way to enjoy what we call curios. Every man with money is a +collector in Japan, but you shall find no crowds of "things" outside the +best shops.</p> + +<p>We stayed long in the half-light of that quaint place, and when we went +away we grieved afresh that such a people should have a "constitution" +or should dress every tenth young man in European clothes, put a white +ironclad in Kobé harbour, and send a dozen myoptic lieutenants in baggy +uniforms about the streets.</p> + +<p>"It would pay us," said the Professor, his head in a clog-shop, "it +would pay us to establish an international<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> suzerainty over Japan to +take, away any fear of invasion or annexation, and pay the country as +much as ever it chose, on condition that it simply sat still and went on +making beautiful things while our men learned. It would pay us to put +the whole Empire in a glass case and mark it, '<i>Hors concours</i>,' Exhibit +A."</p> + +<p>"H'mm," said I. "Who's us?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we generally—the <i>Sahib log</i> all the world over. Our workmen—a +few of them—can do as good work in certain lines, but you don't find +whole towns full of clean, capable, dainty, designful people in Europe."</p> + +<p>"Let's go to Tokio and speak to the Emperor about it," I said.</p> + +<p>"Let's go to a Japanese theatre first," said the Professor. "It's too +early in the tour to start serious politics."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>No. XIII</h2> + +<p>THE JAPANESE THEATRE AND THE STORY OF THE THUNDER CAT. TREATING ALSO OF +THE QUIET PLACES AND THE DEAD MAN IN THE STREET.</p> + + +<p>To the theatre we went, through the mud and much rain. Internally it was +nearly dark, for the deep blue of the audience's dress soaked up the +scanty light of the kerosene lamps. There was no standing room anywhere +except next to the Japanese policeman, who in the cause of morals and +the Lord Chamberlain had a corner in the gallery and four chairs all to +himself. He was quite four feet eight inches high, and Napoleon at St. +Helena could not have folded his arms more dramatically. After some +grunting—I fear we were upsetting the principles of the +Constitution—he consented to give us one chair, receiving in return a +Burma cheroot which I have every reason to believe blew his little head +off. A pit containing fifty rows of fifty people and a bonding layer of +babies, with a gallery which might have held twelve hundred, made up the +house. The building was as delicate a piece of cabinet work as any of +the houses; roof, floor, beams, props, verandahs, and partitions were of +naked wood, and every other person in the house was smoking a tiny pipe +and knocking out the ashes every two minutes. Then I wished to fly; +death by the <i>auto da fe</i> not being anywhere paid for in the tour; but +there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> was no escape by the one little door where pickled fish was being +sold between the acts.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's not exactly safe," said the Professor, as the matches winked +and sputtered all round and below. "But if that curtain catches that +naked light on the stage, or you see this matchwood gallery begin to +blaze, I'll kick out the back of the refreshment buffet, and we can walk +away."</p> + +<p>With this warm comfort the drama began. The green curtain dropped from +above and was whisked away, and three gentlemen and a lady opened the +ball by a dialogue conducted in tones between a "burble" and a falsetto +whisper. If you wish to know their costumes, look at the nearest +Japanese fan. Real Japs of course are like men and women, but stage Japs +in their stiff brocades are line for line as Japs are drawn. When the +four sat down, a little boy ran among them and settled their draperies, +pulling out a sash bow here, displaying a skirt-fold there. The costumes +were as gorgeous as the plot was incomprehensible. But we will call the +play "<i>The Thunder Cat</i>, or <i>Harlequin Bag o' Bones and the Amazing Old +Woman</i>, or <i>The Mammoth Radish</i>, or <i>The Superfluous Badger and the +Swinging Lights</i>."</p> + +<p>A two-sworded man in the black and gold brocade rose up and imitated the +gait of an obscure actor called Henry Irving, whereat, not knowing that +he was serious, I cackled aloud till the Japanese policeman looked at me +austerely. Then the two-sworded man wooed the Japanese-fan lady, the +other characters commenting on his proceedings like a Greek chorus till +something—perhaps a misplaced accent—provoked trouble, and the +two-sworded man and a vermilion splendour enjoyed a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> Vincent Crummles +fight to the music of all the orchestra—one guitar and something that +clicked—not castanets. The small boy removed their weapons when the men +had sufficiently warred, and, conceiving that the piece wanted light, +fetched a ten-foot bamboo with a naked candle at the end, and held this +implement about a foot from the face of the two-sworded man, following +his every movement with the anxious eye of a child intrusted with a +typewriter. Then the Japanese-fan girl consented to the wooing of the +two-sworded man, and with a scream of eldritch laughter turned into a +hideous old woman—a boy took off her hair, but she did the rest +herself. At this terrible moment a gilded Thunder Cat, which is a cat +issuing from a cloud, ran on wires from the flies to the centre of the +gallery, and a boy with a badger's tail mocked at the two-sworded man. +Then I knew that the two-sworded man had offended a cat and a badger, +and would have a very bad time of it, for these two animals and the fox +are to this day black sorcerers. Fearful things followed, and the +scenery was changed once every five minutes. The prettiest effect was +secured by a double row of candles hung on strings behind a green gauze +far up the stage and set swinging with opposite motions. This, besides +giving a fine idea of uncanniness, made one member of the audience +sea-sick.</p> + +<p>But the two-sworded man was far more miserable than I. The bad Thunder +Cat cast such spells upon him that I gave up trying to find out what he +meant to be. He was a fat-faced low comedian King of the Rats, assisted +by other rats, and he ate a magic radish with side-splitting pantomime +till he became a man once more. Then all his bones were taken +away,—still by the Thunder Cat,—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> he fell into a horrid heap, +illuminated by the small boy with the candle—and would not recover +himself till somebody spoke to a magic parrot, and a huge hairy villain +and several coolies had walked over him. Then he was a girl, but, hiding +behind a parasol, resumed his shape, and then the curtain came down and +the audience ran about the stage and circulated generally. One small boy +took it into his head that he could turn head-over-heels from the Prompt +side across. With great gravity, before the unregarding house, he set to +work; but rolled over sideways with a flourish of chubby legs. Nobody +cared, and the polite people in the gallery could not understand why the +Professor and I were helpless with laughter when the child, with a clog +for a sword, imitated the strut of the two-sworded man. The actors +changed in public, and any one who liked might help shift scenes. Why +should not a baby enjoy himself if he liked?</p> + +<p>A little later we left. The Thunder Cat was still working her wicked +will on the two-sworded man, but all would be set right next day. There +was a good deal to be done, but Justice was at the end of it. The man +who sold pickled fish and tickets said so.</p> + +<p>"Good school for a young actor," said the Professor. "He'd see what +unpruned eccentricities naturally develop into. There's every trick and +mannerism of the English stage in that place, magnified thirty +diameters, but perfectly recognisable. How do you intend to describe +it?"</p> + +<p>"The Japanese comic opera of the future has yet to be written," I +responded, grandiloquently. "Yet to be written in spite of the <i>Mikado</i>. +The badger has not yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> appeared on an English stage, and the artistic +mask as an accessory to the legitimate drama has never been utilised. +Just imagine the <i>Thunder Cat</i> as a title for a serio-comic opera. Begin +with a domestic cat possessed of magic powers, living in the house of a +London tea-merchant who kicks her. Consider—"</p> + +<p>"The lateness of the hour," was the icy answer. "To-morrow we will go +and write operas in the temple close to this place."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>To-morrow brought fine drizzling rain. The sun, by the way, has been +hidden now for more than three weeks. They took us to what must be the +chief temple of Kobé and gave it a name which I do not remember. It is +an exasperating thing to stand at the altars of a faith that you know +nothing about. There be rites and ceremonies of the Hindu creed that all +have read of and must have witnessed, but in what manner do they pray +here who look to Buddha, and what worship is paid at the Shinto shrines? +The books say one thing; the eyes, another.</p> + +<p>The temple would seem to be also a monastery and a place of great peace +disturbed only by the babble of scores of little children. It stood back +from the road behind a sturdy wall, an irregular mass of steep pitched +roofs bound fantastically at the crown, copper-green where the thatch +had ripened under the touch of time, and dull grey-black where the tiles +ran. Under the eaves a man who believed in his God, and so could do good +work, had carved his heart into wood till it blossomed and broke into +waves or curled with the ripple of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> live flames. Somewhere on the +outskirts of Lahore city stands a mazy gathering of tombs and cloister +walks called Chajju Bhagat's Chubara, built no one knows when and +decaying no one cares how soon. Though this temple was large and +spotlessly clean within and without, the silence and rest of the place +were those of the courtyards in the far-off Punjab. The priests had made +many gardens in corners of the wall—gardens perhaps forty feet long by +twenty wide, and each, though different from its neighbour, containing a +little pond with goldfish, a stone lantern or two, hummocks of rock, +flat stones carved with inscriptions, and a cherry or peach tree all +blossom.</p> + +<p>Stone-paved paths ran across the courtyard and connected building with +building. In an inner enclosure, where lay the prettiest garden of all, +was a golden tablet ten or twelve feet high, against which stood in high +relief of hammered bronze the figure of a goddess in flowing robes. The +space between the paved paths here was strewn with snowy-white pebbles, +and in white pebbles on red they had written on the ground, "How happy." +You might take them as you pleased—for the sigh of contentment or the +question of despair.</p> + +<p>The temple itself, reached by a wooden bridge, was nearly dark, but +there was light enough to show a hundred subdued splendours of brown and +gold, of silk and faithfully painted screen. If you have once seen a +Buddhist altar where the Master of the Law sits among golden bells, +ancient bronzes, flowers in vases, and banners of tapestry, you will +begin to understand why the Roman Catholic Church once prospered so +mightily in this country, and will prosper in all lands where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> it finds +an elaborate ritual already existing. An art-loving folk will have a God +who is to be propitiated with pretty things as surely as a race bred +among rocks and moors and driving clouds will enshrine their deity in +the storm, and make him the austere recipient of the sacrifice of the +rebellious human spirit. Do you remember the story of the Bad People of +Iquique? The man who told me that yarn told me another—of the Good +People of Somewhere Else. They also were simple South Americans with +nothing to wear, and had been conducting a service of their own in +honour of their God before a black-jowled Jesuit father. At a critical +moment some one forgot the ritual, or a monkey invaded the sanctity of +that forest shrine and stole the priest's only garment. Anyhow, an +absurdity happened, and the Good People burst into shouts of laughter +and broke off to play for a while.</p> + +<p>"But what will your God say?" asked the Jesuit, scandalised at the +levity.</p> + +<p>"Oh! he knows everything. He knows that we forget, and can't attend, and +do it all wrong, but He is very wise and very strong," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"Well, that doesn't excuse you."</p> + +<p>"Of course it does. He just lies back and laughs," said the Good People +of Somewhere Else, and fell to pelting each other with blossoms.</p> + +<p>I forget what is the precise bearing of this anecdote. But to return to +the temple. Hidden away behind a mass of variegated gorgeousness was a +row of very familiar figures with gold crowns on their heads. One does +not expect to meet Krishna the Butter Thief and Kali the husband beater +so far east as Japan.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What are these?"</p> + +<p>"They are other gods," said a young priest, who giggled deprecatingly at +his own creed every time he was questioned about it. "They are very old. +They came from India in the past. I think they are Indian gods, but I do +not know why they are here."</p> + +<p>I hate a man who is ashamed of his faith. There was a story connected +with those gods, and the priest would not tell it to me. So I sniffed at +him scornfully, and went my way. It led me from the temple straight into +the monastery, which was all made of delicate screens, polished floors, +and brown wood ceilings. Except for my tread on the boards there was no +sound in the place till I heard some one breathing heavily behind a +screen. The priest slid back what had appeared to me a dead wall, and we +found a very old priest half-asleep over his charcoal handwarmer. This +was the picture. The priest in olive-green, his bald head, pure silver, +bowed down before a sliding screen of white oiled paper which let in +dull silver light. To his right a battered black lacquer stand +containing the Indian ink and brushes with which he feigned to work. To +the right of these, again, a pale yellow bamboo table holding a vase of +olive-green crackle, and a sprig of almost black pine. There were no +blossoms in this place. The priest was too old. Behind the sombre +picture stood a gorgeous little Buddhist shrine,—gold and vermilion.</p> + +<p>"He makes a fresh picture for the little screen here every day," said +the young priest, pointing first to his senior, and then to a blank +little tablet on the wall. The old man laughed pitifully, rubbed his +head, and handed me his picture for the day. It represented a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> flood +over rocky ground; two men in a boat were helping two others on a tree +half-submerged by the water. Even I could tell that the power had gone +from him. He must have drawn well in his manhood, for one figure in the +boat had action and purpose as it leaned over the gunwale; but the rest +was blurred, and the lines had wandered astray as the poor old hand had +quavered across the paper. I had no time to wish the artist a pleasant +old age, and an easy death in the great peace that surrounded him, +before the young man drew me away to the back of the shrine, and showed +me a second smaller altar facing shelves on shelves of little gold and +lacquer tablets covered with Japanese characters.</p> + +<p>"These are memorial tablets of the dead," he giggled. "Once and again +the priest he prays here—for those who are dead, you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. They call 'em masses where I come from. I want to go away +and think about things. You shouldn't laugh, though, when you show off +your creed."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha!" said the young priest, and I ran away down the dark polished +passages with the faded screens on either hand, and got into the main +courtyard facing the street, while the Professor was trying to catch +temple fronts with his camera.</p> + +<p>A procession passed, four abreast tramping through the sloshy mud. They +did not laugh, which was strange, till I saw and heard a company of +women in white walking in front of a little wooden palanquin carried on +the shoulders of four bearers and suspiciously light. They sang a song, +half under their breaths—a wailing, moaning song that I had only heard +once before, from the lips of a native far away in the north of India, +who had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> been clawed past hope of cure by a bear, and was singing his +own death-song as his friends bore him along.</p> + +<p>"Have makee die," said my 'rickshaw coolie. "Few-yu-ne-ral."</p> + +<p>I was aware of the fact. Men, women, and little children poured along +the streets, and when the death-song died down, helped it forward. The +half-mourners wore only pieces of white cloth about their shoulders. The +immediate relatives of the dead were in white from head to foot. "Aho! +Ahaa! Aho!" they wailed very softly, for fear of breaking the cadence of +the falling rain, and they disappeared. All except one old woman, who +could not keep pace with the procession, and so came along alone, +crooning softly to herself. "Aho! Ahaa! Aho!" she whispered.</p> + +<p>The little children in the courtyard were clustered round the +Professor's camera. But one child had a very bad skin disease on his +innocent head,—so bad that none of the others would play with him,—and +he stood in a corner and sobbed and sobbed as though his heart would +break. Poor little Gehazi!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>No. XIV</h2> + +<p>EXPLAINS IN WHAT MANNER I WAS TAKEN TO VENICE IN THE RAIN, AND CLIMBED +INTO A DEVIL FORT; A TIN-POT EXHIBITION, AND A BATH. OF THE MAIDEN AND +THE BOLTLESS DOOR, THE CULTIVATOR AND HIS FIELDS, AND THE MANUFACTURE OF +ETHNOLOGICAL THEORIES AT RAILROAD SPEED. ENDS WITH KIOTO.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"There's a deal o' fine confused feedin' about sheep's head."</p> + +<p class="sign">—<i>Christopher North.</i> </p></div> + + +<p>"Come along to Osaka," said the Professor.</p> + +<p>"Why? I'm quite comfy here, and we shall have lobster cutlets for +tiffin; and, anyhow, it is raining heavily, and we shall get wet."</p> + +<p>Sorely against my will—for it was in my mind to fudge Japan from a +guide-book while I enjoyed the cookery of the Oriental at Kobé—I was +dragged into a 'rickshaw and the rain, and conveyed to a railway +station. Even the Japanese cannot make their railway stations lovely, +though they do their best. Their system of baggage-booking is borrowed +from the Americans; their narrow-gauge lines, locos, and rolling stock +are English; their passenger-traffic is regulated with the precision of +the Gaul, and the uniforms of their officials come from the nearest +ragbag. The passengers themselves were altogether delightful. A large +number of them were modified Europeans, and resembled nothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> more than +Tenniel's picture of the White Rabbit on the first page of <i>Alice in +Wonderland</i>. They were dressed in neat little tweed suits with +fawn-coloured overcoats, and they carried ladies' reticules of black +leather and nickel platings. They wore paper and celluloid stuck-up +collars which must have been quite thirteen inches round the neck, and +their boots were number fours. On their hands—their wee-wee hands—they +had white cotton gloves, and they smoked cigarettes from fairy little +cigarette cases. That was young Japan—the Japan of the present day.</p> + +<p>"Wah, wah, God is great," said the Professor. "But it isn't in human +nature for a man who sprawls about on soft mats by instinct to wear +Europe clothes as though they belonged to him. If you notice, the last +thing that they take to is shoes."</p> + +<p>A lapis-lazuli coloured locomotive which, by accident, had a mixed train +attached to it happened to loaf up to the platform just then, and we +entered a first-class English compartment. There was no stupid double +roof, window shade, or abortive thermantidote. It was a London and +South-Western carriage. Osaka is about eighteen miles from Kobé, and +stands at the head of the bay of Osaka. The train is allowed to go as +fast as fifteen miles an hour and to play at the stations all along the +line. You must know that the line runs between the hills and the shore, +and the drainage-fall is a great deal steeper than anything we have +between Saharunpur and Umballa. The rivers and the hill torrents come +down straight from the hills on raised beds of their own formation, +which beds again have to be bunded and spanned with girder bridges +or—here, perhaps, I may be wrong—tunnelled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> + +<p>The stations are black-tiled, red-walled, and concrete-floored, and all +the plant from signal levers to goods-truck is English. The official +colour of the bridges is a yellow-brown most like unto a faded +chrysanthemum. The uniform of the ticket-collectors is a peaked forage +cap with gold lines, black frock-coat with brass buttons, very long in +the skirt, trousers with black mohair braid, and buttoned kid boots. You +cannot be rude to a man in such raiment.</p> + +<p>But the countryside was the thing that made us open our eyes. Imagine a +land of rich black soil, very heavily manured, and worked by the spade +and hoe almost exclusively, and if you split your field (of vision) into +half-acre plots, you will get a notion of the raw material the +cultivator works on. But all I can write will give you no notion of the +wantonness of neatness visible in the fields, of the elaborate system of +irrigation, and the mathematical precision of the planting. There was no +mixing of crops, no waste of boundary in footpath, and no difference of +value in the land. The water stood everywhere within ten feet of the +surface, as the well-sweeps attested. On the slopes of the foot-hills +each drop between the levels was neatly riveted with unmortared stones, +and the edges of the watercuts were faced in like manner. The young rice +was transplanted very much as draughts are laid on the board; the tea +might have been cropped garden box; and between the lines of the mustard +the water lay in the drills as in a wooden trough, while the purple of +the beans ran up to the mustard and stopped as though cut with a rule.</p> + +<p>On the seaboard we saw an almost continuous line<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> of towns variegated +with factory chimneys; inland, the crazy-quilt of green, dark-green and +gold. Even in the rain the view was lovely, and exactly as Japanese +pictures had led me to hope for. Only one drawback occurred to the +Professor and myself at the same time. Crops don't grow to the full +limit of the seed on heavily worked ground dotted with villages except +at a price.</p> + +<p>"Cholera?" said I, watching a stretch of well-sweeps.</p> + +<p>"Cholera," said the Professor. "Must be, y'know. It's all sewage +irrigation."</p> + +<p>I felt that I was friends with the cultivators at once. These +broad-hatted, blue-clad gentlemen who tilled their fields by +hand—except when they borrowed the village buffalo to drive the share +through the rice-slough—knew what the scourge meant.</p> + +<p>"How much do you think the Government takes in revenue from vegetable +gardens of that kind?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"Bosh," said he, quietly, "you aren't going to describe the land-tenure +of Japan. Look at the yellow of the mustard!"</p> + +<p>It lay in sheets round the line. It ran up the hills to the dark pines. +It rioted over the brown sandbars of the swollen rivers, and faded away +by mile after mile to the shores of the leaden sea. The high-peaked +houses of brown thatch stood knee-deep in it, and it surged up to the +factory chimneys of Osaka.</p> + +<p>"Great place, Osaka," said the guide. "All sorts of manufactures there."</p> + +<p>Osaka is built into and over and among one thousand eight hundred and +ninety-four canals, rivers, dams, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> watercuts. What the multitudinous +chimneys mean I cannot tell. They have something to do with rice and +cotton; but it is not good that the Japs should indulge in trade, and I +will not call Osaka a "great commercial <i>entrepot</i>." "People who live in +paper houses should never sell goods," as the proverb says.</p> + +<p>Because of his many wants there is but one hotel for the Englishman in +Osaka, and they call it Juter's. Here the views of two civilisations +collide and the result is awful. The building is altogether Japanese; +wood and tile and sliding screen from top to bottom; but the fitments +are mixed. My room, for instance, held a <i>tokonoma</i>, made of the +polished black stem of a palm and delicate woodwork, framing a scroll +picture representing storks. But on the floor over the white mats lay a +Brussels carpet that made the indignant toes tingle. From the back +verandah one overhung the river which ran straight as an arrow between +two lines of houses. They have cabinet-makers in Japan to fit the rivers +to the towns. From my verandah I could see three bridges—one a hideous +lattice-girder arrangement—and part of a fourth. We were on an island +and owned a watergate if we wanted to take a boat.</p> + +<p><i>Apropos</i> of water, be pleased to listen to a Shocking Story. It is +written in all the books that the Japanese though cleanly are somewhat +casual in their customs. They bathe often with nothing on and together. +This notion my experience of the country, gathered in the seclusion of +the Oriental at Kobé, made me scoff at. I demanded a tub at Juter's. The +infinitesimal man led me down verandahs and upstairs to a beautiful +bath-house full of hot and cold water and fitted with cabinet-work,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +somewhere in a lonely out-gallery. There was naturally no bolt to the +door any more than there would be a bolt to a dining-room. Had I been +sheltered by the walls of a big Europe bath, I should not have cared, +but I was preparing to wash when a pretty maiden opened the door, and +indicated that she also would tub in the deep, sunken Japanese bath at +my side. When one is dressed only in one's virtue and a pair of +spectacles it is difficult to shut the door in the face of a girl. She +gathered that I was not happy, and withdrew giggling, while I thanked +heaven, blushing profusely the while, that I had been brought up in a +society which unfits a man to bathe <i>à deux</i>. Even an experience of the +Paddington Swimming Baths would have helped me; but coming straight from +India Lady Godiva was a ballet-girl in sentiment compared to this +Actæon.</p> + +<p>It rained monsoonishly, and the Professor discovered a castle which he +needs must see. "It's Osaka Castle," he said, "and it has been fought +over for hundreds of years. Come along."</p> + +<p>"I've seen castles in India. Raighur, Jodhpur—all sorts of places. +Let's have some more boiled salmon. It's good in this station."</p> + +<p>"Pig," said the Professor.</p> + +<p>We threaded our way over the four thousand and fifty-two canals, etc., +where the little children played with the swiftly running water, and +never a mother said "don't," till our 'rickshaw stopped outside a fort +ditch thirty feet deep, and faced with gigantic granite slabs. On the +far side uprose the walls of a fort. But such a fort! Fifty feet was the +height of the wall, and never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> a pinch of mortar in the whole. Nor was +the face perpendicular, but curved like the ram of a man-of-war. They +know the curve in China, and I have seen French artists, introduce it +into books describing a devil-besieged city of Tartary. Possibly +everybody else knows it too, but that is not my affair; life as I have +said being altogether new to me. The stone was granite, and the men of +old time had used it like mud. The dressed blocks that made the profile +of the angles were from twenty feet long, ten or twelve feet high, and +as many in thickness. There was no attempt at binding, but there was no +fault in the jointing.</p> + +<p>"And the little Japs built this!" I cried, awe-stricken at the quarries +that rose round me.</p> + +<p>"Cyclopean masonry," grunted the Professor, punching with a stick a +monolith of seventeen feet cube. "Not only did they build it, but they +took it. Look at this. Fire!"</p> + +<p>The stones had been split and bronzed in places, and the cleavage was +the cleavage of fire. Evil must it have been for the armies that led the +assault on these monstrous walls. Castles in India I know, and the forts +of great Emperors I had seen, but neither Akbar in the north, nor +Scindia in the south, had built after this fashion—without ornament, +without colour, but with a single eye to savage strength and the utmost +purity of line. Perhaps the fort would have looked less forbidding in +sunlight. The grey, rain-laden atmosphere through which I saw it suited +its spirit. The barracks of the garrison, the commandant's very dainty +house, a peach-garden, and two deer were foreign to the place. They +should have peopled it with giants from the mountains,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> instead +of—Gurkhas! A Jap infantryman is not a Gurkha, though he might be +mistaken for one as long as he stood still. The sentry at the +quarter-guard belonged, I fancy, to the 4th Regiment. His uniform was +black or blue, with red facings, and shoulder-straps carrying the number +of the regiment in cloth. The rain necessitated an overcoat, but why he +should have carried knapsack, blanket, boots, <i>and</i> binoculars I could +not fathom. The knapsack was of cowskin with the hair on, the boots were +strapped soles, cut on each side, while a heavy country blanket was +rolled U-shape over the head of the knapsack, fitting close to the back. +In the place usually occupied by the mess-tin was a black leather case +shaped like a field-glass. This must be a mistake of mine, but I can +only record as I see. The rifle was a side-bolt weapon of some kind, and +the bayonet an uncommonly good sword one, locked to the muzzle, English +fashion. The ammunition pouches, as far as I could see under the +greatcoat, ran on the belt in front, and were double-strapped down. +White spatterdashes—very dirty—and peaked cap completed the outfit. I +surveyed the man with interest, and would have made further examination +of him but for fear of the big bayonet. His arms were well kept,—not +speckless by any means,—but his uniform would have made an English +colonel swear. There was no portion of his body except the neck that it +pretended to fit. I peeped into the quarter-guard. Fans and dainty +tea-sets do not go with one's notions of a barrack. One drunken +defaulter of certain far-away regiments that I could name would not only +have cleared out that quarter-guard, but brought away all its fittings +except the rifle-racks. Yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> the little men, who were always gentle, and +never got drunk, were mounting guard over a pile that, with a blue fire +on the bastions, might have served for the guard-gates of Hell.</p> + +<p>I climbed to the top of the fort and was rewarded by a view of thirty +miles of country, chiefly pale yellow mustard and blue-green pine, and +the sight of the very large city of Osaka fading away into mist. The +guide took most pleasure in the factory chimneys. "There is an +exposition here—an exposition of industrialities. Come and see," said +he. He took us down from that high place and showed us the glory of the +land in the shape of corkscrews, tin mugs, egg-whisks, dippers, silks, +buttons, and all the trumpery that can be stitched on a card and sold +for five-pence three farthings. The Japanese unfortunately make all +these things for themselves, and are proud of it. They have nothing to +learn from the West as far as finish is concerned, and by intuition know +how to case and mount wares tastefully. The exposition was in four large +sheds running round a central building which held only screens, pottery, +and cabinet-ware loaned for the occasion. I rejoiced to see that the +common people did not care for the penknives, and the pencils, and the +mock jewellery. They left those sheds alone and discussed the screens, +first taking off their clogs that the inlaid floor of the room might not +suffer. Of all the gracious things I beheld, two only remain in my +memory,—one a screen in grey representing the heads of six devils +instinct with malice and hate; the other, a bold sketch in monochrome of +an old woodcutter wrestling with the down-bent branch of a tree. Two +hundred years have passed since the artist dropped his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> pencil, but you +may almost hear the tough wood jar under the stroke of the chopper, as +the old man puts his back into the task and draws in the labouring +breath. There is a picture by Legros of a beggar dying in a ditch, which +might have been suggested by that screen.</p> + +<p>Next morning, after a night's rain, which sent the river racing under +the frail balconies at eight miles an hour, the sun broke through the +clouds. Is this a little matter to you who can count upon him daily? I +had not seen him since March, and was beginning to feel anxious. Then +the land of peach blossom spread its draggled wings abroad and rejoiced. +All the pretty maidens put on their loveliest crêpe sashes,—fawn +colour, pink, blue, orange, and lilac,—all the little children picked +up a baby each, and went out to be happy. In a temple garden full of +blossom I performed the miracle of Deucalion with two cents' worth of +sweets. The babies swarmed on the instant, till, for fear of raising all +the mothers too, I forbore to give them any more. They smiled and nodded +prettily, and trotted after me, forty strong, the big ones helping the +little, and the little ones skipping in the puddles. A Jap child never +cries, never scuffles, never fights, and never makes mud pies except +when it lives on the banks of a canal. Yet, lest it should spread its +sash-bow and become a bald-headed angel ere its time, Providence has +decreed that it should never, never blow its little nose. +Notwithstanding the defect, I love it.</p> + +<p>There was no business in Osaka that day because of the sunshine and the +budding of the trees. Everybody went to a tea-house with his friends. I +went also, but first ran along a boulevard by the side of the river, +pretending<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> to look at the Mint. This was only a common place of solid +granite where they turn out dollars and rubbish of that kind. All along +the boulevard the cherry, peach, and plum trees, pink, white, and red, +touched branches and made a belt of velvety soft colour as far as the +eye could reach. Weeping willows were the normal ornaments of the +waterside, this revel of bloom being only part of the prodigality of +Spring. The Mint may make a hundred thousand dollars a day, but all the +silver in its keeping will not bring again the three weeks of the peach +blossom which, even beyond the chrysanthemum, is the crown and glory of +Japan. For some act of surpassing merit performed in a past life I have +been enabled to hit those three weeks in the middle.</p> + +<p>"Now is the Japanese festival of the cherry blossom," said the guide. +"All the people will be festive. They will pray too and go to the +tea-gardens."</p> + +<p>Now you might wall an Englishman about with cherry trees in bloom from +head to heel, and after the first day he would begin to complain of the +smell. As you know, the Japanese arrange a good many of their festivals +in honour of flowers, and this is surely commendable, for blossoms are +the most tolerant of gods.</p> + +<p>The tea-house system of the Japanese filled me with pleasure at a +pleasure that I could not fully comprehend. It pays a company in Osaka +to build on the outskirts of the town a nine-storied pagoda of wood and +iron, to lay out elaborate gardens round it, and to hang the whole with +strings of blood-red lanterns, because the Japanese will come wherever +there is a good view to sit on a mat and discuss tea and sweetmeats and +<i>saki</i>. This Eiffel Tower is, to tell the truth, anything but pretty, +yet the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> surroundings redeem it. Although it was not quite completed, +the lower storeys were full of tea-stalls and tea-drinkers. The men and +women were obviously admiring the view. It is an astounding thing to see +an Oriental so engaged; it is as though he had stolen something from a +sahib.</p> + +<p>From Osaka—canal-cut, muddy, and fascinating Osaka—the Professor, +Mister Yamagutchi,—the guide,—and I took train to Kioto, an hour from +Osaka. On the road I saw four buffaloes at as many rice-ploughs—which +was noticeable as well as wasteful. A buffalo at rest must cover the +half of a Japanese field; but perhaps they are kept on the mountain +ledges and only pulled down when wanted. The Professor says that what I +call buffalo is really bullock. The worst of travelling with an accurate +man is his accuracy. We argued about the Japanese in the train, about +his present and his future, and the manner in which he has ranged +himself on the side of the grosser nations of the earth.</p> + +<p>"Did it hurt his feelings very much to wear our clothes? Didn't he rebel +when he put on a pair of trousers for the first time? Won't he grow +sensible some day and drop foreign habits?" These were some of the +questions I put to the landscape and the Professor.</p> + +<p>"He was a baby," said the latter, "a big baby. I think his sense of +humour was at the bottom of the change, but he didn't know that a nation +which once wears trousers never takes 'em off. You see 'enlightened' +Japan is only one-and-twenty years old, and people are not very wise at +one-and-twenty. Read Reed's <i>Japan</i> and learn how the change came about. +There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> was a Mikado and a <i>Shogun</i> who was Sir Frederick Roberts, but he +tried to be the Viceroy and—"</p> + +<p>"Bother the <i>Shogun</i>! I've seen something like the Babu class, and +something like the farmer class. What I want to see is the Rajput +class—the man who used to wear the thousands and thousands of swords in +the curio-shops. Those swords were as much made for use as a Rajputana +sabre. Where are the men who used 'em? Show me a Samurai."</p> + +<p>The Professor answered not a word, but scrutinised heads on the wayside +platforms. "I take it that the high-arched forehead, club nose, and eyes +close together—the Spanish type—are from Rajput stock, while the +German-faced Jap is the Khattri—the lower class."</p> + +<p>Thus we talked of the natures and dispositions of men we knew nothing +about till we had decided (1) that the painful politeness of the +Japanese nation rose from the habit, dropped only twenty years ago, of +extended and emphatic sword-wearing, even as the Rajput is the pink of +courtesy because his friend goes armed; (2) that this politeness will +disappear in another generation, or will at least be seriously impaired; +(3) that the cultured Japanese of the English pattern will corrupt and +defile the tastes of his neighbours till (4) Japan altogether ceases to +exist as a separate nation and becomes a button-hook manufacturing +appanage of America; (5) that these things being so, and sure to happen +in two or three hundred years, the Professor and I were lucky to reach +Japan betimes; and (6) that it was foolish to form theories about the +country until we had seen a little of it.</p> + +<p>So we came to the city of Kioto in regal sunshine, tempered by a breeze +that drove the cherry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> blossoms in drifts about the streets. One +Japanese town, in the southern provinces at least, is very like another +to look at—a grey-black sea of house roofs, speckled with the white +walls of the fire-proof godowns where merchants and rich men keep their +chief treasures. The general level is broken by the temple roofs, which +are turned up at the edges, and remotely resemble so many terai-hats. +Kioto fills a plain almost entirely surrounded by wooded hills, very +familiar in their aspect to those who have seen the Siwaliks. Once upon +a time it was the capital of Japan, and to-day numbers two hundred and +fifty thousand people. It is laid out like an American town. All the +streets run at right angles to each other. That, by the way, is exactly +what the Professor and I are doing. We are elaborating the theory of the +Japanese people, and we can't agree.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>No. XV</h2> + +<p>KIOTO AND HOW I FELL IN LOVE WITH THE CHIEF BELLE THERE AFTER I HAD +CONFERRED WITH CERTAIN CHINA MERCHANTS WHO TRAFFICKED IN TEA. SHOWS +FURTHER HOW, IN A GREAT TEMPLE, I BROKE THE TENTH COMMANDMENT IN +FIFTY-THREE PLACES AND BOWED DOWN BEFORE KANO AND A CARPENTER. TAKES ME +TO ARASHIMA.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Could I but write the things I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My world would haste to gaze with me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But since the traitor Pen hath failed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To paint earth's loveliness unveiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can but pray my folk who read:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'For lavish Will take starveling Deed.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>We are consorting with sixty of the <i>Sahib-log</i> in the quaintest hotel +that ever you saw. It stands on the hillside overlooking the whole town +of Kioto, and its garden is veritable Japanese. Fantastically trimmed +tea trees, junipers, dwarfed pine, and cherry, are mixed up with ponds +of goldfish, stone lanterns, quaint rock-work, and velvety turf all at +an angle of thirty-five degrees. Behind us the pines, red and black, +cover the hill and run down in a long spur to the town. But an +auctioneer's catalogue cannot describe the charms of the place or deal +justly with the tea-garden full of cherry trees that lies a hundred +yards below the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> hotel. We were solemnly assured that hardly any one +came to Kioto. That is why we meet every soul in the ship that had +brought us to Nagasaki; and that is why our ears are constantly assailed +with the clamour of people who are discussing places which must be +"done." An Englishman is a very horrible person when he is on the +war-path; so is an American, a Frenchman, or a German.</p> + +<p>I had been watching the afternoon sunlight upon the trees and the town, +the shift and play of colour in the crowded street of the cherry, and +crooning to myself because the sky was blue and I was alive beneath it +with a pair of eyes in my head.</p> + +<p>Immediately the sun went down behind the hills the air became bitterly +cold, but the people in crêpe sashes and silk coats never ceased their +sober frolicking. There was to be a great service in honour of the +cherry blossom the next day at the chief temple of Kioto, and they were +getting ready for it. As the light died in a wash of crimson, the last +thing I saw was a frieze of three little Japanese babies with fuzzy +top-knots and huge sashes trying to hang head downwards from a bamboo +rail. They did it, and the closing eye of day regarded them solemnly as +it shut. The effect in <i>silhouette</i> was immense!</p> + +<p>A company of China tea-merchants were gathered in the smoking-room after +dinner, and by consequence talked their own "shop," which was +interesting. Their language is not Our language, for they know nothing +of the tea-gardens, of drying and withering and rolling, of the +assistant who breaks his collar-bone in the middle of the busiest +season, or of the sickness that smites the coolie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> lines at about the +same time. They are happy men who get their tea by the break of a +thousand chests from the interior of the country and play with it upon +the London markets. None the less they have a very wholesome respect for +Indian tea, which they cordially detest. Here is the sort of argument +that a Foochow man, himself a very heavy buyer, flung at me across the +table.</p> + +<p>"You may talk about your Indian teas,—Assam and Kangra, or whatever you +call them,—but I tell <i>you</i> that if ever they get a strong hold in +England, the doctors will be down on them, Sir. They'll be medically +forbidden. See if they aren't. They shatter your nerves to pieces. Unfit +for human consumption—that's what they are. Though I don't deny they +<i>are</i> selling at Home. They don't keep, though. After three months, the +sorts that I've seen in London turn to hay."</p> + +<p>"I think you are wrong there," said a Hankow man. "My experience is that +the Indian teas keep better than ours by a long way. But"—turning to +me—"if we could only get the China Government to take off the duties, +we could smash Indian tea and every one connected with it. We could lay +down tea in Mincing Lane at threepence a pound. No, we do not adulterate +our teas. That's one of <i>your</i> tricks in India. We get it as pure as +yours—every chest in the break equal to sample."</p> + +<p>"You can trust your native buyers then?" I interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Trust 'em? Of course we can," cut in the Foochow merchant. "There are +no tea-gardens in China as you understand them. The peasantry cultivate +the tea, and the buyers buy from them for cash each season. You can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> +give a Chinaman a hundred thousand dollars and tell him to turn it into +tea of your own particular chop—up to sample. Of course the man may be +a thorough-paced rogue in many ways, but he knows better than to play +the fool with an English house. Back comes your tea—a thousand +half-chests, we'll say. You open perhaps five, and the balance go home +untried. But they are all equal to sample. That's business, that is. The +Chinaman's a born merchant and full of backbone. I like him for business +purposes. The Jap's no use. He isn't man enough to handle a hundred +thousand dollars. Very possibly he'd run off with it—or try to."</p> + +<p>"The Jap has no business savvy. God knows I hate the Chinamen," said a +bass voice behind the tobacco smoke, "but you can do business with him. +The Jap's a little huckster who can't see beyond his nose."</p> + +<p>They called for drinks and told tales, these merchants of China,—tales +of money and bales and boxes,—but through all their stories there was +an implied leaning upon native help which, even allowing for the +peculiarities of China, was rather startling. "The compradore did this: +Ho Whang did that: a syndicate of Pekin bankers did the other +thing"—and so on. I wondered whether a certain lordly indifference as +to details had anything to do with eccentricities in the China +tea-breaks and fluctuations of quality, which do occur in spite of all +the men said to the contrary. Again, the merchants spoke of China as a +place where fortunes are made—a land only waiting to be opened up to +pay a hundredfold. They told me of the Home Government helping private +trade, in kind and unobtrusive ways, to get a firmer hold on the Public +Works Department contracts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> that are now flying abroad. This was +pleasant hearing. But the strangest thing of all was the tone of hope +and almost contentment that pervaded their speech. They were well-to-do +men making money, and they liked their lives. You know how, when two or +three of Us are gathered together in our own barren pauper land, we +groan in chorus and are disconsolate. The civilian, the military man, +and the merchant, they are all alike. The one overworked and broken by +exchange, the second a highly organised beggar, and the third a nobody +in particular, always at loggerheads with what he considers an +academical Government. I knew in a way that We were a grim and miserable +community in India, but I did not know the measure of Our fall till I +heard men talking about fortunes, success, money, and the pleasure, good +living, and frequent trips to England that money brings. Their friends +did not seem to die with unnatural swiftness, and their wealth enabled +them to endure the calamity of Exchange with calm. Yes, we of India are +a wretched folk.</p> + +<p>Very early in the dawn, before the nesting sparrows were awake, there +was a sound in the air which frightened me out of my virtuous sleep. It +was a lisping mutter—very deep and entirely strange. "That's an +earthquake, and the hillside is beginning to slide," quoth I, taking +measures of defence. The sound repeated itself again and again, till I +argued, that if it were the precursor of an earthquake, the affair had +stuck half-way. At breakfast men said: "That was the great bell of Kioto +just next door to the hotel a little way up the hillside. As a bell, +y'know, it's rather a failure, from an English point of view. They +don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> ring it properly, and the volume of sound is comparatively +insignificant."</p> + +<p>"So I fancied when I first heard it," I said casually, and went out up +the hill under sunshine that filled the heart and trees, that filled the +eye with joy. You know the unadulterated pleasure of that first clear +morning in the Hills when a month's solid idleness lies before the +loafer, and the scent of the deodars mixes with the scent of the +meditative cigar. That was my portion when I stepped through the +violet-studded long grass into forgotten little Japanese cemeteries—all +broken pillars and lichened tablets—till I found, under a cut in the +hillside, the big bell of Kioto—twenty feet of green bronze hung inside +a fantastically roofed shed of wooden beams. A beam, by the way, <i>is</i> a +beam in Japan; anything under a foot thick is a stick. These beams were +the best parts of big trees, clamped with bronze and iron. A knuckle +rapped lightly on the lip of the bell—it was not more than five feet +from the ground—made the great monster breathe heavily, and the blow of +a stick started a hundred shrill-voiced echoes round the darkness of its +dome. At one side, guyed by half a dozen small hawsers, hung a +battering-ram, a twelve-foot spar bound with iron, its nose pointing +full-butt at a chrysanthemum in high relief on the belly of the bell. +Then, by special favour of Providence, which always looks after the +idle, they began to sound sixty strokes. Half a dozen men swung the ram +back and forth with shoutings and outcries, till it had gathered +sufficient way, and the loosened ropes let it hurl itself against the +chrysanthemum. The boom of the smitten bronze was swallowed up by the +earth below and the hillside behind, so that its volume was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> not +proportionate to the size of the bell, exactly as the men had said. An +English ringer would have made thrice as much of it. But then he would +have lost the crawling jar that ran through rock-stone and pine for +twenty yards round, that beat through the body of the listener and died +away under his feet like the shock of a distant blasting. I endured +twenty strokes and removed myself, not in the least ashamed of mistaking +the sound for an earthquake. Many times since I have heard the bell +speak when I was far off. It says <i>B-r-r-r</i> very deep down in its +throat, but when you have once caught the noise you will never forget +it. And so much for the big bell of Kioto.</p> + +<p>From its house a staircase of cut stone takes you down to the temple of +Chion-in, where I arrived on Easter Sunday just before service, and in +time to see the procession of the Cherry Blossom. They had a special +service at a place called St. Peter's at Rome about the same time, but +the priests of Buddha excelled the priests of the Pope. Thus it +happened. The main front of the temple was three hundred feet long, a +hundred feet deep, and sixty feet high. One roof covered it all, and +saving for the tiles there was no stone in the structure; nothing but +wood three hundred years old, as hard as iron. The pillars that upheld +the roof were three feet, four feet, and five feet in diameter, and +guiltless of any paint. They showed the natural grain of the wood till +they were lost in the rich brown darkness far overhead. The cross-beams +were of grained wood of great richness; cedar-wood and camphor-wood and +the hearts of gigantic pine had been put under requisition for the great +work. One carpenter—they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> call him only a carpenter—had designed the +whole, and his name is remembered to this day. A half of the temple was +railed off for the congregation by a two-foot railing, over which silks +of ancient device had been thrown. Within the railing were all the +religious fittings, but these I cannot describe. All I remember was row +upon row of little lacquered stands each holding a rolled volume of +sacred writings; an altar as tall as a cathedral organ where gold strove +with colour, colour with lacquer, and lacquer with inlay, and candles +such as Holy Mother Church uses only on her greatest days, shed a yellow +light that softened all. Bronze incense-burners in the likeness of +dragons and devils fumed under the shadow of silken banners, behind +which, wood tracery, as delicate as frost on a window-pane, climbed to +the ridge-pole. Only there was no visible roof to this temple. The light +faded away under the monstrous beams, and we might have been in a cave a +hundred fathoms below the earth but for the sunshine and blue sky at the +portals where the little children squabbled and shouted.</p> + +<p>On my word, I tried to note down soberly what lay before me, but the eye +tired, and the pencil ran off into fragmentary ejaculations. But what +would you have done if you had seen what I saw when I went round the +temple verandah to what we must call a vestry at the back? It was a big +building connected with the main one by a wooden bridge of deepest +time-worn brown. Down the bridge ran a line of saffron-coloured matting, +and down the matting, very slowly and solemnly, as befitted their high +office, filed three and fifty priests, each one clad in at least four +garments of brocade, crêpe, and silk. There were silks that do not see +the light of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> the markets, and brocades that only temple wardrobes know.</p> + +<p>There was sea-green watered silk with golden dragons; terra-cotta crêpe +with ivory-white chrysanthemums clustering upon it; black-barred silk +shot with yellow flames; lapis-lazuli silk and silver fishes; avanturine +silk with plaques of grey-green let in; cloth of gold over dragon's +blood; and saffron and brown silk stiff as a board with embroidery. We +returned to the temple now filled with the gorgeous robes. The little +lacquer stands were the priests' book-racks. Some lay down among them, +while others moved very softly about the golden altars and the +incense-burners; and the high priest disposed himself, with his back to +the congregation, in a golden chair through which his robe winked like +the shards of a tiger-beetle.</p> + +<p>In solemn calm the books were unrolled, and the priests began chanting +Pali texts in honour of the Apostle of Unworldliness, who had written +that they were not to wear gold or mixed colours, or touch the precious +metals. But for a few unimportant accessories in the way of half-seen +images of great men—but these could have been called saints—the scene +before me might have been unrolled in a Roman Catholic cathedral, say +the rich one at Arundel. The same thought was in other minds, for in a +pause of the slow chant a voice behind me whispered:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To hear the blessed mutter of the mass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And see God made and eaten all day long."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was a man from Hong-Kong, very angry that he too had not been +permitted to photograph an interior. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> called all this splendour of +ritual and paraphernalia just "an interior," and revenged himself by +spitting Browning at it.</p> + +<p>The chant quickened as the service drew to an end, and the candles +burned low.</p> + +<p>We went away to other parts of the temple pursued by the chorus of the +devout till we were out of earshot in a paradise of screens. Two or +three hundred years ago there lived a painterman of the name of Kano. +Him the temple of Chion-in brought to beautify the walls of the rooms. +Since a wall is a screen, and a screen is a wall, Kano, R. A., had +rather a large job. But he was helped by pupils and imitators, and in +the end left a few hundred screens which are all finished pictures. As +you already know, the interior of a temple is very simple in its +arrangements. The priests live on white mats, in little rooms, with +brown ceilings, that can at pleasure be thrown into one large room. This +also was the arrangement at Chion-in, though the rooms were +comparatively large and gave on to sumptuous verandahs and passages. +Since the Emperor occasionally visited the place there was a room set +apart for him of more than ordinary splendour. Twisted silk tassels of +intricate design served in lieu of catches to pull back the sliding +screens, and the woodwork was lacquered. These be only feeble words, but +it is not in my grip to express the restfulness of it all, or the power +that knew how to secure the desired effect with a turn of the wrist. The +great Kano drew numbed pheasants huddled together on the snow-covered +bough of a pine; or a peacock in his pride spreading his tail to delight +his womenfolk; or a riot of chrysanthemums poured out of a vase; or the +figures of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> toilworn countryfolk coming home from market; or a hunting +scene at the foot of Fujiyama. The equally great carpenter who built the +temple framed each picture with absolute precision under a ceiling that +was a miracle of device, and Time, the greatest artist of the three, +touched the gold so that it became amber, and the woodwork so that it +grew dark honey-colour, and the shining surface of the lacquer so that +it became deep and rich and semi-transparent. As in one room, so in all +the others. Sometimes we slid back the screens and discovered a tiny +bald-pated acolyte praying over an incense-burner, and sometimes a lean +priest eating his rice; but generally the rooms were empty, swept and +garnished.</p> + +<p>Minor artists had worked with Kano the magnificent. These had been +allowed to lay brush upon panels of wood in the outer verandahs, and +very faithfully had they toiled. It was not till the guide called my +attention to them that I discovered scores of sketches in monochrome low +down on the verandah doors. An iris broken by the fall of a branch torn +off by a surly ape; a bamboo spray bowed before the wind that was +ruffling a lake; a warrior of the past ambushing his enemy in a thicket, +hand on sword, and mouth gathered into puckers of intensest +concentration, were among the many notes that met my eye. How long, +think you, would a sepia-drawing stand without defacement in the midst +of our civilisation were it put on the bottom panel of a door, or the +scantling of a kitchen passage? Yet in this gentle country a man may +stoop down and write his name in the very dust, certain that, if the +writing be craftily done, his children's children will reverently let it +stand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course there are no such temples made nowadays," I said, when we +regained the sunshine, and the Professor was trying to find out how +panel pictures and paper screens went so well with the dark dignity of +massive woodwork.</p> + +<p>"They are building a temple on the other side of the city," said Mister +Yamagutchi. "Come along, and see the hair-ropes which hang there."</p> + +<p>We came flying in our 'rickshaws across Kioto, till we saw netted in a +hundred cobwebs of scaffolding a temple even larger than the great +Chion-in.</p> + +<p>"That was burned down long ago,—the old temple that was here, you know. +Then the people made a penny subscription from all parts of Japan, and +those who could not send money sent their hair to be made into rope. +They have been ten years building this new temple. It is all wood," said +the guide.</p> + +<p>The place was alive with men who were putting the finishing touches to +the great tiled roof and laying down the floors. Wooden pillars as +gigantic, carving as wantonly elaborate, eaves as intricate in their +mouldings, and joinery as perfect as anything in the Chion-in temple met +me at every turn. But the fresh-cut wood was creamy white and lemon +where, in the older building, it had been iron-hard and brown. Only the +raw ends of the joists were stopped with white lacquer to prevent the +incursions of insects, and the deeper tracery was protected against +birds by fine wire netting. Everything else was wood—wood down to the +massive clamped and bolted beams of the foundation which I investigated +through gaps in the flooring.</p> + +<p>Japan is a great people. Her masons play with stone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> her carpenters +with wood, her smiths with iron, and her artists with life, death, and +all the eye can take in. Mercifully she has been denied the last touch +of firmness in her character which would enable her to play with the +whole round world. We possess that—We, the nation of the glass +flower-shade, the pink worsted mat, the red and green china puppy-dog, +and the poisonous Brussels carpet. It is our compensation....</p> + +<p>"Temples!" said a man from Calcutta, some hours later as I raved about +what I had seen. "Temples! I'm sick of temples. If I've seen one, I've +seen fifty thousand of 'em—all exactly alike. But I tell you what is +exciting. Go down the rapids at Arashima,—eight miles from here. It's +better fun than any temple with a fat-faced Buddha in the middle."</p> + +<p>But I took my friend's advice. Have I managed to convey the impression +that April is fine in Japan? Then I apologise. It is generally rainy, +and the rain is cold; but the sunshine when it comes is worth it all. We +shouted with joy of living when our fiery, untamed 'rickshaws bounded +from stone to stone of the vilely paved streets of the suburbs and +brought us into what ought to have been vegetable gardens but were +called fields. The face of the flat lands was cut up in every direction +by bunds, and all the roads seem to run on the top of them.</p> + +<p>"Never," said the Professor, driving his stick into the black soil, +"never have I imagined irrigation so perfectly controlled as this is. +Look at the <i>rajbahars</i> faced with stone and fitted with sluices; look +at the water-wheels and,—phew! but they manure their fields too well."</p> + +<p>The first circle of fields round any town is always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> pretty rank, but +this superfluity of scent continued throughout the country. Saving a few +parts near Dacca and Patna, the face of the land was more thickly +populated than Bengal and was worked five times better. There was no +single patch untilled, and no cultivation that was not up to the full +limit of the soil's productiveness. Onions, barley, in little ridges +between the ridges of tea, beans, rice, and a half a dozen other things +that we did not know the names of, crowded the eye already wearied with +the glare of the golden mustard. Manure is a good thing, but manual +labour is better. We saw both even to excess. When a Japanese ryot has +done everything to his field that he can possibly think of, he weeds the +barley stalk by stalk with his finger and thumb. This is true. I saw a +man doing it.</p> + +<p>We headed through the marvellous country straight across the plain on +which Kioto stands, till we reached the range of hills on the far side, +and found ourselves mixed up with half a mile of lumber-yard.</p> + +<p>Cultivation and water-cuts were gone, and our tireless 'rickshaws were +running by the side of a broad, shallow river, choked with logs of every +size. I am prepared to believe anything of the Japanese, but I do not +see why Nature, which they say is the same pitiless Power all the world +over, should send them their logs unsplintered by rocks, neatly barked, +and with a slot neatly cut at the end of each pole for the reception of +a rope, I have seen timber fly down the Ravi in spate, and it was hooked +out as ragged as a tooth-brush. This material comes down clean. +Consequently the slot is another miracle.</p> + +<p>"When the day is fine," said the guide, softly, "all the people of Kioto +come to Arashima to have picnics."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But they are always having picnics in the cherry-tree gardens. They +picnic in the tea-houses. They—they—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, when it is a fine day, they always go somewhere and picnic."</p> + +<p>"But why? Man isn't made to picnic."</p> + +<p>"But why? Because it is a fine day. Englishmen say that the money of the +Japanese comes from heaven, because they always do nothing—so you +think. But look now, here is a pretty place."</p> + +<p>The river charged down a turn in the pine-grown hills, and broke in +silver upon the timber and the remains of a light bridge washed away +some days before. On our side, and arranged so as to face the fairest +view of the young maples, stood a row of tea-houses and booths built +over the stream. The sunlight that could not soften the gloom of the +pines dwelt tenderly among the green of the maples and touched the +reaches below where the cherry blossom broke in pink foam against the +black-roofed houses of a village across the water.</p> + +<p>There I stopped.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>No. XVI</h2> + +<p>THE PARTY IN THE PARLOUR WHO PLAYED GAMES. A COMPLETE HISTORY OF ALL +MODERN JAPANESE ART; A SURVEY OF THE PAST, AND A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE, +ARRANGED AND COMPOSED IN THE KIOTO FACTORIES.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, brave new world that has such creatures in it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How beautiful mankind is!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>How I got to the tea-house I cannot tell. Perhaps a pretty girl waved a +bough of cherry blossom at me, and I followed the invitation. I know +that I sprawled upon the mats and watched the clouds scudding across the +hills and the logs flying down the rapids, and smelt the smell of the +raw peeled timber, and listened to the grunts of the boatmen as they +wrestled with that and the rush of the river, and was altogether happier +than it is lawful for a man to be.</p> + +<p>The lady of the tea-house insisted upon screening us off from the other +pleasure-parties who were tiffining in the same verandah. She brought +beautiful blue screens with storks on them and slid them into grooves. I +stood it as long as I could. There were peals of laughter in the next +compartment, the pattering of soft feet, the clinking of little dishes, +and at the chinks of the screens the twinkle of diamond eyes. A whole +family had come in from Kioto for the day's pleasuring. Mamma looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> +after grandmamma, and the young aunt looked after a guitar, and the two +girls of fourteen and fifteen looked after a merry little tomboy of +eight, who, when she thought of it, looked after the baby who had the +air of looking after the whole party. Grandmamma was dressed in dark +blue, mamma in blue and grey, the girls had gorgeous dresses of lilac, +fawn, and primrose crêpe with silk sashes, the colour of apple blossom +and the inside of a newly cut melon; the tomboy was in old gold and +russet brown; but the baby tumbled his fat little body across the floor +among the dishes in the colours of the Japanese rainbow, which owns no +crude tints. They were all pretty, all except grandmamma, who was merely +good-humoured and very bald, and when they had finished their dainty +dinner, and the brown <ins title="May be lacquer.">lanquer</ins> stands, the blue and white crockery, and +the jade-green drinking-cups had been taken away, the aunt played a +little piece on the <i>samisen</i>, and the girls played blindman's-buff all +round the tiny room.</p> + +<p>Flesh and blood could not have stayed on the other side of the screens. +I wanted to play too, but I was too big and too rough, and so could only +sit in the verandah, watching these dainty bits of Dresden at their +game. They shrieked and giggled and chattered and sat down on the floor +with the innocent abandon of maidenhood, and broke off to kiss the baby +when he showed signs of being overlooked. They played +puss-in-the-corner, their feet tied with blue and white handkerchiefs +because the room did not allow unfettered freedom of limb, and when they +could play no more for laughing, they fanned themselves as they lay +propped up against the blue screens,—each girl a picture no painter +could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> reproduce,—and I shrieked with the best of them till I rolled +off the verandah and nearly dropped into the laughing street. Was I a +fool? Then I fooled in good company, for an austere man from India—a +person who puts his faith in race-horses and believes nothing except the +Civil Code—was also at Arashima that day. I met him flushed and +excited.</p> + +<p>"'Had a lively time," he panted, with a hundred children at his heels. +"There's a sort of roulette table here where you can gamble for cakes. I +bought the owner's stock-in-trade for three dollars and ran the Monte +Carlo for the benefit of the kids—about five thousand of 'em. Never had +such fun in my life. It beats the Simla lotteries hollow. They were +perfectly orderly till they had cleared the tables of everything except +a big sugar-tortoise. Then they rushed the bank, and I ran away."</p> + +<p>And he was a hard man who had not played with anything as innocent as +sweetmeats for many years!</p> + +<p>When we were all weak with laughing, and the Professor's camera was +mixed up in a tangle of laughing maidens to the confusion of his +pictures, we too ran away from the tea-house and wandered down the river +bank till we found a boat of sewn planks which poled us across the +swollen river, and landed us on a little rocky path overhanging the +water where the iris and the violet ran riot together and jubilant +waterfalls raced through the undergrowth of pine and maple. We were at +the foot of the Arashima rapids, and all the pretty girls of Kioto were +with us looking at the view. Up-stream a lonely black pine stood out +from all its fellows to peer up the bend where the racing water ran<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> +deep in oily swirls. Down-stream the river threshed across the rocks and +troubled the fields of fresh logs on its bosom, while men in blue drove +silver-white boats gunwale-deep into the foam of its onset and hooked +the logs away. Underfoot the rich earth of the hillside sent up the +breath of the turn of the year to the maples that had already caught the +message from the fire-winds of April. Oh! it was good to be alive, to +trample the stalks of the iris, to drag down the cherry-bloom spray in a +wash of dew across the face, and to gather the violets for the mere +pleasure of heaving them into the torrent and reaching out for fairer +flowers.</p> + +<p>"What a nuisance it is to be a slave to the camera," said the Professor, +upon whom the dumb influences of the season were working though he knew +it not.</p> + +<p>"What a nuisance it is to be a slave to the pen," I answered, for the +spring had come to the land. I had hated the spring for seven years +because to me it meant discomfort.</p> + +<p>"Let us go straight home and see the flowers come out in the Parks."</p> + +<p>"Let us enjoy what lies to our hand, you Philistine." And we did till a +cloud darkened and a wind ruffled the river reaches, and we returned to +our 'rickshaws sighing with contentment.</p> + +<p>"How many people do you suppose the land supports to the square mile?" +said the Professor, at a turn in the homeward road. He had been reading +statistics.</p> + +<p>"Nine hundred," I said at a venture. "It's thicker set with humans than +Sarun or Behar. Say one thousand."</p> + +<p>"Two thousand two hundred and fifty odd. Can you believe it?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Looking at the landscape I can, but I don't suppose India will believe +it. S'pose I write fifteen hundred?"</p> + +<p>"They'll say you exaggerate just the same. Better stick to the true +total. Two thousand two hundred and fifty-six to the square mile, and +not a sign of poverty in the houses. How do they do it?"</p> + +<p>I should like to know the answer to that question. Japan of my limited +view is inhabited almost entirely by little children whose duty is to +prevent their elders from becoming too frivolous. The babies do a little +work occasionally, but their parents interfere by petting them. At +Yami's hotel the attendance is in the hands of ten-year-olds because +everybody else has gone out picnicing among the cherry trees. The little +imps find time to do a man's work and to scuffle on the staircase +between whiles. My special servitor, called "The Bishop" on account of +the gravity of his appearance, his blue apron, and gaiters, is the +liveliest of the lot, but even his energy cannot account for the +Professor's statistics of population....</p> + +<p>I have seen one sort of work among the Japanese, but it was not the kind +that makes crops. It was purely artistic. A ward of the city of Kioto is +devoted to manufactures. A manufacturer in this part of the world does +not hang out a sign. He may be known in Paris and New York: that is the +concern of the two cities. The Englishman who wishes to find his +establishment in Kioto has to hunt for him up and down slums with the +aid of a guide. I have seen three manufactories. The first was of +porcelain-ware, the second of <i>cloissonnée</i>, and the third of lacquer, +inlay, and bronzes. The first was behind black wooden palings, and for +external appearance might just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> as well have been a tripe-shop. Inside +sat the manager opposite a tiny garden four feet square in which a +papery-looking palm grew out of a coarse stoneware pot and overshadowed +a dwarfed pine. The rest of the room was filled with pottery waiting to +be packed—modern Satsuma for the most part, the sort of thing you get +at an auction.</p> + +<p>"This made send Europe—India—America," said the manager, calmly. "You +come to see?"</p> + +<p>He took us along a verandah of polished wood to the kilns, to the clay +vats, and the yards where the tiny "saggers" were awaiting their +complement of pottery. There are differences many and technical between +Japanese and Burslem pottery in the making, but these are of no +consequence. In the moulding house, where they were making the bodies of +Satsuma vases, the wheels, all worked by hand, ran true as a hair. The +potter sat on a clean mat with his tea-things at his side. When he had +turned out a vase-body he saw that it was good, nodded appreciatively to +himself, and poured out some tea ere starting the next one. The potters +lived close to the kilns and had nothing pretty to look at. It was +different in the painting rooms. Here in a cabinet-like house sat the +men, women, and boys who painted the designs on the vases after the +first firing. That all their arrangements were scrupulously neat is only +saying that they were Japanese; that their surroundings were fair and +proper is only saying that they were artists. A sprig of a cherry +blossom stood out defiantly against the black of the garden paling; a +gnarled pine cut the blue of the sky with its spiky splinters as it +lifted itself above the paling, and in a little pond the iris and the +horsetail<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> nodded to the wind. The workers when at fault had only to +lift their eyes, and Nature herself would graciously supply the missing +link of a design. Somewhere in dirty England men dream of craftsmen +working under conditions which shall help and not stifle the half-formed +thought. They even form guilds and write semi-rhythmical prayers to Time +and Chance and all the other gods that they worship, to bring about the +desired end. Would they have their dream realised, let them see how they +make pottery in Japan, each man sitting on a snowy mat with loveliness +of line and colour within arm's length of him, while with downcast eyes +he—splashes in the conventional diaper of a Satsuma vase as fast as he +can! The Barbarians want Satsuma and they shall have it, if it has to be +made in Kioto one piece per twenty minutes. So much for the baser forms +of the craft!</p> + +<p>The owner of the second establishment lived in a blackwood cabinet—it +was profanation to call it a house—alone with a bronze of priceless +workmanship, a set of blackwood furniture, and all the medals that his +work had won for him in England, France, Germany, and America. He was a +very quiet and cat-like man, and spoke almost in a whisper. Would we be +pleased to inspect the manufactory? He led us through a garden—it was +nothing in his eyes, but we stopped to admire long. Stone lanterns, +green with moss, peeped through clumps of papery bamboos where bronze +storks were pretending to feed. A dwarfed pine, its foliage trimmed to +dish-like plaques, threw its arms far across a fairy pond where the fat, +lazy carp grubbed and rooted, and a couple of eared grebes squawked at +us from the protection of the—waterbutt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> So perfect was the silence of +the place that we heard the cherry blossoms falling into the water and +the lisping of the fish against the stones. We were in the very heart of +the Willow-Pattern Plate and loath to move for fear of breaking it. The +Japanese are born bower-birds. They collect water-worn stones, quaintly +shaped rocks, and veined pebbles for the ornamentation of their homes. +When they shift house they take the garden away with them—pine trees +and all—and the incoming tenant has a free hand.</p> + +<p>Half a dozen steps took us over the path of mossy stones to a house +where the whole manufactory was at work. One room held the enamel +powders all neatly arranged in jars of scrupulous cleanliness, a few +blank copper vases ready to be operated on, an invisible bird who +whistled and whooped in his cage, and a case of gaily painted +butterflies ready for reference when patterns were wanted. In the next +room sat the manufactory—three men, five women, and two boys—all as +silent as sleep. It is one thing to read of <i>cloissonnée</i> making, but +quite another to watch it being made. I began to understand the cost of +the ware when I saw a man working out a pattern of sprigs and +butterflies on a plate about ten inches in diameter. With finest silver +ribbon wire, set on edge, less than the sixteenth of an inch high, he +followed the curves of the drawing at his side, pinching the wire into +tendrils and the serrated outlines of leaves with infinite patience. A +rough touch on the raw copper-plate would have sent the pattern flying +into a thousand disconnected threads. When all was put down on the +copper, the plate would be warmed just sufficiently to allow the wires +to stick firmly to the copper,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> the pattern then showing in raised +lines. Followed the colouring, which was done by little boys in +spectacles. With a pair of tiniest steel chopsticks they filled from +bowls at their sides each compartment of the pattern with its proper hue +of paste. There is not much room allowed for error in filling the spots +on a butterfly's wing with avanturine enamel when the said wings are +less than an inch across. I watched the delicate play of wrist and hand +till I was wearied, and the manager showed me his patterns—terrible +dragons, clustered chrysanthemums, butterflies, and diapers as fine as +frost on a window-pane—all drawn in unerring line. "Those things are +our subjects. I compile from them, and when I want some new colours I go +and look at those dead butterflies," said he. After the enamel has been +filled in, the pot or plate goes to be fired, and the enamel bubbles all +over the boundary lines of wires, and the whole comes from the furnace +looking like delicate majolica. It may take a month to put a pattern on +the plate in outline, another month to fill in the enamel, but the real +expenditure of time does not commence till the polishing. A man sits +down with the rough article, all his tea-things, a tub of water, a +flannel, and two or three saucers full of assorted pebbles from the +brook. He does not get a wheel with tripoli, or emery, or buff. He sits +down and rubs. He rubs for a month, three months, or a year. He rubs +lovingly, with his soul in his finger ends, and little by little the +efflorescence of the fired enamel gives way, and he comes down to the +lines of silver, and the pattern in all its glory is there waiting for +him. I saw a man who had only been a month over the polishing of one +little vase five inches high. He would go on for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> two months. When I am +in America he will be rubbing still, and the ruby-coloured dragon that +romped on a field of lazuli, each tiny scale and whisker a separate +compartment of enamel, will be growing more lovely.</p> + +<p>"There is also cheap <i>cloissonnée</i> to be bought," said the manager, with +a smile. "We cannot make that. The vase will be seventy dollars."</p> + +<p>I respected him for saying "cannot" instead of "do not." There spoke the +artist.</p> + +<p>Our last visit was paid to the largest establishment in Kioto, where +boys made gold inlay on iron, sitting in camphor-wood verandahs +overlooking a garden lovelier than any that had gone before. They had +been caught young, even as is the custom in India. A real grown-up man +was employed on the horrible story, in iron, gold, and silver, of two +priests who waked up a Rain-dragon and had to run for it, all round the +edge of a big shield; but the liveliest worker of the batch was a small +fat baby who had been given a tenpenny nail, a hammer, and a block of +metal to play with, that he might soak in the art by which he would +live, through the pores of his skin. He crowed and chuckled as he +whacked. There are not many five-year-olds in England who could hammer +anything without pulping their little pink fingers. The baby had learned +how to hit straight. On the wall of the room hung a Japanese painting of +the Apotheosis of Art. It represented with fidelity all the processes of +pottery from the digging of the clay to the last firing. But all the +pencilled scorn of the artist was reserved for the closing scene, where +an Englishman, his arm round his wife's waist, was inspecting a shop +full of curios. The Japanese are not impressed with the grace of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> +clothing or the beauty of our countenances. Later we beheld the +manufacture of gold lacquer, which is laid on speck by speck from an +agate palette fitted on the artist's thumb; and the carving of ivory, +which is exciting until you begin to realise that the graver never +slips.</p> + +<p>"A lot of their art is purely mechanical" said the Professor, when he +was safe back in the hotel.</p> + +<p>"So's a lot of ours—'specially our pictures. Only we can't be +spiritedly mechanical," I answered. "Fancy a people like the Japanese +solemnly going in for a constitution. Observe! The only two nations with +constitution worth having are the English and the Americans. The English +can only be artistic in spots and by way of the art of other +nations—Sicilian tapestries, Persian saddle-bags, Khoten carpets, and +the sweepings of pawn-brokers' shops. The Americans are artistic so long +as a few of 'em can buy their Art to keep abreast of the times with. +Spain is artistic, but she is also disturbed at intervals; France is +artistic, but she must have her revolution every twenty years for the +sake of fresh material; Russia is artistic, but she occasionally wishes +to kill her Czar, and has no sort of Government; Germany is not +artistic, because she experienced religion; and Italy is artistic, +because she did very badly. India—"</p> + +<p>"When you have finished your verdict on the world, perhaps you'll go to +bed."</p> + +<p>"Consequently," I continued, with scorn, "I am of opinion that a +constitution is the worst thing in the world for a people who are +blessed with souls above the average. Now the first demand of the +artistic temperament is mundane uncertainty. The second is—"</p> + +<p>"Sleep," said the Professor, and left the room.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>No. XVII</h2> + +<p>OF THE NATURE OF THE TOKAIDO AND JAPANESE RAILWAY CONSTRUCTION. ONE +TRAVELLER EXPLAINS THE LIFE OF THE SAHIB-LOG, AND ANOTHER THE ORIGIN OF +DICE. OF THE BABIES IN THE BATH TUB AND THE MAN IN D. T.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"When I went to Hell I spoke to the man on the road."</p> + +<p class="sign">—<i>Old Saw.</i> </p></div> + + +<p>You know the story of the miner who borrowed a dictionary and returned +it with the remark that the stories, though interesting in the main, +were too various. I have the same complaint to make against Japanese +scenery—twelve hours of it by train from Nagoya to Yokohama. About +seven hundred years ago the king of those days built a sea-road which he +called the Tokaido (or else all the sea-coast was called the Tokaido, +but it's of no importance), which road endures to the present. Later on, +when the English engineer appeared, he followed the Grand Trunk more or +less closely, and the result has been a railway that any nation might +take off their hat to. The last section of the through line from Kioto +to Yokohama was only opened five days before the Professor and I +honoured it with an unofficial inspection.</p> + +<p>The accommodation of all kinds is arranged for the benefit of the +Japanese; and this is distressing to the foreigner, who expects in a +carriage remotely resembling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> E. I. R. rolling-stock the conveniences of +that pea-green and very dusty old line. But it suits the Japanese +admirably: they hop out at every other station—<i>pro re nata</i>—and +occasionally get left behind. Two days ago they managed to kill a +Government official of high standing between a footboard and a platform, +and to-day the Japanese papers are seriously discussing the advantages +of lavatories. Far be it from me to interfere with the arrangements of +an artistic empire; but for a twelve hours' run there might at least be +arrangements.</p> + +<p>We had left the close-packed cultivation at the foot of the hills and +were running along the shores of a great lake, all steel-blue from one +end to the other, except where it was dotted with little islands. Then +the lake turned into an arm of the sea, and we ran across it on a +cut-stone causeway, and the profligacy of the pines ceased, as the trees +had to come down from clothing dank hills, and fight with bowed head, +outstretched arms, and firmly planted feet, against the sands of the +Pacific, whose breakers were spouting and blowing not a quarter of a +mile away from the causeway. The Japs know all about forestry. They +stake down wandering sand-torrents, which are still allowed to ruin our +crops in the Hoshiarpur district, and they plug a shifting sand-dune +with wattle dams and pine seedlings as cleverly as they would pin plank +to plank. Were their forest officers trained at Nancy, or are they local +products? The stake-binding used to hold the sand is of French pattern, +and the diagonal planting out of the trees is also French.</p> + +<p>Half a minute after the train dropped this desolate, hardly controlled +beach it raced through four or five<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> miles of the suburbs of Patna, but +a clean and glorified Patna bowered in bamboo plantations. Then it hit a +tunnel and sailed forth into a section of the London, Brighton, and +South Coast, or whatever the line is that wants to make the Channel +tunnel. At any rate, the embankment was on the beach, and the waves +lapped the foot of it, and there was a wall of cut rock to landward. +Then we disturbed many villages of fishermen, whose verandahs gave on to +the track, and whose nets lay almost under our wheels. The railway was +still a new thing in that particular part of the world, for mothers held +up their babes to see it.</p> + +<p>Any one can keep pace with Indian scenery, arranged as it is in reaches +of five hundred miles. This blinding alternation of field, mountain, +sea-beach, forest, bamboo grove, and rolling moor covered with azalea +blossoms was too much for me, so I sought the society of a man who had +lived in Japan for twenty years.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Japan's an excellent country as regards climate. The rains begin +in May or latter April. June, July, and August are hot months. I've +known the thermometer as high as 86° at night, but I'd defy the world to +produce anything more perfect than the weather between September and +May. When one gets seedy, one goes to the hot springs in the Hakone +mountains close to Yokohama. There are heaps of places to recruit in, +but we English are a healthy lot. Of course we don't have half as much +fun as you do in India. We are a small community, and all our amusements +are organised by ourselves for our own benefit—concerts, races, and +amateur theatricals and the like. You have heaps of 'em in India, +haven't you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" I said, "we enjoy ourselves awfully, 'specially about this +time of the year. I quite understand, though, that small communities +dependent on themselves for enjoyment are apt to feel a little slow and +isolated—almost bored, in fact. But you were saying—?"</p> + +<p>"Well, living is not very dear, and house rent is. A hundred dollars a +month gets you a decent house and you can get one for sixty. But house +property is down just now in Yokohama. The races are on in Yokohama +to-day and Monday. Are you going? No? You ought to go and see all the +foreigners enjoying themselves. But I suppose you've seen much better +things in India, haven't you? You haven't anything better than old +Fuji—Fujiyama. There he is now to the left of the line. What do you +think of him?"</p> + +<p>I turned and beheld Fujiyama across a sea of upward-sloping fields and +woods. It is about fourteen thousand feet high—not very much, according +to our ideas. But fourteen thousand feet above the sea when one stands +in the midst of sixteen-thousand-foot peaks, is quite another thing from +the same height noted at sea-level in a comparatively flat country. The +labouring eye crawls up every foot of the dead crater's smooth flank, +and at the summit confesses that it has seen nothing in all the +Himalayas to match the monster. I was satisfied. Fujiyama was exactly as +I had seen it on fans and lacquer boxes; I would not have sold my sight +of it for the crest of Kinchinjunga flushed with the morning. Fujiyama +is the keynote of Japan. When you understand the one you are in a +position to learn something about the other. I tried to get information +from my fellow-traveller.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, the Japanese are building railways all over the island. What I +mean to say is that the companies are started and financed by Japs, and +they make 'em pay. I can't quite tell you where the money comes from, +but it's all to be found in the country. Japan's neither rich nor poor, +but just comfortable. I'm a merchant myself. Can't say that I altogether +like the Jap way o' doing business. You can never be certain whether the +little beggar means what he says. Give me a Chinaman to deal with. Other +men have told you that, have they? You'll find that opinion at most of +the treaty ports. But what I will say is, that the Japanese Government +is about as enterprising a Government as you could wish, and a good one +to have dealings with. When Japan has finished reconstructing herself on +the new lines, she'll be quite a respectable little Power. See if she +isn't. Now we are coming into the Hakone mountains. Watch the railway. +It's rather a curiosity."</p> + +<p>We came into the Hakone mountains by way of some Irish scenery, a Scotch +trout-stream, a Devonshire combe, and an Indian river running masterless +over half a mile of pebbles. This was only the prelude to a set of +geological illustrations, including the terraces formed by ancient +river-beds, denudation, and half a dozen other ations. I was so busy +telling the man from Yokohama lies about the height of the Himalayas +that I did not watch things closely, till we got to Yokohama, at eight +in the evening, and went to the Grand Hotel, where all the clean and +nicely dressed people who were just going in to dinner regarded us with +scorn, and men, whom we had met on steamers aforetime, dived into +photograph books and pretended not to see us. There's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> a deal of human +nature in a man—got up for dinner—when a woman is watching him—and +you look like a brick-layer—even in Yokohama.</p> + +<p>The Grand is the Semi or Cottage Grand really, but you had better go +there unless a friend tells you of a better. A long course of good luck +has spoiled me for even average hotels. They are too fine and large at +the Grand, and they don't always live up to their grandeur; unlimited +electric bells, but no one in particular to answer 'em; printed menu, +but the first comers eat all the nice things, and so forth. None the +less there are points about the Grand not to be despised. It is modelled +on the American fashion, and is but an open door through which you may +catch the first gust from the Pacific slope. Officially, there are twice +as many English as Americans in the port. Actually, you hear no +languages but French, German, or American in the street. My experience +is sadly limited, but the American I have heard up to the present, is a +tongue as distinct from English as Patagonian.</p> + +<p>A gentleman from Boston was kind enough to tell me something about it. +He defended the use of "I guess" as a Shakespearian expression to be +found in <i>Richard the Third</i>. I have learned enough never to argue with +a Bostonian.</p> + +<p>"All right," I said, "I've never heard a real American say 'I guess'; +but what about the balance of your extraordinary tongue? Do you mean to +say that it has anything in common with ours except the auxiliary verbs, +the name of the Creator, and Damn? Listen to the men at the next table."</p> + +<p>"They are Westerners," said the man from Boston, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> who should say +"observe this cassowary." "They are Westerners, and if you want to make +a Westerner mad tell him he is not like an Englishman. They think they +are like the English. They are awfully thin-skinned in the West. Now in +Boston it's different. <i>We</i> don't care what the English people think of +us."</p> + +<p>The idea of the English people sitting down to think about Boston, while +Boston on the other side of the water ostentatiously "didn't care," made +me snigger. The man told me stories. He belonged to a Republic. That was +why every man of his acquaintance belonged either "to one of the first +families in Boston" or else "was of good Salem stock, and his fathers +had come over in the <i>Mayflower</i>." I felt as though I were moving in the +midst of a novel. Fancy having to explain to the casual stranger the +blood and breeding of the hero of every anecdote. I wonder whether many +people in Boston are like my friend with the Salem families. I am going +there to see.</p> + +<p>"There's no romance in America—it's all hard, business facts," said a +man from the Pacific slope, after I had expressed my opinion about some +rather curious murder cases which might have been called miscarriages of +justice. Ten minutes later, I heard him say slowly, <i>apropos</i> of a game +called "Round the Horn" (this is a bad game. Don't play it with a +stranger.) "Well, it's a good thing for this game that Omaha came up. +Dice were invented in Omaha, and the man who invented 'em he made a +colossal fortune."</p> + +<p>I said nothing. I began to feel faint. The man must have noticed it. +"Six-and-twenty years ago, Omaha came up," he repeated, looking me in +the eye, "and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> number of dice that have been made in Omaha since +that time is incalculable."</p> + +<p>"There is no romance in America," I moaned like a stricken ring-dove, in +the Professor's ear. "Nothing but hard business facts, and the first +families of Boston, Massachusetts, invented dice at Omaha when it first +came up, twenty-six years ago, and that's the solid truth. What am I to +do with a people like this?"</p> + +<p>"Are you describing Japan or America? For goodness' sake, stick to one +or the other," said the Professor.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't my fault. There's a bit of America in the bar-room, and on my +word it's rather more interesting than Japan. Let's go across to 'Frisco +and hear some more lies."</p> + +<p>"Let's go and look at photographs, and refrain from mixing our countries +or our drinks."</p> + +<p>By the way, wherever you go in the Further East be humble to the white +trader. Recollect that you are only a poor beast of a buyer with a few +dirty dollars in your pockets, and you can't expect a man to demean +himself by taking them. And observe humility not only in the shops, but +elsewhere. I was anxious to know how I should cross the Pacific to +'Frisco, and very foolishly went to an office where they might, under +certain circumstances, be supposed to attend to these things. But no +anxiety troubled the sprightly soul who happened to be in the +office-chair. "There's heaps of time for finding out later on," he said, +"and anyhow, I'm going to the races this afternoon. Come later on." I +put my head in the spittoon, and crawled out under the door.</p> + +<p>When I am left behind by the steamer it will console me to know that +that young man had a good time, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> won heavily. Everybody keeps horses +in Yokohama, and the horses are nice little fat little tubs, of the +circus persuasion. I didn't go to the races, but a Calcutta man did, and +returned saying that "they ran 13-2 cart-horses, and even time for a +mile was four minutes and twenty-seven seconds." Perhaps he had lost +heavily, but I can vouch for the riding of the few gentlemen I saw +outside the animals. It is very impartial and remarkably all round.</p> + +<p>Just when the man from Boston was beginning to tell me some more stories +about first families, the Professor developed an unholy taste for hot +springs, and bore me off to a place called Myanoshita to wash myself. +"We'll come back and look at Yokohama later on, but we must go to this +because it's so beautiful."</p> + +<p>"I'm getting tired of scenery. It's all beautiful and it can't be +described, but these men here tell you stories about America. Did you +ever hear how the people of Carmel lynched Edward M. Petree for +preaching the gospel without making a collection at the end of the +service? There's no romance in America—it's all hard business facts. +Edward M. Petree was—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Are</i> you going to see Japan or are you not?"</p> + +<p>I went to see. First in a train for one hour in the company of a +carriageful of howling Globe-trotters, then in a 'rickshaw for four. You +cannot appreciate scenery unless you sit in a 'rickshaw. We struck after +seven miles of modified flat—the flattery of Nature that lures you to +her more rugged heart—a mountain river all black pools and boiling +foam. Him we followed into the hills along a road cut into the crumbling +volcanic rock and entirely unmetalled. It was as hard as the Simla<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> +cartroad, but those far hills behind Kalka have no such pine and maple, +ash and willow. It was a land of green-clothed cliff and silver +waterfall, lovely beyond the defilement of the pen. At every turn in the +road whence a view could be commanded, stood a little tea-house full of +admiring Japanese. The Jap dresses in blue because he knows that it +contrasts well with the colour of the pines. When he dies he goes to a +heaven of his own because the colouring of ours is too crude to suit +him.</p> + +<p>We kept the valley of the glorified stream till the waters sank out of +sight down the cliff side and we could but hear them calling to one +another through the tangle of the trees. Where the woodlands were +lovelier, the gorge deepest, and the colours of the young hornbeam most +tender, they had clapped down two vile hostelries of wood and glass, and +a village that lived by selling turned wood and glass inlay things to +the tourist.</p> + +<p>Australians, Anglo-Indians, dwellers in London and the parts beyond the +Channel were running up and down the slopes of the hotel garden, and by +their strange dresses doing all they knew to deface the landscape. The +Professor and I slid down the cliff at the back and found ourselves back +in Japan once more. Rough steps took us five or six hundred feet down +through dense jungle to the bed of that stream we had followed all the +day. The air vibrated with the rush of a hundred torrents, and whenever +the eye could pierce the undergrowth it saw a headlong stream breaking +itself on a boulder. Up at the hotel we had left the gray chill of a +November day and cold that numbed the fingers; down in the gorge we +found the climate of Bengal with real steam thrown in. Green bamboo +pipes led the hot water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> to a score of bathing-houses in whose verandahs +Japanese in blue and white dressing-gowns lounged and smoked. From +unseen thickets came the shouts of those who bathed, and—oh shame! +round the corner strolled a venerable old lady chastely robed in a white +bathing towel, and not too much of that. Then we went up the gorge, +mopping our brows, and staring to the sky through arches of rampant +foliage.</p> + +<p>Japanese maids of fourteen or fifteen are not altogether displeasing to +behold. I have not seen more than twenty or thirty of them. Of these +none were in the least disconcerted at the sight of the stranger. After +all, 'twas but Brighton beach without the bathing-gowns. At the head of +the gorge the heat became greater, and the hot water more abundant. The +joints of the water-pipes on the ground gave off jets of steam; there +was vapour rising from boulders on the river-bed, and the stab of a +stick into the warm, moist soil was followed by a little pool of warm +water. The existing supply was not enough for the inhabitants. They were +mining for more in a casual and disconnected fashion. I tried to crawl +down a shaft eighteen inches by two feet in the hillside, but the steam, +which had no effect on the Japanese hide, drove me out. What happens, I +wonder, when the pick strikes the liquid, and the miner has to run or be +parboiled?</p> + +<p>In the twilight, when we had reached upper earth once more and were +passing through the one street of Myanoshita, we saw two small fat +cherubs about three years old taking their evening tub in a barrel sunk +under the eaves of a shop. They feigned great fear, peeping at us behind +outspread fingers, attempting futile dives,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> and trying to hide one +behind the other in a hundred poses of spankable chubbiness, while their +father urged them to splash us. It was the prettiest picture of the day, +and one worth coming even to the sticky, paint-reeking hotel to see.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He was dressed in a black frock-coat, and at first I took him for a +missionary as he mooned up and down the empty corridor.</p> + +<p>"I have been under a ban for three days," he whispered in a husky voice, +"through no fault of mine—no fault of mine. They told me to take the +third watch, but they didn't give me a printed notification which I +always require, and the manager of this place says that whisky would +hurt me. Through no fault of mine, God knows, no fault of mine!"</p> + +<p>I do not like being shut up in an echoing wooden hotel next door to a +gentleman of the marine persuasion, who is just recovering from D. T., +and who talks to himself all through the dark hours.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>No. XVIII</h2> + +<p>CONCERNING A HOT-WATER TAP, AND SOME GENERAL CONVERSATION.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Always speak to the stranger. If he doesn't shoot, the chances +are he'll answer you." </p></div> +<p class="sign">—<i>Western Proverb.</i></p> + +<p>It is a far cry from Myanoshita to Michni and Mandalay. That is why we +have met men from both those stations, and have spent a cheerful time +talking about dacoits and the Black Mountain Expedition. One of the +advantages of foreign travel is that one takes such a keen interest in, +and hears so much about, Home. Truly, they change their trains, but not +their train of thought, who run across the sea.</p> + +<p>"This is a most extraordinary place," said the Professor, red as a +boiled lobster. "You sit in your bath and turn on the hot or cold +spring, as you choose, and the temperature is phenomenal. Let's go and +see where it all comes from, and then let's go away."</p> + +<p>There is a place called the Burning Mountain five miles in the hills. +There went we, through unbroken loveliness of bamboo-copse, pine wood, +grass downs, and pine wood again, while the river growled below. In the +end we found an impoverished and second-hand Hell, set out orderly on +the side of a raw and bleeding hillside. It looked as though a +match-factory had been whelmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> by a landslip. Water, in which bad eggs +had been boiled, stood in blister-lipped pools, and puffs of thin white +smoke went up from the labouring under-earth. Despite the smell and the +sulphur incrustations on the black rocks, I was disappointed, till I +felt the heat of the ground, which was the heat of a boiler-sheathing. +They call the mountain extinct. If untold tons of power, cased in a few +feet of dirt, be the Japanese notion of extinction, glad I am that I +have not been introduced to a lively volcano. Indeed, it was not an +overweening notion of my own importance, but a tender regard for the +fire-crust below, and a dread of starting the machinery by accident, +that made me step so delicately, and urge return upon the Professor.</p> + +<p>"Huh! It's only the boiler of your morning bath. All the sources of the +springs are here," said he.</p> + +<p>"I don't care. Let 'em alone. Did you never hear of a boiler bursting? +Don't prod about with your stick in that amateur way. You'll turn on the +tap."</p> + +<p>When you have seen a burning mountain you begin to appreciate Japanese +architecture. It is not solid. Every one is burned out once or twice +casually. A business isn't respectable until it has received its baptism +of fire. But fire is of no importance. The one thing that inconveniences +a Jap is an earthquake. Consequently, he arranges his house that it +shall fall lightly as a bundle of broom upon his head. Still further +safeguarding himself, he has no foundations, but the corner-posts rest +on the crowns of round stones sunk in the earth. The corner-posts take +the wave of the shock, and, though the building may give way like an +eel-trap, nothing very serious happens. This is what epicures of +earthquakes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> aver. I wait for mine own experiences, but not near a +suspected district such as the Burning Mountain.</p> + +<p>It was only to escape from one terror to another that I fled Myanoshita. +A blue-breeched dwarf thrust me into a dwarf 'rickshaw on spidery +wheels, and down the rough road that we had taken four hours to climb +ran me clamorously in half an hour. Take all the parapets off the Simla +Road and leave it alone for ten years. Then run down the steepest four +miles of any section,—not steeper than the drop to the old Gaiety +Theatre,—behind one man!</p> + +<p>"We couldn't get six hill-men to take us in this style," shouted the +Professor as he spun by, his wheels kicking like a duck's foot, and the +whole contraption at an angle of thirty. I am proud to think that not +even sixty hill-men would have gambolled with a sahib in that +disgraceful manner. Nor would any tramway company in the Real East have +run its cars to catch a train that used to start last year, but +now—rest its soul—is as dead as Queen Anne. This thing a queer little +seven-mile tramway accomplished with much dignity. It owned a +first-class car and a second-class car,—two horses to each,—and it ran +them with a hundred yards headway—the one all but empty, and the other +half full. When the very small driver could not control his horses, +which happened on the average once every two minutes, he did not waste +time by pulling them in. He screwed down the brake and laughed—possibly +at the company who had paid for the very elaborate car. Yet he was an +artistic driver. He wore no Philistine brass badge. Between the +shoulders of his blue jerkin were done in white, three railheads in a +circle, and on the skirts as many tram-wheels<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> conventionalised. Only +the Japanese know how to conventionalise a tram-wheel or make a +key-pattern of railheads. Though we took twelve hours to cover the +thirty miles that separated us from Yokohama, we admitted this much +while we waited for our train in a village by the sea. A village of any +size is about three miles long in the main street. Villages with a +population of more than ten thousand souls take rank as towns.</p> + +<p>"And yet," said a man at Yokohama that night, "you have not seen the +densest population. That's away in the western <i>kens</i>—districts, as you +call them. The folk really are crowded thereabouts, but virtually +poverty does not exist in the country. You see, an agricultural labourer +can maintain himself and his family, as far as rice goes, for four cents +a day, and the price of fish is nominal. Rice now costs a hundred pounds +to the dollar. What do you make it by Indian standards? From twenty to +twenty-five seers the rupee. Yes, that's about it. Well, he gets, +perhaps, three dollars and a-half a month. The people spend a good deal +in pleasuring. They must enjoy themselves. I don't think they save much. +How do they invest their savings? In jewellery? No, not exactly; though +you'll find that the women's hair-pins, which are about the only +jewellery they wear, cost a good deal. Seven and eight dollars are paid +for a good hair-pin, and of course jade may cost anything. What the +women really lock their money up in is in their <i>obis</i>—the things you +call sashes. An <i>obi</i> is ten or twelve yards long, and I've known them +sold wholesale for fifty dollars each. Every woman above the poorest +class has at least one good dress of silk and an <i>obi</i>. Yes, all their +savings go in dress, and a handsome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> dress is always worth having. The +western <i>kens</i> are the richest taken all round. A skilled mechanic there +gets a dollar or dollar and a-half a day, and, as you know, +lacquer-workers and inlayers—artists—get two. There's enough money in +Japan for all current expenses. They won't borrow any for railroads. +They raise it 'emselves. Most progressive people the Japanese are as +regards railways. They make them very cheaply, much more cheaply than +any European lines. I've some experience, and I take it that two +thousand pounds a mile is the average cost of construction. Not on the +Tokaido, of course—the line that you came up by. That's a Government +line, State built, and a very expensive one. I'm speaking of the +Japanese Railway Company with a mileage of three hundred, and the line +from Kobé south, and the Kinshin line in the Southern island. There are +lots of little companies with a few score miles of line, but all the +companies are extending. The reason why the construction is so cheap is +the nature of the land. There's no long haulage of rails, because you +can nearly always find a creek running far up into the country, and dump +out your rails within a few miles of the place where they are wanted. +Then, again, all your timber lies to your hand, and your staff are Japs. +There are a few European engineers, but they are quite the heads of the +departments, and I believe if they were cleared out to-morrow, the Japs +would go on building their lines. They know how to make 'em pay. One +line started on a State guarantee of eight per cent. It hasn't called +for the guarantee yet. It's making twelve per cent on its own hook. +There's a very heavy freight traffic in wood and provisions for the big +towns, and there's a local traffic that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> can have no idea of unless +you've watched it. The people seem to move in twenty-mile circles for +business or pleasure—'specially pleasure. Oh, I tell you, Japan will be +a gridiron of railways before long. In another month or two you'll be +able to travel nearly seven hundred miles on and by the Tokaido line +alone from one end to the other, of the central islands. Getting from +east to west is harder work. The backbone-hills of the country are just +cruel, and it will be some time before the Japs run many lines across. +But they'll do it, of course. Their country must go forward.</p> + +<p>"If you want to know anything about their politics, I'm afraid I can't +help you much. They are, so to speak, drunk with Western liquor, and are +sucking it up by the hogshead. In a few years they will see how much of +what we call civilisation they really want, and how much they can +discard. 'Tisn't as if they had to learn the arts of life or how to make +themselves comfortable. They knew all that long ago. When their railway +system is completed, and they begin to understand their new +Constitution, they will have learned as much as we can teach 'em. That's +my opinion; but it needs time to understand this country. I've been a +matter of eight or ten years in it, and my views aren't worth much. I've +come to know some of the old families that used to be of the feudal +nobility. They keep themselves to themselves and live very quietly. I +don't think you'll find many of them in the official classes. Their one +fault is that they entertain far beyond their means. They won't receive +you informally and take you into their houses. They raise dancing-girls, +or take you to their club and have a big feed. They don't introduce you +to their wives, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> they haven't yet given up the rule of making the +wife eat after the husband. Like the native of India you say? Well, I am +very fond of the Jap; but I suppose he <i>is</i> a native any way you look at +him. You wouldn't think that he is careless in his workmanship and +dishonest. A Chinaman, on an average, is out and away a bigger rogue +than a Jap; but he has sense enough to see that honesty is the best +policy, and to act by that light. A Jap will be dishonest just to save +himself trouble. He's like a child that way."</p> + +<p>How many times have I had to record such an opinion as the foregoing? +Everywhere the foreigner says the same thing of the neat-handed, polite +little people that live among flowers and babies, and smoke tobacco as +mild as their own manners. I am sorry; but when you come to think of it, +a race without a flaw would be perfect. And then all the other nations +of the earth would rise up and hammer it to pieces. And then there would +be no Japan.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you a day to think over things generally," said the +Professor. "After that we'll go to Nikko and Tokio. Who has not seen +Nikko does not know how to pronounce the world 'beautiful.'"</p> + +<p>Yokohama is not the proper place to arrange impressions in. The Pacific +Ocean knocks at your door, asking to be looked at; the Japanese and +American men-of-war demand serious attention through a telescope; and if +you wander about the corridors of the Grand Hotel, you stop to play with +Spanish Generals, all gold lace and spurs, or are captured by touts for +curio-shops. It is not a nice experience to find a Sahib in a Panama hat +handing you the card of his firm for all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> world like a Delhi +silk-merchant. You are inclined to pity that man, until he sits down, +gives you a cigar, and tells you all about his diseases, his past career +in California, where he was always making money and always losing it, +and his hopes for the future. You see then that you are entering upon a +new world. Talk to every one you meet, if they show the least +<ins title="dispositon in original.">disposition</ins> to talk to you, and you will gather, as I have done, a host +of stories that will be of use to you hereafter. Unfortunately, they are +not all fit for publication. When I tore myself away from the +distractions of the outer world, and was just sitting down to write +seriously on the Future of Japan, there entered a fascinating man, with +heaps of money, who had collected Indian and Japanese curios all his +life, and was now come to this country to get some old books which his +collection lacked. Can you imagine a more pleasant life than his +wanderings over the earth, with untold special knowledge to back each +signature of his cheque-book?</p> + +<p>In five minutes he had carried me far away from the clattering, fidgetty +folk around, to a quiet world where men meditated for three weeks over a +bronze, and scoured all Japan for a sword-guard designed by a great +artist and—were horribly cheated in the end.</p> + +<p>"Who is the best artist in Japan now?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"He died in Tokio, last Friday, poor fellow, and there is no one to take +his place. His name was K——, and as a general rule he could never be +persuaded to work unless he was drunk. He did his best pictures when he +was drunk."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ému.</i> Artists are never drunk."</p> + +<p>"Quite right. I'll show you a sword-guard that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> designed. All the +best artists out here do a lot of designing. K—— used to fritter away +his time on designs for old friends. Had he stuck to pictures he could +have made twice as much. But he never turned out potboilers. When you go +to Tokio, make it your business to get two little books of his called +<i>Drunken Sketches</i>—pictures that he did, when he was—<i>ému</i>. There is +enough dash and go in them to fill half a dozen studios. An English +artist studied under him for some time. But K——'s touch was not +communicable, though he might have taught his pupil something about +technique. Have you ever come across one of K——'s crows? You could +tell it anywhere. He could put all the wicked thoughts that ever came +into the mind of a crow—and a crow is first cousin to the Devil—on a +piece of paper six inches square, with a brush of Indian ink and two +turns of his wrist. Look at the sword-guard I spoke of. How is that for +feeling?"</p> + +<p>On a circular piece of iron four inches in diameter and pierced by the +pole for the tang of the blade, poor K——, who died last Friday, had +sketched the figure of a coolie trying to fold up a cloth which was +bellying to a merry breeze—not a cold wind, but a sportive summer gust. +The coolie was enjoying the performance, and so was the cloth. It would +all be folded up in another minute and the coolie would go on his way +with a grin.</p> + +<p>This thing had K—— conceived, and the faithful workman executed, with +the lightest touches of the graver, to the end that it might lie in a +collector's cabinet in London.</p> + +<p>"Wah! Wah!" I said, and returned it reverently. "It would kill a man who +could do that to live after his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> touch had gone. Well for him he +died—but I wish I had seen him. Show me some more."</p> + +<p>"I've got a painting by Hokusai—the great artist who lived at the end +of the last century and the beginning of this. Even <i>you</i> have heard of +Hokusai, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"A little. I have heard it was impossible to get a genuine painting with +his signature attached."</p> + +<p>"That's true; but I've shown this one to the Japanese Government expert +in pictures—the man the Mikado consults in cases of doubt—to the first +European authority on Japanese art, and of course I have my own opinion +to back the signed guarantee of the seller. Look!"</p> + +<p>He unrolled a silk-scroll and showed me the figure of a girl in pale +blue and grey crêpe, carrying in her arms a bundle of clothes that, as +the tub behind her showed, had just been washed. A dark-blue +handkerchief was thrown lightly over the left forearm, shoulder, and +neck, ready to tie up the clothes when the bundle should be put down. +The flesh of the right arm showed through the thin drapery of the +sleeve. The right hand merely steadied the bundle from above; the left +gripped it firmly from below. Through the stiff blue-black hair showed +the outline of the left ear.</p> + +<p>That there was enormous elaboration in the picture, from the +ornamentation of the hair-pins to the graining of the clogs, did not +strike me till after the first five minutes, when I had sufficiently +admired the certainty of touch.</p> + +<p>"Recollect there is no room for error in painting on silk," said the +proud possessor. "The line must stand under any circumstances. All that +is possible before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> painting is a little dotting with charcoal, which is +rubbed off with a feather-brush. Did he know anything about drapery or +colour or the shape of a woman? Is there any one who could teach him +more if he were alive to-day?"</p> + +<p>Then we went to Nikko.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>No. XIX</h2> + +<p>THE LEGEND OF NIKKO FORD AND THE STORY OF THE AVOIDANCE OF MISFORTUNE.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A rose-red city, half as old as Time.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Five hours in the train took us to the beginning of a 'rickshaw journey +of twenty-five miles. The guide unearthed an aged cart on Japanese +lines, and seduced us into it by promises of speed and comfort beyond +anything that a 'rickshaw could offer. Never go to Nikko in a cart. The +town of departure is full of pack-ponies who are not used to it, and +every third animal tries to get a kick at his friends in the shafts. +This renders progress sufficiently exciting till the bumpsomeness of the +road quenches all emotions save one. Nikko is reached through one avenue +of <i>cryptomerias</i>—cypress-like trees eighty feet high, with red or dull +silver trunks and hearse-plume foliage of darkest green. When I say one +avenue, I mean one continuous avenue twenty-five miles long, the trees +so close to each other throughout that their roots interlace and form a +wall of wood on either side of the sunken road. Where it was necessary +to make a village along the line of march,—that is to say once every +two or three miles,—a few of the giants had been wrenched out—as teeth +are wrenched from a full-planted jaw—to make room for the houses. Then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> +the trees closed up as before to mount guard over the road. The banks +between which we drove were alight with azaleas, camelias, and violets. +"Glorious! Stupendous! Magnificent!" sang the Professor and I in chorus +for the first five miles, in the intervals of the bumps. The avenue took +not the least notice of our praise except by growing the trees even more +closely together. "Vistas of pillared shade" are very pleasant to read +about, but on a cold day the ungrateful heart of man could cheerfully +dispense with a mile or two of it if that would shorten the journey. We +were blind to the beauty around; to the files of pack-ponies with manes +like hearth-brooms and the tempers of Eblis kicking about the path; to +the pilgrims with blue and white handkerchiefs on their heads, enviable +silver-grey leggings on their feet, and Buddha-like babies on their +backs; to the trim country drays pulled by miniature cart-horses +bringing down copper from the mines and <i>saki</i> from the hills; to the +colour and movement in the villages where all the little children +shouted "Ohio's!" and all the old people laughed. The grey tree-trunks +marched us solemnly along over that horrid bad road which had been +mended with brushwood, and after five hours we got Nikko in the shape of +a long village at the foot of a hill, and capricious Nature, to reward +us for our sore bones, laughed on the instant in floods of sunshine. And +upon what a mad scene did the light fall! The <i>cryptomerias</i> rose in +front of us a wall of green darkness, a tearing torrent ran deep-green +over blue boulders, and between stream and trees was thrown a blood-red +bridge—the sacred bridge of red lacquer that no foot save the Mikado's +may press.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p> + +<p>Very cunning artists are the Japanese. Long ago a great-hearted king +came to Nikko River and looked across at the trees, up-stream at the +torrent and the hills whence it came, and down-stream at the softer +outlines of the crops and spurs of wooded mountains. "It needs only a +dash of colour in the foreground to bring this all together," said he, +and he put a little child in a blue and white dressing-gown under the +awful trees to judge the effect. Emboldened by his tenderness, an aged +beggar ventured to ask for alms. Now it was the ancient privilege of the +great to try the temper of their blades upon beggars and such cattle. +Mechanically the king swept off the old man's head, for he did not wish +to be disturbed. The blood spurted across the granite slabs of the +river-ford in a sheet of purest vermilion. The king smiled. Chance had +solved the problem for him. "Build a bridge here," he said to the court +carpenter, "of just such a colour as that stuff on the stones. Build +also a bridge of grey stone close by, for I would not forget the wants +of my people." So he gave the little child across the stream a thousand +pieces of gold and went his way. He had composed a landscape. As for the +blood, they wiped it up and said no more about it; and that is the story +of Nikko Bridge. You will not find it in the guide-books.</p> + +<p>I followed the voice of the river through a rickety toy-village, across +some rough bottom-land, till, crossing a bridge, I found myself among +lichened stones, scrub, and the blossoms of spring. A hillside, steep +and wooded as the flanks of the red Aravallis, rose on my left; on my +right, the eye travelled from village to cropland, crop to towering +cypress, and rested at last on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> cold blue of an austere hill-top +encircled by streaks of yet unmelted snow. The Nikko hotel stood at the +foot of this hill; and the time of the year was May. Then a sparrow came +by with a piece of grass in her beak, for she was building her nest; and +I knew that the spring was come to Nikko. One is so apt to forget the +changes of the year over there with you in India.</p> + +<p>Sitting in a solemn line on the banks of the river were fifty or sixty +cross-legged images which the untrained eye put down immediately as so +many small Buddhas. They had all, even when the lichen had cloaked them +with leprosy, the calm port and unwinking regard of the Lord of the +World. They are not Buddhas really, but other things—presents from +forgotten great men to dead and gone institutions, or else memorials of +ancestors. The guide-book will tell you. They were a ghostly crew. As I +examined them more closely I saw that each differed from the other. Many +of them held in their joined arms a little store of river pebbles, +evidently put there by the pious. When I inquired the meaning of the +gift from a stranger who passed, he said: "Those so distinguished are +images of the God who Plays with Little Children up in the Sky. He tells +them stories and builds them houses of pebbles. The stones are put in +his arms either that he may not forget to amuse the babies or to prevent +his stock running low."</p> + +<p>I have no means of telling whether the stranger spoke the truth, but I +prefer to believe that tale as gospel truth. Only the Japanese could +invent the God who Plays with Little Children. Thereafter the images +took a new aspect in my eyes and were no longer "Græco-Buddhist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> +sculptures," but personal friends. I added a great heap of pebbles to +the stock of the cheeriest among them. His bosom was ornamented with +small printed slips of prayers which gave him the appearance of a +disreputable old parson with his bands in disorder. A little further up +the bank of the river was a rough, solitary rock hewn with what men +called a Shinto shrine. I knew better: the thing was Hindu, and I looked +at the smooth stones on every side for the familiar dab of red paint. On +a flat rock overhanging the water were carved certain characters in +Sanscrit, remotely resembling those on a Thibetan prayer-wheel. Not +comprehending these matters, and grateful that I had brought no +guide-book with me, I clambered down to the lip of the river—now +compressed into a raging torrent. Do you know the Strid near +Bolton—that spot where the full force of the river is pent up in two +yards' breadth? The Nikko Strid is an improvement upon the Yorkshire +one. The blue rocks are hollowed like soapstone by the rush of the +water. They rise above head-level and in spring are tufted with azalea +blossom. The stranger of the godlings came up behind me as I basked on a +boulder. He pointed up the little gorge of rocks, "Now if I painted that +as it stands, every critic in the papers would say I was a liar."</p> + +<p>The mad stream came down directly from a blue hill blotched with pink, +through a sky-blue gorge also pink-blotched. An obviously impossible +pine mounted guard over the water. I would give much to see an accurate +representation of that view. The stranger departed growling over some +hidden grief—connected with the Academy perhaps.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span></p> + +<p>Hounded on by the Professor, the guide sought me by banks of the river +and bade me "come and see temples." Then I fairly and squarely cursed +all temples, being stretched at my ease on some warm sand in the hollow +of a rock, and ignorant as the grass-shod cattle that tramped the +further bank. "Very fine temples," said the guide, "you come and see. By +and by temple be shut up because priests make half an hour more time." +Nikko time is half an hour ahead of the standard, because the priests of +the temples have discovered that travellers arriving at three p.m. try +to do all the temples before four—the official-hour of closing. This +defrauds the church of her dues, so her servants put the clock on, and +Nikko, knowing naught of the value of time, is well content.</p> + +<p>When I cursed the temples I did a foolish thing, and one for which this +poor pen can never make fitting reparation. We went up a hill by way of +a flight of grey stone slabs. The <i>cryptomerias</i> of the Nikko road were +as children to the giants that overshadowed us here. Between their +iron-grey boles were flashes of red—the blood-red of the Mikado's +bridge. That great king who killed the beggar at the ford had been well +pleased with the success of his experiment. Passing under a mighty stone +arch we came into a square of splendour alive with the sound of hammers. +Thirty or forty men were tapping the pillars and steps of a carnelian +shrine heavy with gold. "That," said the guide, impassively, "is a +godown. They are renewing the lacquer. First they extract it."</p> + +<p>Have you ever "extracted" lacquer from wood? I smote the foot of a +pillar with force, and after half a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> dozen blows chipped off one small +fragment of the stuff, in texture like red horn. Betraying no surprise, +I demanded the name of a yet more magnificent shrine across the +courtyard. It was red lacquered like the others, but above its main door +were carved in open work three apes—one with his hands to his ears, +another covering his mouth, and a third blinding his eyes.</p> + +<p>"That place," said the guide, "used to be a stable when the Daimio kept +his horses there. The monkeys are the three who hear no wrong, say no +wrong, and see no wrong."</p> + +<p>"Of course," I said. "What a splendid device for a stable where the +grooms steal the grain!" I was angry because I had grovelled before a +godown and a stable, though the round world cannot hold their equals.</p> + +<p>We entered a temple, or a tomb, I do not know which, through a gateway +of carven pillars. Eleven of them bore a running pattern of trefoil—the +apex pointing earthward—the twelfth had its pattern reversed.</p> + +<p>"Make 'em all the same—no good," said the guide, emphatically. +"Something sure to come bad by an' by. Make one different all right. +Save him so. Nothing happen then."</p> + +<p>Unless I am mistaken, that voluntarily breaking of the set was the one +sacrifice that the designer had made to the great Gods above who are so +jealous of the craft of men. For the rest he had done what he +pleased—even as a god might have done—with the wood in its gleaming +lacquer sheath, with enamel and inlay and carving and bronze, hammered +work, and the work of the inspired chisel. When he went to his account +he saved himself from the jealousy of his judges, by pointing to the +trefoil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span> pillars for proof that he was only a weak mortal and in no +sense their equals. Men say that never man has given complete drawings, +details, or descriptions of the temples of Nikko. Only a German would +try, and he would fail in spirit. Only a Frenchman could succeed in +spirit, but he would be inaccurate. I have a recollection of passing +through a door with <i>cloisonnée</i> hinges, with a golden lintel and red +lacquer jambs, with panels of tortoise-shell lacquer and clamps of +bronze tracery. It opened into a half-lighted hall on whose blue ceiling +a hundred golden dragons romped and spat fire. A priest moved about the +gloom with noiseless feet, and showed me a pot-bellied lantern four feet +high, that the Dutch traders of old time had sent as a present to the +temple. There were posts of red lacquer dusted over with gold, to +support the roof. On one post lay a rib of lacquer, six inches thick, +that had been carved or punched over with high relief carvings and had +set harder than crystal.</p> + +<p>The temple steps were of black lacquer, and the frames of the sliding +screens red. That money, lakhs and lakhs of money, had been lavished on +the wonder impressed me but little. I wished to know who were the men +that, when the <i>cryptomerias</i> were saplings, had sat down and spent +their lives on a niche or corner of the temple, and dying passed on the +duty of adornment to their sons, though neither father nor child hoped +to see the work completed. This question I asked the guide, who plunged +me in a tangle of Daimios and Shoguns, all manifestly extracted from a +guide-book.</p> + +<p>After a while the builder's idea entered into my soul.</p> + +<p>He had said: "Let us build blood-red chapels in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> Cathedral." So they +planted the Cathedral three hundred years ago, knowing that tree-boles +would make the pillars and the sky the roof.</p> + +<p>Round each temple stood a small army of priceless bronze or stone +lanterns, stamped, as was everything else, with the three leaves that +make the Daimio's crest. The lanterns were dark green or lichened grey, +and in no way lightened the gloom of the red. Down below, by the sacred +bridge, I believed red was a joyous colour. Up the hillside under the +trees and the shadow of the temple eaves I saw that it was the hue of +sorrow. When the great king killed the beggar at the ford he did not +laugh, as I have said. He was very sorry, and said: "Art is Art, and +worth any sacrifice. Take that corpse away and pray for the naked soul." +Once, in one of the temple courtyards, nature dared to rebel against the +scheme of the hillside. Some forest tree, all unimpressed by the +<i>cryptomerias</i>, had tossed a torrent of tenderest pink flowers down the +face of a grey retaining wall that guarded a cutting. It was as if a +child had laughed aloud at some magnificence it could not understand.</p> + +<p>"You see that cat?" said the guide, pointing out a pot-bellied pussy +painted above a door. "That is the Sleeping Cat. The artist he paint it +left-handed. We are proud of that cat."</p> + +<p>"And did they let him remain left-handed after he had painted that +thing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. You see he was always left-handed."</p> + +<p>The infinite tenderness of the Japanese towards their children extends, +it would seem, even to artists. Every guide will take you to see the +Sleeping Cat. Don't go. It is bad. Coming down the hill, I learned that +all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> Nikko was two feet under snow in the winter, and while I was trying +to imagine how fierce red, white, and black-green would look under the +light of a winter sun I met the Professor murmuring expletives of +admiration.</p> + +<p>"What have you done? What have you seen?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I've accumulated a lot of impressions of no use to any one but +the owner."</p> + +<p>"Which means you are going to slop over for the benefit of the people in +India," said the Professor.</p> + +<p>And the notion so disgusted me that I left Nikko that very afternoon, +the guide clamouring that I had not seen half its glories. "There is a +lake," he said; "there are mountains. You must go see!"</p> + +<p>"I will return to Tokio and study the modern side of Japan. This place +annoys me because I do not understand it."</p> + +<p>"Yet I am <i>the</i> good guide of Yokohama," said the guide.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span>No. XX</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW I GROSSLY LIBELLED THE JAPANESE ARMY, AND EDITED A CIVIL AND +MILITARY GAZETTE WHICH IS NOT IN THE LEAST TRUSTWORTHY.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"And the Duke said, 'Let there be cavalry,' and there were +cavalry. And he said, 'Let them be slow,' and they were slow, +d——d slow; and the Japanese Imperial Horse called he them." </p></div> + + +<p>I was wrong. I know it. I ought to have clamoured at the doors of the +Legation for a pass to see the Imperial Palace. I ought to have +investigated Tokio and called upon some of the political leaders of the +Liberal and Radical parties. There are a hundred things which I ought to +have done, but somehow or other the bugles began to blare through the +chill of the morning, and I heard the tramp of armed men under my +window. The parade-ground was within a stone's throw of the Tokio hotel; +the Imperial troops were going on parade. Would <i>you</i> have bothered your +head about politics or temples? I ran after them.</p> + +<p>It is rather difficult to get accurate information about the Japanese +army. It seems to be in perpetual throes of reorganisation. At present, +so far as one can gather, it is about one hundred and seventy thousand +strong. Everybody has to serve for three years, but payment of one +hundred dollars will shorten the term of service by one year at least. +This is what a man who had gone through the mill told me. He capped his +information<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> with this verdict: "English army no use. Only navy any +good. Have seen two hundred English army. No use."</p> + +<p>On the parade-ground they had a company of foot and a wing of what, for +the sake of brevity, I will call cavalry under instruction. The former +were being put through some simple evolutions in close order; the latter +were variously and singularly employed. To the former I took off the hat +of respect; at the latter I am ashamed to say I pointed the finger of +derision. But let me try to describe what I saw. The likeness of the Jap +infantryman to the Gurkha grows when you see him in bulk. Thanks to +their wholesale system of conscription the quality of conscripts varies +immensely. I have seen scores of persons with spectacles whom it were +base flattery to call soldiers, and who I hope were in the medical or +commissariat departments. Again I have seen dozens of bull-necked, +deep-chested, flat-backed, thin-flanked little men who were as good as a +colonel commanding could desire. There was a man of the 2d Infantry whom +I met at an up-country railway station. He carried just the proper +amount of insolent swagger that a soldier should, refused to answer any +questions of mine, and parted the crowd round him without ceremony. A +Gurkha of the Prince of Wales' Own could not have been trimmer. In the +crush of a ticket-collecting—we both got out together—I managed to run +my hand over that small man's forearm and chest. They must have a very +complete system of gymnastics in the Japanese army, and I would have +given much to have stripped my friend and seen how he peeled. If the 2d +Infantry are equal to sample, they are good.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span></p> + +<p>The men on parade at Tokio belonged either to the 4th or the 9th, and +turned out with their cowskin valises strapped, but I think not packed. +Under full kit, such as I saw on the sentry at Osaka Castle, they ought +to be much too heavily burdened. Their officers were as miserable a set +of men as Japan could furnish—spectacled, undersized even for Japan, +hollow-backed and hump-shouldered. They squeaked their words of command +and had to trot by the side of their men to keep up with them. The Jap +soldier has the long stride of the Gurkha, and he doubles with the easy +lope of the 'rickshaw coolie. Throughout the three hours that I watched +them they never changed formation but once, when they doubled in pairs +across the plain, their rifles at the carry. Their step and intervals +were as good as those of our native regiments, but they wheeled rather +promiscuously, and were not checked for this by their officers. So far +as my limited experience goes, their formation was not Ours, but +continental. The words of command were as beautifully unintelligible as +anything our parade-grounds produce; and between them the officers of +each half-company vehemently harangued their men, and shook their swords +at 'em in distinctly unmilitary style. The precision of their movements +was beyond praise. They enjoyed three hours of steady drill, and in the +rare intervals when they stood easy to draw breath I looked for +slackness all down the ranks, inasmuch as "standing easy" is the crucial +test of men after the first smartness of the morning has worn off. They +stood "easy," neither more nor less, but never a hand went to a shoe or +stock or button while they were so standing. When they knelt, still in +this queer column<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> of company, I understood the mystery of the +long-sword bayonet which has puzzled me sorely. I had expected to see +the little fellows lifted into the air as the bayonet-sheath took +ground; but they were not. They kicked it sideways as they dropped. All +the same, the authorities tie men to the bayonets instead of bayonets to +the men. When at the double there was no grabbing at the cartridge pouch +with one hand or steadying the bayonet with the other, as may be seen +any day at running-firing on Indian ranges. They ran cleanly—as our +Gurkhas run.</p> + +<p>It was an unchristian thought, but I would have given a good deal to see +that company being blooded on an equal number of Our native +infantry—just to know how they would work. If they have pluck, and +there is not much in their past record to show that they have not, they +ought to be first-class enemies. Under British officers instead of the +little anatomies at present provided, and with a better rifle, they +should be as good as any troops recruited east of Suez. I speak here +only for the handy little men I saw. The worst of conscription is that +it sweeps in such a mass of fourth and fifth-rate citizens who, though +they may carry a gun, are likely, by their own excusable ineptitude, to +do harm to the morale and set-up of a regiment. In their walks abroad +the soldiery never dream of keeping step. They tie things to their +side-arms, they carry bundles, they slouch, and dirty their uniforms.</p> + +<p>And so much for a raw opinion on Japanese infantry. The cavalry were +having a picnic on the other side of the parade-ground—circling right +and left by sections, trying to do something with a troop, and so forth. +I would fain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> believe that the gentlemen I saw were recruits. But they +wore all their arms, and their officers were just as clever as +themselves. Half of them were in white fatigue-dress and flat cap,—and +wore half-boots of brown leather with short hunting-spurs and black +straps; no chains. They carried carbine and sword—the sword fixed to +the man, and the carbine slung over the back. No martingales, but +breastplates and crupper, a huge, heavy saddle, with single hide-girth, +over two <i>numdahs</i>, completed the equipment which a thirteen-hand pony, +all mane and tail, was trying to get rid of. When you thrust a two-pound +bit and bridoon into a small pony's mouth, you hurt his feelings. When +the riders wear, as did my friends, white worsted gloves, they cannot +take a proper hold of the reins. When they ride with both hands, sitting +well on the mount's neck, knuckles level with its ears and the stirrup +leathers as short as they can be, the chances of the pony getting rid of +the rider are manifestly increased. Never have I seen such a wild dream +of equitation as the Tokio parade-ground showed. Do you remember the +picture in <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>, just before Alice found the Lion and +the Unicorn; when she met the armed men coming through the woods? I +thought of that, and I thought of the White Knight in the same classic, +and I laughed aloud. Here were a set of very fair ponies, sure-footed as +goats, mostly entires, and full of go. Under Japanese weights they would +have made very thorough mounted infantry. And here was this blindly +imitative nation trying to turn them into heavy cavalry. As long as the +little beasts were gravely trotting in circles they did not mind their +work. But when it came to slashing at the Turk's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> head they objected +very much indeed. I affiliated myself to a section who, armed with long +wooden swords, were enjoying some Turk's-heading. Out started a pony at +the gentlest of canters, while the rider bundled all the reins into one +hand, and held his sword like a lance. Then the pony shied a little shy, +shook his shaggy head, and began to passage round the Turk's head. There +was no pressure of knee or rein to tell him what was wanted. The man on +top began kicking with the spurs from shoulder to rump, and shaking up +the ironmongery in the poor brute's mouth. The pony could neither rear, +nor kick, nor buck; but it shook itself free of the incubus who slid +off. Three times I saw this happen. The catastrophe didn't rise to the +dignity of a fall. It was the blundering collapse of incompetence plus +worsted gloves, two-handed riding, and a haystack of equipment. Very +often the pony went at the post, and the man delivered a back-handed cut +at the Turk's head which nearly brought him out of his world-too-wide +saddle. Again and again this solemn performance was repeated. I can +honestly say that the ponies are very willing to break rank and leave +their companions, which is what an English troop-horse fails in; but I +fancy this is more due to the urgent private affairs of the pony than +any skill in training. The troops charged once or twice in a terrifying +canter. When the men wished to stop they leaned back and tugged, and the +pony put his head to the ground, and bored all he knew. They charged me, +but I was merciful, and forebore to empty half the saddles, as I +assuredly could have done by throwing up my arms and yelling "Hi!" The +saddest thing of all was the painful conscientiousness displayed by all +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> performers in the circus. They had to turn these rats into cavalry. +They knew nothing about riding, and what they did know was wrong; but +the rats must be made troop-horses. Why wouldn't the scheme work? There +was a patient, pathetic wonder on the faces of the men that made me long +to take one of them in my arms and try to explain things to +him—bridles, for instance, and the futility of hanging on by the spurs. +Just when the parade was over, and the troops were ambling off, +Providence sent diagonally across the parade-ground, at a gallop, a big, +rawboned man on a lathy-red American horse. The brute cracked his +nostrils, and switched his flag abroad, and romped across the plain, +while his rider dropped one hand and sat still, swaying lightly from the +hips. The two served to scale the surroundings. Some one really ought to +tell the Mikado that ponies were never intended for dragoons.</p> + +<p>If the changes and chances of military service ever send you against +Japanese troops, be tender with their cavalry. They mean no harm. Put +some fusees down for the horses to step on, and send a fatigue-party out +to pick up the remnants. But if you meet Japanese infantry, led by a +Continental officer, commence firing early and often and at the longest +ranges compatible with getting at them. They are bad little men who know +too much.</p> + +<p>Having thoroughly settled the military side of the nation exactly as my +Japanese friend at the beginning of this letter settled Us,—on the +strength of two hundred men caught at random,—I devoted myself to a +consideration of Tokio. I am wearied of temples. Their monotony of +splendour makes my head ache. You also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> will weary of temples unless you +are an artist, and then you will be disgusted with yourself. Some folk +say that Tokio covers an area equal to London. Some folk say that it is +not more than ten miles long and eight miles broad. There are a good +many ways of solving the question. I found a tea-garden situated on a +green plateau far up a flight of steps, with pretty girls smiling on +every step. From this elevation I looked forth over the city, and it +stretched away from the sea, far as the eye could reach—one grey +expanse of packed house-roof, the perspective marked by numberless +factory chimneys. Then I went several miles away and found a park, +another eminence, and some more tea-girls prettier than the last; and, +looking again, the city stretched out in a new direction as far as the +eye could reach. Taking the scope of the eye on a clear day at eighteen +miles, I make Tokio thirty-six miles long by thirty-six miles broad +exactly; and there may be some more which I missed. The place roared +with life through all its quarters. Double lines of trams ran down the +main streets for mile on mile, rows of omnibuses stood at the principal +railway station, and the "Compagnie General des Omnibus de Tokio" +paraded the streets with gold and vermilion cars. All the trams were +full, all the private and public omnibuses were full, and the streets +were full of 'rickshaws. From the sea-shore to the shady green park, +from the park to the dim distance, the land pullulated with people.</p> + +<p>Here you saw how Western civilisation had eaten into them. Every tenth +man was attired in Europe clothes from hat to boots. It is a queer race. +It can parody every type of humanity to be met in a large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> English town. +Eat and prosperous merchant with mutton-chop whiskers; mild-eyed, +long-haired professor of science, his clothes baggy about him; schoolboy +in Eton jacket, broadcloth trousers; young clerk, member of the Clapham +Athletic Club in tennis flannels; artisans in sorely worn tweeds; +top-hatted lawyer with clean-shaven upper lip and black leather bag; +sailor out of work; and counter-jumper; all these and many, many more +you shall find in the streets of Tokio in half an hour's walk. But when +you come to speak to the imitation, behold it can only talk Japanese. +You touch it, and it is not what you thought. I fluctuated down the +streets addressing myself to the most English-looking folk I saw. They +were polite with a graciousness that in no way accorded with their +raiment, but they knew not a word of my tongue. One small boy in the +uniform of the Naval College said suddenly: "I spik Inglees," and +collapsed. The rest of the people in our clothes poured their own +vernacular upon my head. Yet the shop-signs were English, the tramway +under my feet was English gauge, the commodities sold were English, and +the notices on the streets were in English. It was like walking in a +dream. I reflected. Far away from Tokio and off the line of rail I had +met men like these men in the streets. Perfectly dressed Englishmen to +the outer eye, but dumb. The country must be full of their likes.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! Here is Japan going to run its own civilisation without +learning a language in which you can say Damn satisfactorily. I must +inquire into this."</p> + +<p>Chance had brought me opposite the office of a newspaper, and I ran in +demanding an editor. He came—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> Editor of the <i>Tokio Public Opinion</i>, +a young man in a black frock-coat. There are not many editors in other +parts of the world who would offer you tea and a cigarette ere beginning +a conversation. My friend had but little English. His paper, though the +name was printed in English, was Japanese. But he knew his business. +Almost before I had explained my errand, which was the pursuit of +miscellaneous information, he began: "You are English. How you think now +the American Revision Treaty?" Out came a note-book and I sweated cold. +It was not in the bargain that he should interview me.</p> + +<p>"There's a great deal," I answered, remembering Sir Roger, of blessed +memory,—"a great deal to be said on both sides. The American Revision +Treaty—h'm—demands an enormous amount of matured consideration and may +safely be referred—"</p> + +<p>"But we of Japan are now civilised."</p> + +<p>Japan says that she is now civilised. That is the crux of the whole +matter so far as I understand it. "Let us have done with the idiotic +system of treaty-ports and passports for the foreigner who steps beyond +them," says Japan in effect. "Give us our place among the civilised +nations of the earth, come among us, trade with us, hold land in our +midst. Only be subject to our jurisdiction and submit to our—tariffs." +Now since one or two of the foreign nations have won special tariffs for +their goods in the usual way, they are not over-anxious to become just +ordinary folk. The effect of accepting Japan's views would be excellent +for the individual who wanted to go up-country and make his money, but +bad for the nation. For Our nation in particular.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the same I was not prepared to have my ignorance of a burning +question put down in any note-book save my own. I Gladstoned about the +matter with the longest words I could. My friend recorded them much +after the manner of Count Smorltork. Then I attacked him on the subject +of civilisation—speaking very slowly because he had a knack of running +two words of mine together, and turning them into something new.</p> + +<p>"You are right," said he. "We are becoming civilised. But not too quick, +for that is bad. Now there are two parties in the State—the Liberal and +the Radical: one Count he lead one, one Count lead the other. The +Radical say that we should swiftly become all English. The Liberal he +says not so quick, because that nation which too swiftly adopt other +people's customs he decay. That question of civilisation and the +American Revision Treaty he occupied our chief attentions. Now we are +not so zealous to become civilised as we were two—three years gone. Not +so quick—that is our watchword. Yes."</p> + +<p>If matured deliberation be the wholesale adoption of imperfectly +understood arrangements, I should dearly like to see Japan in a hurry. +We discussed comparative civilisations for a short time, and I protested +feebly against the defilement of the streets of Tokio by rows of houses +built after glaring European models. Surely there is no need to discard +your own architecture, I said.</p> + +<p>"Ha," snorted the chief of the <i>Public Opinion</i>. "You call it +picturesque. I call it too. Wait till he light up—incendiate. A +Japanese house then is one only fire box. <i>That</i> is why we think good to +build in European fashion. I tell you, and you must believe, that we +take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> up no change without thinking upon it. Truth, indeed, it is not +because we are curious children, wanting new things, as some people have +said. We have done with that season of picking up things and throwing +them down again. You see?"</p> + +<p>"Where did you pick up your Constitution, then?"</p> + +<p>I did not know what the question would bring forth, yet I ought to have +been wise. The first question that a Japanese on the railway asks an +Englishman is: "Have you got the English translation of our +Constitution?" All the book-stalls sell it in English and Japanese, and +all the papers discuss it. The child is not yet three months old.</p> + +<p>"Our Constitution?—That was promised to us—promised twenty years ago. +Fourteen years ago the provinces they have been allowed to elect their +big men—their heads. Three years ago they have been allowed to have +assemblies, and thus Civil Liberty was assured."</p> + +<p>I was baffled here for some time. In the end I thought I made out that +the municipalities had been given certain control over police funds and +the appointment of district officials. I may have been entirely wrong, +but the editor bore me along on a torrent of words, his body rocking and +his arms waving with the double agony of twisting a foreign tongue to +his service and explaining the to-be-taken-seriouslyness of Japan. Whack +come the little hand on the little table, and the little tea-cups jumped +again.</p> + +<p>"Truly, and indeed, this Constitution of ours has <i>not</i> come too soon. +It proceeded step-by. You understand that? Now your Constitution, the +Constitutions of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> foreign nations, are all bloody—bloody +Constitutions. Ours has come step-by. We did not fight as the barons +fought with King John at Runnymede."</p> + +<p>This was a quotation from a speech delivered at Otsu, a few days +previously, by a member of the Government. I grinned at the brotherhood +of editors all the world over. Up went the hand anew.</p> + +<p>"We shall be happy with this Constitution and a people civilised among +civilisations."</p> + +<p>"Of course. But what will you actually do with it? A Constitution is +rather a monotonous thing to work after the fun of sending members to +Parliament has died out. You have a Parliament, have you not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, <i>with</i> parties—Liberal and Radical."</p> + +<p>"Then they will both tell lies to you and to each other. Then they will +pass bills, and spend their time fighting each other. Then all the +foreign governments will discover that you have no fixed policy."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. But the Constitution." The little hands were crossed in his +lap. The cigarette hung limply from his mouth.</p> + +<p>"No fixed policy. Then, when you have sufficiently disgusted the foreign +Powers, they will wait until the Liberals and Radicals are fighting very +hard, and then they will blow you out of the water."</p> + +<p>"You are not making fun? I do not quite understand," said he. "Your +Constitutions are all so bloody."</p> + +<p>"Yes. That is exactly what they are. You are very much in earnest about +yours, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, we all talk politics now."</p> + +<p>"And write politics, of course. By the way, under what—h'm, +arrangements with the Government is a Japanese<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> paper published? I mean, +must you pay anything before starting a press?"</p> + +<p>"Literary, scientific, and religious papers—no. Quite free. All purely +political papers pay five hundred yen—give to the Government to keep, +or else some man says he will pay."</p> + +<p>"You must give security, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know, but sometimes the Government can keep the money. We are +purely political."</p> + +<p>Then he asked questions about India, and appeared astonished to find +that the natives there possessed considerable political power, and +controlled districts.</p> + +<p>"But have you a Constitution in India?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that we have not."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>He crushed me there, and I left very humbly, but cheered by the promise +that the <i>Tokio Public Opinion</i> would contain an account of my words. +Mercifully, that respectable journal is printed in Japanese, so the hash +will not be served up to a large table. I would give a good deal to +discover what meaning he attached to my forecast of Constitutional +government in Japan.</p> + +<p>"We all talk politics now." That was the sentence which remained to me. +It was true talk. Men of the Educational Department in Tokio told me +that the students would "talk politics" by the hour if you allowed them. +At present they were talking in the abstract about their new plaything, +the Constitution, with its Upper House and its Lower House, its +committees, its questions of supply, its rules of procedure, and all the +other skittles we have played with for six hundred years.</p> + +<p>Japan is the second Oriental country which has made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> it impossible for a +strong man to govern alone. This she has done of her own free will. +India, on the other hand, has been forcibly ravished by the Secretary of +State and the English M. P.</p> + +<p>Japan is luckier than India.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span><a name="No_XXI" id="No_XXI"></a>No. XXI</h2> + +<p>SHOWS THE SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE BABU AND THE JAPANESE. CONTAINS THE +EARNEST OUTCRY OF AN UNBELIEVER. THE EXPLANATION OF MR. SMITH OF +CALIFORNIA AND ELSEWHERE. TAKES ME ON BOARD SHIP AFTER DUE WARNING TO +THOSE WHO FOLLOW.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Very sadly did we leave it, but we gave our hearts in pledge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the pine above the city, to the blossoms by the hedge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the cherry and the maple and the plum tree and the peach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the babies—Oh, the babies!—romping fatly under each.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eastward ho! Across the water see the black bow drives and swings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the land of Little Children, where the Babies are the Kings.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>The Professor discovered me in meditation amid tea-girls at the back of +the Ueno Park in the heart of Tokio. My 'rickshaw coolie sat by my side +drinking tea from daintiest china, and eating maccaroons. I thought of +Sterne's donkey and smiled vacuously into the blue above the trees. The +tea-girls giggled. One of them captured my spectacles, perched them on +her own snubby-chubby nose, and ran about among her cackling fellows.</p> + +<p>"And loose thy fingers in the tresses of The cypress-slender minister of +wine," quoted the Professor, coming round a booth suddenly. "Why aren't +you at the Mikado's garden party?"</p> + +<p>"Because he didn't invite me, and, anyhow, he wears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> Europe clothes—so +does the Empress—so do all the Court people. Let's sit down and +consider things. This people puzzles me."</p> + +<p>And I told my story of the interview with the Editor of the <i>Tokio +Public Opinion</i>. The Professor had been making investigation into the +Educational Department. "And further," said he at the end of the tale, +"the ambition of the educated student is to get a place under +Government. Therefore he comes to Tokio: will accept any situation at +Tokio that he may be near to his chance."</p> + +<p>"Whose son is that student?"</p> + +<p>"Son of the peasant, yeoman farmer, and shopkeeper, <i>ryot</i>, <i>tehsildar</i>, +and <i>bunnia</i>. While he waits he imbibes Republican leanings on account +of the nearness of Japan to America. He talks and writes and debates, +and is convinced he can manage the Empire better than the Mikado."</p> + +<p>"Does he go away and start newspapers to prove that?"</p> + +<p>"He may; but it seems to be unwholesome work. A paper can be suspended +without reason given under the present laws; and I'm told that one +enterprising editor has just got three years' simple imprisonment for +caricaturing the Mikado."</p> + +<p>"Then there is yet hope for Japan. I can't quite understand how a people +with a taste for fighting and quick artistic perceptions can care for +the things that delight our friends in Bengal."</p> + +<p>"You make the mistake of looking on the Bengali as unique. So he is in +his own peculiar style; but I take it that the drunkenness of Western +wine affects all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> Oriental folk in much the same way. What misleads you +is that very likeness. Followest thou? Because a Jap struggles with +problems beyond his grip in much the same phraseology as a Calcutta +University student, and discusses Administration with a capital A, you +lump Jap and Chatterjee together."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. Chatterjee doesn't sink his money in railway companies, or +sit down and provide for the proper sanitation of his own city, or of +his own notion cultivate the graces of life, as the Jap does. He is like +the <i>Tokio Public Opinion</i>—'purely political.' He has no art whatever, +he has no weapons, and there is no power of manual labour in him. Yet he +is like the Jap in the pathos of his politics. Have you ever studied +Pathetic Politics? <i>Why</i> is he like the Jap?"</p> + +<p>"Both drunk, I suppose," said the Professor. "Get that girl to give back +your gig-lamps, and you will be able to see more clearly into the soul +of the Far East."</p> + +<p>"The 'Far East' hasn't got a soul. She swapped it for a Constitution on +the Eleventh of February last. Can any Constitution make up for the +wearing of Europe clothes? I saw a Jap lady just now in full afternoon +calling-kit. She looked atrocious. Have you seen the later Japanese +art—the pictures on the fans and in the shop windows? They are faithful +reproductions of the changed life—telegraph poles down the streets, +conventionalised tram-lines, top-hats, and carpet-bags in the hands of +the men. The artists can make those things almost passable, but when it +comes to conventionalising a Europe dress, the effect is horrible."</p> + +<p>"Japan wishes to take her place among civilised nations," said the +Professor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's where the pathos comes in. It's enough to make you weep to watch +this misdirected effort—this wallowing in unloveliness for the sake of +recognition at the hands of men who paint their ceilings white, their +grates black, their mantelpieces French grey, and their carriages yellow +and red. The Mikado wears blue and gold and red, his guards wear orange +breeches with a stone-blue stripe down them; the American missionary +teaches the Japanese girl to wear bangs—"shingled bangs"—on her +forehead, plait her hair into a pigtail, and to tie it up with magenta +and cobalt ribbons. The German sells them the offensive chromos of his +own country and the labels of his beer-bottles. Allen and Ginter +devastate Tokio with their blood-red and grass-green tobacco-tins. And +in the face of all these things the country wishes to progress toward +civilisation! I have read the entire Constitution of Japan, and it is +dearly bought at the price of one of the kaleidoscope omnibuses plying +in the street there."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to inflict all that nonsense on them at home?" said the +Professor.</p> + +<p>"I am. For this reason. In the years to come, when Japan has sold her +birthright for the privilege of being cheated on equal terms by her +neighbours; when she has so heavily run into debt for her railways and +public works that the financial assistance of England and annexation is +her only help; when the Daimios through poverty have sold the treasures +of their houses to the curio-dealer, and the dealer has sold them to the +English collector; when all the people wear slop-trousers and ready-made +petticoats, and the Americans have established soap factories on the +rivers and a boarding-house<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> on the top of Fujiyama, some one will turn +up the files of the <i>Pioneer</i> and say: 'This thing was prophesied.' Then +they will be sorry that they began tampering with the great +sausage-machine of civilisation. What is put into the receiver must come +out at the spout; but it must come out mincemeat. <i>Dixi!</i> And now let us +go to the tomb of the Forty-Seven Ronins."</p> + +<p>"It has been said some time ago, and much better than you can say it," +said the Professor, <i>apropos</i> of nothing that I could see.</p> + +<p>Distances are calculated by the hour in Tokio. Forty minutes in a +'rickshaw, running at full speed, will take you a little way into the +city; two hours from the Ueno Park brings you to the tomb of the famous +Forty-Seven, passing on the way the very splendid temples of Shiba, +which are all fully described in the guide-books. Lacquer, gold-inlaid +bronze-work, and crystals carved with the words "Om" and "Shri" are fine +things to behold, but they do not admit of very varied treatment in +print. In one tomb of one of the temples was a room of lacquer panels +overlaid with gold leaf. An animal of the name of V. Gay had seen fit to +scratch his entirely uninteresting name on the gold. Posterity will take +note that V. Gay never cut his fingernails, and ought not to have been +trusted with anything prettier than a hog-trough.</p> + +<p>"It is the handwriting upon the wall," I said.</p> + +<p>"Presently there will be neither gold nor lacquer—nothing but the +finger-marks of foreigners. Let us pray for the soul of V. Gay all the +same. Perhaps he was a missionary."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Japanese papers occasionally contain, sandwiched between notes of +railway, mining, and tram concessions, announcements like the following: +"Dr. —— committed <i>hara-kiri</i> last night at his private residence in +such and such a street. Family complications are assigned as the reason +of the act." Nor does <i>hara-kiri</i> merely mean suicide by any method. +<i>Hara-kiri</i> is <i>hara-kiri</i>, and the private performance is even more +ghastly than the official one. It is curious to think that any one of +the dapper little men with top-hats and reticules who have a +Constitution of their own, may in time of mental stress, strip to the +waist, shake their hair over their brows, and, after prayer, rip +themselves open. When you come to Japan, look at Farsari's <i>hara-kiri</i> +pictures and his photos of the last crucifixion (twenty years ago) in +Japan. Then at Deakin's, inquire for the modelled head of a gentleman +who was not long ago executed in Tokio. There is a grim fidelity in the +latter work of art that will make you uncomfortable. The Japanese, in +common with the rest of the East, have a strain of blood-thirstiness in +their compositions. It is very carefully veiled now, but some of +Hokusai's pictures show it, and show that not long ago the people +revelled in its outward expression. Yet they are tender to all children +beyond the tenderness of the West, courteous to each other beyond the +courtesy of the English, and polite to the foreigner alike in the big +towns and in the Mofussil. What they will be after their Constitution +has been working for three generations the Providence that made them +what they are alone knows!</p> + +<p>All the world seems ready to proffer them advice. Colonel Olcott is +wandering up and down the country<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> now, telling them that the Buddhist +religion needs reformation, offering to reform it, and eating with +ostentation rice gruel which is served to him in cups by admiring +handmaidens. A wanderer from Kioto tells me that in the Chion-in, +loveliest of all the temples, he saw only three days ago the Colonel +mixed up with a procession of Buddhist priests, just such a procession +as the one I tried vainly to describe, and "tramping about as if the +whole show belonged to him." You cannot appreciate the solemnity of this +until you have seen the Colonel and the Chion-in temple. The two are +built on entirely different lines, and they don't seem to harmonise. It +only needs now Madame Blavatsky, cigarette in mouth, under the +<i>cryptomerias</i> of Nikko, and the return of Mr. Caine, M. P., to preach +the sin of drinking <i>saki</i>, and the menagerie would be full.</p> + +<p>Something should be done to America. There are many American +missionaries in Japan, and some of them construct clapboard churches and +chapels for whose ugliness no creed could compensate. They further +instil into the Japanese mind wicked ideas of "Progress," and teach that +it is well to go ahead of your neighbour, to improve your situation, and +generally to thresh yourself to pieces in the battle of existence. They +do not mean to do this; but their own restless energy enforces the +lesson. The American is objectionable. And yet—this is written from +Yokohama—how pleasant in every way is a nice American whose tongue is +cleansed of "right there," "all the time," "noos," "revoo," "raound," +and the Falling Cadence. I have met such an one even now—a Californian +ripened in Spain, matured in England, polished in Paris, and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> always +a Californian. His voice and manners were soft alike, temperate were his +judgments and temperately expressed, wide was his range of experience, +genuine his humour, and fresh from the mint of his mind his reflections. +It was only at the end of the conversation that he startled me a little.</p> + +<p>"I understand that you are going to stay some time in California. Do you +mind my giving you a little advice? I am speaking now of towns that are +still rather brusque in their manners. When a man offers you a drink +accept at once, and then stand drinks all round. I don't say that the +second part of the programme is as necessary as the first, but it puts +you on a perfectly safe footing. Above all, remember that where you are +going you must never carry anything. The men you move among will do that +for you. They have been accustomed to it. It is in some places, +unluckily, a matter of life and death as well as daily practice to draw +first. I have known really lamentable accidents occur from a man +carrying a revolver when he did not know what to do with it. Do you +understand anything about revolvers?"</p> + +<p>"N-no," I stammered, "of course not."</p> + +<p>"Do you think of carrying one?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. I don't want to kill myself."</p> + +<p>"Then you are safe. But remember you will be moving among men who go +heeled, and you will hear a good deal of talk about the thing and a +great many tall stories. You may listen to the yarns, but you must not +conform to the custom however much you may feel tempted. You invite your +own death if you lay your hand on a weapon you don't understand. No man +flourishes a revolver in a bad place. It is produced for one specified +purpose and produced before you can wink."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But surely if you draw first you have an advantage over the other man," +said I, valorously.</p> + +<p>"You think so? Let me show you. I have no use for any weapon, but I +believe I have one about me somewhere. An ounce of demonstration is +worth a ton of theory. Your pipe-case is on the table. My hands are on +the table too. Use that pipe case as a revolver and as quickly as you +can."</p> + +<p>I used it in the approved style of the penny dreadful—pointed it with a +stiff arm at my friend's head. Before I knew how it came about the pipe +case had quitted my hand, which was caught close to the funny-bone and +tingled horribly. I heard four persuasive clicks under the table almost +before I knew that my arm was useless. The gentleman from California had +jerked out his pistol from its pocket and drawn the trigger four times, +his hand resting on his hip while I was lifting my right arm.</p> + +<p>"Now, do you believe?" he said. "Only an Englishman or an Eastern man +fires from the shoulder in that melodramatic manner. I had you safe +before your arm went out, merely because I happened to know the trick; +and there are men out yonder who in a trouble could hold me as safe as I +held you. They don't reach round for their revolver, as novelists say. +It's here in front, close to the second right brace-button, and it is +fired, without aim, at the other man's stomach. You will understand now +why in event of a dispute you should show very clearly that you are +unarmed. You needn't hold up your hands ostentatiously; keep them out of +your pockets, or somewhere where your friend can see them. No man will +touch you then. Or if he does, he is pretty sure to be shot by the +general sense of the room."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That must be a singular consolation to the corpse," I said.</p> + +<p>"I see I've misled you. Don't fancy that any part in America is as free +and easy as my lecture shows. Only in a few really tough towns do you +require <i>not</i> to own a revolver. Elsewhere you are all right. Most +Americans of my acquaintance have got into the habit of carrying +something; but it's only a habit. They'd never dream of using it unless +they are hard pressed. It's the man who draws to enforce a proposition +about canning peaches, orange-culture, or town lots or water-rights +that's a nuisance."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," I said faintly. "I purpose to investigate these things +later on. I'm much obliged to you for your advice."</p> + +<p>When he had departed it struck me that, in the language of the East, "he +might have been pulling my leg." But there remained no doubt whatever as +to his skill with the weapon he excused so tenderly.</p> + +<p>I put the case before the Professor. "We will go to America before you +forejudge it altogether," said he. "To America in an American ship will +we go, and say good-by to Japan." That night we counted the gain of our +sojourn in the Land of Little Children more closely than many men count +their silver. Nagasaki with the grey temples, green hills, and all the +wonder of a first-seen shore; the Inland Sea, a thirty-hour panorama of +passing islets drawn in grey and buff and silver for our delight; Kobé, +where we fed well and went to a theatre; Osaka of the canals and the +peach blossom; Kioto—happy, lazy, sumptuous Kioto, and the blue rapids +and innocent delights of Arashima; Otzu on the shoreless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> rainy lake; +Myanoshita in the hills; Kamakura by the tumbling Pacific, where the +great god Buddha sits and equably hears the centuries and the seas +murmur in his ears; Nikko, fairest of all places under the sun; Tokio, +the two-thirds civilised and altogether progressive warren of humanity; +and composite Franco-American Yokohama; we renewed them all, sorting out +and putting aside our special treasures of memory. If we stayed longer, +we might be disillusioned, and yet—surely, that would be impossible.</p> + +<p>"What sort of mental impression do you carry away?" said the Professor.</p> + +<p>"A tea-girl in fawn-coloured crêpe under a cherry tree all blossom. +Behind her, green pines, two babies, and a hog-backed bridge spanning a +bottle-green river running over blue boulders. In the foreground a +little policeman in badly fitting Europe clothes drinking tea from blue +and white china on a black lacquered stand. Fleecy white clouds above +and a cold wind up the street," I said, summarising hastily.</p> + +<p>"Mine is a little different. A Japanese boy in a flat-headed German cap +and baggy Eton jacket; a King taken out of a toy-shop, a railway taken +out of a toy-shop, hundreds of little Noah's Ark trees and fields made +of green-painted wood. The whole neatly packed in a camphor-wood box +with an explanatory book called the Constitution—price twenty cents."</p> + +<p>"You looked on the darker side of things. But what's the good of writing +impressions? Every man has to get his own at first hand. Suppose I give +an itinerary of what we saw?"</p> + +<p>"You couldn't do it," said the Professor, blandly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> "Besides, by the +time the next Anglo-Indian comes this way there will be a hundred more +miles of railway and all the local arrangements will have changed. Write +that a man should come to Japan without any plans. The guide-books will +tell him a little, and the men he meets will tell him ten times more. +Let him get first a good guide at Kobé, and the rest will come easily +enough. An itinerary is only a fresh manifestation of that unbridled +egoism which—"</p> + +<p>"I shall write that a man can do himself well from Calcutta to Yokohama, +stopping at Rangoon, Moulmein, Penang, Singapur, Hong-Kong, Canton, and +taking a month in Japan, for about sixty pounds—rather less than more. +But if he begins to buy curios, that man is lost. Five hundred rupees +cover his month in Japan and allow him every luxury. Above all, he +should bring with him thousands of cheroots—enough to serve him till he +reaches 'Frisco. Singapur is the last place on the line where you can +buy Burmas. Beyond that point wicked men sell Manila cigars with fancy +names for ten, and Havanas for thirty-five, cents. No one inspects your +boxes till you reach 'Frisco. Bring, therefore, at least one thousand +cheroots."</p> + +<p>"Do you know, it seems to me you have a very queer sense of proportion?"</p> + +<p>And that was the last word the Professor spoke on Japanese soil.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span><a name="No_XXII" id="No_XXII"></a>No. XXII</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW I CAME TO AMERICA BEFORE MY TIME AND WAS MUCH SHAKEN IN BODY +AND SOUL.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then spoke der Captain Stossenheim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who had theories of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Oh, Breitmann, this is judgment on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Der ways dot you have trod.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You only lifs to enjoy yourself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While you yourself agree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dot self-development requires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Der religious Idee.'"<br /></span> +</div> +<p class="sign">—<i>C. G. Leland.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>This is America. They call her the <i>City of Peking</i>, and she belongs to +the Pacific Mail Company, but for all practical purposes she is the +United States. We are divided between missionaries and +generals—generals who were at Vicksburg and Shiloh, and German by +birth, but more American than the Americans, who in confidence tell you +that they are not generals at all, but only brevet majors of militia +corps. The missionaries are perhaps the queerest portion of the cargo. +Did you ever hear an English minister lecture for half an hour on the +freight-traffic receipts and general working of, let us say, the +Midland? The Professor has been sitting at the feet of a keen-eyed, +close-bearded, swarthy man who expounded unto him kindred mysteries with +a fluency and precision that a city leader-writer might have envied. +"Who's your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> financial friend with the figures at his fingers' ends?" I +asked. "Missionary—Presbyterian Mission to the Japs," said the +Professor. I laid my hand upon my mouth and was dumb.</p> + +<p>As a counterpoise to the missionaries, we carry men from Manila—lean +Scotchmen who gamble once a month in the Manila State lottery and +occasionally turn up trumps. One, at least, drew a ten-thousand-dollar +prize last December and is away to make merry in the New World. +Everybody on the staff of an American steamer this side the Continent +seems to gamble steadily in that lottery, and the talk of the +smoking-room runs almost entirely on prizes won by accident or lost +through a moment's delay. The tickets are sold more or less openly at +Yokahama and Hong-Kong, and the drawings—losers and winners both agree +here—are above reproach.</p> + +<p>We have resigned ourselves to the infinite monotony of a twenty days' +voyage. The Pacific Mail advertises falsely. Only under the most +favorable circumstances of wind and steam can their under-engined boats +cover the distance in fifteen days. Our <i>City of Peking</i>, for instance, +had been jogging along at a gentle ten knots an hour, a pace out of all +proportion to her bulk. "When we get a wind," says the Captain, "we +shall do better." She is a four-master and can carry any amount of +canvas. It is not safe to run steamers across this void under the poles +of Atlantic liners. The monotony of the sea is paralysing. We have +passed the wreck of a little sealing-schooner lying bottom up and +covered with gulls. She weltered by in the chill dawn, unlovely as the +corpse of a man,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> and the wild birds piped thinly at us as they steered +her across the surges. The pulse of the Pacific is no little thing even +in the quieter moods of the sea. It set our bows swinging and nosing and +ducking ere we were a day clear of Yokohama, and yet there was never +swell nor crested wave in sight. "We ride very high," said the Captain, +"and she's a dry boat. She has a knack of crawling over things somehow; +but we shan't need to put her to the test this journey."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Captain was mistaken. For four days we have endured the sullen +displeasure of the North Pacific, winding up with a night of discomfort. +It began with a grey sea, flying clouds, and a head-wind that smote +fifty knots off the day's run. Then rose from the southeast a beam sea +warranted by no wind that was abroad upon the waters in our +neighbourhood, and we wallowed in the trough of it for sixteen mortal +hours. In the stillness of the harbour, when the newspaper man is +lunching in her saloon and the steam-launch is crawling round her sides, +a ship of pride is a "stately liner." Out in the open, one rugged +shoulder of a sea between you and the horizon, she becomes "the old +hooker," a "lively boat," and other things of small import, for this is +necessary to propitiate the Ocean. "There's a storm to the southeast of +us," explained the Captain. "That's what's kicking up this sea."</p> + +<p>The <i>City of Peking</i> did not belie her reputation. She crawled over the +seas in liveliest wise, never shipping a bucket till—she was forced to. +Then she took it green over the bows to the vast edification of, at +least,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> one passenger who had never seen the scuppers full before.</p> + +<p>Later in the day the fun began. "Oh, she's a daisy at rolling," murmured +the chief steward, flung starfish-wise on a table among his glassware. +"She's rolling some," said a black apparition new risen from the +stoke-hold. "Is she going to roll any more?" demanded the ladies grouped +in what ought to have been the ladies' saloon, but, according to +American custom, was labelled "Social Hall."</p> + +<p>Passed in the twilight the chief officer—a dripping, bearded face. +"Shall I mark out the bull-board?" said he, and lurched aft, followed by +the tongue of a wave. "She'll roll her guards under to-night," said a +man from Louisiana, where their river-steamers do not understand the +meaning of bulwarks. We dined to a dashing accompaniment of crockery, +the bounds of emancipated beer-bottles livelier than their own corks, +and the clamour of the ship's gong broken loose and calling to meals on +its own account.</p> + +<p>After dinner the real rolling began. She did roll "guards under," as the +Louisiana man had prophesied. At thirty-minute intervals to the second +arrived one big sea, when the electric lamps died down to nothing, and +the screw raved and the blows of the sea made the decks quiver. On those +occasions we moved from our chairs, not gently, but discourteously. At +other times we were merely holding on with both hands.</p> + +<p>It was then that I studied Fear—Terror bound in black silk and fighting +hard with herself. For reasons which will be thoroughly understood, +there was a tendency among the passengers to herd together and to +address inquiries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> to every officer who happened to stagger through the +saloon. No one was in the least alarmed,—oh dear, no!—but all were +keenly anxious for information. This anxiety redoubled after a more than +usually vicious roll. Terror was a large, handsome, and cultured lady +who knew the precise value of human life, the inwardness of <i>Robert +Elsmere</i>, the latest poetry—everything in fact that a clever woman +should know. When the rolling was near its worst, she began to talk +swiftly. I do not for a moment believe that she knew what she was +talking about. The rolling increased. She buckled down to the task of +making conversation. By the heave of the labouring bust, the restless +working of the fingers on the tablecloth, and the uncontrollable eyes +that turned always to the companion stairhead, I was able to judge the +extremity of her fear. Yet her words were frivolous and commonplace +enough; they poured forth unceasingly, punctuated with little laughs and +giggles, as a woman's speech should be. Presently, a member of her group +suggested going to bed. No, she wanted to sit up; she wanted to go on +talking, and as long as she could get a soul to sit with her she had her +desire. When for sheer lack of company she was forced to get to her +cabin, she left reluctantly, looking back to the well-lighted saloon +over her shoulder. The contrast between the flowing triviality of her +speech and the strained intentness of eye and hand was a quaint thing to +behold. I know now how Fear should be painted.</p> + +<p>No one slept very heavily that night. Both arms were needed to grip the +berth, while the trunks below wound the carpet-slips into knots and +battered the framing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> of the cabins. Once it seemed to me that the whole +of the labouring fabric that cased our trumpery fortunes stood on end +and in this undignified posture hopped a mighty hop. Twice I know I shot +out of my berth to join the adventurous trunks on the floor. A hundred +times the crash of the wave on the ship's side was followed by the roar +of the water, as it swept the decks and raved round the deckhouses. In a +lull I heard the flying feet of a man, a shout, and a far-away chorus of +lost spirits singing somebody's requiem.</p> + +<p><i>May 24</i> (Queen's Birthday).—If ever you meet an American, be good to +him. This day the ship was dressed with flags from stem to stern, and +chiefest of the bunting was the Union-Jack. They had given no word of +warning to the English, who were proportionately pleased. At dinner up +rose an ex-Commissioner of the Lucknow Division (on my honour, +Anglo-India extends to the ends of the earth!) and gave us the health of +Her Majesty and the President. It was afterwards that the trouble began. +A small American penned half a dozen English into a corner and lectured +them soundly on—their want of patriotism!</p> + +<p>"What sort of Queen's Birthday do you call this?" he thundered. "What +did you drink our President's health for? What's the President to you on +this day of all others? Well, suppose you <i>are</i> in the minority, all the +more reason for standing by your country. Don't talk to me. You +Britishers made a mess of it—a mighty bungle of the whole thing. I'm an +American of the Americans; but if no one can propose Her Majesty's +health better than by just throwing it at your heads, I'm going to +try."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then and there he delivered a remarkably neat little oration—pat, well +put together, and clearly delivered. So it came to pass that the Queen's +health was best honoured by an American. We English were dazed. I +wondered how many Englishmen not trained to addressing their fellows +would have spoken half so fluently as the gentleman from 'Frisco.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see," said one of us feebly, "she's our Queen, anyhow, +and—and—she's been ours for fifty years, and not one of us here has +seen England for seven years, and we can't enthuse over the matter. +We've lived to be hauled over the coals for want of patriotism by an +American! We'll be more careful next time."</p> + +<p>And the conversation drifted naturally into the question of the +government of men—English, Japanese (we have several travelled Japanese +aboard), and Americans throwing the ball from one to another. We bore in +mind the golden rule: "Never agree with a man who abuses his own +country," and got on well enough.</p> + +<p>"Japan," said a little gentleman who was a rich man there, "Japan is +divided into two administrative sides. On the one the remains of a very +strict and quite Oriental despotism; on the other a mass of—what do you +call it?—red-tapeism which is not understood even by the officials who +handle it. We copy the red tape, and when it is copied we believe that +we administer. That is a vice of all Oriental nations. We are +Orientals."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, say the most westerly of the westerns," purred an American, +soothingly.</p> + +<p>The little man was pleased. "Thanks. That is what we hope to believe, +but up to the present it is not so.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> Look now. A farmer in my country +holds a hillside cut into little terraces. Every year he must submit to +his Government a statement of the size and revenue paid, not on the +whole hillside, but on each terrace. The complete statement makes a pile +three inches high, and is of no use when it is made except to keep in +work thousands of officials to check the returns. Is that +administration? By God! we call it so, but we multiply officials by the +twenty, and <i>they</i> are not administration. What country is such a fool? +Look at our Government offices eaten up with clerks! Some day, I tell +you, there will be a smash."</p> + +<p>This was new to me, but I might have guessed it. In every country where +swords and uniforms accompany civil office there is a natural tendency +towards an ill-considered increase of officialdom.</p> + +<p>"You might pay India a visit some day," I said. "I fancy that you would +find that our country shares your trouble."</p> + +<p>Thereupon a Japanese gentleman in the Educational Department began to +cross-question me on the matters of his craft in India, and in a quarter +of an hour got from me the very little that I knew about primary +schools, higher education, and the value of an M. A. degree. He knew +exactly what he wanted to ask, and only dropped me when the tooth of +Desire had clean picked the bone of Ignorance.</p> + +<p>Then an American held forth, harping on a string that has already been +too often twanged in my ear. "What will it be in America itself?"</p> + +<p>"The whole system is rotten from top to bottom," he said. "As rotten as +rotten can be."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's so," said the Louisiana man, with an affirmative puff of smoke.</p> + +<p>"They call us a Republic. We may be. I don't think it. You Britishers +have got the only republic worth the name. You choose to run your ship +of state with a gilt figurehead; but I know, and so does every man who +has thought about it, that your Queen doesn't cost you one-half what our +system of pure democracy costs us. Politics in America? There aren't +any. The whole question of the day is spoils. That's all. We fight our +souls out over tram-contracts, gas-contracts, road-contracts, and any +darned thing that will turn a dishonest dollar, and we call that +politics. No one but a low-down man will run for Congress and the +Senate—the Senate of the freest people on earth are bound slaves to +some blessed monopoly. If I had money enough, I could buy the Senate of +the United States, the Eagle, and the Star-Spangled Banner complete."</p> + +<p>"And the Irish vote included?" said some one—a Britisher, I fancy.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if I chose to go yahooing down the street at the tail of the +British lion. Anything dirty will buy the Irish vote. That's why our +politics are dirty. Some day you Britishers will grant Home Rule to the +vermin in our blankets. Then the real Americans will invite the Irish to +get up and git to where they came from. 'Wish you'd hurry up that time +before we have another trouble. We're bound hand and foot by the Irish +vote; or at least that's the excuse for any unusual theft that we +perpetrate. I tell you there's no good in an Irishman except as a +fighter. He doesn't understand work. He has a natural gift of the gab, +and he can drink a man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> blind. These three qualifications make him a +first-class politician."</p> + +<p>With one accord the Americans present commenced to abuse Ireland and its +people as they had met them, and each man prefaced his commination +service with: "I am an American by birth—an American from way back."</p> + +<p>It must be an awful thing to live in a country where you have to explain +that you really belong there. Louder grew the clamour and crisper the +sentiments.</p> + +<p>"If we weren't among Americans, I should say we were consorting with +Russians," said a fellow-countryman in my ear.</p> + +<p>"They can't mean what they say," I whispered. "Listen to this fellow." +He was saying:</p> + +<p>"And I know, for I have been three times round the world and resided in +most countries on the Continent, that there was never people yet could +govern themselves."</p> + +<p>"Allah! This from an American!"</p> + +<p>"And who should know better than an American?" was the retort. "For the +ignorant—that is to say for the majority—there is only one +argument—fear; the fear of Death. In our case we give any scallawag who +comes across the water all the same privileges that we have made for +ourselves. There we make a mistake. They thank us by playing the fool. +Then we shoot them down. You can't persuade the mob of any country to +become decent citizens. If they misbehave themselves, shoot them. I saw +the bombs thrown at Chicago when our police were blown to bits. I saw +the banners in the procession that threw the bombs. All the mottoes on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> +them were in German. The men were aliens in our midst, and they were +shot down like dogs. I've been in labour riots and seen the militia go +through a crowd like a finger through tissue paper."</p> + +<p>"I was in the riots at New Orleans," said the man from Louisiana. "We +turned the Gatling on the other crowd, and they were sick."</p> + +<p>"Whew! I wonder what would have happened if a Gatling had been used when +the West End riots were in full swing?" said an Englishman. "If a single +rioter were killed in an English town by the police, the chances are +that the policeman would have to stand his trial for murder and the +Ministry of the day would go out."</p> + +<p>"Then you've got all your troubles before you. The more power you give +the people, the more trouble they will give. With us our better classes +are corrupt and our lower classes are lawless. There are millions of +useful, law-abiding citizens, and they are very sick of this thing. We +execute our justice in the streets. The law courts are no use. Take the +case of the Chicago Anarchists. It was all we could do to get 'em +hanged: whereas the dead in the streets had been punished off-hand. We +were sure of <i>them</i>. Guess that's the reason we are so quick to fire on +a mob. But it's unfair, all the same. We receive all these +cattle—Anarchists, Socialists, and ruffians of every sort—and then we +shoot them. The States are as republican as they make 'em. We have no +use for a man who wants to try any more experiments on the Constitution. +We are the biggest people on God's earth. All the world knows that. +We've been shouting that we are also the greatest people. No one cares +to contradict us but ourselves; and we are now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> wondering whether we are +what we claim to be. Never mind; you Britishers will have the same +experiences to go through. You're beginning to rot now. Your County +Councils will make you more rotten because you are putting power into +the hands of untrained people. When you reach our level,—every man with +a vote and the right to sell it; the right to nominate fellows of his +own kidney to swamp out better men,—you'll be what we are now—rotten, +rotten, rotten!"</p> + +<p>The voice ceased, and no man rose up to contradict.</p> + +<p>"We'll worry through it somehow," said the man from Louisiana. "What +would do us a world of good now would be a big European war. We're +getting slack and sprawly. Now a war outside our borders would make us +all pull together. But that's a luxury we shan't get."</p> + +<p>"Can't you raise one within your own borders?" I said flippantly, to get +rid of the thought of the great blind nation in her unrest putting out +her hand to the Sword. Mine was a most unfortunate remark.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," said an American, very seriously. "We have paid a good +deal to keep ourselves together before this, and it is not likely that +we shall split up without protest. Yet some say we are too large, and +some say that Washington and the Eastern States are running the whole +country. If ever we do divide,—God help us when we do,—it will be East +and West this time."</p> + +<p>"We built the old hooker too long in the run. We put the engine room +aft. Break her back," said an American who had not yet spoken. "'Wonder +if our forbears knew how she was going to grow."</p> + +<p>"A very large country." The speaker sighed as though the weight of it +from New York to 'Frisco lay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> upon his shoulders. "If ever we do divide, +it means that we are done for. There is no room for four first-class +empires in the States. One split will lead to another if the first is +successful. What's the use of talking?"</p> + +<p>What was the use? Here's our conversation as it ran, the night of the +Queen's Birthday. What do <i>you</i> think?</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span><a name="No_XXIII" id="No_XXIII"></a>No. XXIII</h2> + +<p>HOW I GOT TO SAN FRANCISCO AND TOOK TEA WITH THE NATIVES THERE.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Serene, indifferent to fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou sittest at the western gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou seest the white seas fold their tents,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh warder of two Continents.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou drawest all things small and great<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thee beside the Western Gate."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>This is what Bret Harte has written of the great city of San Francisco, +and for the past fortnight I have been wondering what made him do it. +There is neither serenity nor indifference to be found in these parts; +and evil would it be for the Continent whose wardship were intrusted to +so reckless a guardian. Behold me pitched neck-and-crop from twenty days +of the High Seas, into the whirl of California, deprived of any +guidance, and left to draw my own conclusions. Protect me from the wrath +of an outraged community if these letters be ever read by American eyes. +San Francisco is a mad city—inhabited for the most part by perfectly +insane people whose women are of a remarkable beauty. When the <i>City of +Peking</i> steamed through the Golden Gate I saw with great joy that the +block-house which guarded the mouth of the "finest harbour in the world, +Sir," could be silenced by two gunboats from Hong-Kong with safety, +comfort, and despatch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then a reporter leaped aboard, and ere I could gasp held me in his +toils. He pumped me exhaustively while I was getting ashore, demanding, +of all things in the world, news about Indian journalism. It is an awful +thing to enter a new land with a new lie on your lips. I spoke the truth +to the evil-minded Custom-house man who turned my most sacred raiment on +a floor composed of stable-refuse and pine-splinters; but the reporter +overwhelmed me not so much by his poignant audacity as his beautiful +ignorance. I am sorry now that I did not tell him more lies as I passed +into a city of three hundred thousand white men. Think of it! Three +hundred thousand white men and women gathered in one spot, walking upon +real pavements in front of real plate-glass windowed shops, and talking +something that was not very different from English. It was only when I +had tangled myself up in a hopeless maze of small wooden houses, dust, +street-refuse, and children who play with empty kerosene tins, that I +discovered the difference of speech.</p> + +<p>"You want to go to the Palace Hotel?" said an affable youth on a dray. +"What in hell are you doing here, then? This is about the lowest place +in the city. Go six blocks north to corner of Geary and Market; then +walk around till you strike corner of Gutter and Sixteenth, and that +brings you there."</p> + +<p>I do not vouch for the literal accuracy of these directions, quoting but +from a disordered memory.</p> + +<p>"Amen," I said. "But who am I that I should strike the corners of such +as you name? Peradventure they be gentlemen of repute, and might hit +back. Bring it down to dots, my son."</p> + +<p>I thought he would have smitten me, but he didn't.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> He explained that no +one ever used the word "street," and that every one was supposed to know +how the streets run; for sometimes the names were upon the lamps and +sometimes they weren't. Fortified with these directions I proceeded till +I found a mighty street full of sumptuous buildings four or five stories +high, but paved with rude cobble stones in the fashion of the Year One. +A cable-car without any visible means of support slid stealthily behind +me and nearly struck me in the back. A hundred yards further there was a +slight commotion in the street—a gathering together of three or +four—and something that glittered as it moved very swiftly. A ponderous +Irish gentleman with priest's cords in his hat and a small nickel-plated +badge on his fat bosom emerged from the knot, supporting a Chinaman who +had been stabbed in the eye and was bleeding like a pig. The bystanders +went their ways, and the Chinaman, assisted by the policeman, his own. +Of course this was none of my business, but I rather wanted to know what +had happened to the gentleman who had dealt the stab. It said a great +deal for the excellence of the municipal arrangements of the town that a +surging crowd did not at once block the street to see what was going +forward. I was the sixth man and the last who assisted at the +performance, and my curiosity was six times the greatest. Indeed, I felt +ashamed of showing it.</p> + +<p>There were no more incidents till I reached the Palace Hotel, a +seven-storied warren of humanity with a thousand rooms in it. All the +travel-books will tell you about hotel arrangements in this country. +They should be seen to be appreciated. Understand clearly—and this +letter is written after a thousand miles of experiences—that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> money +will not buy you service in the West.</p> + +<p>When the hotel clerk—the man who awards your room to you and who is +supposed to give you information—when that resplendent individual +stoops to attend to your wants, he does so whistling or humming, or +picking his teeth, or pauses to converse with some one he knows. These +performances, I gather, are to impress upon you that he is a free man +and your equal. From his general appearance and the size of his diamonds +he ought to be your superior. There is no necessity for this swaggering, +self-consciousness of freedom. Business is business, and the man who is +paid to attend to a man might reasonably devote his whole attention to +the job.</p> + +<p>In a vast marble-paved hall under the glare of an electric light sat +forty or fifty men; and for their use and amusement were provided +spittoons of infinite capacity and generous gape. Most of the men wore +frock-coats and top-hats,—the things that we in India put on at a +wedding breakfast if we possessed them,—but they all spat. They spat on +principle. The spittoons were on the staircases, in each bedroom—yea, +and in chambers even more sacred than these. They chased one into +retirement, but they blossomed in chiefest splendour round the Bar, and +they were all used, every reeking one of 'em. Just before I began to +feel deathly sick, another reporter grappled me. What he wanted to know +was the precise area of India in square miles. I referred him to +Whittaker. He had never heard of Whittaker. He wanted it from my own +mouth, and I would not tell him. Then he swerved off, like the other +man, to details of journalism in our own country. I ventured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> to suggest +that the interior economy of a paper most concerned the people who +worked it. "That's the very thing that interests us," he said. "Have you +got reporters anything like our reporters on Indian news papers?" "We +have not," I said, and suppressed the "thank God" rising to my lips. +"<i>Why</i> haven't you?" said he. "Because they would die," I said. It was +exactly like talking to a child—a very rude little child. He would +begin almost every sentence with: "Now tell me something about India," +and would turn aimlessly from one question to another without the least +continuity. I was not angry, but keenly interested. The man was a +revelation to me. To his questions I returned answers mendacious and +evasive. After all, it really did not matter what I said. He could not +understand. I can only hope and pray that none of the readers of the +<i>Pioneer</i> will ever see that portentous interview. The man made me out +to be an idiot several sizes more drivelling than my destiny intended, +and the rankness of his ignorance managed to distort the few poor facts +with which I supplied him into large and elaborate lies. Then thought I: +"The matter of American journalism shall be looked into later on. At +present I will enjoy myself."</p> + +<p>No man rose to tell me what were the lions of the place. No one +volunteered any sort of conveyance. I was absolutely alone in this big +city of white folk. By instinct I sought refreshment and came upon a +bar-room, full of bad Salon pictures, in which men with hats on the +backs of their heads were wolfing food from a counter. It was the +institution of the "Free Lunch" that I had struck. You paid for a drink +and got as much as you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> wanted to eat. For something less than a rupee a +day a man can feed himself sumptuously in San Francisco, even though he +be bankrupt. Remember this if ever you are stranded in these parts.</p> + +<p>Later, I began a vast but unsystematic exploration of the streets. I +asked for no names. It was enough that the pavements were full of white +men and women, the streets clanging with traffic, and that the restful +roar of a great city rang in my ears. The cable-cars glided to all +points of the compass. I took them one by one till I could go no +farther. San Francisco has been pitched down on the sand-bunkers of the +Bikaneer desert. About one-fourth of it is ground reclaimed from the +sea—any old-timer will tell you all about that. The remainder is +ragged, unthrifty sand-hills, pegged down by houses.</p> + +<p>From an English point of view there has not been the least attempt at +grading those hills, and indeed you might as well try to grade the +hillocks of Sind. The cable-cars have for all practical purposes made +San Francisco a dead level. They take no count of rise or fall, but +slide equably on their appointed courses from one end to the other of a +six-mile street. They turn corners almost at right angles; cross other +lines, and, for aught I know, may run up the sides of houses. There is +no visible agency of their flight; but once in a while you shall pass a +five-storied building, humming with machinery that winds up an +everlasting wire-cable, and the initiated will tell you that here is the +mechanism. I gave up asking questions. If it pleases Providence to make +a car run up and down a slit in the ground for many miles, and if for +twopence-halfpenny I can ride in that car, why shall I seek the reasons +of the miracle?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> Rather let me look out of the windows till the shops +give place to thousands and thousands of little houses made of +wood—each house just big enough for a man and his family. Let me watch +the people in the cars, and try to find out in what manner they differ +from us, their ancestors. They delude themselves into the belief that +they talk English,—<i>the</i> English,—and I have already been pitied for +speaking with "an English accent." The man who pitied me spoke, so far +as I was concerned, the language of thieves. And they all do. Where we +put the accent forward, they throw it back, and <i>vice versa</i>; where we +use the long <i>a</i>, they use the short; and words so simple as to be past +mistaking, they pronounce somewhere up in the dome of their heads. How +do these things happen? Oliver Wendell Holmes says that Yankee +schoolmarms, the cider, and the salt codfish of the Eastern States are +responsible for what he calls a nasal accent. A Hindu is a Hindu, and a +brother to the man who knows his vernacular; and a Frenchman is French +because he speaks his own language; but the American has no language. He +is dialect, slang, provincialism, accent, and so forth. Now that I have +heard their voices, all the beauty of Bret Harte is being ruined for me, +because I find myself catching through the roll of his rhythmical prose +the cadence of his peculiar fatherland. Get an American lady to read to +you "How Santa Claus came to Simpson's Bar," and see how much is, under +her tongue, left of the beauty of the original.</p> + +<p>But I am sorry for Bret Harte. It happened this way. A reporter asked me +what I thought of the city, and I made answer suavely that it was +hallowed ground to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span> because of Bret Harte. That was true: "Well," +said the reporter, "Bret Harte claims California, but California don't +claim Bret Harte. He's been so long in England that he's quite English. +Have you seen our cracker-factories and the new offices of the +<i>Examiner</i>?" He could not understand that to the outside world the city +was worth a great deal less than the man.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Night fell over the Pacific, and the white sea-fog whipped through the +streets, dimming the splendours of the electric lights. It is the use of +this city, her men and women, to parade between the hours of eight and +ten a certain street, called Kearney Street, where the finest shops are +situated. Here the click of heels on the pavement is loudest, here the +lights are brightest, and here the thunder of the traffic is most +overwhelming. I watched Young California and saw that it was at least +expensively dressed, cheerful in manner, and self-asserting in +conversation. Also the women are very fair. The maidens were of generous +build, large, well-groomed, and attired in raiment that even to my +inexperienced eyes must have cost much. Kearney Street, at nine o'clock, +levels all distinctions of rank as impartially as the grave. Again and +again I loitered at the heels of a couple of resplendent beings, only to +overhear, when I expected the level voice of culture, the <i>staccato</i> +"Sez he," "Sez I," that is the mark of the white servant-girl all the +world over.</p> + +<p>This was depressing because, in spite of all that goes to the contrary, +fine feathers ought to make fine birds. There was wealth—unlimited +wealth—in the streets,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span> but not an accent that would not have been dear +at fifty cents. Wherefore, revolving in my mind that these folk were +barbarians, I was presently enlightened and made aware that they also +were the heirs of all the ages, and civilised after all. There appeared +before me an affable stranger of prepossessing appearance, with a blue +and an innocent eye. Addressing me by name, he claimed to have met me in +New York at the Windsor, and to this claim I gave a qualified assent. I +did not remember the fact, but since he was so certain of it, why +then—I waited developments. "And what did you think of Indiana when you +came through?" was the next question. It revealed the mystery of +previous acquaintance, and one or two other things. With reprehensible +carelessness, my friend of the light-blue eye had looked up the name of +his victim in the hotel register and read "India" for Indiana. He could +not imagine an Englishman coming through the States from West to East +instead of by the regularly ordained route. My fear was that in his +delight at finding me so responsive he would make remarks about New York +and the Windsor which I could not understand. And indeed, he adventured +in this direction once or twice, asking me what I thought of such and +such streets, which, from his tone, I gathered were anything but +respectable. It is trying to talk unknown New York in almost unknown San +Francisco. But my friend was merciful. He protested that I was one after +his own heart, and pressed upon me rare and curious drinks at more than +one bar. These drinks I accepted with gratitude, as also the cigars with +which his pockets were stored. He would show me the Life of the city. +Having no desire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> to watch a weary old play again, I evaded the offer, +and received in lieu of the Devil's instruction much coarse flattery. +Curiously constituted is the soul of man. Knowing how and where this man +lied, waiting idly for the finale, I was distinctly conscious, as he +bubbled compliments in my ear, of soft thrills of gratified pride. I was +wise, quoth he, anybody could see that with half an eye; sagacious; +versed in the affairs of the world; an acquaintance to be desired; one +who had tasted the cup of Life with discretion. All this pleased me, and +in a measure numbed the suspicion that was thoroughly aroused. +Eventually the blue-eyed one discovered, nay insisted, that I had a +taste for cards (this was clumsily worked in, but it was my fault, in +that I met him half-way, and allowed him no chance of good acting). +Hereupon, I laid my head to one side, and simulated unholy wisdom, +quoting odds and ends of poker-talk, all ludicrously misapplied. My +friend kept his countenance admirably; and well he might, for five +minutes later we arrived, always by the purest of chances, at a place +where we could play cards, and also frivol with Louisiana State Lottery +tickets. Would I play? "Nay," said I, "for to me cards have neither +meaning nor continuity; but let us assume that I am going to play. How +would you and your friends get to work? Would you play a straight game, +or make me drunk, or—well, the fact is I'm a newspaper man, and I'd be +much obliged if you'd let me know something about bunco-steering." My +blue-eyed friend cursed me by his gods,—the Right and the Left Bower; +he even cursed the very good cigars he had given me. But, the storm +over, he quieted down and explained. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> apologised for causing him to +waste an evening, and we spent a very pleasant time together. +Inaccuracy, provincialism, and a too hasty rushing to conclusions were +the rocks that he had split on; but he got his revenge when he said: +"How would I play with you? From all the poppycock" (<i>Anglice</i>, bosh) +"you talked about poker, I'd ha' played a straight game and skinned you. +I wouldn't have taken the trouble to make you drunk. You never knew +anything of the game; but the way I was mistaken in you makes me sick." +He glared at me as though I had done him an injury. To-day I know how it +is that, year after year, week after week, the bunco-steerer, who is the +confidence-trick and the card-sharper man of other climes, secures his +prey. He slavers them over with flattery, as the snake slavers the +rabbit. The incident depressed me because it showed I had left the +innocent East far behind, and was come to a country where a man must +look out for himself. The very hotel bristled with notices about keeping +my door locked, and depositing my valuables in a safe. The white man in +a lump is bad. Weeping softly for O-Toyo (little I knew then that my +heart was to be torn afresh from my bosom!), I fell asleep in the +clanging hotel.</p> + +<p>Next morning I had entered upon the Deferred Inheritance. There are no +princes in America,—at least with crowns on their heads,—but a +generous-minded member of some royal family received my letter of +introduction. Ere the day closed I was a member of the two clubs and +booked for many engagements to dinner and party. Now this prince, upon +whose financial operations be continual increase, had no reason, nor had +the others, his friends, to put himself out for the sake of one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span> Briton +more or less; but he rested not till he had accomplished all in my +behalf that a mother could think of for her <i>débutante</i> daughter. Do you +know the Bohemian Club of San Francisco? They say its fame extends over +the world. It was created somewhat on the lines of the Savage by men who +wrote or drew things, and it has blossomed into most unrepublican +luxury. The ruler of the place is an owl—an owl standing upon a skull +and cross-bones, showing forth grimly the wisdom of the man of letters +and the end of his hopes for immortality. The owl stands on the +staircase, a statue four feet high, is carved in the woodwork, flutters +on the frescoed ceilings, is stamped on the note paper, and hangs on the +walls. He is an Ancient and Honourable Bird. Under his wing 'twas my +privilege to meet with white men whose lives were not chained down to +routine of toil, who wrote magazine articles instead of reading them +hurriedly in the pauses of office-work, who painted pictures instead of +contenting themselves with cheap etchings picked up at another man's +sale of effects. Mine were all the rights of social intercourse that +India, stony-hearted step-mother of Collectors, has swindled us out of. +Treading soft carpets and breathing the incense of superior cigars, I +wandered from room to room studying the paintings in which the members +of the club had caricatured themselves, their associates, and their +aims. There was a slick French audacity about the workmanship of these +men of toil unbending that went straight to the heart of the beholder. +And yet it was not altogether French. A dry grimness of treatment, +almost Dutch, marked the difference. The men painted as they spoke—with +certainty. The club indulges<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> in revelries which it calls "jinks"—high +and low,—at intervals,—and each of these gatherings is faithfully +portrayed in oils by hands that know their business. In this club were +no amateurs spoiling canvas because they fancied they could handle oils +without knowledge of shadows or anatomy—no gentleman of leisure ruining +the temper of publishers and an already ruined market with attempts to +write "because everybody writes something these days." My hosts were +working, or had worked, for their daily bread with pen or paint, and +their talk for the most part was of the shop shoppy—that is to say, +delightful. They extended a large hand of welcome and were as brethren, +and I did homage to the Owl and listened to their talk. An Indian Club +about Christmas-time will yield, if properly worked, an abundant harvest +of queer tales; but at a gathering of Americans from the uttermost ends +of their own continent the tales are larger, thicker, more spinous, and +even more azure than any Indian variety. Tales of the War I heard told +by an ex-officer of the South over his evening drink to a Colonel of the +Northern army; my introducer, who had served as a trooper in the +Northern Horse, throwing in emendations from time to time.</p> + +<p>Other voices followed with equally wondrous tales of riata-throwing in +Mexico or Arizona, of gambling at army posts in Texas, of newspaper wars +waged in godless Chicago, of deaths sudden and violent in Montana and +Dakota, of the loves of half-breed maidens in the South, and fantastic +huntings for gold in mysterious Alaska. Above all, they told the story +of the building of old San Francisco, when the "finest collection of +humanity on God's earth, Sir, started this town, and the water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> came up +to the foot of Market Street." Very terrible were some of the tales, +grimly humorous the others, and the men in broadcloth and fine linen who +told them had played their parts in them.</p> + +<p>"And now and again when things got too bad they would toll the city +bell, and the Vigilance Committee turned out and hanged the suspicious +characters. A man didn't begin to be suspected in those days till he had +committed at least one unprovoked murder," said a calm-eyed, portly old +gentleman. I looked at the pictures around me, the noiseless, +neat-uniformed waiter behind me, the oak-ribbed ceiling above, the +velvety carpet beneath. It was hard to realise that even twenty years +ago you could see a man hanged with great pomp. Later on I found reason +to change my opinion. The tales gave me a headache and set me thinking. +How in the world was it possible to take in even one-thousandth of this +huge, roaring, many-sided continent? In the silence of the sumptuous +library lay Professor Bryce's book on the American Republic. "It is an +omen," said I. "He has done all things in all seriousness, and he may be +purchased for half a guinea. Those who desire information of the most +undoubted must refer to his pages. For me is the daily round of +vagabondage, the recording of the incidents of the hour, and talk with +the travelling companion of the day. I will not 'do' this country at +all."</p> + +<p>And I forgot all about India for ten days while I went out to dinners +and watched the social customs of the people, which are entirely +different from our customs, and was introduced to the men of many +millions. These persons are harmless in their earlier stages; that is +to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span> say, a man worth three or four million dollars may be a good talker, +clever, amusing, and of the world; a man with twice that amount is to be +avoided; and a twenty-million man is—just twenty millions. Take an +instance. I was speaking to a newspaper man about seeing the proprietor +of his journal. My friend snorted indignantly: "See <i>him</i>! Great Scott! +<i>No!</i> If he happens to appear in the office, I have to associate with +him; but, thank Heaven, outside of that I move in circles where he +cannot come."</p> + +<p>And yet the first thing I have been taught to believe is that money was +everything in America!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span><a name="No_XXIV" id="No_XXIV"></a>No. XXIV</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW THROUGH FOLLY I ASSISTED AT A MURDER AND WAS AFRAID. THE RULE +OF THE DEMOCRACY AND THE DESPOTISM OF THE ALIEN.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Poor men—God made, and all for that!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>It was a bad business throughout, and the only consolation is that it +was all my fault. A man took me round the Chinese quarter of San +Francisco, which is a ward of the city of Canton set down in the most +eligible business-quarter of the place. The Chinaman with his usual +skill has possessed himself of good brick fire-proof buildings and, +following instinct, has packed each tenement with hundreds of souls, all +living in filth and squalor not to be appreciated save by you in India. +That cursory investigation ought to have sufficed; but I wanted to know +how deep in the earth the Pig-tail had taken root. Therefore I explored +the Chinese quarter a second time and alone, which was foolishness. No +one in the filthy streets (but for the blessed sea breezes San Francisco +would enjoy cholera every season) interfered with my movements, though +many asked for <i>cumshaw</i>. I struck a house about four stories high full +of celestial abominations, and began to burrow down; having heard that +these tenements were constructed on the lines of icebergs—two-thirds +below sight level. Downstairs I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> crawled past Chinamen in bunks, +opium-smokers, brothels, and gambling hells, till I had reached the +second cellar—was in fact, in the labyrinths of a warren. Great is the +wisdom of the Chinaman. In time of trouble that house could be razed to +the ground by the mob, and yet hide all its inhabitants in brick-walled +and wooden-beamed subterranean galleries, strengthened with iron-framed +doors and gates. On the second underground floor a man asked for +<i>cumshaw</i> and took me downstairs to yet another cellar, where the air +was as thick as butter, and the lamps burned little holes in it not more +than an inch square. In this place a poker club had assembled and was in +full swing. The Chinaman loves "pokel," and plays it with great skill, +swearing like a cat when he loses. Most of the men round the table were +in semi-European dress, their pigtails curled up under billy-cock hats. +One of the company looked like a Eurasian, whence I argued that he was a +Mexican—a supposition that later inquiries confirmed. They were a +picturesque set of fiends and polite, being too absorbed in their game +to look at the stranger. We were all deep down under the earth, and save +for the rustle of a blue gown sleeve and the ghostly whisper of the +cards as they were shuffled and played, there was no sound. The heat was +almost unendurable. There was some dispute between the Mexican and the +man on his left. The latter shifted his place to put the table between +himself and his opponent, and stretched a lean yellow hand towards the +Mexican's winnings.</p> + +<p>Mark how purely man is a creature of instinct. Rarely introduced to the +pistol, I saw the Mexican half rise in his chair and at the same instant +found myself full<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> length on the floor. None had told me that this was +the best attitude when bullets are abroad. I was there prone before I +had time to think—dropping as the room was filled with an intolerable +clamour like the discharge of a cannon. In those close quarters the +pistol report had no room to spread any more than the smoke—then acrid +in my nostrils. There was no second shot, but a great silence in which I +rose slowly to my knees. The Chinaman was gripping the table with both +hands and staring in front of him at an empty chair. The Mexican had +gone, and a little whirl of smoke was floating near the roof. Still +gripping the table, the Chinaman said: "Ah!" in the tone that a man +would use when, looking up from his work suddenly, he sees a well-known +friend in the doorway. Then he coughed and fell over to his own right, +and I saw that he had been shot in the stomach.</p> + +<p>I became aware that, save for two men leaning over the stricken one, the +room was empty; and all the tides of intense fear, hitherto held back by +intenser curiosity, swept over my soul. I ardently desired the outside +air. It was possible that the Chinamen would mistake me for the +Mexican,—everything horrible seemed possible just then,—and it was +more than possible that the stairways would be closed while they were +hunting for the murderer. The man on the floor coughed a sickening +cough. I heard it as I fled, and one of his companions turned out the +lamp. Those stairs seemed interminable, and to add to my dismay there +was no sound of commotion in the house. No one hindered, no one even +looked at me. There was no trace of the Mexican. I found the doorway +and, my legs trembling under me, reached the protection of the clear +cool night, the fog, and the rain. I dared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span> not run, and for the life of +me I could not walk. I must have effected a compromise, for I remember +the light of a street lamp showed the shadow of one half +skipping—caracoling along the pavements in what seemed to be an ecstacy +of suppressed happiness. But it was fear—deadly fear. Fear compounded +of past knowledge of the Oriental—only other white man—available +witness—three stories underground—and the cough of the Chinaman now +some forty feet under my clattering boot-heels. It was good to see the +shop-fronts and electric lights again. Not for anything would I have +informed the police, because I firmly believed that the Mexican had been +dealt with somewhere down there on the third floor long ere I had +reached the air; and, moreover, once clear of the place, I could not for +the life of me tell where it was. My ill-considered flight brought me +out somewhere a mile distant from the hotel; and the clank of the lift +that bore me to a bed six stories above ground was music in my ears. +Wherefore I would impress it upon you who follow after, do not knock +about the Chinese quarters at night and alone. You may stumble across a +picturesque piece of human nature that will unsteady your nerves for +half a day.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And this brings me by natural sequence to the great drink question. As +you know, of course, the American does not drink at meals as a sensible +man should. Indeed, he has no meals. He stuffs for ten minutes thrice a +day. Also he has no decent notions about the sun being over the yard-arm +or below the horizon. He pours his vanity into himself at unholy hours, +and indeed he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> can hardly help it. You have no notion of what "treating" +means on the Western slope. It is more than an institution; it is a +religion, though men tell me that it is nothing to what it was. Take a +very common instance. At 10.30 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> a man is smitten with desire for +stimulants. He is in the company of two friends. All three adjourn to +the nearest bar,—seldom more than twenty yards away,—and take three +straight whiskys. They talk for two minutes. The second and third man +then treats in order; and thus each walks into the street, two of them +the poorer by three goes of whisky under their belt and one with two +more liquors than he wanted. It is not etiquette yet to refuse a treat. +The result is peculiar. I have never yet, I confess, seen a drunken man +in the streets, but I have heard more about drunkenness among white men, +and seen more decent men above or below themselves with drink, than I +care to think about. And the vice runs up into all sorts of circles and +societies. Never was I more astonished than at one pleasant dinner party +to hear a pair of pretty lips say casually of a gentleman friend then +under discussion, "He was drunk." The fact was merely stated without +emotion. That was what startled me. But the climate of California deals +kindly with excess, and treacherously covers up its traces. A man +neither bloats nor shrivels in this dry air. He continues with the false +bloom of health upon his cheeks, an equable eye, a firm mouth, and a +steady hand till a day of reckoning arrives, and suddenly breaking up, +about the head, he dies, and his friends speak his epitaph accordingly. +Why people who in most cases cannot hold their liquor should play with +it so recklessly I leave to others to decide. This unhappy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> state of +affairs has, however, produced one good result which I will confide to +you. In the heart of the business quarter, where banks and bankers are +thickest, and telegraph wires most numerous, stands a semi-subterranean +bar tended by a German with long blond locks and a crystalline eye. Go +thither softly, treading on the tips of your toes, and ask him for a +Button Punch. 'Twill take ten minutes to brew, but the result is the +highest and noblest product of the age. No man but one knows what is in +it. I have a theory it is compounded of the shavings of cherubs' wings, +the glory of a tropical dawn, the red clouds of sunset, and fragments of +lost epics by dead masters. But try you for yourselves, and pause a +while to bless me, who am always mindful of the truest interests of my +brethren.</p> + +<p>But enough of the stale spilth of bar-rooms. Turn now to the august +spectacle of a Government of the people, by the people, for the people, +as it is understood in the city of San Francisco. Professor Bryce's book +will tell you that every American citizen over twenty-one years of age +possesses a vote. He may not know how to run his own business, control +his wife, or instil reverence into his children, may be pauper, +half-crazed with drink, bankrupt, dissolute, or merely a born fool; but +he has a vote. If he likes, he can be voting most of his time—voting +for his State Governor, his municipal officers, local option, sewage +contracts, or anything else of which he has no special knowledge.</p> + +<p>Once every four years he votes for a new President. In his spare moments +he votes for his own judges—the men who shall give him justice. These +are dependent on popular favour for re-election inasmuch as they are +but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> chosen for a term of years—two or three, I believe. Such a +position is manifestly best calculated to create an independent and +unprejudiced administrator. Now this mass of persons who vote is divided +into two parties—Republican and Democrat. They are both agreed in +thinking that the other part is running creation (which is America) into +red flame. Also the Democrat as a party drinks more than the Republican, +and when drunk may be heard to talk about a thing called the Tariff, +which he does not understand, but which he conceives to be the bulwark +of the country or else the surest power for its destruction. Sometimes +he says one thing and sometimes another, in order to contradict the +Republican, who is always contradicting himself. And this is a true and +lucid account of the forepart of American politics. The behind-part is +otherwise.</p> + +<p>Since every man has a vote and may vote on every conceivable thing, it +follows that there exist certain wise men who understand the art of +buying up votes retail, and vending them wholesale to whoever wants them +most urgently. Now an American engaged in making a home for himself has +not time to vote for turn-cocks and district attorneys and cattle of +that kind, but the unemployed have much time because they are always on +hand somewhere in the streets. They are called "the boys," and form a +peculiar class. The boys are young men; inexpert in war, unskilled in +labour; who have neither killed a man, lifted cattle, or dug a well. In +plain English, they are just the men in the streets who can always be +trusted to rally round any cause that has a glass of liquor for a +visible heart. They wait—they are on hand—; and in being on hand lies +the crown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span> and the glory of American politics. The wise man is he who, +keeping a liquor-saloon and judiciously dispensing drinks, knows how to +retain within arm's reach a block of men who will vote for or against +anything under the canopy of Heaven. Not every saloon-keeper can do +this. It demands careful study of city politics, tact, the power of +conciliation, and infinite resources of anecdote to amuse and keep the +crowd together night after night, till the saloon becomes a salon. Above +all, the liquor side of the scheme must not be worked for immediate +profit. The boys who drink so freely will ultimately pay their host a +thousandfold. An Irishman, and an Irishman pre-eminently, knows how to +work such a saloon parliament. Observe for a moment the plan of +operations. The rank and file are treated to drink and a little +money—and they vote. He who controls ten votes receives a proportionate +reward; the dispenser of a thousand votes is worthy of reverence, and so +the chain runs on till we reach the most successful worker of public +saloons—the man most skilful in keeping his items together and using +them when required. Such a man governs the city as absolutely as a king. +And you would know where the gain comes in? The whole of the public +offices of a city (with the exception of a very few where special +technical skill is required) are short-term offices distributed +according to "political" leanings. What would you have? A big city +requires many officials. Each office carries a salary and influence +worth twice the pay. The offices are for the representatives of the men +who keep together and are on hand to vote. The Commissioner of Sewage, +let us say, is a gentleman who has been elected to his office by a +Republican vote. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> knows little and cares less about sewage, but he +has sense enough to man the pumping-works and the +street-sweeping-machines with the gentlemen who elected him. The +Commissioner of Police has been helped to his post very largely by the +influence of the boys at such and such a saloon. He may be the guardian +of city morals, but he is not going to allow his subordinates to enforce +early closing or abstention from gambling in that saloon. Most offices +are limited to four years, consequently he is a fool who does not make +his office pay him while he is in it.</p> + +<p>The only people who suffer by this happy arrangement are, in fact, the +people who devised the lovely system. And they suffer because they are +Americans. Let us explain. As you know, every big city here holds at +least one big foreign vote—generally Irish, frequently German. In San +Francisco, the gathering place of the races, there is a distinct Italian +vote to be considered, but the Irish vote is more important. For this +reason the Irishman does not kill himself with overwork. He is made for +the cheery dispensing of liquors, for everlasting blarney, and possesses +a wonderfully keen appreciation of the weaknesses of lesser human +nature. Also he has no sort of conscience, and only one strong +conviction—that of deep-rooted hatred toward England. He keeps to the +streets, he is on hand, he votes joyously, spending days lavishly,—and +time is the American's dearest commodity. Behold the glorious result. +To-day the city of San Francisco is governed by the Irish vote and the +Irish influence, under the rule of a gentleman whose sight is impaired, +and who requires a man to lead him about the streets.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> He is called +officially "Boss Buckley," and unofficially the "Blind White Devil." I +have before me now the record of his amiable career in black and white. +It occupies four columns of small print, and perhaps you would think it +disgraceful. Summarised, it is as follows: Boss Buckley, by tact and +deep knowledge of the seamy side of the city, won himself a following of +voters. He sought no office himself, or rarely: but as his following +increased he sold their services to the highest bidder, himself taking +toll of the revenues of every office. He controlled the Democratic party +in the city of San Francisco. The people appoint their own judges. Boss +Buckley's people appointed judges. These judges naturally were Boss +Buckley's property. I have been to dinner parties and heard educated +men, not concerned with politics, telling stories one to another of +"justice," both civil and criminal, being bought with a price from the +hands of these judges. Such tales they told without heat, as men +recording facts. Contracts for road-mending, public buildings, and the +like are under the control of Boss Buckley, because the men whom +Buckley's following sent to the City Council adjudicate on these +contracts; and on each and every one of these contracts Boss Buckley +levies his percentage for himself and his allies.</p> + +<p>The Republican party in San Francisco also have their boss. He is not so +great a genius as Boss Buckley, but I decline to believe that he is any +whit more virtuous. He has a smaller number of votes at his command.</p> + + +<hr /> + + +<h1>From Sea to Sea</h1> +<h1>Letters of Travel</h1> + +<div class="front"> +<p>By Rudyard Kipling</p> +<br /> +<p>NEW YORK</p> +<br /> +<p>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY</p> +<br /> +<p>1913</p> + + + + +<p><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1899, 1907,</p> +<p><span class="smcap">By</span> RUDYARD KIPLING.</p> +</div> + + + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS OF PART II</h2> + + + +<p class="title">FROM SEA TO SEA</p> + + + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + + +<tr><td colspan="2" style="text-align:right;">PAGE</td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Tells how I dropped into Politics and the Tenderer Sentiments. + Contains a Moral Treatise on American Maidens + and an Ethnological One on the Negro. Ends with a + Banquet and a Type-writer</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1003">3</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXVI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Takes me through Bret Harte's Country and to Portland with + "Old Man California." Explains how Two Vagabonds + became Homesick through looking at Other People's + Houses</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1018">18</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXVII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I caught Salmon in the Clackamas</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1033">33</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXVIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Takes me from Vancouver to the Yellowstone National Park</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1050">50</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXIX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how Yankee Jim introduced me to Diana of the Crossways + on the Banks of the Yellowstone and how a German + Jew said I was no True Citizen. Ends with the Celebration + of the 4th of July and a Few Lessons therefrom</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1062">62</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXX</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Shows how I entered Mazanderan of the Persians and saw + Devils of Every Colour, and Some Troopers. Hell and + the Old Lady from Chicago. The Captain and the + Lieutenant</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1073">73</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Ends with the Cañon of the Yellowstone. The Maiden from + New Hampshire—Larry—"Wrap-up-his-Tail"—Tom—The + Old Lady from Chicago—and a Few Natural + Phenomena—including One Briton</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1088">88</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Of the American Army and the City of the Saints. The + Temple, the Book of Mormon, and the Girl from Dorset. + An Oriental Consideration of Polygamy</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1106">106</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I met Certain People of Importance between Salt Lake + and Omaha</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1120">120</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXIV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Across the Great Divide; and how the Man Gring showed me + the Garments of the Ellewomen</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1130">130</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I struck Chicago, and how Chicago struck me. Of + Religion, Politics, and Pig-sticking, and the Incarnation + of the City among Shambles</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1139">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXVI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">How I found Peace at Musquash on the Monongahela</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1154">154</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">XXXVII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">An Interview with Mark Twain</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1167">167</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="title">THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A Real Live City</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1185">185</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Reflections of a Savage</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1191">191</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Council of the Gods</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1199">199</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">IV</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">On the Banks of the Hugli</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1208">208</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">V</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">With the Calcutta Police</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1217">217</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VI</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The City of Dreadful Night</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1223">223</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Deeper and Deeper Still</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1233">233</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">VIII</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Concerning Lucia</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1240">240</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<p class="title">AMONG THE RAILWAY FOLK</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">A Railway Settlement</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1249">249</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Shops</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1257">257</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">Vulcan's Forge</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1266">266</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<p class="title">THE GIRIDIH COAL-FIELDS</p> + +<table border="0" class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">I</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">On the Surface</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1275">275</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">II</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">In the Depths</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1284">284</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2" class="chp">III</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="desc">The Perils of the Pits</td> <td class="pg"><a href="#Page_1291">291</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + + + +<h2>PART II<br /> +FROM SEA TO SEA</h2> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1002" id="Page_1002">[Pg 002]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1003" id="Page_1003">[Pg 003]</a></span><a name="No_XXV" id="No_XXV"></a>No. XXV</h2> + +<p>TELLS HOW I DROPPED INTO POLITICS AND THE TENDERER SENTIMENTS. CONTAINS +A MORAL TREATISE ON AMERICAN MAIDENS AND AN ETHNOLOGICAL ONE ON THE +NEGRO. ENDS WITH A BANQUET AND A TYPE-WRITER.</p> + + +<p>I have been watching machinery in repose after reading about machinery +in action. An excellent gentleman who bears a name honoured in the +magazines writes, much as Disraeli orated, of "the sublime instincts of +an ancient people," the certainty with which they can be trusted to +manage their own affairs in their own way, and the speed with which they +are making for all sorts of desirable goals. This he called a statement +or purview of American politics. I went almost directly afterwards to a +saloon where gentlemen interested in ward politics nightly congregate. +They were not pretty persons. Some of them were bloated, and they all +swore cheerfully till the heavy gold watch-chains on their fat stomachs +rose and fell again; but they talked over their liquor as men who had +power and unquestioned access to places of trust and profit. The +magazine-writer discussed theories of government; these men the +practice. They had been there. They knew all about it. They banged their +fists on the table and spoke of political "pulls," the vending of votes, +and so forth. Theirs was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1004" id="Page_1004">[Pg 004]</a></span> not the talk of village babblers +reconstructing the affairs of the nation, but of strong, coarse, lustful +men fighting for spoil and thoroughly understanding the best methods of +reaching it. I listened long and intently to speech I could not +understand, or only in spots. It was the speech of business, however. I +had sense enough to know <i>that</i>, and to do my laughing outside the door. +Then I began to understand why my pleasant and well-educated hosts in +San Francisco spoke with a bitter scorn of such duties of citizenship as +voting and taking an interest in the distribution of offices. Scores of +men have told me with no false pride that they would as soon concern +themselves with the public affairs of the city or State as rake muck. +Read about politics as the cultured writer of the magazines regards 'em, +and then, <i>and not till then</i>, pay your respects to the gentlemen who +run the grimy reality.</p> + +<p>I'm sick of interviewing night-editors, who, in response to my demand +for the record of a prominent citizen, answer: "Well, you see, he began +by keeping a saloon," etc. I prefer to believe that my informants are +treating me as in the old sinful days in India I was used to treat our +wandering Globe-trotters. They declare that they speak the truth, and +the news of dog-politics lately vouchsafed to me in groggeries incline +me to believe—but I won't. The people are much too nice to slangander +as recklessly as I have been doing. Besides, I am hopelessly in love +with about eight American maidens—all perfectly delightful till the +next one comes into the room. O-Toyo was a darling, but she lacked +several things; conversation, for one. You cannot live on giggles. She +shall remain unmoved at Nagasaki while I roast a battered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1005" id="Page_1005">[Pg 005]</a></span> heart before +the shrine of a big Kentucky blonde who had for a nurse, when she was +little, a negro "mammy." By consequence she has welded on to Californian +beauty, Paris dresses, Eastern culture, Europe trips, and wild Western +originality, the queer dreamy superstitions of the negro quarters, and +the result is soul-shattering. And she is but one of many stars. <i>Item</i>, +a maiden who believes in education and possesses it, with a few hundred +thousand dollars to boot, and a taste for slumming. <i>Item</i>, the leader +of a sort of informal salon where girls congregate, read papers, and +daringly discuss metaphysical problems and candy—a sloe-eyed, +black-browed, imperious maiden. <i>Item</i>, a very small maiden, absolutely +without reverence, who can in one swift sentence trample upon and leave +gasping half a dozen young men. <i>Item</i>, a millionnairess, burdened with +her money, lonely, caustic, with a tongue keen as a sword, yearning for +a sphere, but chained up to the rock of her vast possessions. <i>Item</i>, a +typewriter-maiden earning her own bread in this big city, because she +doesn't think a girl ought to be a burden on her parents. She quotes +Théophile Gautier, and moves through the world manfully, much respected, +for all her twenty inexperienced summers. <i>Item</i>, a woman from Cloudland +who has no history in the past, but is discreetly of the present, and +strives for the confidences of male humanity on the grounds of +"sympathy." (This is not altogether a new type.) <i>Item</i>, a girl in a +"dive" blessed with a Greek head and eyes that seem to speak all that is +best and sweetest in the world. But woe is me!—she has no ideas in this +world or the next, beyond the consumption of beer (a commission on each +bottle), and protests that she sings the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1006" id="Page_1006">[Pg 006]</a></span> songs allotted to her nightly +with no more than the vaguest notion of their meaning.</p> + +<p>Sweet and comely are the maidens of Devonshire; delicate and of gracious +seeming those who live in the pleasant places of London; fascinating for +all their demureness the damsels of France clinging closely to their +mothers, and with large eyes wondering at the wicked world; excellent in +her own place and to those who understand her is the Anglo-Indian "spin" +in her second season; but the girls of America are above and beyond them +all. They are clever; they can talk. Yea, it is said that they think. +Certainly they have an appearance of so doing. They are original, and +look you between the brows with unabashed eyes as a sister might look at +her brother. They are instructed in the folly and vanity of the male +mind, for they have associated with "the boys" from babyhood, and can +discerningly minister to both vices, or pleasantly snub the possessor. +They possess, moreover, a life among themselves, independent of +masculine associations. They have societies and clubs and unlimited +tea-fights where all the guests are girls. They are self-possessed +without parting with any tenderness that is their sex-right; they +understand; they can take care of themselves; they are superbly +independent. When you ask them what makes them so charming, they say: +"It is because we are better educated than your girls and—and we are +more sensible in regard to men. We have good times all round, but we +aren't taught to regard every man as a possible husband. Nor is he +expected to marry the first girl he calls on regularly." Yes, they have +good times, their freedom is large, and they do not abuse it. They can +go driving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1007" id="Page_1007">[Pg 007]</a></span> with young men, and receive visits from young men to an +extent that would make an English mother wink with horror; and neither +driver nor drivee have a thought beyond the enjoyment of a good time. As +certain also of their own poets have said:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Man is fire and woman is tow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Devil he comes and begins to blow."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In America the tow is soaked in a solution that makes it fire-proof, in +absolute liberty and large knowledge; consequently accidents do not +exceed the regular percentage arranged by the Devil for each class and +climate under the skies. But the freedom of the young girl has its +drawbacks. She is—I say it with all reluctance—irreverent, from her +forty-dollar bonnet to the buckles in her eighteen-dollar shoes. She +talks flippantly to her parents and men old enough to be her +grandfather. She has a prescriptive right to the society of the Man who +Arrives. The parents admit it. This is sometimes embarrassing, +especially when you call on a man and his wife for the sake of +information; the one being a merchant of varied knowledge, the other a +woman of the world. In five minutes your host has vanished. In another +five his wife has followed him, and you are left with a very charming +maiden doubtless, but certainly not the person you came to see. She +chatters and you grin; but you leave with the very strong impression of +a wasted morning. This has been my experience once or twice. I have even +said as pointedly as I dared to a man: "I came to see you." "You'd +better see me in my office, then. The house belongs to my women-folk—to +my daughter, that is to say." He spoke with truth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1008" id="Page_1008">[Pg 008]</a></span> The American of +wealth is owned by his family. They exploit him for bullion, and +sometimes it seems to me that his lot is a lonely one. The women get the +ha'pence; the kicks are all his own. Nothing is too good for an +American's daughter (I speak here of the moneyed classes). The girls +take every gift as a matter of course. Yet they develop greatly when a +catastrophe arrives and the man of many millions goes up or goes down +and his daughters take to stenography or type-writing. I have heard many +tales of heroism from the lips of girls who counted the principals among +their friends. The crash came; Mamie or Hattie or Sadie gave up their +maid, their carriages and candy, and with a No. 2 Remington and a stout +heart set about earning their daily bread.</p> + +<p>"And did I drop her from the list of my friends? No, Sir," said a +scarlet-lipped vision in white lace. "That might happen to me any day."</p> + +<p>It may be this sense of possible disaster in the air that makes San +Franciscan society go with so captivating a rush and whirl. Recklessness +is in the air. I can't explain where it comes from, but there it is. The +roaring winds off the Pacific make you drunk to begin with. The +aggressive luxury on all sides helps out the intoxication, and you spin +for ever "down the ringing groves of change" (there is no small change, +by the way, west of the Rockies) as long as money lasts. They make +greatly and they spend lavishly; not only the rich but the artisans, who +pay nearly five pounds for a suit of clothes and for other luxuries in +proportion. The young men rejoice in the days of their youth. They +gamble, yacht, race, enjoy prize-fights and cock-fights—the one openly, +the other in secret—they establish luxurious clubs; they break<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1009" id="Page_1009">[Pg 009]</a></span> +themselves over horse-flesh and—other things; and they are instant in +quarrel. At twenty they are experienced in business; embark in vast +enterprises, take partners as experienced as themselves, and go to +pieces with as much splendour as their neighbours. Remember that the men +who stocked California in the Fifties were physically, and as far as +regards certain tough virtues, the pick of the earth. The inept and the +weakly died <i>en route</i> or went under in the days of construction. To +this nucleus were added all the races of the Continent—French, Italian, +German, and, of course, the Jew. The result you shall see in +large-boned, deep-chested, delicate-handed women, and long, elastic, +well-built boys. It needs no little golden badge swinging from his +watch-chain to mark the Native Son of the Golden West—the country-bred +of California. Him I love because he is devoid of fear, carries himself +like a man, and has a heart as big as his boots. I fancy, too, he knows +how to enjoy the blessings of life that his world so abundantly bestows +upon him. At least I heard a little rat of a creature with hock-bottle +shoulders explaining that a man from Chicago could pull the eye-teeth of +a Californian in business. Well, if I lived in Fairyland, where cherries +were as big as plums, plums as big as apples, and strawberries of no +account; where the procession of the fruits of the seasons was like a +pageant in a Drury Lane pantomime and where the dry air was wine, I +should let business slide once in a way and kick up my heels with my +fellows. The tale of the resources of California—vegetable and +mineral—is a fairy tale. You can read it in books. You would never +believe me. All manner of nourishing food from sea-fish to beef may be +bought at the lowest prices; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1010" id="Page_1010">[Pg 010]</a></span> the people are well developed and of a +high stomach. They demand ten shillings for tinkering a jammed lock of a +trunk; they receive sixteen shillings a day for working as carpenters; +they spend many sixpences on very bad cigars, and they go mad over a +prize-fight. When they disagree, they do so fatally, with firearms in +their hands, and on the public streets. I was just clear of Mission +Street when the trouble began between two gentlemen, one of whom +perforated the other. When a policeman, whose name I do not recollect, +"fatally shot Ed. Kearney," for attempting to escape arrest, I was in +the next street. For these things I am thankful. It is enough to travel +with a policeman in a tram-car and while he arranges his coat-tails as +he sits down, to catch sight of a loaded revolver. It is enough to know +that fifty per cent of the men in the public saloons carry pistols about +them. The Chinaman waylays his adversary and methodically chops him to +pieces with his hatchet. Then the Press roar about the brutal ferocity +of the Pagan. The Italian reconstructs his friend with a long knife. The +Press complains of the waywardness of the alien. The Irishman and the +native Californian in their hours of discontent use the revolver, not +once, but six times. The Press records the fact, and asks in the next +column whether the world can parallel the progress of San Francisco. The +American who loves this country will tell you that this sort of thing is +confined to the lower classes. Just at present an ex-judge who was sent +to jail by another judge (upon my word, I cannot tell whether these +titles mean anything) is breathing red-hot vengeance against his enemy. +The papers have interviewed both parties and confidently expect a fatal +issue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1011" id="Page_1011">[Pg 011]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now let me draw breath and curse the negro waiter and through him the +negro in service generally. He has been made a citizen with a vote; +consequently both political parties play with him. But that is neither +here nor there. He will commit in one meal every <i>bétise</i> that a +scullion fresh from the plough-tail is capable of, and he will continue +to repeat those faults. He is as complete a heavy-footed, +uncomprehending, bungle-fisted fool as any <i>memsahib</i> in the East ever +took into her establishment. But he is according to law a free and +independent citizen—consequently above reproof or criticism. He, and he +alone, in this insane city will wait at table (the Chinaman doesn't +count). He is untrained, inept, but he will fill the place and draw the +pay. Now God and his father's Kismet made him intellectually inferior to +the Oriental. He insists on pretending that he serves tables by +accident—as a sort of amusement. He wishes you to understand this +little fact. You wish to eat your meals, and if possible to have them +properly served. He is a big, black, vain baby and a man rolled into +one. A coloured gentleman who insisted on getting me pie when I wanted +something else, demanded information about India. I gave him some facts +about wages. "Oh hell," said he, cheerfully, "that wouldn't keep me in +cigars for a month." Then he fawned on me for a ten-cent piece. Later he +took it upon himself to pity the natives of India—"heathen" he called +them, this Woolly One whose race has been the butt of every comedy on +the Asiatic stage since the beginning. And I turned and saw by the head +upon his shoulders that he was a Yoruba man, if there be any truth in +ethnological castes. He did his thinking in English, but he was a Yoruba +negro,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1012" id="Page_1012">[Pg 012]</a></span> and the race type had remained the same throughout his +generations. And the room was full of other races—some that looked +exactly like Gallas (but the trade was never recruited from that side of +Africa), some duplicates of Cameroon heads, and some Kroomen, if ever +Kroomen wore evening dress. The American does not consider little +matters of descent, though by this time he ought to know all about +"damnable heredity." As a general rule he keeps himself very far from +the negro and says unpretty things about him. There are six million +negroes more or less in the States, and they are increasing. The +Americans once having made them citizens cannot unmake them. He says, in +his newspapers, they ought to be elevated by education. He is trying +this: but it is like to be a long job, because black blood is much more +adhesive than white, and throws back with annoying persistence. When the +negro gets a religion he returns, directly as a hiving bee, to the first +instincts of his people. Just now a wave of religion is sweeping over +some of the Southern States. Up to the present, two Messiahs and one +Daniel have appeared; and several human sacrifices have been offered up +to these incarnations. The Daniel managed to get three young men, who he +insisted were Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, to walk into a blast +furnace; guaranteeing non-combustion. They did not return. I have seen +nothing of this kind, but I have attended a negro church. The +congregation were moved by the spirit to groans and tears, and one of +them danced up the aisle to the mourners' bench. The motive may have +been genuine. The movements of the shaken body were those of a Zanzibar +stick-dance, such as you see at Aden on the coal boats; and even as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1013" id="Page_1013">[Pg 013]</a></span> +watched the people, the links that bound them to the white man snapped +one by one, and I saw before me—the <i>hubshi</i> (the Woolly One) praying +to the God he did not understand. Those neatly dressed folk on the +benches, the grey-headed elder by the window, were savages—neither more +nor less. What will the American do with the negro? The South will not +consort with him. In some States miscegenation is a penal offence. The +North is every year less and less in need of his services. And he will +not disappear. He will continue as a problem. His friends will urge that +he is as good as the white man. His enemies ... it is not good to be a +negro in the land of the free and the home of the brave.</p> + +<p>But this has nothing to do with San Francisco and her merry maidens, her +strong, swaggering men, and her wealth of gold and pride. They bore me +to a banquet in honour of a brave Lieutenant—Carlin, of the +<i>Vandalia</i>—who stuck by his ship in the great cyclone at Apia and +comported himself as an officer should. On that occasion—'twas at the +Bohemian Club—I heard oratory with the roundest of O's; and devoured a +dinner the memory of which will descend with me into the hungry grave. +There were about forty speeches delivered; and not one of them was +average or ordinary. It was my first introduction to the American Eagle +screaming for all it was worth. The Lieutenant's heroism served as a peg +from which those silver-tongued ones turned themselves loose and kicked. +They ransacked the clouds of sunset, the thunderbolts of Heaven, the +deeps of Hell, and the splendours of the Resurrection, for tropes and +metaphors, and hurled the result at the head of the guest of the +evening. Never since the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1014" id="Page_1014">[Pg 014]</a></span> morning stars sang together for joy, I +learned, had an amazed creation witnessed such superhuman bravery as +that displayed by the American navy in the Samoa cyclone. Till earth +rotted in the phosphorescent star-and-stripe slime of a decayed universe +that God-like gallantry would not be forgotten. I grieve that I cannot +give the exact words. My attempt at reproducing their spirit is pale and +inadequate. I sat bewildered on a coruscating Niagara +of—blatherumskite. It was magnificent—it was stupendous; and I was +conscious of a wicked desire to hide my face in a napkin and grin. Then, +according to rule, they produced their dead, and across the snowy +tablecloths dragged the corpse of every man slain in the Civil War, and +hurled defiance at "our natural enemy" (England, so please you!) "with +her chain of fortresses across the world." Thereafter they glorified +their nation afresh, from the beginning, in case any detail should have +been overlooked, and that made me uncomfortable for their sakes. How in +the world can a white man, a Sahib of Our blood, stand up and plaster +praise on his own country? He can think as highly as he likes, but his +open-mouthed vehemence of adoration struck me almost as indelicate. My +hosts talked for rather more than three hours, and at the end seemed +ready for three hours more. But when the Lieutenant—such a big, brave, +gentle giant!—rose to his feet, he delivered what seemed to me as the +speech of the evening. I remember nearly the whole of it, and it ran +something in this way: "Gentlemen—it's very good of you to give me this +dinner and to tell me all these pretty things, but what I want you to +understand—the fact<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1015" id="Page_1015">[Pg 015]</a></span> is—what we want and what we ought to get at once +is a navy—more ships—lots of 'em—" Then we howled the top of the roof +off, and I, for one, fell in love with Carlin on the spot. Wallah! He +was a man.</p> + +<p>The Prince among merchants bade me take no heed to the warlike +sentiments of some of the old Generals. "The sky-rockets are thrown in +for effect," quoth he, "and whenever we get on our hind legs we always +express a desire to chaw up England. It's a sort of family affair."</p> + +<p>And indeed, when you come to think of it, there is no other country for +the American public speaker to trample upon.</p> + +<p>France has Germany; we have Russia; for Italy, Austria is provided; and +the humblest Pathan possesses an ancestral enemy. Only America stands +out of the racket; and therefore, to be in fashion, makes a sand-bag of +the mother-country, and bangs her when occasion requires. "The chain of +fortresses" man, a fascinating talker, explained to me after the affair +that he was compelled to blow off steam. Everybody expected it. When we +had chanted "The Star-Spangled Banner" not more than eight times, we +adjourned. America is a very great country, but it is not yet Heaven +with electric lights and plush fittings, as the speakers professed to +believe. My listening mind went back to the politicians in the saloon +who wasted no time in talking about freedom, but quietly made +arrangements to impose their will on the citizens. "The Judge is a great +man, but give thy presents to the Clerk," as the proverb saith.</p> + +<p>And what more remains to tell? I cannot write connectedly, because I am +in love with all those girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1016" id="Page_1016">[Pg 016]</a></span> aforesaid and some others who do not +appear in the invoice. The type-writer girl is an institution of which +the comic papers make much capital, but she is vastly convenient. She +and a companion rent a room in a business quarter, and copy manuscript +at the rate of six annas a page. Only a woman can manage a type-writing +machine, because she has served apprenticeship to the sewing-machine. +She can earn as much as a hundred dollars a month, and professes to +regard this form of bread-winning as her natural destiny. But oh how she +hates it in her heart of hearts! When I had got over the surprise of +doing business and trying to give orders to a young woman of coldly +clerkly aspect, intrenched behind gold-rimmed spectacles, I made +inquiries concerning the pleasures of this independence. They liked +it—indeed, they did. 'Twas the natural fate of almost all girls,—the +recognised custom in America,—and I was a barbarian not to see it in +that light.</p> + +<p>"Well, and after?" said I. "What happens?"</p> + +<p>"We work for our bread."</p> + +<p>"And then what do you expect?"</p> + +<p>"Then we shall work for our bread."</p> + +<p>"Till you die?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es—unless—"</p> + +<p>"Unless what? A man works till he dies."</p> + +<p>"So shall we." This without enthusiasm—"I suppose."</p> + +<p>Said the partner in the firm audaciously: "Sometimes we marry our +employers—at least that's what the newspapers say." The hand banged on +half a dozen of the keys of the machine at once. "Yes, I don't care. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1017" id="Page_1017">[Pg 017]</a></span> +hate it—I <i>hate</i> it—I hate it, and you needn't look so!"</p> + +<p>The senior partner was regarding the rebel with grave-eyed reproach.</p> + +<p>"I thought you did," said I. "I don't suppose American girls are much +different from English ones in instinct."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it Théophile Gautier who says that the only differences between +country and country lie in the slang and the uniform of the police?"</p> + +<p>Now in the name of all the Gods at once, what is one to say to a young +lady (who in England would be a Person) who earns her own bread, and +very naturally hates the employ, and slings out-of-the-way quotations at +your head? That one falls in love with her goes without saying; but that +is not enough.</p> + +<p>A mission should be established.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1018" id="Page_1018">[Pg 018]</a></span><a name="No_XXVI" id="No_XXVI"></a>No. XXVI</h2> + +<p>TAKES ME THROUGH BRET HARTE'S COUNTRY, AND TO PORTLAND WITH "OLD MAN +CALIFORNIA." EXPLAINS HOW TWO VAGABONDS BECAME HOMESICK THROUGH LOOKING +AT OTHER PEOPLE'S HOUSES.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I walked in the lonesome even,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who so sad as I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I saw the young men and maidens<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Merrily passing by?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>San Francisco has only one drawback. 'Tis hard to leave. When like the +pious Hans Breitmann I "cut that city by the sea" it was with regrets +for the pleasant places left behind, for the men who were so clever, and +the women who were so witty, for the "dives," the beer-halls, the +bucket-shops, and the poker-hells where humanity was going to the Devil +with shouting and laughter and song and the rattle of dice-boxes. I +would fain have stayed, but I feared that an evil end would come to me +when my money was all spent and I descended to the street corner. A +voice inside me said: "Get out of this. Go north. Strike for Victoria +and Vancouver. Bask for a day under the shadow of the old flag." So I +set forth from San Francisco to Portland in Oregon, and that was a +railroad run of thirty-six hours.</p> + +<p>The Oakland railway terminus, whence all the main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1019" id="Page_1019">[Pg 019]</a></span> lines start, does not +own anything approaching to a platform. A yard with a dozen or more +tracks is roughly asphalted, and the traveller laden with hand-bags +skips merrily across the metals in search of his own particular train. +The bells of half a dozen shunting engines are tolling suggestively in +his ears. If he is run down, so much the worse for him. "When the bell +rings, look out for the locomotive." Long use has made the nation +familiar and even contemptuous towards trains to an extent which God +never intended. Women who in England would gather up their skirts and +scud timorously over a level crossing in the country, here talk dress +and babies under the very nose of the cow-catcher, and little children +dally with the moving car in a manner horrible to behold. We pulled out +at the wholly insignificant speed of twenty-five miles an hour through +the streets of a suburb of fifty thousand, and in our progress among the +carts and the children and the shop fronts slew nobody; at which I was +not a little disappointed.</p> + +<p>When the negro porter bedded me up for the night and I had solved the +problem of undressing while lying down,—I was much cheered by the +thought that if anything happened I should have to stay where I was and +wait till the kerosene lamps set the overturned car alight and burned me +to death. It is easier to get out of a full theatre than to leave a +Pullman in haste.</p> + +<p>By the time I had discovered that a profusion of nickel-plating, plush, +and damask does not compensate for closeness and dust, the train ran +into the daylight on the banks of the Sacramento River. A few windows +were gingerly opened after the bunks had been reconverted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1020" id="Page_1020">[Pg 020]</a></span> into seats, +but that long coffin-car was by no means ventilated, and we were a +gummy, grimy crew who sat there. At six in the morning the heat was +distinctly unpleasant, but seeing with the eye of the flesh that I was +in Bret Harte's own country, I rejoiced. There were the pines and +madrone-clad hills his miners lived and fought among; there was the +heated red earth that showed whence the gold had been washed; the dry +gulch, the red, dusty road where Hamblin was used to stop the stage in +the intervals of his elegant leisure and superior card-play; there was +the timber felled and sweating resin in the sunshine; and, above all, +there was the quivering pungent heat that Bret Harte drives into your +dull brain with the magic of his pen. When we stopped at a collection of +packing-cases dignified by the name of a town, my felicity was complete. +The name of the place was something offensive,—Amberville or +Jacksonburgh,—but it owned a cast-iron fountain worthy of a town of +thirty thousand. Next to the fountain was a "hotel," at least seventeen +feet high including the chimney, and next to the hotel was the +forest—the pine, the oak, and the untrammelled undergrowth of the +hillside. A cinnamon-bear cub—Baby Sylvester in the very fur—was tied +to the stump of a tree opposite the fountain; a pack-mule dozed in the +dust-haze, a red-shirted miner in a slouch hat supported the hotel, a +blue-shirted miner swung round the corner, and the two went indoors for +a drink. A girl came out of the only other house but one, and shading +her eyes with a brown hand stared at the panting train. She didn't +recognise me, but I knew her—had known her for years. She was M'liss. +She never married the schoolmaster,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1021" id="Page_1021">[Pg 021]</a></span> after all, but stayed, always young +and always fair, among the pines. I knew Red-Shirt too. He was one of +the bearded men who stood back when Tennessee claimed his partner from +the hands of the Law. The Sacramento River, a few yards away, shouted +that all these things were true. The train went on while Baby Sylvester +stood on his downy head, and M'liss swung her sun-bonnet by the strings.</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" said a lawyer who was travelling with me. "It's a +new world to you; isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No. It's quite familiar. I was never out of England; it's as if I saw +it all."</p> + +<p>Quick as light came the answer: "'Yes, they lived once thus at Venice +when the miners were the kings.'"</p> + +<p>I loved that lawyer on the spot. We drank to Bret Harte who, you +remember, "claimed California, but California never claimed him. He's +turned English."</p> + +<p>Lying back in state, I waited for the flying miles to turn over the +pages of the book I knew. They brought me all I desired—from the Man of +no Account sitting on a stump and playing with a dog, to "that most +sarcastic man, the quiet Mister Brown." He boarded the train from out of +the woods, and there was venom and sulphur on his tongue. He had just +lost a lawsuit. Only Yuba Bill failed to appear. The train had taken his +employment from him. A nameless ruffian backed me into a corner and +began telling me about the resources of the country, and what it would +eventually become. All I remember of his lecture was that you could +catch trout in the Sacramento River—the stream that we followed so +faithfully.</p> + +<p>Then rose a tough and wiry old man with grizzled hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1022" id="Page_1022">[Pg 022]</a></span> and made +inquiries about the trout. To him was added the secretary of a +life-insurance company. I fancy he was travelling to rake in the dead +that the train killed. But he, too, was a fisherman, and the two turned +to meward. The frankness of a Westerner is delightful. They tell me that +in the Eastern States I shall meet another type of man and a more +reserved. The Californian always speaks of the man from the New England +States as a different breed. It is our Punjab and Madras over again, but +more so. The old man was on a holiday in search of fish. When he +discovered a brother-loafer he proposed a confederation of rods. Quoth +the insurance-agent, "I'm not staying any time in Portland, but I will +introduce you to a man there who'll tell you about fishing." The two +told strange tales as we slid through the forests and saw afar off the +snowy head of a great mountain. There were vineyards, fruit orchards, +and wheat fields where the land opened out, and every ten miles or so, +twenty or thirty wooden houses and at least three churches. A large town +would have a population of two thousand and an infinite belief in its +own capacities. Sometimes a flaring advertisement flanked the line, +calling for men to settle down, take up the ground, and make their home +there. At a big town we could pick up the local newspaper, narrow as the +cutting edge of a chisel and twice as keen—a journal filled with the +prices of stock, notices of improved reaping and binding machines, +movements of eminent citizens—"whose fame beyond their own abode +extends—for miles along the Harlem road." There was not much grace +about these papers, but all breathed the same need for good men, steady +men who would plough, and till,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1023" id="Page_1023">[Pg 023]</a></span> and build schools for their children, +and make a township in the hills. Once only I found a sharp change in +the note and a very pathetic one. I think it was a young soul in trouble +who was writing poetry. The editor had jammed the verses between the +flamboyant advertisement of a real-estate agent—a man who sells you +land and lies about it—and that of a Jew tailor who disposed of "nobby" +suits at "cut-throat prices." Here are two verses; I think they tell +their own story:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"God made the pine with its root in the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its top in the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They have burned the pine to increase the worth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the wheat and the silver rye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Go weigh the cost of the soul of the pine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cut off from the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the price of the wheat that grows so fine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the worth of the silver rye!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The thin-lipped, keen-eyed men who boarded the train would not read that +poetry, or, if they did, would not understand. Heaven guard that poor +pine in the desert and keep "its top in the sky"!</p> + +<p>When the train took to itself an extra engine and began to breathe +heavily, some one said that we were ascending the Siskiyou Mountains. We +had been climbing steadily from San Francisco, and at last won to over +four thousand feet above sea-level, always running through forest. Then, +naturally enough, we came down, but we dropped two thousand two hundred +feet in about thirteen miles. It was not so much the grinding of the +brakes along the train, or the sight of three curves of track apparently +miles below us, or even the vision of a goods-train<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1024" id="Page_1024">[Pg 024]</a></span> apparently just +under our wheels, or even the tunnels, that made me reflect; it was the +trestles over which we crawled,—trestles something over a hundred feet +high and looking like a collection of match-sticks.</p> + +<p>"I guess our timber is as much a curse as a blessing," said the old man +from Southern California. "These trestles last very well for five or six +years; then they get out of repair, and a train goes through 'em, or +else a forest fire burns 'em up."</p> + +<p>This was said in the middle of a groaning, shivering trestle. An +occasional plate-layer took a look at us as we went down, but that +railway didn't waste men on inspection duty. Very often there were +cattle on the track, against which the engine used a diabolical form of +whistling. The old man had been a driver in his youth, and beguiled the +way with cheery anecdotes of what might be expected if we fouled a young +calf.</p> + +<p>"You see, they get their legs under the cow-catcher and that'll put an +engine off the line. I remember when a hog wrecked an excursion-train +and killed sixty people. 'Guess the engineer will look out, though."</p> + +<p>There is considerably too much guessing about this large nation. As one +of them put it rather forcibly: "We guess a trestle will stand for ever, +and we guess that we can patch up a washout on the track, and we guess +the road's clear, and sometimes we guess ourselves into the <i>deepot</i>, +and sometimes we guess ourselves into Hell."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The descent brought us far into Oregon and a timber and wheat country. +We drove through wheat and pine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1025" id="Page_1025">[Pg 025]</a></span> in alternate slices, but pine chiefly, +till we reached Portland, which is a city of fifty thousand, possessing +the electric light of course, equally, of course, devoid of pavements, +and a port of entry about a hundred miles from the sea at which big +steamers can load. It is a poor city that cannot say it has no equal on +the Pacific coast. Portland shouts this to the pines which run down from +a thousand-foot ridge clear up to the city. You may sit in a bedizened +bar-room furnished with telephone and clicker, and in half an hour be in +the woods.</p> + +<p>Portland produces lumber and jig-saw fittings for houses, and beer and +buggies, and bricks and biscuit; and, in case you should miss the fact, +there are glorified views of the town hung up in public places with the +value of the products set down in dollars. All this is excellent and +exactly suitable to the opening of a new country; but when a man tells +you it is civilisation, you object. The first thing that the civilised +man learns to do is to keep the dollars in the background, because they +are only the oil of the machine that makes life go smoothly.</p> + +<p>Portland is so busy that it can't attend to its own sewage or paving, +and the four-storey brick blocks front cobble-stones and plank sidewalks +and other things much worse. I saw a foundation being dug out. The +sewage of perhaps twenty years ago, had thoroughly soaked into the soil, +and there was a familiar and Oriental look about the compost that flew +up with each shovel-load. Yet the local papers, as was just and proper, +swore there was no place like Portland, Oregon, U.S.A., chronicled the +performances of Oregonians, "claimed" prominent citizens elsewhere as +Oregonians, and fought tooth and nail for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1026" id="Page_1026">[Pg 026]</a></span> dock, rail, and wharfage +projects. And you could find men who had thrown in their lives with the +city, who were bound up in it, and worked their life out for what they +conceived to be its material prosperity. Pity it is to record that in +this strenuous, labouring town there had been, a week before, a +shooting-case. One well-known man had shot another on the street, and +was now pleading self-defence because the other man had, or the murderer +thought he had, a pistol about him. Not content with shooting him dead, +he squibbed off his revolver into him as he lay. I read the pleadings, +and they made me ill. So far as I could judge, if the dead man's body +had been found with a pistol on it, the shooter would have gone free. +Apart from the mere murder, cowardly enough in itself, there was a +refinement of cowardice in the plea. Here in this civilised city the +surviving brute was afraid he would be shot—fancied he saw the other +man make a motion to his hip-pocket, and so on. Eventually the jury +disagreed. And the degrading thing was that the trial was reported by +men who evidently understood all about the pistol, was tried before a +jury who were versed in the etiquette of the hip-pocket, and was +discussed on the streets by men equally initiate.</p> + +<p>But let us return to more cheerful things. The insurance-agent +introduced us as friends to a real-estate man, who promptly bade us go +up the Columbia River for a day while he made inquiries about fishing. +There was no overwhelming formality. The old man was addressed as +"California," I answered indifferently to "England" or "Johnny Bull," +and the real-estate man was "Portland." This was a lofty and spacious +form of address.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1027" id="Page_1027">[Pg 027]</a></span></p> + +<p>So California and I took a steamboat, and upon a sumptuous blue and gold +morning steered up the Willamette River, on which Portland stands, into +the great Columbia—the river that brings the salmon that goes into the +tin that is emptied into the dish when the extra guest arrives in India. +California introduced me to the boat and the scenery, showed me the +"texas," the difference between a "tow-head" and a "sawyer," and the +precise nature of a "slue." All I remember is a delightful feeling that +Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn and Mississippi Pilot were quite true, and +that I could almost recognise the very reaches down which Huck and Jim +had drifted. We were on the border line between Oregon State and +Washington Territory, but that didn't matter. The Columbia was the +Mississippi so far as I was concerned. We ran along the sides of wooded +islands whose banks were caving in with perpetual smashes, and we +skipped from one side to another of the mile-wide stream in search of a +channel, exactly like a Mississippi steamer, and when we wanted to pick +up or set down a passenger we chose a soft and safe place on the shore +and ran our very snub nose against it. California spoke to each new +passenger as he came aboard and told me the man's birthplace. A +long-haired tender of kine crashed out of the underwood, waved his hat, +and was taken aboard forthwith. "South Carolina," said California, +almost without looking at him. "When he talks you will hear a softer +dialect than mine." And it befell as he said: whereat I marvelled, and +California chuckled. Every island in the river carried fields of rich +wheat, orchards, and a white, wooden house; or else, if the pines grew +very thickly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1028" id="Page_1028">[Pg 028]</a></span> a sawmill, the tremulous whine of whose saws flickered +across the water like the drone of a tired bee. From remarks he let fall +I gathered that California owned timber ships and dealt in lumber, had +ranches too, a partner, and everything handsome about him; in addition +to a chequered career of some thirty-five years. But he looked almost as +disreputable a loafer as I.</p> + +<p>"Say, young feller, we're going to see scenery now. You shout and sing," +said California, when the bland wooded islands gave place to bolder +outlines, and the steamer ran herself into a hornet's nest of +black-fanged rocks not a foot below the boiling broken water. We were +trying to get up a slue, or back channel, by a short cut, and the +stern-wheel never spun twice in the same direction. Then we hit a +floating log with a jar that ran through our system, and then, +white-bellied, open-gilled, spun by a dead salmon—a lordly twenty-pound +Chinook salmon who had perished in his pride. "You'll see the +salmon-wheels 'fore long," said a man who lived "way back on the +Washoogle," and whose hat was spangled with trout-flies. "Those Chinook +salmon never rise to the fly. The canneries take them by the wheel." At +the next bend we sighted a wheel—an infernal arrangement of wire-gauze +compartments worked by the current and moved out from a barge in shore +to scoop up the salmon as he races up the river. California swore long +and fluently at the sight, and the more fluently when he was told of the +weight of a good night's catch—some thousands of pounds. Think of the +black and bloody murder of it! But you out yonder insist in buying +tinned salmon, and the canneries cannot live by letting down lines.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1029" id="Page_1029">[Pg 029]</a></span></p> + +<p>About this time California was struck with madness. I found him dancing +on the fore-deck shouting, "Isn't she a daisy? Isn't she a darling?" He +had found a waterfall—a blown thread of white vapour that broke from +the crest of a hill—a waterfall eight hundred and fifty feet high whose +voice was even louder than the voice of the river. "Bridal Veil," jerked +out the purser. "D—n that purser and the people who christened her! Why +didn't they call her Mechlin lace Falls at fifty dollars a yard while +they were at it?" said California. And I agreed with him. There are many +"bridal veil" falls in this country, but few, men say, lovelier than +those that come down to the Columbia River. Then the scenery +began—poured forth with the reckless profusion of Nature, who when she +wants to be amiable succeeds only in being oppressively magnificent. The +river was penned between gigantic stone walls crowned with the ruined +bastions of Oriental palaces. The stretch of green water widened and was +guarded by pine-clad hills three thousand feet high. A wicked devil's +thumb nail of rock shot up a hundred feet in midstream. A sand-bar of +blinding white sand gave promise of flat country that the next bend +denied; for, lo! we were running under a triple tier of fortifications, +lava-topped, pine-clothed, and terrible. Behind them the white dome of +Mount Hood ran fourteen thousand feet into the blue, and at their feet +the river threshed among a belt of cottonwood trees. There I sat down +and looked at California half out of the boat in his anxiety to see both +sides of the river at once. He had seen my note-book, and it offended +him. "Young feller, let her go—and you shut your head. It's not you nor +anybody like you can put this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1030" id="Page_1030">[Pg 030]</a></span> down. Black, the novelist, he could. He +can describe salmon-fishing, <i>he</i> can." And he glared at me as though he +expected me to go and do likewise.</p> + +<p>"I can't. I know it," I said humbly.</p> + +<p>"Then thank God that you came along this way."</p> + +<p>We reached a little railway, on an island, which was to convey us to a +second steamer, because, as the purser explained, the river was "a +trifle broken." We had a six-mile run, sitting in the sunshine on a +dummy wagon, whirled just along the edge of the river-bluffs. Sometimes +we dived into the fragrant pine woods, ablaze with flowers; but we +generally watched the river now narrowed into a turbulent millrace. Just +where the whole body of water broke in riot over a series of cascades, +the United States Government had chosen to build a lock for steamers, +and the stream was one boiling, spouting mob of water. A log shot down +the race, struck on a rock, split from end to end, and rolled over in +white foam. I shuddered because my toes were not more than sixty feet +above the log, and I feared that a stray splinter might have found me. +But the train ran into the river on a sort of floating trestle, and I +was upon another steamer ere I fully understood why. The cascades were +not two hundred yards below us, and when we cast off to go upstream, the +rush of the river, ere the wheel struck the water, dragged us as though +we had been towed. Then the country opened out; and California mourned +for his lost bluffs and crags, till we struck a rock wall four hundred +feet high, crowned by the gigantic figure of a man watching us. On a +rocky island we saw the white tomb of an old-time settler who had made +his money in San Francisco, but had chosen to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1031" id="Page_1031">[Pg 031]</a></span> buried in an Indian +burying-ground. A decayed wooden "wickyup," where the bones of the +Indian dead are laid, almost touched the tomb. The river ran into a +canal of basaltic rock, painted in yellow, vermilion, and green by +Indians and, by inferior brutes, adorned with advertisements of "bile +beans." We had reached The Dalles—the centre of a great sheep and wool +district, and the head of navigation.</p> + +<p>When an American arrives at a new town it is his bounden duty to "take +it in." California swung his coat over his shoulder with the gesture of +a man used to long tramps, and together, at eight in the evening, we +explored The Dalles. The sun had not yet set, and it would be light for +at least another hour. All the inhabitants seemed to own a little villa +and one church apiece. The young men were out walking with the young +maidens, the old folks were sitting on the front steps,—not the ones +that led to the religiously shuttered best drawing-room, but the +side-front-steps,—and the husbands and wives were tying back pear trees +or gathering cherries. A scent of hay reached me, and in the stillness +we could hear the cattle bells as the cows came home across the +lava-sprinkled fields. California swung down the wooden pavements, +audibly criticising the housewives' hollyhocks and the more perfect ways +of pear-grafting, and, as the young men and maidens passed, giving +quaint stories of his youth. I felt that I knew all the people +aforetime, I was so interested in them and their life. A woman hung over +a gate talking to another woman, and as I passed I heard her say, +"skirts," and again, "skirts," and "I'll send you over the pattern"; and +I knew they were talking dress. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1032" id="Page_1032">[Pg 032]</a></span> stumbled upon a young couple saying +good-by in the twilight, and "When shall I see you again?" quoth he; and +I understood that to the doubting heart the tiny little town we paraded +in twenty minutes might be as large as all London and as impassable as +an armed camp. I gave them both my blessing, because "When shall I see +you again?" is a question that lies very near to hearts of all the +world. The last garden gate shut with a click that travelled far down +the street, and the lights of the comfortable families began to shine in +the confidingly uncurtained windows.</p> + +<p>"Say, Johnny Bull, doesn't all this make you feel lonesome?" said +California. "Have you got any folks at home? So've I—a wife and five +children—and I'm only on a holiday."</p> + +<p>"And I'm only on a holiday," I said, and we went back to the +Spittoon-wood Hotel. Alas! for the peace and purity of the little town +that I had babbled about. At the back of a shop, and discreetly +curtained, was a room where the young men who had been talking to the +young maidens could play poker and drink and swear, and on the shop were +dime novels of bloodshed to corrupt the mind of the little boy, and +prurient servant-girl-slush yarns to poison the mind of the girl. +California only laughed grimly. He said that all these little one-house +towns were pretty much the same all over the States.</p> + +<p>That night I dreamed I was back in India with no place to sleep in; +tramping up and down the Station mall and asking everybody, "When shall +I see you again?"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1033" id="Page_1033">[Pg 033]</a></span>No. XXVII</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW I CAUGHT SALMON IN THE CLACKAMAS.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong; but +time and chance cometh to all." </p></div> + + +<p>I have lived! The American Continent may now sink under the sea, for I +have taken the best that it yields, and the best was neither dollars, +love, nor real estate. Hear now, gentlemen of the Punjab Fishing Club, +who whip the reaches of the Tavi, and you who painfully import trout to +Ootacamund, and I will tell you how "old man California" and I went +fishing, and you shall envy. We returned from The Dalles to Portland by +the way we had come, the steamer stopping <i>en route</i> to pick up a +night's catch of one of the salmon wheels on the river, and to deliver +it at a cannery down-stream. When the proprietor of the wheel announced +that his take was two thousand two hundred and thirty pounds' weight of +fish, "and not a heavy catch, neither," I thought he lied. But he sent +the boxes aboard, and I counted the salmon by the hundred—huge +fifty-pounders, hardly dead, scores of twenty and thirty-pounders, and a +host of smaller fish.</p> + +<p>The steamer halted at a rude wooden warehouse built on piles in a lonely +reach of the river, and sent in the fish. I followed them up a +scale-strewn, fishy incline that led to the cannery. The crazy building +was quivering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1034" id="Page_1034">[Pg 034]</a></span> with the machinery on its floors, and a glittering bank +of tin-scraps twenty feet high showed where the waste was thrown after +the cans had been punched. Only Chinamen were employed on the work, and +they looked like blood-besmeared yellow devils, as they crossed the +rifts of sunlight that lay upon the floor. When our consignment arrived, +the rough wooden boxes broke of themselves as they were dumped down +under a jet of water, and the salmon burst out in a stream of +quicksilver. A Chinaman jerked up a twenty-pounder, beheaded and +de-tailed it with two swift strokes of a knife, flicked out its internal +arrangements with a third, and cast it into a bloody-dyed tank. The +headless fish leaped from under his hands as though they were facing a +rapid. Other Chinamen pulled them from the vat and thrust them under a +thing like a chaff-cutter, which, descending, hewed them into unseemly +red gobbets fit for the can. More Chinamen with yellow, crooked fingers, +jammed the stuff into the cans, which slid down some marvellous machine +forthwith, soldering their own tops as they passed. Each can was hastily +tested for flaws, and then sunk, with a hundred companions, into a vat +of boiling water, there to be half cooked for a few minutes. The cans +bulged slightly after the operation, and were therefore slidden along by +the trolleyful to men with needles and soldering irons, who vented them, +and soldered the aperture. Except for the label, the "finest Columbia +salmon" was ready for the market. I was impressed, not so much with the +speed of the manufacture, as the character of the factory. Inside, on a +floor ninety by forty, the most civilised and murderous of machinery. +Outside, three footsteps, the thick-growing pines and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1035" id="Page_1035">[Pg 035]</a></span> immense +solitude of the hills. Our steamer only stayed twenty minutes at that +place, but I counted two hundred and forty finished cans, made from the +catch of the previous night, ere I left the slippery, blood-stained, +scale-spangled, oily floors, and the offal-smeared Chinamen.</p> + +<p>We reached Portland, California and I, crying for salmon, and the +real-estate man, to whom we had been intrusted by "Portland" the +insurance man, met us in the street saying that fifteen miles away, +across country, we should come upon a place called Clackamas where we +might perchance find what we desired. And California, his coat-tails +flying in the wind, ran to a livery stable and chartered a wagon and +team forthwith. I could push the wagon about with one hand, so light was +its structure. The team was purely American—that is to say, almost +human in its intelligence and docility. Some one said that the roads +were not good on the way to Clackamas and warned us against smashing the +springs. "Portland," who had watched the preparations, finally reckoned +"he'd come along too," and under heavenly skies we three companions of a +day set forth; California carefully lashing our rods into the carriage, +and the bystanders overwhelming us with directions as to the sawmills we +were to pass, the ferries we were to cross, and the sign-posts we were +to seek signs from. Half a mile from this city of fifty thousand souls +we struck (and this must be taken literally) a plank-road that would +have been a disgrace to an Irish village.</p> + +<p>Then six miles of macadamised road showed us that the team could move. A +railway ran between us and the banks of the Willamette, and another +above us through the mountains. All the land was dotted with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1036" id="Page_1036">[Pg 036]</a></span> small +townships, and the roads were full of farmers in their town wagons, +bunches of tow-haired, boggle-eyed urchins sitting in the hay behind. +The men generally looked like loafers, but their women were all well +dressed. Brown hussar-braiding on a tailor-made jacket does not, +however, consort with hay-wagons. Then we struck into the woods along +what California called a "<i>camina reale</i>,"—a good road,—and Portland a +"fair track." It wound in and out among fire-blackened stumps, under +pine trees, along the corners of log-fences, through hollows which must +be hopeless marsh in the winter, and up absurd gradients. But nowhere +throughout its length did I see any evidence of road-making. There was a +track,—you couldn't well get off it,—and it was all you could do to +stay on it. The dust lay a foot thick in the blind ruts, and under the +dust we found bits of planking and bundles of brushwood that sent the +wagon bounding into the air. Sometimes we crashed through bracken; anon +where the blackberries grew rankest we found a lonely little cemetery, +the wooden rails all awry, and the pitiful stumpy headstones nodding +drunkenly at the soft green mulleins. Then with oaths and the sound of +rent underwood a yoke of mighty bulls would swing down a "skid" road, +hauling a forty-foot log along a rudely made slide. A valley full of +wheat and cherry trees succeeded, and halting at a house we bought ten +pound weight of luscious black cherries for something less than a rupee +and got a drink of icy-cold water for nothing, while the untended team +browsed sagaciously by the roadside. Once we found a wayside camp of +horse-dealers lounging by a pool, ready for a sale or a swap, and once +two sun-tanned youngsters shot down a hill on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1037" id="Page_1037">[Pg 037]</a></span> Indian ponies, their full +creels banging from the high-pommelled saddles. They had been fishing, +and were our brethren therefore. We shouted aloud in chorus to scare a +wild-cat; we squabbled over the reasons that had led a snake to cross a +road; we heaved bits of bark at a venturesome chipmunk, who was really +the little grey squirrel of India and had come to call on me; we lost +our way and got the wagon so beautifully fixed on a steep road that we +had to tie the two hind-wheels to get it down. Above all, California +told tales of Nevada and Arizona, of lonely nights spent out +prospecting, of the slaughter of deer and the chase of men; of woman, +lovely woman, who is a firebrand in a Western city, and leads to the +popping of pistols, and of the sudden changes and chances of Fortune, +who delights in making the miner or the lumberman a quadruplicate +millionnaire, and in "busting" the railroad king. That was a day to be +remembered, and it had only begun when we drew rein at a tiny farmhouse +on the banks of the Clackamas and sought horse-feed and lodging ere we +hastened to the river that broke over a weir not a quarter of a mile +away.</p> + +<p>Imagine a stream seventy yards broad divided by a pebbly island, running +over seductive riffles, and swirling into deep, quiet pools where the +good salmon goes to smoke his pipe after meals. Set such a stream amid +fields of breast-high crops surrounded by hills of pines, throw in where +you please quiet water, log-fenced meadows, and a hundred-foot bluff +just to keep the scenery from growing too monotonous, and you will get +some faint notion of the Clackamas.</p> + +<p>Portland had no rod. He held the gaff and the whisky. California sniffed +upstream and downstream<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1038" id="Page_1038">[Pg 038]</a></span> across the racing water, chose his ground, and +let the gaudy spoon drop in the tail of a riffle. I was getting my rod +together when I heard the joyous shriek of the reel and the yells of +California, and three feet of living silver leaped into the air far +across the water. The forces were engaged. The salmon tore up stream, +the tense line cutting the water like a tide-rip behind him, and the +light bamboo bowed to breaking. What happened after I cannot tell. +California swore and prayed, and Portland shouted advice, and I did all +three for what appeared to be half a day, but was in reality a little +over a quarter of an hour, and sullenly our fish came home with spurts +of temper, dashes head-on, and sarabands in the air; but home to the +bank came he, and the remorseless reel gathered up the thread of his +life inch by inch. We landed him in a little bay, and the spring-weight +checked at eleven and a half pounds. Eleven and one-half pounds of +fighting salmon! We danced a war dance on the pebbles, and California +caught me round the waist in a hug that went near to breaking my ribs +while he shouted: "Partner! Partner! This <i>is</i> glory! Now you catch your +fish! Twenty-four years I've waited for this!"</p> + +<p>I went into that icy-cold river and made my cast just above a weir, and +all but foul-hooked a blue and black water-snake with a coral mouth who +coiled herself on a stone and hissed maledictions. The next cast—ah, +the pride of it, the regal splendour of it! the thrill that ran down +from finger-tip to toe! The water boiled. He broke for the spoon and got +it! There remained enough sense in me to give him all he wanted when he +jumped not once but twenty times before the upstream flight that ran my +line out to the last half-dozen turns, and I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1039" id="Page_1039">[Pg 039]</a></span> saw the nickled reel-bar +glitter under the thinning green coils. My thumb was burned deep when I +strove to stopper the line, but I did not feel it till later, for my +soul was out in the dancing water praying for him to turn ere he took my +tackle away. The prayer was heard. As I bowed back, the butt of the rod +on my left hip-bone and the top joint dipping like unto a weeping +willow, he turned, and I accepted each inch of slack that I could by any +means get in as a favour from on High. There be several sorts of success +in this world that taste well in the moment of enjoyment, but I question +whether the stealthy theft of line from an able-bodied salmon who knows +exactly what you are doing and why you are doing it is not sweeter than +any other victory within human scope. Like California's fish, he ran at +me head-on and leaped against the line, but the Lord gave me two hundred +and fifty pairs of fingers in that hour. The banks and the pine trees +danced dizzily round me, but I only reeled—reeled as for life—reeled +for hours, and at the end of the reeling continued to give him the butt +while he sulked in a pool. California was farther up the reach, and with +the corner of my eye I could see him casting with long casts and much +skill. Then he struck, and my fish broke for the weir in the same +instant, and down the reach we came, California and I; reel answering +reel even as the morning stars sung together.</p> + +<p>The first wild enthusiasm of capture had died away. We were both at work +now in deadly earnest to prevent the lines fouling, to stall off a +downstream rush for deep water just above the weir, and at the same time +to get the fish into the shallow bay downstream that gave the best +practicable landing. Portland bade us both be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1040" id="Page_1040">[Pg 040]</a></span> of good heart, and +volunteered to take the rod from my hands. I would rather have died +among the pebbles than surrender my right to play and land my first +salmon, weight unknown, on an eight-ounce rod. I heard California, at my +ear it seemed, gasping: "He's a fighter from Fightersville sure!" as his +fish made a fresh break across the stream. I saw Portland fall off a log +fence, break the overhanging bank, and clatter down to the pebbles, all +sand and landing-net, and I dropped on a log to rest for a moment. As I +drew breath the weary hands slackened their hold, and I forgot to give +him the butt. A wild scutter in the water, a plunge and a break for the +head-waters of the Clackamas was my reward, and the hot toil of +reeling-in with one eye under the water and the other on the top joint +of the rod, was renewed. Worst of all, I was blocking California's path +to the little landing-bay aforesaid, and he had to halt and tire his +prize where he was. "The Father of all Salmon!" he shouted. "For the +love of Heaven, get your <i>trout</i> to bank, Johnny Bull." But I could no +more. Even the insult failed to move me. The rest of the game was with +the salmon. He suffered himself to be drawn, skipping with pretended +delight at getting to the haven where I would fain have him. Yet no +sooner did he feel shoal water under his ponderous belly than he backed +like a torpedo-boat, and the snarl of the reel told me that my labour +was in vain. A dozen times at least this happened ere the line hinted he +had given up that battle and would be towed in. He was towed. The +landing-net was useless for one of his size, and I would not have him +gaffed. I stepped into the shallows and heaved him out with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1041" id="Page_1041">[Pg 041]</a></span> +respectful hand under the gill, for which kindness he battered me about +the legs with his tail, and I felt the strength of him and was proud. +California had taken my place in the shallows, his fish hard held. I was +up the bank lying full length on the sweet-scented grass, and gasping in +company with my first salmon caught, played and landed on an eight-ounce +rod. My hands were cut and bleeding. I was dripping with sweat, spangled +like harlequin with scales, wet from the waist down, nose-peeled by the +sun, but utterly, supremely, and consummately happy. He, the beauty, the +darling, the daisy, my Salmon Bahadur, weighed twelve pounds, and I had +been seven and thirty minutes bringing him to bank! He had been lightly +hooked on the angle of the right jaw, and the hook had not wearied him. +That hour I sat among princes and crowned heads—greater than them all. +Below the bank we heard California scuffling with his salmon, and +swearing Spanish oaths. Portland and I assisted at the capture, and the +fish dragged the spring-balance out by the roots. It was only +constructed to weigh up to fifteen pounds. We stretched the three fish +on the grass,—the eleven and a half, the twelve, and fifteen +pounder,—and we swore an oath that all who came after should merely be +weighed and put back again.</p> + +<p>How shall I tell the glories of that day so that you may be interested? +Again and again did California and I prance down that reach to the +little bay, each with a salmon in tow, and land him in the shallows. +Then Portland took my rod, and caught some ten-pounders, and my spoon +was carried away by an unknown leviathan. Each fish, for the merits of +the three that had died so gamely, was hastily hooked on the balance +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1042" id="Page_1042">[Pg 042]</a></span> flung back, Portland recording the weight in a pocket-book, for he +was a real-estate man. Each fish fought for all he was worth, and none +more savagely than the smallest—a game little six-pounder. At the end +of six hours we added up the list. Total: 16 fish, aggregate weight 142 +lbs. The score in detail runs something like this—it is only +interesting to those concerned: 15, 11-1/2, 12, 10, 9-3/4, 8, and so +forth; as I have said, nothing under six pounds, and three ten-pounders.</p> + +<p>Very solemnly and thankfully we put up our rods—it was glory enough for +all time—and returned weeping in each other's arms—weeping tears of +pure joy—to that simple bare-legged family in the packing-case house by +the waterside. The old farmer recollected days and nights of fierce +warfare with the Indians—"way back in the Fifties," when every ripple +of the Columbia River and her tributaries hid covert danger. God had +dowered him with a queer crooked gift of expression, and a fierce +anxiety for the welfare of his two little sons—tanned and reserved +children who attended school daily, and spoke good English in a strange +tongue. His wife was an austere woman who had once been kindly and +perhaps handsome. Many years of toil had taken the elasticity out of +step and voice. She looked for nothing better than everlasting work—the +chafing detail of housework, and then a grave somewhere up the hill +among the blackberries and the pines. But in her grim way she +sympathised with her eldest daughter, a small and silent maiden of +eighteen, who had thoughts very far from the meals she tended or the +pans she scoured. We stumbled into the household at a crisis; and there +was a deal of downright humanity in that same. A bad,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1043" id="Page_1043">[Pg 043]</a></span> wicked dressmaker +had promised the maiden a dress in time for a to-morrow's railway +journey, and, though the barefooted Georgie, who stood in very wholesome +awe of his sister, had scoured the woods on a pony in search, that dress +never arrived. So with sorrow in her heart, and a hundred Sister Anne +glances up the road, she waited upon the strangers, and, I doubt not, +cursed them for the wants that stood between her and her need for tears. +It was a genuine little tragedy. The mother in a heavy, passionless +voice rebuked her impatience, yet sat bowed over a heap of sewing for +the daughter's benefit. These things I beheld in the long +marigold-scented twilight and whispering night, loafing round the little +house with California, who unfolded himself like a lotus to the moon; or +in the little boarded bunk that was our bedroom, swapping tales with +Portland and the old man. Most of the yarns began in this way: "Red +Larry was a bull-puncher back of Lone County, Montanna," or "There was a +man riding the trail met a jack-rabbit sitting in a cactus," or "'Bout +the time of the San Diego land boom, a woman from Monterey," etc. You +can try to piece out for yourselves what sort of stories they were.</p> + +<p>And next day California tucked me under his wing and told me we were +going to see a city smitten by a boom, and catch trout. So we took a +train and killed a cow—she wouldn't get out of the way, and the +locomotive "chanced" her and slew—and crossing into Washington +Territory won the town of Tacoma, which stands at the head of Puget +Sound upon the road to Alaska and Vancouver.</p> + +<p>California was right. Tacoma was literally staggering under a boom of +the boomiest. I do not quite remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1044" id="Page_1044">[Pg 044]</a></span> what her natural resources were +supposed to be, though every second man shrieked a selection in my ear. +They included coal and iron, carrots, potatoes, lumber, shipping, and a +crop of thin newspapers all telling Portland that her days were +numbered. California and I struck the place at twilight. The rude +boarded pavements of the main streets rumbled under the heels of +hundreds of furious men all actively engaged in hunting drinks and +eligible corner-lots. They sought the drinks first. The street itself +alternated five-storey business blocks of the later and more abominable +forms of architecture with board shanties. Overhead the drunken +telegraph, telephone, and electric-light wires tangled on the tottering +posts whose butts were half-whittled through by the knife of the loafer. +Down the muddy, grimy, unmetalled thoroughfare ran a horse-car line—the +metals three inches above road level. Beyond this street rose many +hills, and the town was thrown like a broken set of dominoes over all. A +steam tramway—it left the track the only time I used it—was nosing +about the hills, but the most prominent features of the landscape were +the foundations in brick and stone of a gigantic opera house and the +blackened stumps of the pines. California sized up the town with one +comprehensive glance. "Big boom," said he; and a few instants later: +"About time to step off, <i>I</i> think," meaning thereby that the boom had +risen to its limit, and it would be expedient not to meddle with it. We +passed down ungraded streets that ended abruptly in a fifteen-foot drop +and a nest of brambles; along pavements that beginning in pine-plank +ended in the living tree; by hotels with Turkish mosque trinketry on +their shameless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1045" id="Page_1045">[Pg 045]</a></span> tops, and the pine stamps at their very doors; by a +female seminary, tall, gaunt and red, which a native of the town bade us +marvel at, and we marvelled; by houses built in imitation of the ones on +Nob Hill, San Francisco,—after the Dutch fashion; by other houses +plenteously befouled with jig-saw work, and others flaring with the +castlemented, battlemented bosh of the wooden Gothic school.</p> + +<p>"You can tell just about when those fellers had their houses built," +quoth California. "That one yonder wanted to be <i>I</i>talian, and his +architect built him what he wanted. The new houses with the low straddle +roofs and windows pitched in sideways and red brick walls are Dutch. +That's the latest idea. I can read the history of the town." I had no +occasion so to read. The natives were only too glad and too proud to +tell me. The hotel walls bore a flaming panorama of Tacoma in which by +the eye of faith I saw a faint resemblance to the real town. The hotel +stationary advertised that Tacoma bore on its face all the advantages of +the highest civilisation, and the newspapers sang the same tune in a +louder key. The real-estate agents were selling house-lots on unmade +streets miles away for thousands of dollars. On the streets—the rude, +crude streets, where the unshaded electric light was fighting with the +gentle northern twilight—men were babbling of money, town lots, and +again money—how Alf or Ed had done such and such a thing that had +brought him so much money; and round the corner in a creaking boarded +hall the red-jerseyed Salvationists were calling upon mankind to +renounce all and follow their noisy God. The men dropped in by twos and +threes, listened silently for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1046" id="Page_1046">[Pg 046]</a></span> a while, and as silently went their way, +the cymbals clashing after them in vain. I think it was the raw, new +smell of fresh sawdust everywhere pervading the air that threw upon me a +desolating homesickness. It brought back in a moment all remembrances of +that terrible first night at school when the establishment has been +newly whitewashed, and a soft smell of escaping gas mingles with the +odour of trunks and wet overcoats. I was a little boy, and the school +was very new. A vagabond among collarless vagabonds, I loafed up the +street, looking into the fronts of little shops where they sold slop +shirts at fancy prices, which shops I saw later described in the papers +as "great." California had gone off to investigate on his own account, +and presently returned, laughing noiselessly. "They are all mad here," +he said, "all mad. A man nearly pulled a gun on me because I didn't +agree with him that Tacoma was going to whip San Francisco on the +strength of carrots and potatoes. I asked him to tell me what the town +produced, and I couldn't get anything out of him except those two darned +vegetables. Say, what do you think."</p> + +<p>I responded firmly, "I'm going into British territory a little while—to +draw breath."</p> + +<p>"I'm going up the Sound, too, for a while," said he, "but I'm coming +back—coming back to our salmon on the Clackamas. A man has been +pressing me to buy real estate here. Young feller, don't you buy real +estate here."</p> + +<p>California disappeared with a kindly wave of his overcoat into worlds +other than mine,—good luck go with him for he was a true +sportsman!—and I took a steamer up Puget Sound for Vancouver, which is +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1047" id="Page_1047">[Pg 047]</a></span> terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway. That was a queer voyage. +The water, landlocked among a thousand islands, lay still as oil under +our bows, and the wake of the screw broke up the unquivering reflections +of pines and cliffs a mile away. 'Twas as though we were trampling on +glass. No one, not even the Government, knows the number of islands in +the Sound. Even now you can get one almost for the asking; can build a +house, raise sheep, catch salmon, and become a king on a small +scale—your subjects the Indians of the reservation, who glide among the +islets in their canoes and scratch their hides monkeywise by the beach. +A Sound Indian is unlovely and only by accident picturesque. His wife +drives the canoe, but he himself is so thorough a mariner that he can +spring up in his cockle-craft and whack his wife over the head with a +paddle without tipping the whole affair into the water. This I have seen +him do unprovoked. I fancy it must have been to show off before the +whites.</p> + +<p>Have I told you anything about Seattle—the town that was burned out a +few weeks ago when the insurance men at San Francisco took their losses +with a grin? In the ghostly twilight, just as the forest fires were +beginning to glare from the unthrifty islands, we struck it—struck it +heavily, for the wharves had all been burned down, and we tied up where +we could, crashing into the rotten foundations of a boathouse as a pig +roots in high grass. The town, like Tacoma, was built upon a hill. In +the heart of the business quarters there was a horrible black smudge, as +though a Hand had come down and rubbed the place smooth. I know now what +being wiped out means. The smudge seemed to be about a mile long,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1048" id="Page_1048">[Pg 048]</a></span> and +its blackness was relieved by tents in which men were doing business +with the wreck of the stock they had saved. There were shouts and +counter-shouts from the steamer to the temporary wharf, which was laden +with shingles for roofing, chairs, trunks, provision-boxes, and all the +lath and string arrangements out of which a western town is made. This +is the way the shouts ran:—</p> + +<p>"Oh, George! What's the best with you?"</p> + +<p>"Nawthin'. Got the old safe out. She's burned to a crisp. Books all +gone."</p> + +<p>"'Save anythin'?"</p> + +<p>"Bar'l o' crackers and my wife's bonnet. Goin' to start store on them +though."</p> + +<p>"Bully for you. Where's that Emporium? I'll drop in."</p> + +<p>"Corner what used to be Fourth and Main—little brown tent close to +militia picquet. Sa-ay! We're under martial law, an' all the saloons are +shut down."</p> + +<p>"Best for you, George. Some men gets crazy with a fire, an' liquor makes +'em crazier."</p> + +<p>"'Spect any creator-condemned son of a female dog who has lost all his +fixin's in a conflagration is going to put ice on his head an' run for +Congress, do you? How'd you like us act?"</p> + +<p>The Job's comforter on the steamer retired into himself.</p> + +<p>"Oh George" dived into the bar for a drink.</p> + +<p>P. S.—Among many curiosities I have unearthed one. It was a Face on the +steamer—a face above a pointed straw-coloured beard, a face with thin +lips and eloquent eyes. We conversed, and presently I got at the ideas +of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1049" id="Page_1049">[Pg 049]</a></span> the Face. It was, though it lived for nine months of the year in the +wilds of Alaska and British Columbia, an authority on the canon law of +the Church of England—a zealous and bitter upholder of the supremacy of +the aforesaid Church. Into my amazed ears, as the steamer plodded +through the reflections of the stars, it poured the battle-cry of the +Church Militant here on earth, and put forward as a foul injustice that +in the prisons of British Columbia the Protestant chaplain did not +always belong to the Church. The Face had no official connection with +the august body, and by force of his life very seldom attended service.</p> + +<p>"But," said he, proudly, "I should think it direct disobedience to the +orders of my Church if I attended any other places of worship than those +prescribed. I was once for three months in a place where there was only +a Wesleyan Methodist chapel, and I never set foot in it once, Sir. Never +once. 'Twould have been heresy. Rank heresy."</p> + +<p>And as I leaned over the rail methought that all the little stars in the +water were shaking with austere merriment! But it may have been only the +ripple of the steamer, after all.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1050" id="Page_1050">[Pg 050]</a></span><a name="No_XXVIII" id="No_XXVIII"></a>No. XXVIII</h2> + +<p>TAKES ME FROM VANCOUVER TO THE YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But who shall chronicle the ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of common folk, the nights and days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spent with rough goatherds on the snows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And travellers come whence no man knows?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>This day I know how a deserter feels. Here in Victoria, a hundred and +forty miles out of America, the mail brings me news from our Home—the +land of regrets. I was enjoying myself by the side of a trout-stream, +and I feel inclined to apologise for every rejoicing breath I drew in +the diamond clear air. The sickness, they said, is heavy with you; from +Rewari to the south good men are dying. Two names come in by the mail of +two strong men dead—men that I dined and jested with only a little time +ago, and it seems unfair that I should be here, cut off from the +chain-gang and the shot-drill of our weary life. After all, there is no +life like it that we lead over yonder. Americans are Americans, and +there are millions of them; English are English; but we of India are Us +all the world over, knowing the mysteries of each other's lives and +sorrowing for the death of a brother. How can I sit down and write to +you of the mere joy of being alive? The news has killed the pleasure of +the day for me, and I am ashamed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1051" id="Page_1051">[Pg 051]</a></span> of myself. There are seventy brook +trout lying in a creel, fresh drawn from Harrison Hot Springs, and they +do not console me. They are like the stolen apples that clinch the fact +of a bad boy's playing truant. I would sell them all, with my heritage +in the woods and air and the delight of meeting new and strange people, +just to be back again in the old galling harness, the heat and the dust, +the gatherings in the evenings by the flooded tennis-courts, the ghastly +dull dinners at the Club when the very last woman has been packed off to +the hills and the four or five surviving men ask the doctor the symptoms +of incubating smallpox. I should be troubled in body, but at peace in +the soul. O excellent and toil-worn public of mine—men of the +brotherhood, griffins new joined from the February troopers, and +gentlemen waiting for your off-reckonings—take care of yourselves and +keep well! It hurts so when any die. There are so few of Us, and we know +one another too intimately.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Vancouver three years ago was swept off by fire in sixteen minutes, and +only one house was left standing. To-day it has a population of fourteen +thousand people, and builds its houses out of brick with dressed granite +fronts. But a great sleepiness lies on Vancouver as compared with an +American town: men don't fly up and down the streets telling lies, and +the spittoons in the delightfully comfortable hotel are unused; the +baths are free and their doors are unlocked. You do not have to dig up +the hotel clerk when you want to bathe, which shows the inferiority of +Vancouver. An American bade me notice the absence of bustle, and was +alarmed when in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1052" id="Page_1052">[Pg 052]</a></span> a loud and audible voice I thanked God for it. "Give me +granite—hewn granite and peace," quoth I, "and keep your deal boards +and bustle for yourselves."</p> + +<p>The Canadian Pacific terminus is not a very gorgeous place as yet, but +you can be shot directly from the window of the train into the liner +that will take you in fourteen days from Vancouver to Yokohama. The +<i>Parthia</i>, of some five thousand tons, was at her berth when I came, and +the sight of the ex-Cunard on what seemed to be a little lake was +curious. Except for certain currents which are not much mentioned, but +which make the entrance rather unpleasant for sailing-boats, Vancouver +possesses an almost perfect harbour. The town is built all round and +about the harbour, and young as it is, its streets are better than those +of western America. Moreover, the old flag waves over some of the +buildings, and this is cheering to the soul. The place is full of +Englishmen who speak the English tongue correctly and with clearness, +avoiding more blasphemy than is necessary, and taking a respectable +length of time to getting outside their drinks. These advantages and +others that I have heard about, such as the construction of elaborate +workshops and the like by the Canadian Pacific in the near future, moved +me to invest in real estate. He that sold it me was a delightful English +Boy who, having tried for the Army and failed, had somehow meandered +into a real-estate office, where he was doing well. I couldn't have +bought it from an American. He would have overstated the case and proved +me the possessor of the original Eden. All the Boy said was: "I give you +my word it isn't on a cliff or under water, and before long the town +ought to move out that way. I'd advise you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1053" id="Page_1053">[Pg 053]</a></span> take it." And I took it +as easily as a man buys a piece of tobacco. <i>Me voici</i>, owner of some +four hundred well-developed pines, a few thousand tons of granite +scattered in blocks at the roots of the pines, and a sprinkling of +earth. That's a town-lot in Vancouver. You or your agent hold to it till +property rises, then sell out and buy more land further out of town and +repeat the process. I do not quite see how this sort of thing helps the +growth of a town, but the English Boy says that it is the "essence of +speculation," so it must be all right. But I wish there were fewer pines +and rather less granite on my ground. Moved by curiosity and the lust of +trout, I went seventy miles up the Canadian Pacific in one of the +cross-Continent cars, which are cleaner and less stuffy than the +Pullman. A man who goes all the way across Canada is liable to be +disappointed—not in the scenery, but in the progress of the country. So +a batch of wandering politicians from England told me. They even went so +far as to say that Eastern Canada was a failure and unprofitable. The +place didn't move, they complained, and whole counties—they said +provinces—lay under the rule of the Roman Catholic priests, who took +care that the people should not be overcumbered with the good things of +this world to the detriment of their souls. My interest was in the +line—the real and accomplished railway which is to throw actual +fighting troops into the East some day when our hold of the Suez Canal +is temporarily loosened.</p> + +<p>All that Vancouver wants is a fat earthwork fort upon a hill,—there are +plenty of hills to choose from,—a selection of big guns, a couple of +regiments of infantry, and later on a big arsenal. The raw +self-consciousness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1054" id="Page_1054">[Pg 054]</a></span> of America would be sure to make her think these +arrangements intended for her benefit, but she could be enlightened. It +is not seemly to leave unprotected the head-end of a big railway; for +though Victoria and Esquimalt, our naval stations on Vancouver Island, +are very near, so also is a place called Vladivostok, and though +Vancouver Narrows are strait, they allow room enough for a man-of-war. +The people—I did not speak to more than two hundred of them—do not +know about Russia or military arrangements. They are trying to open +trade with Japan in lumber, and are raising fruit, wheat, and sometimes +minerals. All of them agree that we do not yet know the resources of +British Columbia, and all joyfully bade me note the climate, which was +distinctly warm. "We never have killing cold here. It's the most perfect +climate in the world." Then there are three perfect climates, for I have +tasted 'em—California, Washington Territory, and British Columbia. I +cannot say which is the loveliest.</p> + +<p>When I left by steamer and struck across the Sound to our naval station +at Victoria, Vancouver Island, I found in that quite English town of +beautiful streets quite a colony of old men doing nothing but talking, +fishing, and loafing at the Club. That means that the retired go to +Victoria. On a thousand a year pension a man would be a millionnaire in +these parts, and for four hundred he could live well. It was at Victoria +they told me the tale of the fire in Vancouver. How the inhabitants of +New Westminster, twelve miles from Vancouver, saw a glare in the sky at +six in the evening, but thought it was a forest fire; how later bits of +burnt paper flew about their streets, and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1055" id="Page_1055">[Pg 055]</a></span> guessed that evil had +happened; how an hour later a man rode into the city crying that there +was no Vancouver left. All had been wiped out by the flames in sixteen +minutes. How, two hours later, the Mayor of New Westminster having voted +nine thousand dollars from the Municipal funds, relief-wagons with food +and blankets were pouring into where Vancouver stood. How fourteen +people were supposed to have died in the fire, but how even now when +they laid new foundations the workmen unearth charred skeletons, many +more than fourteen. "That night," said the teller, "all Vancouver was +houseless. The wooden town had gone in a breath. Next day they began to +build in brick, and you have seen what they have achieved."</p> + +<p>The sight afar off of three British men-of-war and a torpedo-boat +consoled me as I returned from Victoria to Tacoma and discovered <i>en +route</i> that I was surfeited with scenery. There is a great deal in the +remark of a discontented traveller: "When you have seen a fine forest, a +bluff, a river, and a lake you have seen all the scenery of western +America. Sometimes the pine is three hundred feet high, and sometimes +the rock is, and sometimes the lake is a hundred miles long. But it's +all the same, don't you know. I'm getting sick of it." I dare not say +getting sick. I'm only tired. If Providence could distribute all this +beauty in little bits where people most wanted it,—among you in +India,—it would be well. But it is <i>en masse</i>, overwhelming, with +nobody but the tobacco-chewing captain of a river steamboat to look at +it. Men said if I went to Alaska I should see islands even more wooded, +snow-peaks loftier, and rivers more lovely than those around me. That +decided me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1056" id="Page_1056">[Pg 056]</a></span> not to go to Alaska. I went east—east to Montana, after +another horrible night in Tacoma among the men who spat. Why does the +Westerner spit? It can't amuse him, and it doesn't interest his +neighbour.</p> + +<p>But I am beginning to mistrust. Everything good as well as everything +bad is supposed to come from the East. Is there a shooting-scrape +between prominent citizens? Oh, you'll find nothing of that kind in the +East. Is there a more than usually revolting lynching? They don't do +that in the East. I shall find out when I get there whether this +unnatural perfection be real.</p> + +<p>Eastward then to Montana I took my way for the Yellowstone National +Park, called in the guide-books "Wonderland." But the real Wonderland +began in the train. We were a merry crew. One gentleman announced his +intention of paying no fare and grappled the conductor, who neatly +cross-buttocked him through a double plate-glass window. His head was +cut open in four or five places. A doctor on the train hastily stitched +up the biggest gash, and he was dropped at a wayside station, spurting +blood at every hair—a scarlet-headed and ghastly sight. The conductor +guessed that he would die, and volunteered the information that there +was no profit in monkeying with the North Pacific Railway.</p> + +<p>Night was falling as we cleared the forests and sailed out upon a +wilderness of sage brush. The desolation of Montgomery, the wilderness +of Sind, the hummock-studded desert of Bikaneer, are joyous and homelike +compared to the impoverished misery of the sage. It is blue, it is +stunted, it is dusty. It wraps the rolling hills as a mildewed shroud +wraps the body of a long-dead man. It makes you weep for sheer +loneliness, and there is no getting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1057" id="Page_1057">[Pg 057]</a></span> away from it. When Childe Roland +came to the dark Tower he traversed the sage brush.</p> + +<p>Yet there is one thing worse than sage unadulterated, and that is a +prairie city. We stopped at Pasco Junction, and a man told me that it +was the Queen City of the Prairie. I wish Americans didn't tell such +useless lies. I counted fourteen or fifteen frame-houses, and a portion +of a road that showed like a bruise on the untouched surface of the blue +sage, running away and away up to the setting sun. The sailor sleeps +with a half-inch plank between himself and death. He is at home beside +the handful of people who curl themselves up o' nights with nothing but +a frail scantling, almost as thin as a blanket, to shut out the +unmeasurable loneliness of the sage.</p> + +<p>When the train stopped on the road, as it did once or twice, the solid +silence of the sage got up and shouted at us. It was like a nightmare, +and one not in the least improved by having to sleep in an emigrant-car; +the regularly ordained sleepers being full. There was a row in our car +toward morning, a man having managed to get querulously drunk in the +night. Up rose a Cornishman with a red head full of strategy, and +strapped the obstreperous one, smiling largely as he did so, and a +delicate little woman in a far bunk watched the fray and called the +drunken man a "damned hog," which he certainly was, though she needn't +have put it quite so coarsely. Emigrant cars are clean, but the +accommodation is as hard as a plank bed.</p> + +<p>Later we laid our bones down to crossing the Rockies. An American train +can climb up the side of a house if need be, but it is not pleasant to +sit in it. We clomb till we struck violent cold and an Indian +reservation, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1058" id="Page_1058">[Pg 058]</a></span> the noble savage came to look at us. He was a Flathead +and unlovely. Most Americans are charmingly frank about the Indian. "Let +us get rid of him as soon as possible," they say. "We have no use for +him." Some of the men I meet have a notion that we in India are +exterminating the native in the same fashion, and I have been asked to +fix a date for the final extinguishment of the Aryan. I answer that it +will be a long business. Very many Americans have an offensive habit of +referring to natives as "heathen." Mahometans and Hindus are heathen +alike in their eyes, and they vary the epithet with "pagan" and +"idolater." But this is beside the matter, which is the Stampede +Tunnel—our actual point of crossing the Rockies. Thank Heaven, I need +never take that tunnel again! It is about two miles long, and in effect +is nothing more than the gallery of a mine shored with timber and +lighted with electric lamps. Black darkness would be preferable, for the +lamps just reveal the rough cutting of the rocks, and that is very rough +indeed. The train crawls through, brakes down, and you can hear the +water and little bits of stone falling on the roof of the car. Then you +pray, pray fervently, and the air gets stiller and stiller, and you dare +not take your unwilling eyes off the timber shoring, lest a prop should +fall, for lack of your moral support. Before the tunnel was built you +crossed in the open air by a switchback line. A watchman goes through +the tunnel after each train, but that is no protection. He just guesses +that another train will pull through, and the engine-driver guesses the +same thing. Some day between the two of them there will be a cave in the +tunnel. Then the enterprising reporter will talk about the shrieks and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1059" id="Page_1059">[Pg 059]</a></span> +groans of the buried and the heroic efforts of the Press in securing +first information, and—that will be all. Human life is of small account +out here.</p> + +<p>I was listening to yarns in the smoking-compartment of the Pullman, all +the way to Helena, and with very few exceptions, each had for its point, +violent, brutal, and ruffianly murder—murder by fraud and the craft of +the savage—murder unavenged by the law, or at the most by an outbreak +of fresh lawlessness. At the end of each tale I was assured that the old +days had passed away, and that these were anecdotes of five years' +standing. One man in particular distinguished himself by holding up to +admiration the exploits of some cowboys of his acquaintance, and their +skill in the use of the revolver. Each tale of horror wound up with "and +that's the sort of man he was," as who should say: "Go and do likewise." +Remember that the shootings, the cuttings, and the stabbings were not +the outcome of any species of legitimate warfare; the heroes were not +forced to fight for their lives. Far from it. The brawls were bred by +liquor in which they assisted—in saloons and gambling-hells they were +wont to "pull their guns" on a man, and in the vast majority of cases +without provocation. The tales sickened me, but taught one thing. A man +who carries a pistol may be put down as a coward—a person to be shut +out from every decent mess and club, and gathering of civilised folk. +There is neither chivalry nor romance in the weapon, for all that +American authors have seen fit to write. I would I could make you +understand the full measure of contempt with which certain aspects of +Western life have inspired me. Let us try a comparison. Sometimes it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1060" id="Page_1060">[Pg 060]</a></span> +happens that a young, a very young, man, whose first dress-coat is yet +glossy, gets slightly flushed at a dinner-party among his seniors. After +the ladies are gone, he begins to talk. He talks, you will remember, as +a "man of the world" and a person of varied experiences, an authority on +all things human and divine. The grey heads of the elders bow +assentingly to his wildest statement; some one tries to turn the +conversation when what the youngster conceives to be wit has offended a +sensibility; and another deftly slides the decanters beyond him as they +circle round the table. You know the feeling of discomfort—pity mingled +with aversion—over the boy who is making an exhibition of himself. The +same emotion came back to me, when an old man who ought to have known +better appealed from time to time for admiration of his pitiful +sentiments. It was right in his mind to insult, to maim, and to kill; +right to evade the law where it was strong and to trample over it where +it was weak; right to swindle in politics, to lie in affairs of State, +and commit perjury in matters of municipal administration. The car was +full of little children, utterly regardless of their parents, fretful, +peevish, spoilt beyond anything I have ever seen in Anglo-India. They in +time would grow up into men such as sat in the smoker, and had no regard +for the law; men who would conduct papers siding with defiance of any +and every law. But it's of no consequence, as Mr. Toots says.</p> + +<p>During the descent of the Rockies we journeyed for a season on a trestle +only two hundred and eighty-six feet high. It was made of iron, but up +till two years ago a wooden structure bore up the train, and was used +long after it had been condemned by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1061" id="Page_1061">[Pg 061]</a></span> civil engineers. Some day the +iron one will come down, just as Stampede Tunnel will, and the results +will be even more startling.</p> + +<p>Late in the night we ran over a skunk—ran over it in the dark. +Everything that has been said about the skunk is true. It is an Awesome +Stink.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1062" id="Page_1062">[Pg 062]</a></span><a name="No_XXIX" id="No_XXIX"></a>No. XXIX</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW YANKEE JIM INTRODUCED ME TO DIANA OF THE CROSSWAYS ON THE +BANKS OF THE YELLOWSTONE, AND HOW A GERMAN JEW SAID I WAS NO TRUE +CITIZEN. ENDS WITH THE CELEBRATION OF THE 4TH OF JULY AND A FEW LESSONS +THEREFROM.</p> + + +<p>Livingstone is a town of two thousand people, and the junction for the +little side-line that takes you to the Yellowstone National Park. It +lies in a fold of the prairie, and behind it is the Yellowstone River +and the gate of the mountains through which the river flows. There is +one street in the town, where the cowboy's pony and the little foal of +the brood-mare in the buggy rest contentedly in the blinding sunshine +while the cowboy gets himself shaved at the only other barber's shop, +and swaps lies at the bar. I exhausted the town, including the saloons, +in ten minutes, and got away on the rolling grass downs where I threw +myself to rest. Directly under the hill I was on, swept a drove of +horses in charge of two mounted men. That was a picture I shall not soon +forget. A light haze of dust went up from the hoof-trodden green, +scarcely veiling the unfettered deviltries of three hundred horses who +very much wanted to stop and graze. "Yow! Yow! Yow!" yapped the mounted +men in chorus like coyotes. The column moved forward at a trot, divided +as it met<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1063" id="Page_1063">[Pg 063]</a></span> a hillock and scattered into fan shape all among the suburbs +of Livingstone. I heard the "snick" of a stock whip, half a dozen "Yow, +yows," and the mob had come together again, and, with neighing and +whickering and squealing and a great deal of kicking on the part of the +youngsters, rolled like a wave of brown water toward the uplands.</p> + +<p>I was within twenty feet of the leader, a grey stallion—lord of many +brood-mares all deeply concerned for the welfare of their fuzzy foals. A +cream-coloured beast—I knew him at once for the bad character of the +troop—broke back, taking with him some frivolous fillies. I heard the +snick of the whips somewhere in the dust, and the fillies came back at a +canter, very shocked and indignant. On the heels of the last rode both +the stockmen—picturesque ruffians who wanted to know "what in hell" I +was doing there, waved their hats, and sped down the slope after their +charges. When the noise of the troop had died there came a wonderful +silence on all the prairie—that silence, they say, which enters into +the heart of the old-time hunter and trapper and marks him off from the +rest of his race. The town disappeared in the darkness, and a very young +moon showed herself over a bald-headed, snow-flecked peak. Then the +Yellowstone, hidden by the water-willows, lifted up its voice and sang a +little song to the mountains, and an old horse that had crept up in the +dusk breathed inquiringly on the back of my neck. When I reached the +hotel I found all manner of preparation under way for the 4th of July, +and a drunken man with a Winchester rifle over his shoulder patrolling +the sidewalk. I do not think he wanted any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1064" id="Page_1064">[Pg 064]</a></span> one. He carried the gun as +other folk carry walking-sticks. None the less I avoided the direct line +of fire and listened to the blasphemies of miners and stockmen till far +into the night. In every bar-room lay a copy of the local paper, and +every copy impressed it upon the inhabitants of Livingstone that they +were the best, finest, bravest, richest, and most progressive town of +the most progressive nation under Heaven; even as the Tacoma and +Portland papers had belauded their readers. And yet, all my purblind +eyes could see was a grubby little hamlet full of men without clean +collars and perfectly unable to get through one sentence unadorned by +three oaths. They raise horses and minerals round and about Livingstone, +but they behave as though they raised cherubims with diamonds in their +wings.</p> + +<p>From Livingstone the National Park train follows the Yellowstone River +through the gate of the mountains and over arid volcanic country. A +stranger in the cars saw me look at the ideal trout-stream below the +windows and murmured softly: "Lie off at Yankee Jim's if you want good +fishing." They halted the train at the head of a narrow valley, and I +leaped literally into the arms of Yankee Jim, sole owner of a log hut, +an indefinite amount of hay-ground, and constructor of twenty-seven +miles of wagon-road over which he held toll right. There was the +hut—the river fifty yards away, and the polished line of metals that +disappeared round a bluff. That was all. The railway added the finishing +touch to the already complete loneliness of the place. Yankee Jim was a +picturesque old man with a talent for yarns that Ananias might have +envied. It seemed to me, presumptuous in my ignorance, that I might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1065" id="Page_1065">[Pg 065]</a></span> +hold my own with the old-timer if I judiciously painted up a few lies +gathered in the course of my wanderings. Yankee Jim saw every one of my +tales and went fifty better on the spot. He dealt in bears and +Indians—never less than twenty of each; had known the Yellowstone +country for years, and bore upon his body marks of Indian arrows; and +his eyes had seen a squaw of the Crow Indians burned alive at the stake. +He said she screamed considerable. In one point did he speak the +truth—as regarded the merits of that particular reach of the +Yellowstone. He said it was alive with trout. It was. I fished it from +noon till twilight, and the fish bit at the brown hook as though never a +fat trout-fly had fallen on the water. From pebbly reaches, quivering in +the heat-haze where the foot caught on stumps cut foursquare by the +chisel-tooth of the beaver; past the fringe of the water-willow crowded +with the breeding trout-fly and alive with toads and water-snakes; over +the drifted timber to the grateful shadow of big trees that darkened the +holes where the fattest fish lay, I worked for seven hours. The mountain +flanks on either side of the valley gave back the heat as the desert +gives it, and the dry sand by the railway track, where I found a +rattlesnake, was hot-iron to the touch. But the trout did not care for +the heat. They breasted the boiling river for my fly and they got it. I +simply dare not give my bag. At the fortieth trout I gave up counting, +and I had leached the fortieth in less than two hours. They were small +fish,—not one over two pounds,—but they fought like small tigers, and +I lost three flies before I could understand their methods of escape. Ye +gods! That was fishing, though it peeled the skin from my nose in +strips.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1066" id="Page_1066">[Pg 066]</a></span></p> + +<p>At twilight Yankee Jim bore me off, protesting, to supper in the hut. +The fish had prepared me for any surprise, wherefore when Yankee Jim +introduced me to a young woman of five-and-twenty, with eyes like the +deep-fringed eyes of the gazelle, and "on the neck the small head +buoyant, like a bell-flower in its bed," I said nothing. It was all in +the day's events. She was California-raised, the wife of a man who owned +a stock-farm "up the river a little ways," and, with her husband, tenant +of Yankee Jim's shanty. I know she wore list slippers and did not wear +stays; but I know also that she was beautiful by any standard of beauty, +and that the trout she cooked were fit for a king's supper. And after +supper strange men loafed up in the dim delicious twilight, with the +little news of the day—how a heifer had "gone strayed" from +Nicholson's; how the widow at Grant's Fork wouldn't part with a little +hayland nohow, though "she's an' her big brothers can't manage more than +ha-af their land now. She's so darned proud." Diana of the Crossways +entertained them in queenly wise, and her husband and Yankee Jim bade +them sit right down and make themselves at home. Then did Yankee Jim +uncurl his choicest lies on Indian warfare aforetime; then did the +whisky-flask circle round the little crowd; then did Diana's husband +'low that he was quite handy with the lariat, but had seen men rope a +steer by any foot or horn indicated; then did Diana unburden herself +about her neighbours. The nearest house was three miles away, "but the +women aren't nice, neighbourly folk. They talk so. They haven't got +anything else to do seemingly. If a woman goes to a dance and has a good +time, they talk, and if she wears a silk dress, they want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1067" id="Page_1067">[Pg 067]</a></span> know how +jest ranchin' folks—folk on a ranche—come by such things; and they +make mischief down all the lands here from Gardiner City way back up to +Livingstone. They're mostly Montanna raised, and they haven't been +nowheres. Ah, how they talk!" "Were things like this," demanded Diana, +"in the big world outside, whence I had come?" "Yes," I said, "things +were very much the same all over the world," and I thought of a far-away +station in India where new dresses and the having of good times at +dances raised cackle more grammatical perhaps, but no less venomous than +the gossip of the "Montanna-raised" folk on the ranches of the +Yellowstone.</p> + +<p>Next morn I fished again and listened to Diana telling the story of her +life. I forget what she told me, but I am distinctly aware that she had +royal eyes and a mouth that the daughter of a hundred earls might have +envied—so small and so delicately cut it was. "An' you come back an' +see us again," said the simple-minded folk. "Come back an' we'll show +you how to catch six-pound trout at the head of the cañon."</p> + +<p>To-day I am in the Yellowstone Park, and I wish I were dead. The train +halted at Cinnabar station, and we were decanted, a howling crowd of us, +into stages, variously horsed, for the eight-mile drive to the first +spectacle of the Park—a place called the Mammoth Hot Springs. "What +means this eager, anxious throng?" I asked the driver. "You've struck +one of Rayment's excursion parties—that's all—a crowd of +creator-condemned fools mostly. Aren't you one of 'em?" "No," I said. +"May I sit up here with you, great chief and man with a golden tongue? I +do not know Mister<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1068" id="Page_1068">[Pg 068]</a></span> Rayment. I belong to T. Cook and Son." The other +person, from the quality of the material he handles, must be the son of +a sea-cook. He collects masses of Down-Easters from the New England +States and elsewhere and hurls them across the Continent and into the +Yellowstone Park on tour. A brake-load of Cook's Continental tourists +trapezing through Paris (I've seen 'em) are angels of light compared to +the Rayment trippers. It is not the ghastly vulgarity, the oozing, +rampant Bessemer-steel self-sufficiency and ignorance of the men that +revolts me, so much as the display of these same qualities in the +women-folk. I saw a new type in the coach, and all my dreams of a better +and more perfect East died away. "Are these—um—persons here any sort +of persons in their own places?" I asked a shepherd who appeared to be +herding them.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly. They include very many prominent and representative +citizens from seven States of the Union, and most of them are wealthy. +Yes, <i>sir</i>. Representative and prominent."</p> + +<p>We ran across bare hills on an unmetalled road under a burning sun in +front of a volley of playful repartee from the prominent citizens +inside. It was the 4th of July. The horses had American flags in their +head-stalls, some of the women wore flags and coloured handkerchiefs in +their belts, and a young German on the box-seat with me was bewailing +the loss of a box of crackers. He said he had been sent to the Continent +to get his schooling and so had lost his American accent; but no +Continental schooling writes German Jew all over a man's face and nose. +He was a rabid American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1069" id="Page_1069">[Pg 069]</a></span> citizen—one of a very difficult class to deal +with. As a general rule, praise unsparingly, and without discrimination. +That keeps most men quiet: but some, if you fail to keep up a continuous +stream of praise, proceed to revile the Old Country—Germans and Irish +who are more Americans than the Americans are the chief offenders. This +young American began to attack the English army. He had seen some of it +on parade and he pitied the men in bearskins as "slaves." The citizen, +by the way, has a contempt for his own army which exceeds anything you +meet among the most illiberal classes in England. I admitted that our +army was very poor, had done nothing, and had been nowhere. This +exasperated him, for he expected an argument, and he trampled on the +British Lion generally. Failing to move me, he vowed that I had no +patriotism like his own. I said I had not, and further ventured that +very few Englishmen had; which, when you come to think of it, is quite +true. By the time he had proved conclusively that before the Prince of +Wales came to the throne we should be a blethering republic, we struck a +road that overhung a river, and my interest in "politics" was lost in +admiration of the driver's skill as he sent his four big horses along +that winding road. There was no room for any sort of accident—a shy or +a swerve would have dropped us sixty feet into the roaring Gardiner +River. Some of the persons in the coach remarked that the scenery, was +"elegant." Wherefore, even at the risk of my own life, I did urgently +desire an accident and the massacre of some of the more prominent +citizens. What "elegance" lies in a thousand-foot pile of honey-coloured +rock, riven into peak and battlement,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1070" id="Page_1070">[Pg 070]</a></span> the highest peak defiantly +crowned by an eagle's nest, the eaglet peering into the gulf and +screaming for his food, I could not for the life of me understand. But +they speak a strange tongue.</p> + +<p><i>En route</i> we passed other carriages full of trippers, who had done +their appointed five days in the Park, and yelped at us fraternally as +they disappeared in clouds of red dust. When we struck the Mammoth Hot +Spring Hotel—a huge yellow barn—a sign-board informed us that the +altitude was six thousand two hundred feet. The Park is just a howling +wilderness of three thousand square miles, full of all imaginable freaks +of a fiery nature. An hotel company, assisted by the Secretary of State +for the Interior, appears to control it; there are hotels at all the +points of interest, guide-books, stalls for the sale of minerals, and so +forth, after the model of Swiss summer places.</p> + +<p>The tourists—may their master die an evil death at the hand of a mad +locomotive!—poured into that place with a joyful whoop, and, scarce +washing the dust from themselves, began to celebrate the 4th of July. +They called it "patriotic exercises"; elected a clergyman of their own +faith as president, and, sitting on the landing of the first floor, +began to make speeches and read the Declaration of Independence. The +clergyman rose up and told them they were the greatest, freest, +sublimest, most chivalrous, and richest people on the face of the earth, +and they all said Amen. Another clergyman asserted in the words of the +Declaration that all men were created equal, and equally entitled to +Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. I should like to know +whether the wild and woolly West recognises this first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1071" id="Page_1071">[Pg 071]</a></span> right as freely +as the grantors intended. The clergyman then bade the world note that +the tourists included representatives of seven of the New England +States; whereat I felt deeply sorry for the New England States in their +latter days. He opined that this running to and fro upon the earth, +under the auspices of the excellent Rayment, would draw America more +closely together, especially when the Westerners remembered the perils +that they of the East had surmounted by rail and river. At duly +appointed intervals the congregation sang "My country, 'tis of thee" to +the tune of "God save the Queen" (here they did not stand up) and the +"Star-Spangled Banner" (here they did), winding up the exercise with +some doggrel of their own composition to the tune of "John Brown's +Body," movingly setting forth the perils before alluded to. They then +adjourned to the verandahs and watched fire-crackers of the feeblest, +exploding one by one, for several hours.</p> + +<p>What amazed me was the calm with which these folks gathered together and +commenced to belaud their noble selves, their country, and their +"institootions" and everything else that was theirs. The language was, +to these bewildered ears, wild advertisement, gas, bunkum, blow, +anything you please beyond the bounds of common sense. An archangel, +selling town-lots on the Glassy Sea, would have blushed to the tips of +his wings to describe his property in similar terms. Then they gathered +round the pastor and told him his little sermon was "perfectly +glorious," really grand, sublime, and so forth, and he bridled +ecclesiastically. At the end a perfectly unknown man attacked me and +asked me what I thought of American patriotism. I said there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1072" id="Page_1072">[Pg 072]</a></span> was +nothing like it in the Old Country. By the way, always tell an American +this. It soothes him.</p> + +<p>Then said he: "Are you going to get out your letters,—your letters of +naturalisation?"</p> + +<p>"Why?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"I presoom you do business in this country, and make money out of +it,—and it seems to me that it would be your dooty."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said I, sweetly, "there is a forgotten little island across the +seas called England. It is not much bigger than the Yellowstone Park. In +that island a man of your country could work, marry, make his fortune or +twenty fortunes, and die. Throughout his career not one soul would ask +him whether he were a British subject or a child of the Devil. Do you +understand?"</p> + +<p>I think he did, because he said something about "Britishers" which +wasn't complimentary.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1073" id="Page_1073">[Pg 073]</a></span><a name="No_XXX" id="No_XXX"></a>No. XXX</h2> + +<p>SHOWS HOW I ENTERED MAZANDERAN OF THE PERSIANS AND SAW DEVILS OF EVERY +COLOUR, AND SOME TROOPERS. HELL AND THE OLD LADY FROM CHICAGO. THE +CAPTAIN AND THE LIEUTENANT.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"That desolate land and lone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roar down their mountain path."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Twice have I written this letter from end to end. Twice have I torn it +up, fearing lest those across the water should say that I had gone mad +on a sudden. Now we will begin for the third time quite solemnly and +soberly. I have been through the Yellowstone National Park in a buggy, +in the company of an adventurous old lady from Chicago and her husband, +who disapproved of scenery as being "ongodly." I fancy it scared them.</p> + +<p>We began, as you know, with the Mammoth Hot Springs. They are only a +gigantic edition of those pink and white terraces not long ago destroyed +by earthquake in New Zealand. At one end of the little valley in which +the hotel stands the lime-laden springs that break from the pine-covered +hillsides have formed a frozen cataract of white, lemon, and palest pink +formation, through and over and in which water of the warmest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1074" id="Page_1074">[Pg 074]</a></span> bubbles +and drips and trickles from pale-green lagoon to exquisitely fretted +basin. The ground rings hollow as a kerosene-tin, and some day the +Mammoth Hotel, guests and all, will sink into the caverns below and be +turned into a stalactite. When I set foot on the first of the terraces, +a tourist-trampled ramp of scabby grey stuff, I met a stream of iron-red +hot water which ducked into a hole like a rabbit. Followed a gentle +chuckle of laughter, and then a deep, exhausted sigh from nowhere in +particular. Fifty feet above my head a jet of <ins title="stream in original.">steam</ins> rose up and died out +in the blue. It was worse than the boiling mountain at Myanoshita. The +dirty white deposit gave place to lime whiter than snow; and I found a +basin which some learned hotel-keeper has christened Cleopatra's +pitcher, or Mark Antony's whisky-jug, or something equally poetical. It +was made of frosted silver; it was filled with water as clear as the +sky. I do not know the depth of that wonder. The eye looked down beyond +grottoes and caves of beryl into an abyss that communicated directly +with the central fires of earth. And the pool was in pain, so that it +could not refrain from talking about it; muttering and chattering and +moaning. From the lips of the lime-ledges, forty feet under water, +spurts of silver bubbles would fly up and break the peace of the crystal +atop. Then the whole pool would shake and grow dim, and there were +noises. I removed myself only to find other pools all equally unhappy, +rifts in the ground, full of running, red-hot water, slippery sheets of +deposit overlaid with greenish grey hot water, and here and there +pit-holes dry as a rifled tomb in India, dusty and waterless. Elsewhere +the infernal waters had first boiled dead and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1075" id="Page_1075">[Pg 075]</a></span> embalmed the pines +and underwood, or the forest trees had taken heart and smothered up a +blind formation with greenery, so that it was only by scraping the earth +you could tell what fires had raged beneath. Yet the pines will win the +battle in years to come, because Nature, who first forges all her work +in her great smithies, has nearly finished this job, and is ready to +temper it in the soft brown earth. The fires are dying down; the hotel +is built where terraces have overflowed into flat wastes of deposit; the +pines have taken possession of the high ground whence the terraces first +started. Only the actual curve of the cataract stands clear, and it is +guarded by soldiers who patrol it with loaded six-shooters, in order +that the tourist may not bring up fence-rails and sink them in a pool, +or chip the fretted tracery of the formations with a geological hammer, +or, walking where the crust is too thin, foolishly cook himself.</p> + +<p>I manœuvred round those soldiers. They were cavalry in a very +slovenly uniform, dark-blue blouse, and light-blue trousers unstrapped, +cut spoon-shape over the boot; cartridge belt, revolver, peaked cap, and +worsted gloves—black buttons! By the mercy of Allah I opened +conversation with a spectacled Scot. He had served the Queen in the +Marines and a Line regiment, and the "go-fever" being in his bones, had +drifted to America, there to serve Uncle Sam. We sat on the edge of an +extinct little pool, that under happier circumstances would have grown +into a geyser, and began to discuss things generally. To us appeared yet +another soldier. No need to ask his nationality or to be told that the +troop called him "The Henglishman." A cockney was he, who had seen +something of warfare in Egypt, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1076" id="Page_1076">[Pg 076]</a></span> had taken his discharge from a +Fusilier regiment not unknown to you.</p> + +<p>"And how do things go?"</p> + +<p>"Very much as you please," said they. "There's not half the discipline +here that there is in the Queen's service—not half—nor the work +either, but what there is, is rough work. Why, there's a sergeant now +with a black eye that one of our men gave him. They won't say anything +about that, of course. Our punishments? Fines mostly, and then if you +carry on too much you go to the cooler—that's the clink. Yes, Sir. +Horses? Oh, they're devils, these Montanna horses. Bronchos mostly. We +don't slick 'em up for parade—not much. And the amount of schooling +that you put into one English troop-horse would be enough for a whole +squadron of these creatures. You'll meet more troopers further up the +Park. Go and look at their horses and their turnouts. I fancy it'll +startle you. I'm wearing a made tie and a breastpin under my blouse? Of +course I am! I can wear anything I darn please. We aren't particular +here. I shouldn't dare come on parade—no, nor yet fatigue duty—in this +condition in the Old Country; but it don't matter here. But don't you +forget, Sir, that it's taught me how to trust to myself, and my shooting +irons. I don't want fifty orders to move me across the Park, and catch a +poacher. Yes, they poach here. Men come in with an outfit and ponies, +smuggle in a gun or two, and shoot the bison. If you interfere, they +shoot at you. Then you confiscate all their outfit and their ponies. We +have a pound full of them now down below. There's our Captain over +yonder. Speak to him if you want to know anything special. This service +isn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1077" id="Page_1077">[Pg 077]</a></span> a patch on the Old Country's service; but you look, if it was +worked up it would be just a Hell of a service. But these citizens +despise us, and they put us on to road-mending, and such like. 'Nough to +ruin any army."</p> + +<p>To the Captain I addressed myself after my friends had gone. They told +me that a good many American officers dressed by the French army. The +Captain certainly might have been mistaken for a French officer of light +cavalry, and he had more than the courtesy of a Frenchman. Yes, he had +read a good deal about our Indian border warfare, and had been much +struck with the likeness it bore to Red Indian warfare. I had better, +when I reached the next cavalry post, scattered between two big geyser +basins, introduce myself to a Captain and Lieutenant. They could show me +things. He himself was devoting all his time to conserving the terraces, +and surreptitiously running hot water into dried-up basins that fresh +pools might form. "I get very interested in that sort of thing. It's not +duty, but it's what I'm put here for." And then he began to talk of his +troop as I have heard his brethren in India talk. Such a troop! Built up +carefully, and watched lovingly; "not a man that I'd wish to exchange, +and, what's more, I believe not a man that would wish to leave on his +own account. We're different, I believe, from the English. Your officers +value the horses; we set store on the men. We train them more than we do +the horses."</p> + +<p>Of the American trooper I will tell you more hereafter. He is not a +gentleman to be trifled with.</p> + +<p>Next dawning, entering a buggy of fragile construction, with the old +people from Chicago, I embarked on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1078" id="Page_1078">[Pg 078]</a></span> my perilous career. We ran straight +up a mountain till we could see, sixty miles away, the white houses of +Cook City on another mountain, and the whiplash-like trail leading +thereto. The live air made me drunk. If Tom, the driver, had proposed to +send the mares in a bee-line to the city, I should have assented, and so +would the old lady, who chewed gum and talked about her symptoms. The +tub-ended rock-dog, which is but the translated prairie-dog, broke +across the road under our horses' feet, the rabbit and the chipmunk +danced with fright; we heard the roar of the river, and the road went +round a corner. On one side piled rock and shale, that enjoined silence +for fear of a general slide-down; on the other a sheer drop, and a fool +of a noisy river below. Then, apparently in the middle of the road, lest +any should find driving too easy, a post of rock. Nothing beyond that +save the flank of a cliff. Then my stomach departed from me, as it does +when you swing, for we left the dirt, which was at least some guarantee +of safety, and sailed out round the curve, and up a steep incline, on a +plank-road built out from the cliff. The planks were nailed at the outer +edge, and did not shift or creak very much—but enough, quite enough. +That was the Golden Gate. I got my stomach back again when we trotted +out on to a vast upland adorned with a lake and hills. Have you ever +seen an untouched land—the face of virgin Nature? It is rather a +curious sight, because the hills are choked with timber that has never +known an axe, and the storm has rent a way through this timber, so that +a hundred thousand trees lie matted together in swathes; and, since each +tree lies where it falls, you may behold trunk and branch returning to +the earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1079" id="Page_1079">[Pg 079]</a></span> whence they sprang—exactly as the body of man returns—each +limb making its own little grave, the grass climbing above the bark, +till at last there remains only the outline of a tree upon the rank +undergrowth.</p> + +<p>Then we drove under a cliff of obsidian, which is black glass, some two +hundred feet high; and the road at its foot was made of black glass that +crackled. This was no great matter, because half an hour before Tom had +pulled up in the woods that we might sufficiently admire a mountain who +stood all by himself, shaking with laughter or rage.</p> + +<p>The glass cliff overlooks a lake where the beavers built a dam about a +mile and a half long in a zig-zag line, as their necessities prompted. +Then came the Government and strictly preserved them, and, as you shall +learn later on, they be damn impudent beasts. The old lady had hardly +explained the natural history of beavers before we climbed some +hills—it really didn't matter in that climate, because we could have +scaled the stars—and (this mattered very much indeed) shot down a +desperate, dusty slope, brakes shrieking on the wheels, the mares +clicking among unseen rocks, the dust dense as a fog, and a wall of +trees on either side. "How do the heavy four-horse coaches take it, +Tom?" I asked, remembering that some twenty-three souls had gone that +way half an hour before. "Take it at the run!" said Tom, spitting out +the dust. Of course there was a sharp curve, and a bridge at the bottom, +but luckily nothing met us, and we came to a wooden shanty called an +hotel, in time for a crazy tiffin served by very gorgeous handmaids with +very pink cheeks. When health fails in other and more exciting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1080" id="Page_1080">[Pg 080]</a></span> +pursuits, a season as "help" in one of the Yellowstone hotels will +restore the frailest constitution.</p> + +<p>Then by companies after tiffin we walked chattering to the uplands of +Hell. They call it the Norris Geyser Basin on Earth. It was as though +the tide of desolation had gone out, but would presently return, across +innumerable acres of dazzling white geyser formation. There were no +terraces here, but all other horrors. Not ten yards from the road a +blast of steam shot up roaring every few seconds, a mud volcano spat +filth to Heaven, streams of hot water rumbled under foot, plunged +through the dead pines in steaming cataracts and died on a waste of +white where green-grey, black-yellow, and <ins title="link in original.">pink</ins> pools roared, shouted, +bubbled, or hissed as their wicked fancies prompted. By the look of the +eye the place should have been frozen over. By the feel of the feet it +was warm. I ventured out among the pools, carefully following tracks, +but one unwary foot began to sink, a squirt of water followed, and +having no desire to descend quick into Tophet I returned to the shore +where the mud and the sulphur and the nameless fat ooze-vegetation of +Lethe lay. But the very road rang as though built over a gulf; and +besides, how was I to tell when the raving blast of steam would find its +vent insufficient and blow the whole affair into Nirvana? There was a +potent stench of stale eggs everywhere, and crystals of sulphur crumbled +under the foot, and the glare of the sun on the white stuff was +blinding. Sitting under a bank, to me appeared a young trooper—ex-Cape +mounted Rifles, this man: the real American seems to object to his +army—mounted on a horse half-maddened by the noise and steam and smell. +He carried only the six-shooter and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1081" id="Page_1081">[Pg 081]</a></span> cartridge-belt. On service the +Springfield carbine (which is clumsy) and a cartridge-belt slung +diagonally complete equipment. The sword is no earthly use for Border +warfare and, except at state parades, is never worn. The saddle is the +McClellan tree over a four-folded blanket. Sweat-leathers you must pay +for yourself. And the beauty of the tree is that it necessitates first +very careful girthing and a thorough knowledge of tricks with the +blanket to suit the varying conditions of the horse—a broncho will +bloat in a night if he can get at a bellyful—and, secondly, even more +careful riding to prevent galling. Crupper and breast-band do not seem +to be used,—but they are casual about their accoutrements,—and the bit +is the single, jaw-breaking curb which American war-pictures show us. +That young man was very handsome, and the grey service hat—most like +the under half of a seedy terai—shaded his strong face admirably as his +horse backed and shivered and sidled and plunged all over the road, and +he lectured from his saddle, one foot out of the heavy-hooded stirrup, +one hand on the sweating neck. "He's not used to the Park, this brute, +and he's a confirmed bolter on parade; but we understand each other." +<i>Whoosh!</i> went the steam-blast down the road with a dry roar. Round spun +the troop horse prepared to bolt, and, his momentum being suddenly +checked, reared till I thought he would fall back on his rider. "Oh no; +we've settled that little matter when I was breaking him," said Centaur. +"He used to try to fall back on me. Isn't he a devil? I think you'd +laugh to see the way our regiments are horsed. Sometimes a big Montana +beast like mine has a thirteen-two broncho pony for neighbour, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1082" id="Page_1082">[Pg 082]</a></span> it's +annoying if you're used to better things. And oh, how you have to ride +your mount! It's necessary; but I can tell you at the end of a long +day's march, when you'd give all the world to ride like a sack, it isn't +sweet to get extra drill for slouching. When we're turned out, we're +turned out for <i>anything</i>—not a fifteen-mile trot, but for the use and +behoof of all the Northern States. I've been in Arizona. A trooper there +who had been in India told me that Arizona was like Afghanistan. There's +nothing under Heaven there except horned toads and rattlesnakes—and +Indians. Our trouble is that we only deal with Indians and they don't +teach us much, and of course the citizens look down on us and all that. +As a matter of fact, I suppose we're really only mounted infantry, but +remember we're the best mounted infantry in the world." And the horse +danced a fandango in proof.</p> + +<p>"My faith!" said I, looking at the dusty blouse, grey hat, soiled +leather accoutrements, and whalebone poise of the wearer. "If they are +all like you, you are."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, whoever you may be. Of course if we were turned into a +lawn-tennis court and told to resist, say, your heavy cavalry, we'd be +ridden off the face of the earth if we couldn't get away. We have +neither the weight nor the drill for a charge. My horse, for instance, +by English standards, is half-broken, and like all the others, he bolts +when we're in line. But cavalry charge against cavalry charge doesn't +happen often, and if it did, well—all our men know that up to a hundred +yards they are absolutely safe behind this old thing." He patted his +revolver pouch. "Absolutely safe from any shooting of yours. What man do +you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1083" id="Page_1083">[Pg 083]</a></span> think would dare to use a pistol at even thirty yards, if his life +depended oh it? Not one of <i>your</i> men. They can't shoot. We can. You'll +hear about that down the Park—further up."</p> + +<p>Then he added, courteously: "Just now it seems that the English supply +all the men to the American Army. That's what makes them so good +perhaps." And with mutual expressions of good-will we parted—he to an +outlying patrol fifteen miles away, I to my buggy and the old lady, who, +regarding the horrors of the fire-holes, could only say, "Good Lord!" at +thirty-second intervals. Her husband talked about "dreffel waste of +steam-power," and we went on in the clear, crisp afternoon, speculating +as to the formation of geysers.</p> + +<p>"What I say," shrieked the old lady <i>apropos</i> of matters theological, +"and what I say more, after having seen all that, is that the Lord has +ordained a Hell for such as disbelieve his gracious works."</p> + +<p><i>Nota bene.</i>—Tom had profanely cursed the near mare for stumbling. He +looked straight in front of him and said no word, but the left corner of +his left eye flickered in my direction.</p> + +<p>"And if," continued the old lady, "if we find a thing so dreffel as all +that steam and sulphur allowed on the face of the earth, musn't we +believe that there is something ten thousand times more terrible below +prepared un<i>toe</i> our destruction?"</p> + +<p>Some people have a wonderful knack of extracting comfort from things. I +am ashamed to say I agreed ostentatiously with the old lady. She +developed the personal view of the matter.</p> + +<p>"<i>Now</i> I shall be able to say something to Anna Fincher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1084" id="Page_1084">[Pg 084]</a></span> about her way +of living. Shan't I, Blake?" This to her husband.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said he, speaking slowly after a heavy tiffin. "But the girl's a +good girl;" and they fell to arguing as to whether the luckless Anna +Fincher really stood in need of lectures edged with Hell fire (she went +to dances I believe), while I got out and walked in the dust alongside +of Tom.</p> + +<p>"I drive blame cur'ous kinder folk through this place," said he. "Blame +cur'ous. 'Seems a pity that they should ha' come so far just to liken +Norris Basin to Hell. 'Guess Chicago would ha' served 'em, speaking in +comparison, jest as good."</p> + +<p>We curved the hill and entered a forest of spruce, the path serpentining +between the tree-boles, the wheels running silent on immemorial mould. +There was nothing alive in the forest save ourselves. Only a river was +speaking angrily somewhere to the right. For miles we drove till Tom +bade us alight and look at certain falls. Wherefore we stepped out of +that forest and nearly fell down a cliff which guarded a tumbled river +and returned demanding fresh miracles. If the water had run uphill, we +should perhaps have taken more notice of it; but 'twas only a waterfall, +and I really forget whether the water was warm or cold. There is a +stream here called Firehole River. It is fed by the overflow from the +various geysers and basins,—a warm and deadly river wherein no fish +breed. I think we crossed it a few dozen times in the course of a day.</p> + +<p>Then the sun began to sink, and there was a taste of frost about, and we +went swiftly from the forest into the open, dashed across a branch of +the Firehole River<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1085" id="Page_1085">[Pg 085]</a></span> and found a wood shanty, even rougher than the last, +at which, after a forty-mile drive, we were to dine and sleep. Half a +mile from this place stood, on the banks of the Firehole River, a +"beaver-lodge," and there were rumours of bears and other cheerful +monsters in the woods on the hill at the back of the building.</p> + +<p>In the cool, crisp quiet of the evening I sought that river, and found a +pile of newly gnawed sticks and twigs. The beaver works with the +cold-chisel, and a few clean strokes suffice to level a four-inch bole. +Across the water on the far bank glimmered, with the ghastly white of +peeled dead timber, the beaver-lodge—a mass of dishevelled branches. +The inhabitants had dammed the stream lower down and spread it into a +nice little lake. The question was would they come out for their walk +before it got too dark to see. They came—blessings on their blunt +muzzles, they came—as shadows come, drifting down the stream, stirring +neither foot nor tail. There were three of them. One went down to +investigate the state of the dam; the other two began to look for +supper. There is only one thing more startling than the noiselessness of +a tiger in the jungle, and that is the noiselessness of a beaver in the +water. The straining ear could catch no sound whatever till they began +to eat the thick green river-scudge that they call beaver-grass. I, +bowed among the logs, held my breath and stared with all my eyes. They +were not ten yards from me, and they would have eaten their dinner in +peace so long as I had kept absolutely still. They were dear and +desirable beasts, and I was just preparing to creep a step nearer when +that wicked old lady from Chicago clattered down the bank, an umbrella +in her hand, shrieking: "Beavers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1086" id="Page_1086">[Pg 086]</a></span> beavers! Young man, whurr are those +beavers? Good Lord! What was that now?"</p> + +<p>The solitary watcher might have heard a pistol shot ring through the +air. I wish it had killed the old lady, but it was only the beaver +giving warning of danger with the slap of his tail on the water. It was +exactly like the "phink" of a pistol fired with damp powder. Then there +were no more beavers—not a whisker-end. The lodge, however, was there, +and a beast lower than any beaver began to throw stones at it because +the old lady from Chicago said: "P'raps, if you rattle them up they'll +come out. I do so want to see a beaver."</p> + +<p>Yet it cheers me to think I have seen the beaver in his wilds. Never +will I go to the Zoo. That even, after supper—'twere flattery to call +it dinner—a Captain and a Subaltern of the cavalry post appeared at the +hotel. These were the officers of whom the Mammoth Springs Captain had +spoken. The Lieutenant had read everything that he could lay hands on +about the Indian army, especially our cavalry arrangements, and was very +full of a scheme for raising the riding Red Indians—it is not every +noble savage that will make a trooper—into frontier levies—a sort of +Khyber guard. "Only," as he said ruefully, "there is no frontier these +days, and all our Indian wars are nearly over. Those beautiful beasts +will die out, and nobody will ever know what splendid cavalry they can +make."</p> + +<p>The Captain told stories of Border warfare—of ambush, firing on the +rear-guard, heat that split the skull better than any tomahawk, cold +that wrinkled the very liver, night-stampedes of baggage-mules, raiding +of cattle, and hopeless stern-chases into inhospitable hills, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1087" id="Page_1087">[Pg 087]</a></span> the +cavalry knew that they were not only being outpaced but outspied. Then +he spoke of one fair charge when a tribe gave battle in the open and the +troopers rode in swordless, firing right and left with their revolvers +and—it was excessively uncomfy for that tribe. And I spoke of what men +had told me of huntings in Burma, of hill-climbing in the Black Mountain +affair, and so forth.</p> + +<p>"Exactly!" said the Captain. "Nobody knows and nobody cares. What does +it matter to the Down-Easter who Wrap-up-his-Tail was?"</p> + +<p>"And what does the fat Briton know or care about Boh Hla-Oo?" said I. +Then both together: "Depend upon it, my dear Sir, the army in both +Anglo-Saxon countries is a mischievously underestimated institution, and +it's a pleasure to meet a man who," etc., etc. And we nodded +triangularly in all good will, and swore eternal friendship. The +Lieutenant made a statement which rather amazed me. He said that, on +account of the scarcity of business, many American officers were to be +found getting practical instruction from little troubles among the South +American Republics. When the need broke out they would return. "There is +so little for us to do, and the Republic has a trick of making us hedge +and ditch for our pay. A little road-making on service is not a bad +thing, but continuous navvying is enough to knock the heart out of any +army."</p> + +<p>I agreed, and we sat up till two in the morning swapping the lies of +East and West. As that glorious chief Man-afraid-of-Pink-Rats once said +to the Agent on the Reservation: "'Melican officer good man. Heap good +man. Drink me. Drink he. Drink me. Drink he. Drink <i>he</i>. Me blind. +<i>Heap</i> good man!"</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1088" id="Page_1088">[Pg 088]</a></span><a name="No_XXXI" id="No_XXXI"></a>No. XXXI</h2> + +<p>ENDS WITH THE CAÑON OF THE YELLOWSTONE. THE MAIDEN FROM NEW +HAMPSHIRE—LARRY—"WRAP-UP-HIS-TAIL"—TOM—THE OLD LADY FROM +CHICAGO—AND A FEW NATURAL PHENOMENA—INCLUDING ONE BRITON.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What man would read and read the selfsame faces<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the marbles which the windmill grinds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rub smooth forever with the same smooth minds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This year retracing last year's every year's dull traces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When there are woods and unmanstifled places?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—<i>Lowell.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Once upon a time there was a carter who brought his team and a friend +into the Yellowstone Park without due thought. Presently they came upon +a few of the natural beauties of the place, and that carter turned his +team into his friend's team howling: "Get back o' this, Jim. All Hell's +alight under our noses." And they call the place Hell's Half-acre to +this day. We, too, the old lady from Chicago, her husband, Tom, and the +good little mares came to Hell's Half-acre, which is about sixty acres, +and when Tom said: "Would you like to drive over it?" we said: +"Certainly no, and if you do, we shall report you to the authorities." +There was a plain, blistered and peeled and abominable, and it was given +over to the sportings and spoutings of devils who threw mud and steam +and dirt at each other with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1089" id="Page_1089">[Pg 089]</a></span> whoops and halloos and bellowing curses. +The place smelt of the refuse of the Pit, and that odour mixed with the +clean, wholesome aroma of the pines in our nostrils throughout the day. +Be it known that the Park is laid out, like Ollendorf, in exercises of +progressive difficulty. Hell's Half-acre was a prelude to ten or twelve +miles of geyser formation. We passed hot streams boiling in the forest; +saw whiffs of steam beyond these, and yet other whiffs breaking through +the misty green hills in the far distance; we trampled on sulphur, and +sniffed things much worse than any sulphur which is known to the upper +world; and so came upon a park-like place where Tom suggested we should +get out and play with the geysers.</p> + +<p>Imagine mighty green fields splattered with lime beds: all the flowers +of the summer growing up to the very edge of the lime. That was the +first glimpse of the geyser basins. The buggy had pulled up close to a +rough, broken, blistered cone of stuff between ten and twenty feet high. +There was trouble in that place—moaning, splashing, gurgling, and the +clank of machinery. A spurt of boiling water jumped into the air and a +wash of water followed. I removed swiftly. The old lady from Chicago +shrieked. "What a wicked waste!" said her husband. I think they call it +the Riverside Geyser. Its spout was torn and ragged like the mouth of a +gun when a shell has burst there. It grumbled madly for a moment or two +and then was still. I crept over the steaming lime—it was the burning +marl on which Satan lay—and looked fearfully down its mouth. You should +never look a gift geyser in the mouth. I beheld a horrible slippery +slimy funnel with water rising and falling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1090" id="Page_1090">[Pg 090]</a></span> ten feet at a time. Then the +water rose to lip level with a rush and an infernal bubbling troubled +this Devil's Bethesda before the sullen heave of the crest of a wave +lapped over the edge and made me run. Mark the nature, of the human +soul! I had begun with awe, not to say terror. I stepped back from the +flanks of the Riverside Geyser saying: "Pooh! Is that all it can do?" +Yet for aught I knew the whole thing might have blown up at a minute's +notice; she, he, or it being an arrangement of uncertain temper.</p> + +<p>We drifted on up that miraculous valley. On either side of us were hills +from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet high and wooded from heel to +crest. As far as the eye could range forward were columns of steam in +the air, misshapen lumps of lime, most like preadamite monsters, still +pools of turquoise blue, stretches of blue cornflowers, a river that +coiled on itself twenty times, boulders of strange colours, and ridges +of glaring, staring white.</p> + +<p>The old lady from Chicago poked with her parasol at the pools as though +they had been alive. On one particularly innocent-looking little puddle +she turned her back for a moment, and there rose behind her a +twenty-foot column of water and steam. Then she shrieked and protested +that "she never thought it would ha' done it," and the old man chewed +his tobacco steadily, and mourned for steam power wasted. I embraced the +whitened stump of a middle-sized pine that had grown all too close to a +hot pool's lip, and the whole thing turned over under my hand as a tree +would do in a nightmare. From right and left came the trumpetings of +elephants at play. I stepped into a pool of old dried blood rimmed with +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1091" id="Page_1091">[Pg 091]</a></span> nodding cornflowers; the blood changed to ink even as I trod; and +ink and blood were washed away in a spurt of boiling sulphurous water +spat out from the lee of a bank of flowers. This sounds mad, doesn't it?</p> + +<p>A moonfaced trooper of German extraction—never was Park so carefully +patrolled—came up to inform us that as yet we had not seen any of the +real geysers, that they were all a mile or so up the valley, tastefully +scattered round the hotel in which we would rest for the night. America +is a free country, but the citizens look down on the soldier. <i>I</i> had to +entertain that trooper. The old lady from Chicago would have none of +him; so we loafed along together, now across half-rotten pine logs sunk +in swampy ground, anon over the ringing geyser formation, then knee-deep +through long grass.</p> + +<p>"And why did you 'list?" said I.</p> + +<p>The moonfaced one's face began to work. I thought he would have a fit, +but he told me a story instead—such a nice tale of a naughty little +girl who wrote love letters to two men at once. She was a simple village +wife, but a wicked "Family Novelette" countess couldn't have +accomplished her ends better. She drove one man nearly wild with her +pretty little treachery; and the other man abandoned her and came West +to forget. Moonface was that man.</p> + +<p>We rounded a low spur of hill, and came out upon a field of aching snowy +lime, rolled in sheets, twisted into knots, riven with rents and +diamonds and stars, stretching for more than half a mile in every +direction. In this place of despair lay most of the big geysers who know +when there is trouble in Krakatoa, who tell the pines when there is a +cyclone on the Atlantic seaboard, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1092" id="Page_1092">[Pg 092]</a></span> who—are exhibited to visitors +under pretty and fanciful names. The first mound that I encountered +belonged to a goblin splashing in his tub. I heard him kick, pull a +shower-bath on his shoulders, gasp, crack his joints, and rub himself +down with a towel; then he let the water out of the bath, as a +thoughtful man should, and it all sank down out of sight till another +goblin arrived. Yet they called this place the Lioness and the Cubs. It +lies not very far from the Lion, which is a sullen, roaring beast, and +they say that when it is very active the other geysers presently follow +suit. After the Krakatoa eruption all the geysers went mad together, +spouting, spurting, and bellowing till men feared that they would rip up +the whole field. Mysterious sympathies exist among them, and when the +Giantess speaks (of her more anon) they all hold their peace.</p> + +<p>I was watching a solitary spring, when, far across the fields, stood up +a plume of spun glass, iridescent and superb, against the sky. "That," +said the trooper, "is Old Faithful. He goes off every sixty-five minutes +to the minute, plays for five minutes, and sends up a column of water a +hundred and fifty feet high. By the time you have looked at all the +other geysers he will be ready to play."</p> + +<p>So we looked and we wondered at the Beehive, whose mouth is built up +exactly like a hive; at the Turban (which is not in the least like a +turban); and at many, many other geysers, hot holes, and springs. Some +of them rumbled, some hissed, some went off spasmodically, and others +lay still in sheets of sapphire and beryl.</p> + +<p>Would you believe that even these terrible creatures have to be guarded +by the troopers to prevent the irreverent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1093" id="Page_1093">[Pg 093]</a></span> American from chipping the +cones to pieces, or worse still, making the geysers sick? If you take of +soft-soap a small barrelful and drop it down a geyser's mouth, that +geyser will presently be forced to lay all before you and for days +afterwards will be of an irritated and inconsistent stomach. When they +told me the tale I was filled with sympathy. Now I wish that I had +stolen soap and tried the experiment on some lonely little beast of a +geyser in the woods. It sounds so probable—and so human.</p> + +<p>Yet he would be a bold man who would administer emetics to the Giantess. +She is flat-lipped, having no mouth, she looks like a pool, fifty feet +long and thirty wide, and there is no ornamentation about her. At +irregular intervals she speaks, and sends up a column of water over two +hundred feet high to begin with; then she is angry for a day and a +half—sometimes for two days. Owing to her peculiarity of going mad in +the night not many people have seen the Giantess at her finest; but the +clamour of her unrest, men say, shakes the wooden hotel, and echoes like +thunder among the hills. When I saw her trouble was brewing. The pool +bubbled seriously, and at five-minute intervals, sank a foot or two, +then rose, washed over the rim, and huge steam bubbles broke on the top. +Just before an eruption the water entirely disappears from view. +Whenever you see the water die down in a geyser-mouth get away as fast +as you can. I saw a tiny little geyser suck in its breath in this way, +and instinct made me retire while it hooted after me.</p> + +<p>Leaving the Giantess to swear, and spit, and thresh about, we went over +to Old Faithful, who by reason of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1094" id="Page_1094">[Pg 094]</a></span> his faithfulness has benches close to +him whence you may comfortably watch. At the appointed hour we heard the +water flying up and down the mouth with the sob of waves in a cave. Then +came the preliminary gouts, then a roar and a rush, and that glittering +column of diamonds rose, quivered, stood still for a minute. Then it +broke, and the rest was a confused snarl of water not thirty feet high. +All the young ladies—not more than twenty—in the tourist band remarked +that it was "elegant," and betook themselves to writing their names in +the bottoms of shallow pools. Nature fixes the insult indelibly, and the +after-years will learn that "Hattie," "Sadie," "Mamie," "Sophie," and so +forth, have taken out their hair-pins, and scrawled on the face of Old +Faithful.</p> + +<p>The congregation returned to the hotel to put down their impressions in +diaries and note-books which they wrote up ostentatiously in the +verandahs. It was a sweltering hot day, albeit we stood somewhat higher +than the summit of Jakko, and I left that raw pine-creaking caravanserai +for the cool shade of a clump of pines between whose trunks glimmered +tents. A batch of troopers came down the road, and flung themselves +across country into their rough lines. Verily the 'Melican cavalry-man +<i>can</i> ride, though he keeps his accoutrements pig, and his horse +cow-fashion.</p> + +<p>I was free of that camp in five minutes—free to play with the heavy +lumpy carbines, to have the saddles stripped, and punch the horses +knowingly in the ribs. One of the men had been in the fight with +"Wrap-up-his-Tail" before alluded to, and he told me how that great +chief, his horse's tail tied up in red calico, swaggered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1095" id="Page_1095">[Pg 095]</a></span> in front of +the United States cavalry, challenging all to single combat. But he was +slain, and a few of his tribe with him. "There's no use in an Indian, +anyway," concluded my friend.</p> + +<p>A couple of cowboys—real cowboys, not the Buffalo Bill article—jingled +through the camp amid a shower of mild chaff. They were on their way to +Cook City, I fancy, and I know that they never washed. But they were +picturesque ruffians with long spurs, hooded stirrups, slouch hats, fur +weather-cloths over their knees, and pistol-butts easy to hand.</p> + +<p>"The cowboy's goin' under before long," said my friend. "Soon as the +country's settled up he'll have to go. But he's mighty useful now. What +should we do without the cowboy?"</p> + +<p>"As how?" said I, and the camp laughed.</p> + +<p>"He has the money. We have the know-how. He comes in in winter to play +poker at the military posts. <i>We</i> play poker—a few. When he's lost his +money we make him drunk and let him go. Sometimes we get the wrong man." +And he told a tale of an innocent cowboy who turned up, cleaned out, at +a post, and played poker for thirty-six hours. But it was the post that +was cleaned out when that long-haired Caucasian Ah Sin removed himself, +heavy with everybody's pay, and declining the proffered liquor. "Naow," +said the historian, "I don't play with no cowboy unless he's a little +bit drunk first."</p> + +<p>Ere I departed I gathered from more than one man that significant fact +that <i>up to one hundred yards</i> he felt absolutely secure behind his +revolver.</p> + +<p>"In England, I understand," quoth a limber youth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1096" id="Page_1096">[Pg 096]</a></span> from the South, "in +England a man aren't allowed to play with no firearms. He's got to be +taught all that when he enlists. I didn't want much teaching how to +shoot straight 'fore I served Uncle Sam. And that's just where it is. +But you was talking about your horse guards now?"</p> + +<p>I explained briefly some peculiarities of equipment connected with our +crackest crack cavalry. I grieve to say the camp roared.</p> + +<p>"Take 'em over swampy ground. Let 'em run around a bit an' work the +starch out of 'em, an' then, Almighty, if we wouldn't plug 'em at ease +I'd eat their horses!"</p> + +<p>"But suppose they engaged in the open?" said I.</p> + +<p>"Engage the Hades. Not if there was a tree-trunk within twenty miles +they <i>couldn't</i> engage in the open!"</p> + +<p>Gentlemen, the officers, have you ever seriously considered the +existence on earth of a cavalry who by preference would fight in timber? +The evident sincerity of the proposition made me think hard as I moved +over to the hotel and joined a party exploration, which, diving into the +woods, unearthed a pit pool of burningest water fringed with jet black +sand—all the ground near by being pure white. But miracles pall when +they arrive at the rate of twenty a day. A flaming dragonfly flew over +the pool, reeled and dropped on the water, dying without a quiver of his +gorgeous wings, and the pool said nothing whatever, but sent its thin +steam wreaths up to the burning sky. I prefer pools that talk.</p> + +<p>There was a maiden—a very trim maiden—who had just stepped out of one +of Mr. James's novels. She owned a delightful mother and an equally +delightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1097" id="Page_1097">[Pg 097]</a></span> father, a heavy-eyed, slow-voiced man of finance. The +parents thought that their daughter wanted change. She lived in New +Hampshire. Accordingly, she had dragged them up to Alaska, to the +Yosemite Valley, and was now returning leisurely <i>via</i> the Yellowstone +just in time for the tail-end of the summer season at Saratoga. We had +met once or twice before in the Park, and I had been amazed and amused +at her critical commendation of the wonders that she saw. From that very +resolute little mouth I received a lecture on American literature, the +nature and inwardness of Washington society, the precise value of +Cable's works as compared with "Uncle Remus" Harris, and a few other +things that had nothing whatever to do with geysers, but were altogether +delightful. Now an English maiden who had stumbled on a dust-grimed, +lime-washed, sun-peeled, collarless wanderer come from and going to +goodness knows where, would, her mother inciting her and her father +brandishing his umbrella, have regarded him as a dissolute adventurer. +Not so those delightful people from New Hampshire. They were good enough +to treat me—it sounds almost incredible—as a human being, possibly +respectable, probably not in immediate need of financial assistance. +Papa talked pleasantly and to the point. The little maiden strove +valiantly with the accent of her birth and that of her reading, and +mamma smiled benignly in the background.</p> + +<p>Balance this with a story of a young English idiot I met knocking about +inside his high collars, attended by a valet. He condescended to tell me +that "you can't be too careful who you talk to in these parts," and +stalked on, fearing, I suppose, every minute for his social chastity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1098" id="Page_1098">[Pg 098]</a></span> +Now that man was a barbarian (I took occasion to tell him so), for he +comported himself after the manner of the head-hunters of Assam, who are +at perpetual feud one with another.</p> + +<p>You will understand that these foolish tales are introduced in order to +cover the fact that this pen cannot describe the glories of the Upper +Geyser basin. The evening I spent under the lee of the Castle Geyser +sitting on a log with some troopers and watching a baronial keep forty +feet high spouting hot water. If the Castle went off first, they said +the Giantess would be quiet, and <i>vice versa</i>; and then they told tales +till the moon got up and a party of campers in the woods gave us all +something to eat.</p> + +<p>Next morning Tom drove us on, promising new wonders. He pulled up after +a few miles at a clump of brushwood where an army was drowning. I could +hear the sick gasps and thumps of the men going under, but when I broke +through the brushwood the hosts had fled, and there were only pools of +pink, black, and white lime, thick as turbid honey. They shot up a pat +of mud every minute or two, choking in the effort. It was an uncanny +sight. Do you wonder that in the old days the Indians were careful to +avoid the Yellowstone? Geysers are permissible, but mud is terrifying. +The old lady from Chicago took a piece of it, and in half an hour it +died into lime-dust and blew away between her fingers. All +<i>maya</i>,—illusion,—you see! Then we clinked over sulphur in crystals; +there was a waterfall of boiling water; and a road across a level park +hotly contested by the beavers. Every winter they build their dam and +flood the low-lying land; every summer that dam<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1099" id="Page_1099">[Pg 099]</a></span> is torn up by the +Government, and for half a mile you must plough axle-deep in water, the +willows brushing into the buggy, and little waterways branching off +right and left. The road is the main stream—just like the Bolan line in +flood. If you turn up a byway, there is no more of you, and the beavers +work your buggy into next year's dam.</p> + +<p>Then came soft, turfy forest that deadened the wheels, and two +troopers—on detachment duty—came noiselessly behind us. One was the +Wrap-up-his-Tail man, and we talked merrily while the half-broken horses +bucked about among the trees till we came to a mighty hill all strewn +with moss agates, and everybody had to get out and pant in that thin +air. But how intoxicating it was! The old lady from Chicago clucked like +an emancipated hen as she scuttled about the road cramming pieces of +rock into her reticule. She sent me fifty yards down the hill to pick up +a piece of broken bottle which she insisted was moss agate! "I've some +o' that at home an' they shine. You go get it, young feller."</p> + +<p>As we climbed the long path, the road grew viler and viler till it +became without disguise the bed of a torrent; and just when things were +at their rockiest we emerged into a little sapphire lake—but never +sapphire was so blue—called Mary's Lake; and that between eight and +nine thousand feet above the sea. Then came grass downs, all on a +vehement slope, so that the buggy following the new-made road ran on to +the two off-wheels mostly, till we dipped head-first into a ford, +climbed up a cliff, raced along a down, dipped again and pulled up +dishevelled at "Larry's" for lunch and an hour's rest. Only "Larry" +could have managed that school-feast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1100" id="Page_1100">[Pg 100]</a></span> tent on the lonely hillside. Need +I say that he was an Irishman? His supplies were at their lowest ebb, +but Larry enveloped us all in the golden glamour of his speech ere we +had descended, and the tent with the rude trestle-table became a palace, +the rough fare, delicacies of Delmonico, and we, the abashed recipients +of Larry's imperial bounty. It was only later that I discovered I had +paid eight shillings for tinned beef, biscuits, and beer, but on the +other hand Larry had said: "Will I go out an' kill a buffalo?" And I +felt that for me and for me alone would he have done it. Everybody else +felt that way. Good luck go with Larry!</p> + +<p>"An' now you'll all go an' wash your pocket-handkerchiefs in that +beautiful hot spring round the corner," said he. "There's soap an' a +washboard ready, an' 'tis not every day that ye can get hot water for +nothing." He waved us large-handedly to the open downs while he put the +tent to rights. These was no sense of fatigue on the body or distance in +the air. Hill and dale rode on the eyeball. I could have clutched the +far-off snowy peaks by putting out my hand. Never was such maddening +air. Why we should have washed pocket-handkerchiefs Larry alone knows. +It appeared to be a sort of religious rite. In a little valley overhung +with gay painted rocks ran a stream of velvet brown and pink. It was +hot—hotter than the hand could bear—and it coloured the boulders in +its course.</p> + +<p>There was the maiden from New Hampshire, the old lady from Chicago, +papa, mamma, the woman who chewed gum, and all the rest of them, gravely +bending over a washboard and soap. Mysterious virtues lay in that queer +stream. It turned the linen white as driven snow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1101" id="Page_1101">[Pg 101]</a></span> in five minutes, and +then we lay on the grass and laughed with sheer bliss of being alive. +This have I known once in Japan, once on the banks of the Columbia, what +time the salmon came in and "California" howled, and once again in the +Yellowstone by the light of the eyes of the maiden from New Hampshire. +Four little pools lay at my elbow: one was of black water (tepid), one +clear water (cold), one clear water (hot), one red water (boiling); my +newly washed handkerchief covered them all. We marvelled as children +marvel.</p> + +<p>"This evening we shall do the grand cañon of the Yellowstone?" said the +maiden.</p> + +<p>"Together?" said I; and she said yes.</p> + +<p>The sun was sinking when we heard the roar of falling waters and came to +a broad river along whose banks we ran. And then—oh, then! I might at a +pinch describe the infernal regions, but not the other place. Be it +known to you that the Yellowstone River has occasion to run through a +gorge about eight miles long. To get to the bottom of the gorge it makes +two leaps, one of about one hundred and twenty and the other of three +hundred feet. I investigated the upper or lesser fall, which is close to +the hotel. Up to that time nothing particular happens to the +Yellowstone, its banks being only rocky, rather steep, and plentifully +adorned with pines. At the falls it comes round a corner, green, solid, +ribbed with a little foam and not more than thirty yards wide. Then it +goes over still green and rather more solid than before. After a minute +or two you, sitting upon a rock directly above the drop, begin to +understand that something has occurred; that the river has jumped a huge +distance between solid cliff walls and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1102" id="Page_1102">[Pg 102]</a></span> what looks like the gentle froth +of ripples lapping the sides of the gorge below is really the outcome of +great waves. And the river yells aloud; but the cliffs do not allow the +yells to escape.</p> + +<p>That inspection began with curiosity and finished in terror, for it +seemed that the whole world was sliding in chrysolite from under my +feet. I followed with the others round the corner to arrive at the brink +of the cañon: we had to climb up a nearly perpendicular ascent to begin +with, for the ground rises more than the river drops. Stately pine woods +fringe either lip of the gorge, which is—the Gorge of the Yellowstone.</p> + +<p>All I can say is that without warning or preparation I looked into a +gulf seventeen hundred feet deep with eagles and fish-hawks circling far +below. And the sides of that gulf were one wild welter of +colour—crimson, emerald, cobalt, ochre, amber, honey splashed with +port-wine, snow-white, vermilion, lemon, and silver-grey, in wide +washes. The sides did not fall sheer, but were graven by time and water +and air into monstrous heads of kings, dead chiefs, men and women of the +old time. So far below that no sound of its strife could reach us, the +Yellowstone River ran—a finger-wide strip of jade-green. The sunlight +took those wondrous walls and gave fresh hues to those that nature had +already laid there. Once I saw the dawn break over a lake in Rajputana +and the sun set over the Oodey Sagar amid a circle of Holman Hunt hills. +This time I was watching both performances going on below me—upside +down you understand—and the colours were real! The cañon was burning +like Troy town; but it would burn for ever, and, thank goodness, neither +pen nor brush could ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1103" id="Page_1103">[Pg 103]</a></span> portray its splendours adequately. The Academy +would reject the picture for a chromolithograph. The public would scoff +at the letter-press for <i>Daily Telegraphese</i>. "I will leave this thing +alone," said I; "'tis my peculiar property. Nobody else shall share it +with me." Evening crept through the pines that shadowed us, but the full +glory of the day flamed in that cañon as we went out very cautiously to +a jutting piece of rock—blood-red or pink it was—that overhung the +deepest deeps of all. Now I know what it is to sit enthroned amid the +clouds of sunset. Giddiness took away all sensation of touch or form; +but the sense of blinding colour remained. When I reached the mainland +again I had sworn that I had been floating. The maid from New Hampshire +said no word for a very long time. She then quoted poetry, which was +perhaps the best thing she could have done.</p> + +<p>"And to think that this show-place has been going on all these days an' +none of we ever saw it," said the old lady from Chicago, with an acid +glance at her husband.</p> + +<p>"No, only the Injuns," said he, unmoved; and the maiden and I laughed +long. Inspiration is fleeting, beauty is vain, and the power of the mind +for wonder limited. Though the shining hosts themselves had risen +choiring from the bottom of the gorge they would not have prevented her +papa and one baser than himself from rolling stones down those +stupendous rainbow-washed slides. Seventeen hundred feet of steepest +pitch and rather more than seventeen hundred colours for log or boulder +to whirl through! So we heaved things and saw them gather way and bound +from white rock to red or yellow, dragging behind them torrents of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1104" id="Page_1104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +colour, till the noise of their descent ceased and they bounded a +hundred yards clear at the last into the Yellowstone.</p> + +<p>"I've been down there," said Tom that evening. "It's easy to get down if +you're careful—just sit and slide; but getting up is worse. An' I +found, down below there, two rocks just marked with a picture of the +cañon. I wouldn't sell those rocks not for fifteen dollars."</p> + +<p>And papa and I crawled down to the Yellowstone—just above the first +little fall—to wet a line for good luck. The round moon came up and +turned the cliffs and pines into silver; a two-pound trout came up also, +and we slew him among the rocks, nearly tumbling into that wild river.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Then out and away to Livingstone once more. The maiden from New +Hampshire disappeared; papa and mamma with her disappeared. Disappeared, +too, the old lady from Chicago and all the rest, while I thought of all +that I had <i>not</i> seen—the forest of petrified trees with amethyst +crystals in their black hearts; the great Yellowstone Lake where you +catch your trout alive in one spring and drop him into another to boil +him; and most of all of that mysterious Hoodoo region where all the +devils not employed in the geysers live and kill the wandering bear and +elk, so that the scared hunter finds in Death Gulch piled carcasses of +the dead whom no man has smitten. Hoodoo-land with the overhead noises, +the bird and beast and devil-rocks, the mazes and the bottomless +pits,—all these things I missed. On the return road Yankee Jim and +Diana of the Crossways gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1105" id="Page_1105">[Pg 105]</a></span> me kindly greeting as the train paused an +instant before their door, and at Livingstone whom should I see but Tom +the driver?</p> + +<p>"I've done with the Yellowstone and decided to clear out East +somewheres," said he. "Your talkin' about movin' round so gay an' +careless made me kinder restless; I'm movin' out."</p> + +<p>Lord <ins title="Original unchanged.">forgie</ins> us for our responsibility one to another!</p> + +<p>"And your partner?" said I.</p> + +<p>"Here's him," said Tom, introducing a gawky youth with a bundle; and I +saw those two young men turn their faces to the East.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1106" id="Page_1106">[Pg 106]</a></span><a name="No_XXXII" id="No_XXXII"></a>No. XXXII</h2> + +<p>OF THE AMERICAN ARMY AND THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. THE TEMPLE, THE BOOK OF +MORMON, AND THE GIRL FROM DORSET. AN ORIENTAL CONSIDERATION OF POLYGAMY.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"A fool also is full of words: a man cannot tell what shall be; +and what shall be after him who can tell?" </p></div> + + +<p>It has just occurred to me with great force that delightful as these +letters are to myself their length and breadth and depth may be just the +least little bit in the world wearisome to you over there. I will +compress myself rigorously, though I should very much like to deliver a +dissertation on the American Army and the possibilities of its +extension.</p> + +<p>The American army is a beautiful little army. Some day, when all the +Indians are happily dead or drunk, it ought to make the finest +scientific and survey corps that the world has ever seen. It does +excellent work now, but there is this defect in its nature: it is +officered, as you know, from West Point, but the mischief of it is that +West Point seems to be created for the purpose of spreading a general +knowledge of military matters among the people. A boy goes up to that +institution, gets his pass, and returns to civil life, so they tell me, +with a dangerous knowledge that he is a sucking Moltke, and may apply +his learning when occasion offers. Given trouble, that man will be a +nuisance, because he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1107" id="Page_1107">[Pg 107]</a></span> is a hideously versatile American to begin with, +as cocksure of himself as a man can be, and with all the racial +disregard for human life to back him through his demi-semi-professional +generalship. In a country where, as the records of the daily papers +show, men engaged in a conflict with police or jails are all too ready +to adopt a military formation, and get heavily shot in a sort of cheap, +half-instructed warfare instead of being decently scared by the +appearance of the military, this sort of arrangement does not seem wise. +The bond between the States is of amazing tenuity. So long as they do +not absolutely march into the District of Columbia, sit on the +Washington statues, and invent a flag of their own, they can legislate, +lynch, hunt negroes through swamps, divorce, railroad, and rampage as +much as ever they choose. They do not need knowledge of their own +military strength to back their genial lawlessness. That Regular Army, +which is a dear little army, should be kept to itself, blooded on +detachment duty, turned into the paths of science, and now and again +assembled at feasts of Freemasons and so forth. It's too tiny to be a +political power. The immortal wreck of the Grand Army of the Republic is +a political power of the largest and most unblushing description. It +ought not to help to lay the foundations of an amateur military power +that is blind and irresponsible....</p> + +<p>Be thankful that the balance of this lecture is suppressed, and with it +the account of a "shiveree" which I attended in Livingstone City: and +the story of the editor and the sub-editor (the latter was a pet cougar, +or mountain lion, who used, they said, skilfully to sub-edit disputants +in the office) of the Livingstone daily paper.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1108" id="Page_1108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>Omitting a thousand matters of first importance, let me pick up the +thread of things on a narrow-gauge line that took me down to Salt Lake. +The run between Delhi and Ahmedabad on a May day would have been bliss +compared to this torture. There was nothing but glare and desert and +alkali dust. There was no smoking-accommodation. I sat in the lavatory +with the conductor and a prospector who told stories about Indian +atrocities in the voice of a dreaming child—oath following oath as +smoothly as clotted cream laps the mouth of the jug. I don't think he +knew he was saying anything out of the way, but nine or ten of those +oaths were new to me, and one even made the conductor raise his +eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"And when a man's alone mostly, leadin' his horse across the hills, he +gets to talk aloud to himself as it was," said the weather-worn retailer +of tortures. A vision rose before me of this man trampling the Bannack +City trail under the stars—swearing, always swearing!</p> + +<p>Bundles of rags that were pointed out as Red Indians, boarded the train +from time to time. Their race privileges allow them free transit on the +platforms of the cars. They mustn't come inside of course, and equally +of course the train never thinks of pulling up for them. I saw a squaw +take us flying and leave us in the same manner when we were spinning +round a curve. Like the Punjabi, the Red Indian gets out by preference +on the trackless plain and walks stolidly to the horizon. He never says +where he is going....</p> + +<p><i>Salt Lake.</i> I am concerned for the sake of Mr. Phil Robinson, his soul. +You will remember that he wrote<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1109" id="Page_1109">[Pg 109]</a></span> a book called <i>Saints and Sinners</i> in +which he proved very prettily that the Mormon was almost altogether an +estimable person. Ever since my arrival at Salt Lake I have been +wondering what made him write that book. On mature reflection, and after +a long walk round the city, I am inclined to think it was the sun, which +is very powerful hereabouts.</p> + +<p>By great good luck the evil-minded train, already delayed twelve hours +by a burnt bridge, brought me to the city on a Saturday by way of that +valley which the Mormons aver their efforts had caused to blossom like +the rose. Some hours previously I had entered a new world where, in +conversation, every one was either a Mormon or a Gentile. It is not +seemly for a free and independent citizen to dub himself a Gentile, but +the Mayor of Ogden—which is the Gentile city of the valley—told me +that there must be some distinction between the two flocks. Long before +the fruit orchards of Logan or the shining levels of the Salt Lake had +been reached that Mayor—himself a Gentile, and one renowned for his +dealings with the Mormons—told me that the great question of the +existence of the power within the power was being gradually solved by +the ballot and by education. "We have," quoth he, "hills round and about +here, stuffed full of silver and gold and lead, and all Hell atop of the +Mormon church can't keep the Gentile from flocking in when that's the +case. At Ogden, thirty miles from Salt Lake, this year the Gentile vote +swamped the Mormon at the Municipal elections, and next year we trust +that we shall be able to repeat our success in Salt Lake itself. In that +city the Gentiles are only one-third of the total population,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1110" id="Page_1110">[Pg 110]</a></span> but the +mass of 'em are grown men, capable of voting. Whereas the Mormons are +cluttered up with children. I guess as soon as we have purely Gentile +officers in the township, and the control of the policy of the city, the +Mormons will have to back down considerable. They're bound to go before +long. My own notion is that it's the older men who keep alive the +opposition to the Gentile and all his works. The younger ones, spite of +all the elders tell 'em, <i>will</i> mix with the Gentile, and read Gentile +books, and you bet your sweet life there's a holy influence working +toward conversion in the kiss of an average Gentile—specially when the +girl knows that he won't think it necessary for her salvation to load +the house up with other woman-folk. I guess the younger generation are +giving sore trouble to the elders. What's that you say about polygamy? +It's a penal offence now under a Bill passed not long ago. The Mormon +has to elect one wife and keep to her. If he's caught visiting any of +the others—do you see that cool and restful brown stone building way +over there against the hillside? That's the penitentiary. He is sent +there to consider his sins, and he pays a fine, too. But most of the +police in Salt Lake are Mormons, and I don't suppose they are too hard +on their friends. I presoom there's a good deal of polygamy practised on +the sly. But the chief trouble is to get the Mormon to see that the +Gentile isn't the doubly-damned beast that the elders represent. Only +get the Gentiles well into the State, and the whole concern is bound to +go to pieces in a very little time."</p> + +<p>And the wish being father to the thought, "Why, certainly,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1111" id="Page_1111">[Pg 111]</a></span> said I, and +began to take in the valley of Deseret, the home of the latter-day +saints, and the abode perhaps of as much misery as has ever been +compressed into forty years. The good folk at home will not understand, +but you will, what follows. You know how in Bengal to this day the +child-wife is taught to curse her possible co-wife, ere yet she has gone +to her husband's house? And the Bengali woman has been accustomed to +polygamy for a few hundred years. You know, too, the awful jealousy +between mother wife and barren behind the purdah—the jealousy that +culminates sometimes in the poisoning of the well-beloved son? Now and +again, an Englishwoman employs a high-caste Mussulman nurse, and in the +offices of that hire women are apt to forget the differences of colour, +and to speak unreservedly as twin daughters under Eve's curse. The nurse +tells very strange and awful things. She has, and this the Mormons count +a privilege, been born into polygamy; but she loathes and detests it +from the bottom of her jealous soul. And to the lot of the Bengali +co-wife—"the cursed of the cursed—the daughter of the dunghill—the +scald-head and the barren-mute" (you know the rest of that sweet +commination-service)—one creed, of all the White creeds to-day, +deliberately introduces the white woman taken from centuries of +training, which have taught her that it is right to control the +undivided heart of one man. To quench her most natural rebellion, that +amazing creed and fantastic jumble of Mahometanism, the Mosaical law, +and imperfectly comprehended fragments of Freemasonry, calls to its aid +all the powers of a hell conceived and elaborated by coarse-minded +hedgers and ditchers. A sweet view, isn't it?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1112" id="Page_1112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the beauty of the valley could not make me forget it. But the valley +is very fair. Bench after bench of land, flat as a table against the +flanks of the ringing hills, marks where the Salt Lake rested for a +while as it sunk from an inland sea to a lake fifty miles long and +thirty broad. Before long the benches will be covered with houses. At +present these are hidden among the green trees on the dead flat of the +valley. You have read a hundred times how the streets of Salt Lake City +are very broad, furnished with rows of shade trees and gutters of fresh +water. This is true, but I struck the town in a season of great +drouth—that same drouth which is playing havoc with the herds of +Montana. The trees were limp, and the rills of sparkling water that one +reads about were represented by dusty, paved courses. Main Street +appears to be inhabited by the commercial Gentile, who has made of it a +busy, bustling thoroughfare, and, in the eye of the sun, swigs the +ungodly lager and smokes the improper cigar all day long. For which I +like him. At the head of Main Street stand the lions of the place; the +Temple and the Tabernacle, the Tithing House, and the houses of Brigham +Young, whose portrait is on sale in most of the booksellers' shops. +Incidentally it may be mentioned that the late Amir of Utah does not +unremotely resemble His Highness the Amir of Afghanistan, whom these +fortunate eyes have seen. And I have no desire to fall into the hands of +the Amir. The first thing to be seen was, of course, the Temple, the +outward exponent of a creed. Armed with a copy of the Book of Mormon, +for better comprehension, I went to form rash opinions. Some day the +Temple will be finished. It was begun only thirty years<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1113" id="Page_1113">[Pg 113]</a></span> ago, and up to +date rather more than three million dollars and a half have been +expended in its granite bulk. The walls are ten feet thick; the edifice +itself is about a hundred feet high; and its towers will be nearly two +hundred. And that is all there is of it, unless you choose to inspect +more closely; always reading the Book of Mormon as you walk. Then the +wondrous puerility, of what I suppose we must call the design, becomes +apparent. These men, directly inspired from on High, heaped stone on +stone and pillar on pillar, without achieving either dignity, relief, or +interest. There is, over the main door, some pitiful scratching in stone +representing the all-seeing eye, the Masonic Grip, the sun, moon, and +stars, and, perhaps, other skittles. The flatness and meanness of the +thing almost makes you weep when you look at the magnificent granite in +blocks strewn abroad, and think of the art that three million dollars +might have called in to the aid of the church. It is as though a child +had said: "Let us draw a great, big, fine house—finer than any house +that ever was,"—and in that desire had laboriously smudged along with a +ruler and pencil, piling meaningless straight lines on compass-drawn +curves, with his tongue following every movement of the inept hand. Then +sat I down on a wheelbarrow and read the Book of Mormon, and behold the +spirit of the book was the spirit of the stone before me. The estimable +Joseph and Hyrum Smith struggling to create a new Bible, when they knew +nothing of the history of Old and New Testament, and the inspired +architect muddling with his bricks—they were brothers. But the book was +more interesting than the building. It is written, and all the world has +read, how to Joseph Smith an angel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1114" id="Page_1114">[Pg 114]</a></span> came down from Heaven with a pair of +celestial gig-lamps, whereby he was marvellously enabled to interpret +certain plates of gold scribbled over with dots and scratches, and +discovered by him in the ground. Which plates Joseph Smith did +translate—only he spelt the mysterious characters "caractors"—and out +of the dots and scratches produced a volume of six hundred closely +printed pages, containing the books of Nephi, first and second, Jacob, +Enos, Jarom, Omni, Mormon, Mosiah, the Record of Zeniff, the book of +Alma Helaman, the third of Nephi, the book of Ether (the whole thing is +a powerful anæsthetic, by the way), and the final book of <ins title="May be Moroni.">Mononi</ins>. Three +men, of whom one I believe is now living, bear solemn witness that the +angel with the spectacles appeared unto them; eight other men swear +solemnly that they have seen the golden plates of the revelation; and +upon this testimony the book of Mormon stands. The Mormon Bible begins +at the days of Zedekiah, King of Judah, and ends in a wild and weltering +quagmire of tribal fights, bits of revelation, and wholesale cribs from +the Bible. Very sincerely did I sympathise with the inspired brothers as +I waded through their joint production. As a humble fellow-worker in the +field of fiction, I knew what it was to get good names for one's +characters. But Joseph and Hyrum were harder bestead than ever I have +been; and bolder men to boot. They created Teancum and Coriantumy, +Pakhoran, Kishkumen, and Gadianton, and other priceless names which the +memory does not hold; but of geography they wisely steered clear, and +were astutely vague as to the localities of places, because you see they +were by no means certain what lay in the next county<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1115" id="Page_1115">[Pg 115]</a></span> to their own. They +marched and countermarched bloodthirsty armies across their pages; and +added new and amazing chapters to the records of the New Testament, and +reorganised the heavens and the earth as it is always lawful to do in +print. But they could not achieve style, and it was foolish of them to +let into their weird Mosaic pieces of the genuine Bible whenever the +labouring pen dropped from its toilsome parody to a sentence or two of +vile, bad English or downright "penny dreadfulism." "And Moses said unto +the people of Israel: 'Great Scott! what air you doing?'" There is no +sentence in the Book of Mormon word for word like the foregoing; but the +general tone is not widely different.</p> + +<p>There are the makings of a very fine creed about Mormonism. To begin +with, the Church is rather more absolute than that of Rome. Drop the +polygamy plank in the platform, but on the other hand deal lightly with +certain forms of excess. Keep the quality of the recruits down to a low +mental level and see that the best of the agricultural science available +is in the hands of the Elders, and you have there a first-class engine +for pioneer work. The tawdry mysticism and the borrowings from +Freemasonry serve the low-caste Swede and the Dane, the Welshman and the +Cornish cottar, just as well as a highly organised Heaven.</p> + +<p>I went about the streets and peeped into people's front windows, and the +decorations upon the tables were after the manner of the year 1850. Main +Street was full of country folk from the outside come in to trade with +the Zion Mercantile Co-operative Institute. The Church, I fancy, looks +after the finances of this thing, and it consequently pays good +dividends. The faces of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1116" id="Page_1116">[Pg 116]</a></span> the women were not lovely. Indeed, but for the +certainty that ugly persons are just as irrational in the matter of +undivided love as the beautiful, it seemed that polygamy was a blessed +institution for the women, and that only the spiritual power could drive +the hulking, board-faced men into it. The women wore hideous garments, +and the men seemed to be tied up with string. They would market all that +afternoon, and on Sunday go to the praying-place. I tried to talk to a +few of them, but they spoke strange tongues and stared and behaved like +cows. Yet one woman, and not an altogether ugly one, confided to me that +she hated the idea of Salt Lake City being turned into a show-place for +the amusement of the Gentile.</p> + +<p>"If we 'ave our own institutions, that ain't no reason why people should +come 'ere and stare at us, his it?"</p> + +<p>The dropped "h" betrayed her.</p> + +<p>"And when did you leave England?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Summer of '84. I am from Dorset," she said. "The Mormon agents was very +good to us, and we was very poor. Now we're better off—my father an' +mother an' me."</p> + +<p>"Then you like the State?"</p> + +<p>She misunderstood at first. "Oh, I ain't livin' in the state of +polygamy. Not me yet. I ain't married. I like where I am. I've got +things o' my own—and some land."</p> + +<p>"But I suppose you will—"</p> + +<p>"Not me. I ain't like them Swedes an' Danes. I ain't got nothin' to say +for or against polygamy. It's the Elders' business, an' between you an' +me I don't think it's going on much longer. You'll 'ear them in the +'ouse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1117" id="Page_1117">[Pg 117]</a></span> to-morrer talkin' as if it was spreadin' all over America. The +Swedes they think it <i>his</i>. I know it hisn't."</p> + +<p>"But you've got your land all right."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, we've got our land an' we never say aught against polygamy o' +course—father an' mother an' me."</p> + +<p>It strikes me that there is a fraud somewhere. You've never heard of the +rice-Christians, have you?</p> + +<p>I should have liked to have spoken to the maiden at length, but she +dived into the Zion Co-op. and a man captured me, saying that it was my +bounden duty to see the sights of Salt Lake. These comprised the +egg-shaped Tabernacle, the Beehive, and town houses of Brigham Young; +the same great ruffian's tomb with assorted samples of his wives +sleeping round him (just as the eleven faithful ones sleep round the +ashes of Runjit Singh outside Fort Lahore), and one or two other +curiosities. But all these things have been described by abler pens than +mine. The animal-houses where Brigham used to pack his wives are grubby +villas; the Tabernacle is a shingled fraud, and the Tithing House where +all the revenue returns seem to be made, much resembles a stable. The +Mormons have a paper currency of their own—ecclesiastical bank-notes +which are exchanged for local produce. But the little boys of the place +prefer the bullion of the Gentiles. It is not pleasant to be taken round +a township with your guide stopping before every third house to say: +"That's where Elder so and so kept Amelia Bathershins, his fifth +wife—no, his third. Amelia she was took on after Keziah, but Keziah was +the Elder's pet, an' he didn't dare to let Amelia come across Keziah for +fear of her spilin' Keziah's beauty." The Mussulmans are quite right.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1118" id="Page_1118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>The minute that all the domestic details of polygamy are discussed in +the mouths of the people, that institution is ready to fall. I shook off +my guide when he had told me his very last doubtful tale, and went on +alone. An ordered peace and a perfection of quiet luxury is the note of +the city of Salt Lake. The houses stand in generous and well-groomed +grass-plots, none very much worse or better than their neighbours. +Creepers grow over the house fronts, and there is a very pleasant music +of wind among the trees in the vast empty streets bringing a smell of +hay and the flowers of summer.</p> + +<p>On a tableland overlooking all the city stands the United States +garrison of infantry and artillery. The State of Utah can do nearly +anything it pleases until that much-to-be-desired hour when the Gentile +vote shall quietly swamp out Mormonism; but the garrison is kept there +in case of accidents. The big, shark-mouthed, pig-eared, heavy-boned +farmers sometimes take to their creed with wildest fanaticism, and in +past years have made life excessively unpleasant for the Gentile when he +was few in the land. But to-day, so far from killing openly or secretly, +or burning Gentile farms, it is all the Mormon dares do to feebly try to +boycott the interloper. His journals preach defiance to the United +States Government, and in the Tabernacle of a Sunday the preachers +follow suit. When I went down there the place was full of people who +would have been much better for a washing. A man rose up and told them +that they were the chosen of God, the elect of Israel, that they were to +obey their priest, and that there was a good time coming. I fancy that +they had heard all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1119" id="Page_1119">[Pg 119]</a></span> this before so many times it produced no impression +whatever; even as the sublimest mysteries of another Faith lost salt +through constant iteration. They breathed heavily through their noses +and stared straight in front of them—impassive as flatfish.</p> + +<p>And that evening I went up to the garrison post—one of the most coveted +of all the army commands—and overlooked the City of the Saints as it +lay in the circle of its forbidding hills. You can speculate a good deal +about the mass of human misery, the loves frustrated, the gentle hearts +broken, and the strong souls twisted from the law of life to a fiercer +following of the law of death, that the hills have seen. How must it +have been in the old days when the footsore emigrants broke through into +the circle and knew that they were cut off from hope of return or sight +of friends—were handed over to the power of the friends that called +themselves priests of the Most High? "But for the grace of God there +goes Richard Baxter," as the eminent divine once said. It seemed good +that fate did not order me to be a brick in the up-building of the +Mormon church, that has so aptly established herself by the borders of a +lake bitter, salt, and hopeless.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1120" id="Page_1120">[Pg 120]</a></span><a name="No_XXXIII" id="No_XXXIII"></a>No. XXXIII</h2> + +<p>HOW I MET CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE BETWEEN SALT LAKE AND OMAHA.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Much have I seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cities and men."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Let there be no misunderstanding about the matter. I love this People, +and if any contemptuous criticism has to be done, I will do it myself. +My heart has gone out to them beyond all other peoples; and for the life +of me I cannot tell why. They are bleeding-raw at the edges, almost more +conceited than the English, vulgar with a massive vulgarity which is as +though the Pyramids were coated with Christmas-cake sugar-works. +Cocksure they are, lawless and as casual as they are cocksure; but I +love them, and I realised it when I met an Englishman who laughed at +them. He proved conclusively that they were all wrong, from their tariff +to their go-as-you-please Civil Service, and beneath the consideration +of a true Briton.</p> + +<p>"I admit everything," said I. "Their Government's provisional; their +law's the notion of the moment; their railways are made of hair-pins and +match-sticks, and most of their good luck lives in their woods and mines +and rivers and not in their brains; but for all that, they be the +biggest, finest, and best people on the surface of the globe! Just you +wait a hundred years and see how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1121" id="Page_1121">[Pg 121]</a></span> they'll behave when they've had the +screw put on them and have forgotten a few of the patriarchal teachings +of the late Mister George Washington. Wait till the +Anglo-American-German-Jew—the Man of the Future—is properly equipped. +He'll have just the least little kink in his hair now and again; he'll +carry the English lungs above the Teuton feet that can walk for ever; +and he will wave long, thin, bony Yankee hands with the big blue veins +on the wrist, from one end of the earth to the other. He'll be the +finest writer, poet, and dramatist, 'specially dramatist, that the world +as it recollects itself has ever seen. By virtue of his Jew blood—just +a little, little drop—he'll be a musician and a painter too. At present +there is too much balcony and too little Romeo in the life-plays of his +fellow-citizens. Later on, when the proportion is adjusted and he sees +the possibilities of his land, he will produce things that will make the +effete East stare. He will also be a complex and highly composite +administrator. There is nothing known to man that he will not be, and +his country will sway the world with one foot as a man tilts a see-saw +plank!"</p> + +<p>"But this is worse than the Eagle at its worst. Do you seriously believe +all that?" said the Englishman.</p> + +<p>"If I believe anything seriously, all this I most firmly believe. You +wait and see. Sixty million people, chiefly of English instincts, who +are trained from youth to believe that nothing is impossible, don't +slink through the centuries like Russian peasantry. They are bound to +leave their mark somewhere, and don't you forget it."</p> + +<p>But isn't it sad to think that with all Eternity behind and before us we +cannot, even though we would pay for it with sorrow, filch from the +Immensities one hundred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1122" id="Page_1122">[Pg 122]</a></span> poor years of life, wherein to watch the two +Great Experiments? A hundred years hence India and America will be worth +observing. At present the one is burned out and the other is only just +stoking up. When I left my opponent there was much need for faith, +because I fell into the hands of a perfectly delightful man whom I had +met casually in the street, sitting in a chair on the pavement, smoking +a huge cigar. He was a commercial traveller, and his beat lay through +Southern Mexico, and he told me tales, of forgotten cities, stone gods +up to their sacred eyes in forest growth, Mexican priests, rebellions, +and dictatorships, that made my hair curl. It was he who dragged me +forth to bathe in Salt Lake, which is some fifteen miles away from the +city, and reachable by many trains which are but open tram-cars. The +track, like all American tracks, was terrifying in its roughness; and +the end of the journey disclosed the nakedness of the accommodation. +There were piers and band houses and refreshment stalls built over the +solid grey levels of the lake, but they only accentuated the utter +barrenness of the place. Americans don't mix with their scenery as yet.</p> + +<p>And "Have faith," said the commercial traveller as he walked into water +heavy as quicksilver. "Walk!" I walked, and I walked till my legs flew +up and I had to walk as one struggling with a high wind, but still I +rode head and shoulders above the water. It was a horrible feeling, this +inability to sink. Swimming was not much use. You couldn't get a grip of +the water, so I e'en sat me down and drifted like a luxurious anemone +among the hundreds that were bathing in that place. You could wallow for +three-quarters of an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1123" id="Page_1123">[Pg 123]</a></span> hour in that warm, sticky brine and fear no evil +consequences; but when you came out you were coated with white salt from +top to toe. And if you accidentally swallowed a mouthful of the water, +you died. This is true, because I swallowed half a mouthful and was +half-dead in consequence.</p> + +<p>The commercial traveller on our return journey across the level flats +that fringe the lake's edge bade me note some of the customs of his +people. The great open railway car held about a hundred men and maidens, +"coming up with a song from the sea." They sang and they shouted and +they exchanged witticisms of the most poignant, and comported themselves +like their brothers and sisters over the seas—the 'Arries and 'Arriets +of the older world. And there sat behind me two modest maidens in white, +alone and unattended. To these the privileged youth of the car—a youth +of a marvellous range of voice—proffered undying affection. They +laughed, but made no reply in words. The suit was renewed, and with +extravagant imagery; the nearest seats applauding. When we arrived at +the city the maidens turned and went their way up a dark tree-shaded +street, and the boys elsewhere. Whereat, recollecting what the London +rough was like, I marvelled that they did not pursue. "It's all right," +said the commercial traveller. "If they had followed—well, I guess some +one would ha' shot 'em." The very next day on those very peaceful cars +returning from the Lake some one was shot—dead. He was what they call a +"sport," which is American for a finished "leg," and he had an argument +with a police officer, and the latter slew him. I saw his funeral go +down the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1124" id="Page_1124">[Pg 124]</a></span> main street. There were nearly thirty carriages, filled with +doubtful men, and women not in the least doubtful, and the local papers +said that deceased had his merits, but it didn't much matter, because if +the Sheriff hadn't dropped him he would assuredly have dropped the +Sheriff. Somehow this jarred on my sensitive feelings, and I went away, +though the commercial traveller would fain have entertained me in his +own house, he knowing not my name. Twice through the long hot nights we +talked, tilting up our chairs on the sidewalk, of the future of America.</p> + +<p>You should hear the Saga of the States reeled off by a young and +enthusiastic citizen who had just carved out for himself a home, filled +it with a pretty little wife, and is preparing to embark on commerce on +his own account. I was tempted to believe that pistol-shots were +regrettable accidents and lawlessness only the top scum on the great sea +of humanity. I am tempted to believe that still, though baked and dusty +Utah is very many miles behind me.</p> + +<p>Then chance threw me into the arms of another and very different +commercial traveller, as we pulled out of Utah on our way to Omaha <i>via</i> +the Rockies. He travelled in biscuits, of which more anon, and Fate had +smitten him very heavily, having at one stroke knocked all the beauty +and joy out of his poor life. So he journeyed with a case of samples as +one dazed, and his eyes took no pleasure in anything that he saw. In his +despair he had withdrawn himself to his religion,—he was a +Baptist,—and spoke of its consolation with the artless freedom that an +American generally exhibits when he is talking about his most sacred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1125" id="Page_1125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +private affairs. There was a desert beyond Utah, hot and barren as Mian +Mir in May. The sun baked the car-roof, and the dust caked the windows, +and through the dust and the glare the man with the biscuits bore +witness to his creed, which seems to include one of the greatest +miracles in the world—the immediate unforeseen, self-conscious +redemption of the soul by means very similar to those which turned Paul +to the straight path.</p> + +<p>"You must experi<i>ence</i> religion," he repeated, his mouth twitching and +his eyes black-ringed with his recent loss. "You must experi<i>ence</i> +religion. You can't tell when you're goin' to get, or haow; but it will +come—it will come, Sir, like a lightning stroke, an' you will wrestle +with yourself before you receive full conviction and assurance."</p> + +<p>"How long does that take?" I asked reverently.</p> + +<p>"It may take hours. It may take days. I knew a man in San Jo who lay +under conviction for a month an' then he got the sperrit—as you <i>must</i> +git it."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"And then you are saved. You feel that, an' you kin endure anything," he +sighed. "Yes, anything. I don't care what it is, though I allow that +some things are harder than others."</p> + +<p>"Then you have to wait for the miracle to be worked by powers outside +yourself. And if the miracle doesn't work?"</p> + +<p>"But it <i>must</i>. I tell you it must. It comes to all who profess with +faith."</p> + +<p>I learned a good deal about that creed as the train fled on; and I +wondered as I learned. It was a strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1126" id="Page_1126">[Pg 126]</a></span> thing to watch that poor human +soul, broken and bowed by its loss, nerving itself against each new pang +of pain with the iterated assurance that it was safe against the pains +of Hell.</p> + +<p>The heat was stifling. We quitted the desert and launched into the +rolling green plains of Colorado. Dozing uneasily with every removable +rag removed, I was roused by a blast of intense cold and the drumming of +a hundred drums. The train had stopped. Far as the eye could range the +land was white under two feet of hail—each hailstone as big as the top +of a sherry-glass. I saw a young colt by the side of the track standing +with his poor little fluffy back to the pitiless pelting. He was pounded +to death. An old horse met his doom on the run. He galloped wildly +towards the train, but his hind legs dropped into a hole half water and +half ice. He beat the ground with his fore-feet for a minute and then +rolling over on his side submitted quietly to be killed.</p> + +<p>When the storm ceased, we picked our way cautiously and crippledly over +a track that might give way at any moment. The Western driver urges his +train much as does the Subaltern the bounding pony, and 'twould seem +with an equal sense of responsibility. If a foot does go wrong, why +there you are, don't you know, and if it is all right, why all right it +is, don't you know. But I would sooner be on the pony than the train.</p> + +<p>This seems a good place wherein to preach on American versatility. When +Mr. Howells writes a novel, when a reckless hero dams a flood by heaving +a dynamite-shattered mountain into it, or when a notoriety-hunting +preacher marries a couple in a balloon, you shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1127" id="Page_1127">[Pg 127]</a></span> hear the great +American press rise on its hind legs and walk round mouthing over the +versatility of the American citizen. And he is versatile—horribly so. +The unlimited exercise of the right of private judgment (which, by the +way, is a weapon not one man in ten is competent to handle), his blatant +cocksureness, and the dry-air-bred restlessness that makes him crawl all +over the furniture when he is talking to you, conspire to make him +versatile. But what he calls versatility the impartial bystander of +Anglo-Indian extraction is apt to deem mere casualness, and dangerous +casualness at that. No man can grasp the inwardness of an employ by the +light of pure reason—even though that reason be republican. He must +serve an apprenticeship to one craft and learn that craft all the days +of his life if he wishes to excel therein. Otherwise he merely "puts the +thing through somehow;" and occasionally he doesn't. But wherein lies +the beauty of this form of mental suppleness? Old man California, whom I +shall love and respect always, told me one or two anecdotes about +American versatility and its consequences that came back to my mind with +direful force as the train progressed. We didn't upset, but I don't +think that that was the fault of the driver or the men who made the +track. Take up—you can easily find them—the accounts of ten +consecutive railway catastrophes—not little accidents, but first-class +fatalities, when the long cars turn over, take fire, and roast the +luckless occupants alive. To seven out of the ten you shall find +appended the cheerful statement: "The accident is supposed to have been +due to the rails spreading." That means the metals were spiked down to +the ties with such versatility that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1128" id="Page_1128">[Pg 128]</a></span> spikes or the tracks drew under +the constant vibration of the traffic, and the metals opened out. No one +is hanged for these little affairs.</p> + +<p>We began to climb hills, and then we stopped—at night in darkness, +while men threw sand under the wheels and crowbarred the track and then +"guessed" that we might proceed. Not being in the least anxious to face +my Maker half asleep and rubbing my eyes, I went forward to a common +car, and was rewarded by two hours' conversation with the stranded, +broken-down, husband-abandoned actress of a fourth-rate, stranded, +broken-down, manager-bereft company. She was muzzy with beer, reduced to +her last dollar, fearful that there would be no one to meet her at +Omaha, and wept at intervals because she had given the conductor a +five-dollar bill to change, and he hadn't come back. He was an Irishman, +so I knew he couldn't steal, and I addressed myself to the task of +consolation. I was rewarded, after a decent interval, by the history of +a life so wild, so mixed, so desperately improbable, and yet so simply +probable, and above all so quick—not fast—in its kaleidoscopic changes +that the <i>Pioneer</i> would reject any summary of it. And so you will never +know how she, the beery woman with the tangled blond hair, was once a +girl on a farm in far-off New Jersey. How he, a travelling actor, had +wooed and won her,—"but Paw he was always set against Alf,"—and how he +and she embarked all their little capital on the word of a faithless +manager who disbanded his company a hundred miles from nowhere, and how +she and Alf and a third person who had not yet made any noise in the +world, had to walk the railway-track and beg from the farm-houses; how +that third person arrived and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1129" id="Page_1129">[Pg 129]</a></span> went away again with a wail, and how Alf +took to the whisky and other things still more calculated to make a wife +unhappy; and how after barn-stormings, insults, shooting-scrapes, and +pitiful collapses of poor companies she had once won an encore. It was +not a cheerful tale to listen to. There was a real actress in the +Pullman,—such an one as travels sumptuously with a maid and +dressing-case,—and my draggle-tail thought of appealing to her for +help, but broke down after several attempts to walk into the car +jauntily as befitted a sister in the profession. Then the conductor +reappeared,—the five-dollar bill honestly changed,—and she wept by +reason of beer and gratitude together, and then fell asleep waveringly, +alone in the car, and became almost beautiful and quite kissable; while +the Man with the Sorrow stood at the door between actress and actress +and preached grim sermons on the certain end of each if they did not +mend their ways and find regeneration through the miracle of the Baptist +creed. Yes, we were a queer company going up to the Rockies together. I +was the luckiest, because when a breakdown occurred, and we were delayed +for twelve hours, I ate all the Baptist's sample-biscuits. They were +various in composition, but nourishing. Always travel with a "drummer."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1130" id="Page_1130">[Pg 130]</a></span><a name="No_XXXIV" id="No_XXXIV"></a>No. XXXIV</h2> + +<p>ACROSS THE GREAT DIVIDE; AND HOW THE MAN GRING SHOWED ME THE GARMENTS OF +THE ELLEWOMEN.</p> + + +<p>After much dallying and more climbing we came to a pass like all the +Bolan Passes in the world, and the Black Cañon of the Gunnison called +they it. We had been climbing for very many hours, and attained a modest +elevation of some seven or eight thousand feet above the sea, when we +entered a gorge, remote from the sun, where the rocks were two thousand +feet sheer, and where a rock-splintered river roared and howled ten feet +below a track which seemed to have been built on the simple principle of +dropping miscellaneous dirt into the river and pinning a few rails +a-top. There was a glory and a wonder and a mystery about that mad ride +which I felt keenly (you will find it properly dressed up in the +guide-books), until I had to offer prayers for the safety of the train. +There was no hope of seeing the track two hundred yards ahead. We seemed +to be running into the bowels of the earth at the invitation of an +irresponsible stream. Then the solid rock would open and disclose a +curve of awful twistfulness. Then the driver put on all steam, and we +would go round that curve on one wheel chiefly, the Gunnison River +gnashing its teeth below. The cars overhung the edge of the water, and +if a single one of the rails had chosen to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1131" id="Page_1131">[Pg 131]</a></span> spread, nothing in the wide +world could have saved us from drowning. I knew we should damage +something in the end—the sombre horrors of the gorge, the rush of the +jade-green water below, and the cheerful tales told by the conductor +made me certain of the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>We had just cleared the Black Cañon and another gorge, and were sailing +out into open country nine thousand feet above the level of the sea, +when we came most suddenly round a corner upon a causeway across a waste +water—half dam and half quarry-pool. The locomotive gave one wild "Hoo! +Hoo! Hoo!" but it was too late. He was a beautiful bull, and goodness +only knows why he had chosen the track for a constitutional with his +wife. <i>She</i> was flung to the left, but the cow-catcher caught <i>him</i>, and +turning him round, heaved him shoulder deep into the pool. The +expression of blank, blind bewilderment on his bovine, jovine face was +wonderful to behold. He was not angry. I don't think he was even scared, +though he must have flown ten yards through the air. All he wanted to +know was: "Will somebody have the goodness to tell a respectable old +gentleman what in the world, or out of it, has occurred?" And five +minutes later the stream that had been snapping at our heels in the +gorges split itself into a dozen silver threads on a breezy upland, and +became an innocent trout beck, and we halted at a half-dead city, the +name of which does not remain with me. It had originally been built on +the crest of a wave of prosperity. Once ten thousand people had walked +its street; but the boom had collapsed. The great brick houses and the +factories were empty. The population lived in little timber shanties on +the fringes of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1132" id="Page_1132">[Pg 132]</a></span> deserted town. There were some railway workshops and +things, and the hotel (whose pavement formed the platform of the +railway) contained one hundred and more rooms—empty. The place, in its +half-inhabitedness, was more desolate than Amber or Chitor. But a man +said: "Trout—six pounds—two miles away," and the Sorrowful Man and +myself went in search of 'em. The town was ringed by a circle of hills +all alive with little thunder-storms that broke across the soft green of +the plain in wisps and washes of smoke and amber.</p> + +<p>To our tiny party associated himself a lawyer from Chicago. We +foregathered on the question of flies, but I didn't expect to meet +Elijah Pogram in the flesh. He delivered orations on the future of +England and America, and of the Great Federation that the years will +bring forth when America and England will belt the globe with their +linked hands. According to the notions of the British, he made an ass of +himself, but for all his high-falutin he talked sense. I might knock +through England on a four months' tour and not find a man capable of +putting into words the passionate patriotism that possessed the little +Chicago lawyer. And he was a man with points, for he offered me three +days' shooting in Illinois, if I would step out of my path a little. I +might travel for ten years up and down England ere I found a man who +would give a complete stranger so much as a sandwich, and for twenty ere +I squeezed as much enthusiasm out of a Britisher. He and I talked +politics and trout-flies all one sultry day as we wandered up and down +the shallows of the stream aforesaid. Little fish are sweet. I spent two +hours whipping a ripple for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1133" id="Page_1133">[Pg 133]</a></span> fish that I knew was there, and in the +pasture-scented dusk caught a three-pounder on a ragged old brown hackle +and landed him after ten minutes' excited argument. He was a beauty. If +ever any man works the Western trout-streams, he would do well to bring +out with him the dingiest flies he possesses. The natives laugh at the +tiny English hooks, but they hold, and duns and drabs and sober greys +seem to tickle the æsthetic tastes of the trout. For salmon (but don't +say that I told you) use the spoon—gold on one side, silver on the +other. It is as killing as is a similar article with fish of another +calibre. The natives seem to use much too coarse tackle.</p> + +<p>It was a search for a small boy who should know the river that revealed +to me a new phase of life—slack, slovenly, and shiftless, but very +interesting. There was a family in a packing-case hut on the outskirts +of the town. They had seen the city when it was on the boom and made +pretence of being the metropolis of the Rockies; and when the boom was +over, they did not go. She was affable, but deeply coated with dirt; he +was grim and grimy, and the little children were simply caked with filth +of various descriptions. But they lived in a certain sort of squalid +luxury, six or eight of them in two rooms; and they enjoyed the local +society. It was their eight-year-old son whom I tried to take out with +me, but he had been catching trout all his life and "guessed he didn't +feel like coming," though I proffered him six shillings for what ought +to have been a day's pleasuring. "I'll stay with Maw," he said, and from +that attitude I could not move him. Maw didn't attempt to argue with +him. "If he says he won't come, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1134" id="Page_1134">[Pg 134]</a></span> won't," she said, as though he were +one of the elemental forces of nature instead of a spankable brat; and +"Paw," lounging by the store, refused to interfere. Maw told me that she +had been a school-teacher in her not-so-distant youth, but did not tell +me what I was dying to know—how she arrived at this mucky tenement at +the back of beyond, and why. Though preserving the prettinesses of her +New England speech, she had come to regard washing as a luxury. Paw +chewed tobacco and spat from time to time. Yet, when he opened his mouth +for other purposes, he spoke like a well-educated man. There was a story +there, but I couldn't get at it.</p> + +<p>Next day the Man with the Sorrow and myself and a few others began the +real ascent of the Rockies; up to that time our climbing didn't count. +The train ran violently up a steep place and was taken to pieces. Five +cars were hitched on to two locomotives, and two cars to one locomotive. +This seemed to be a kind and thoughtful act, but I was idiot enough to +go forward and watch the coupling-on of the two rear cars in which Cæsar +and his fortunes were to travel. Some one had lost or eaten the +regularly ordained coupling, and a man picked up from the tailboard of +the engine a single iron link about as thick as a fetter-link +watch-chain, and "guessed it would do." Get hauled up a Simla cliff by +the hook of a lady's parasol if you wish to appreciate my sentiments +when the cars moved uphill and the link drew tight. Miles away and two +thousand feet above our heads rose the shoulder of a hill epauletted +with the long line of a snow-tunnel. The first section of the cars +crawled a quarter of a mile ahead of us, the track snaked and looped +behind, and there was a black drop to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1135" id="Page_1135">[Pg 135]</a></span> left. So we went up and up +and up till the thin air grew thinner and the <i>chunk-chunk-chunk</i>, of +the labouring locomotive was answered by the oppressed beating of the +exhausted heart. Through the chequed light and shade of the snow tunnels +(horrible caverns of rude timbering) we ground our way, halting now and +again to allow a down-train to pass. One monster of forty mineral-cars +slid past, scarce held by four locomotives, their brakes screaming and +chortling in chorus; and in the end, after a glimpse at half America +spread mapwise leagues below us, we halted at the head of the longest +snow tunnel of all, on the crest of the divide, between ten and eleven +thousand feet above the level of the sea. The locomotive wished to draw +breath, and the passengers to gather the flowers that nodded +impertinently through the chinks of the boarding. A lady passenger's +nose began to bleed, and other ladies threw themselves down on the seats +and gasped with the gasping train, while a wind as keen as a knife-edge +rioted down the grimy tunnel.</p> + +<p>Then, despatching a pilot-engine to clear the way, we began the downward +portion of the journey with every available brake on, and frequent +shrieks, till after some hours we reached the level plain, and later the +city of Denver, where the Man with the Sorrow went his way and left me +to journey on to Omaha alone, after one hasty glance at Denver. The +pulse of that town was too like the rushing mighty wind in the Rocky +Mountain tunnel. It made me tired because complete strangers desired me +to do something to mines which were in mountains, and to purchase +building blocks upon inaccessible cliffs; and once, a woman urged that I +should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1136" id="Page_1136">[Pg 136]</a></span> supply her with strong drinks. I had almost forgotten that such +attacks were possible in any land, for the outward and visible signs of +public morality in American towns are generally safe-guarded. For that I +respect this people. Omaha, Nebraska, was but a halting-place on the +road to Chicago, but it revealed to me horrors that I would not +willingly have missed. The city to casual investigation seemed to be +populated entirely by Germans, Poles, Slavs, Hungarians, Croats, +Magyars, and all the scum of the Eastern European States, but it must +have been laid out by Americans. No other people would cut the traffic +of a main street with two streams of railway lines, each some eight or +nine tracks wide, and cheerfully drive tram-cars across the metals. +Every now and again they have horrible railway-crossing accidents at +Omaha, but nobody seems to think of building an overhead-bridge. That +would interfere with the vested interests of the undertakers.</p> + +<p>Be blessed to hear some details of one of that class.</p> + +<p>There was a shop the like of which I had never seen before. Its windows +were filled with dress-coats for men, and dresses for women. But the +studs of the shirts were made of stamped cloth upon the shirt front, and +there were no trousers to those coats—nothing but a sweep of cheap +black cloth falling like an abbé's frock. In the doorway sat a young man +reading Pollock's <i>Course of Time</i>, and by that I knew that he was an +undertaker. His name was Gring, which is a beautiful name, and I talked +to him on the mysteries of his Craft. He was an enthusiast and an +artist. I told him how corpses were burnt in India. Said he: "We're +vastly superior. We hold—that is to say, embalm—our dead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1137" id="Page_1137">[Pg 137]</a></span> So!" +Whereupon he produced the horrible weapons of his trade, and most +practically showed me how you "held" a man back from that corruption +which is his birthright. "And I wish I could live a few generations just +to see how my people keep. But I'm sure it's all right. Nothing can +touch 'em after <i>I</i>'ve embalmed 'em." Then he displayed one of those +ghastly dress-suits, and when I laid a shuddering hand upon it, behold +it crumpled to nothing, for the white linen was sewn on to the black +cloth and—there was no back to it! That was the horror. The garment was +a shell. "We dress a man in that," said Gring, laying it out tastily on +the counter. "As you see here, our caskets have a plate-glass window in +front" (Oh me, but that window in the coffin was fitted with plush like +a brougham-window!), "and you don't see anything below the level of the +man's waistcoat. Consequently ..." He unrolled the terrible cheap black +cloth that falls down over the stark feet, and I jumped back. "Of course +a man can be dressed in his own clothes if he likes, but these are the +regular things: and for women look at this!" He took up the body of a +high-necked dinner-dress in subdued lilac, slashed and puffed and +bedeviled with black, but, like the dress-suit, backless, and below the +waist turning to shroud. "That's for an old maid. But for young girls we +give white with imitation pearls round the neck. That looks very pretty +through the window of the casket—you see there's a cushion for the +head—with flowers banked all round." Can you imagine anything more +awful than to take your last rest as much of a dead fraud as ever you +were a living lie—to go into the darkness one half of you shaved, +trimmed and dressed for an evening party, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1138" id="Page_1138">[Pg 138]</a></span> other half—the +half that your friends cannot see—is enwrapped in a flapping black +sheet?</p> + +<p>I know a little about burial customs in various places in the world, and +I tried hard to make Mr. Gring comprehend dimly the awful heathendom +that he was responsible for—the grotesquerie—the giggling horror of it +all. But he couldn't see it. Even when he showed me a little boy's last +suit, he couldn't see it. He said it was quite right to embalm and trick +out and hypocritically bedizen the poor innocent dead in their superior +cushioned and pillowed caskets with the window in front.</p> + +<p>Bury me cased in canvas like a fishing-rod, in the deep sea; burn me on +a back-water of the Hughli with damp wood and no oil; pin me under a +Pullman car and let the lighted stove do its worst; sizzle me with a +fallen electric wire or whelm me in the sludge of a broken river dam; +but may I never go down to the Pit grinning out of a plate-glass window, +in a backless dress-coat, and the front half of a black stuff +dressing-gown; not though I were "held" against the ravage of the grave +for ever and ever. Amen!</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1139" id="Page_1139">[Pg 139]</a></span><a name="No_XXXV" id="No_XXXV"></a>No. XXXV</h2> + +<p>HOW I STRUCK CHICAGO, AND HOW CHICAGO STRUCK ME. OF RELIGION, POLITICS, +AND PIG-STICKING, AND THE INCARNATION OF THE CITY AMONG SHAMBLES.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I know thy cunning and thy greed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy hard, high lust and wilful deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all thy glory loves to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of specious gifts material."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>I have struck a city,—a real city,—and they call it Chicago. The other +places do not count. San Francisco was a pleasure-resort as well as a +city, and Salt Lake was a phenomenon. This place is the first American +city I have encountered. It holds rather more than a million people with +bodies, and stands on the same sort of soil as Calcutta. Having seen it, +I urgently desire never to see it again. It is inhabited by savages. Its +water is the water of the Hugli, and its air is dirt. Also it says that +it is the "boss" town of America.</p> + +<p>I do not believe that it has anything to do with this country. They told +me to go to the Palmer House, which is a gilded and mirrored +rabbit-warren, and there I found a huge hall of tessellated marble, +crammed with people talking about money and spitting about everywhere. +Other barbarians charged in and out of this inferno with letters and +telegrams in their hands, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1140" id="Page_1140">[Pg 140]</a></span> yet others shouted at each other. A man +who had drunk quite as much as was good for him told me that this was +"the finest hotel in the finest city on God Almighty's earth." By the +way, when an American wishes to indicate the next county or State he +says, "God A'mighty's earth." This prevents discussion and flatters his +vanity.</p> + +<p>Then I went out into the streets, which are long and flat and without +end. And verily it is not a good thing to live in the East for any +length of time. Your ideas grow to clash with those held by every +right-thinking white man. I looked down interminable vistas flanked with +nine, ten, and fifteen storied houses, and crowded with men and women, +and the show impressed me with a great horror. Except in London—and I +have forgotten what London is like—I had never seen so many white +people together, and never such a collection of miserables. There was no +colour in the street and no beauty—only a maze of wire-ropes overhead +and dirty stone flagging underfoot. A cab-driver volunteered to show me +the glory of the town for so much an hour, and with him I wandered far. +He conceived that all this turmoil and squash was a thing to be +reverently admired; that it was good to huddle men together in fifteen +layers, one atop of the other, and to dig holes in the ground for +offices. He said that Chicago was a live town, and that all the +creatures hurrying by me were engaged in business. That is to say, they +were trying to make some money, that they might not die through lack of +food to put into their bellies. He took me to canals, black as ink, and +filled with untold abominations, and bade me watch the stream of traffic +across the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1141" id="Page_1141">[Pg 141]</a></span> bridges. He then took me into a saloon, and, while I drank, +made me note that the floor was covered with coins sunk into cement. A +Hottentot would not have been guilty of this sort of barbarism. The +coins made an effect pretty enough, but the man who put them there had +no thought to beauty, and therefore he was a savage. Then my cab-driver +showed me business-blocks, gay with signs and studded with fantastic and +absurd advertisements of goods, and looking down the long street so +adorned it was as though each vender stood at his door howling: "For the +sake of money, employ or buy of <i>me</i> and me only!" Have you ever seen a +crowd at our famine relief distributions? You know then how men leap +into the air, stretching out their arms above the crowd in the hope of +being seen; while the women dolorously slap the stomachs of their +children and whimper. I had sooner watch famine-relief than the white +man engaged in what he calls legitimate competition. The one I +understand. The other makes me ill. And the cabman said that these +things were the proof of progress; and by that I knew he had been +reading his newspaper, as every intelligent American should. The papers +tell their readers in language fitted to their comprehension that the +snarling together of telegraph wires, the heaving up of houses, and the +making of money is progress.</p> + +<p>I spent ten hours in that huge wilderness, wandering through scores of +miles of these terrible streets, and jostling some few hundred thousand +of these terrible people who talked money through their noses. The +cabman left me: but after a while I picked up another man who was full +of figures, and into my ears he poured them as occasion required or the +big blank factories suggested.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1142" id="Page_1142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Here they turned out so many hundred +thousand dollars' worth of such and such an article; there so many +million other things; this house was worth so many million dollars; that +one so many million more or less. It was like listening to a child +babbling of its hoard of shells. It was like watching a fool playing +with buttons. But I was expected to do more than listen or watch. He +demanded that I should admire; and the utmost that I could say was: "Are +these things so? Then I am very sorry for you." That made him angry, and +he said that insular envy made me unresponsive. So, you see, I could not +make him understand.</p> + +<p>About four and a half hours after Adam was turned out of the garden of +Eden he felt hungry, and so, bidding Eve take care that her head was not +broken by the descending fruit, shinned up a cocoanut palm. That hurt +his legs, cut his breast, and made him breathe heavily, and Eve was +tormented with fear lest her lord should miss his footing and so bring +the tragedy of this world to an end ere the curtain had fairly risen. +Had I met Adam then, I should have been sorry for him. To-day I find +eleven hundred thousand of his sons just as far advanced as their father +in the art of getting food, and immeasurably inferior to him in that +they think that their palm-trees lead straight to the skies. +Consequently I am sorry in rather more than a million different ways. In +our East bread comes naturally even to the poorest by a little +scratching or the gift of a friend not quite so poor. In less favoured +countries one is apt to forget. Then I went to bed. And that was on a +Saturday night.</p> + +<p>Sunday brought me the queerest experience of all—a revelation of +barbarism complete. I found a place that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1143" id="Page_1143">[Pg 143]</a></span> was officially described as a +church. It was a circus really, but that the worshippers did not know. +There were flowers all about the building, which was fitted up with +plush and stained oak and much luxury, including twisted brass +candlesticks of severest Gothic design. To these things, and a +congregation of savages, entered suddenly a wonderful man completely in +the confidence of their God, whom he treated colloquially and exploited +very much as a newspaper reporter would exploit a foreign potentate. +But, unlike the newspaper reporter, he never allowed his listeners to +forget that he and not He was the centre of attraction. With a voice of +silver and with imagery borrowed from the auction-room, he built up for +his hearers a heaven on the lines of the Palmer House (but with all the +gilding real gold and all the plate-glass diamond) and set in the centre +of it a loud-voiced, argumentative, and very shrewd creation that he +called God. One sentence at this point caught my delighted ear. It was +<i>apropos</i> of some question of the Judgment Day and ran: "No! I tell you +God doesn't do business that way." He was giving them a deity whom they +could comprehend, in a gold and jewel heaven in which they could take a +natural interest. He interlarded his performance with the slang of the +streets, the counter, and the Exchange, and he said that religion ought +to enter into daily life. Consequently I presume he introduced it <i>as</i> +daily life—his own and the life of his friends.</p> + +<p>Then I escaped before the blessing, desiring no benediction at such +hands. But the persons who listened seemed to enjoy themselves, and I +understood that I had met with a popular preacher. Later on when I had +perused the sermons of a gentleman called Talmage and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1144" id="Page_1144">[Pg 144]</a></span> some others, I +perceived that I had been listening to a very mild specimen. Yet that +man, with his brutal gold and silver idols, his hands-in-pocket, +cigar-in-mouth, and hat-on-the-back-of-the-head style of dealing with +the sacred vessels would count himself spiritually quite competent to +send a mission to convert the Indians. All that Sunday I listened to +people who said that the mere fact of spiking down strips of iron to +wood and getting a steam and iron thing to run along them was progress. +That the telephone was progress, and the network of wires overhead was +progress. They repeated their statements again and again. One of them +took me to their city hall and board of trade works and pointed it out +with pride. It was very ugly, but very big, and the streets in front of +it were narrow and unclean. When I saw the faces of the men who did +business in that building I felt that there had been a mistake in their +billeting.</p> + +<p>By the way, 'tis a consolation to feel that I am not writing to an +English audience. Then should I have to fall into feigned ecstasies over +the marvellous progress of Chicago since the days of the great fire, to +allude casually to the raising of the entire city so many feet above the +level of the lake which it faces, and generally to grovel before the +golden calf. But you, who are desperately poor, and therefore by these +standards of no account, know things, and will understand when I write +that they have managed to get a million of men together on flat land, +and that the bulk of these men appear to be lower than <i>mahajans</i> and +not so companionable as a punjabi <i>jat</i> after harvest. But I don't think +it was the blind hurry of the people, their argot, and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1145" id="Page_1145">[Pg 145]</a></span> grand +ignorance of things beyond their immediate interests that displeased me +so much as a study of the daily papers of Chicago. Imprimis, there was +some sort of dispute between New York and Chicago as to which town +should give an exhibition of products to be hereafter holden, and +through the medium of their more dignified journals the two cities were +ya-hooing and hi-yi-ing at each other like opposition newsboys. They +called it humour, but it sounded like something quite different. That +was only the first trouble. The second lay in the tone of the +productions. Leading articles which include gems such as: "Back of such +and such a place," or "We noticed, Tuesday, such an event," or "don't" +for "does not" are things to be accepted with thankfulness. All that +made me want to cry was that, in these papers, were faithfully +reproduced all the war-cries and "back-talk" of the Palmer House bar, +the slang of the barbers' shops, the mental elevation and integrity of +the Pullman-car porter, the dignity of the Dime Museum, and the accuracy +of the excited fishwife. I am sternly forbidden to believe that the +paper educates the public. Then I am compelled to believe that the +public educate the paper?</p> + +<p>Just when the sense of unreality and oppression were strongest upon me, +and when I most wanted help, a man sat at my side and began to talk what +he called politics. I had chanced to pay about six shillings for a +travelling-cap worth eighteen pence, and he made of the fact a text for +a sermon. He said that this was a rich country and that the people liked +to pay two hundred per cent on the value of a thing. They could afford +it. He said that the Government imposed a protective duty of from ten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1146" id="Page_1146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +to seventy per cent on foreign-made articles, and that the American +manufacturer consequently could sell his goods for a healthy sum. Thus +an imported hat would, with duty, cost two guineas. The American +manufacturer would make a hat for seventeen shillings and sell it for +one pound fifteen. In these things, he said, lay the greatness of +America and the effeteness of England. Competition between factory and +factory kept the prices down to decent limits, but I was never to forget +that this people were a rich people, not like the pauper Continentals, +and that they enjoyed paying duties. To my weak intellect this seemed +rather like juggling with counters. Everything that I have yet purchased +costs about twice as much as it would in England, and when native-made +is of inferior quality. Moreover, since these lines were first thought +of I have visited a gentleman who owned a factory which used to produce +things. He owned the factory still. Not a man was in it, but he was +drawing a handsome income from a syndicate of firms for keeping it +closed in order that it might not produce things. This man said that if +protection were abandoned, a tide of pauper labour would flood the +country, and as I looked at his factory I thought how entirely better it +was to have no labour of any kind whatever, rather than face so horrible +a future. Meantime, do you remember that this peculiar country enjoys +paying money for value not received. I am an alien, and for the life of +me cannot see why six shillings should be paid for eighteen-penny caps, +or eight shillings for half-crown cigar-cases. When the country fills up +to a decently populated level a few million people who are not aliens +will be smitten with the same sort of blindness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1147" id="Page_1147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>But my friend's assertion somehow thoroughly suited the grotesque +ferocity of Chicago. See now and judge! In the village of Isser Jang on +the road to Montgomery there be four <i>changar</i> women who winnow +corn—some seventy bushels a year. Beyond their hut lives Puran Dass, +the money-lender, who on good security lends as much as five thousand +rupees in a year. Jowala Singh, the <i>lohar</i>, mends the village +ploughs—some thirty, broken at the share, in three hundred and +sixty-five days; and Hukm Chund, who is letter-writer and head of the +little club under the travellers' tree, generally keeps the village +posted in such gossip as the barber and the midwife have not yet made +public property. Chicago husks and winnows her wheat by the million +bushels, a hundred banks lend hundreds of millions of dollars in the +year, and scores of factories turn out plough gear and machinery by +steam. Scores of daily papers do work which Hukm Chund and the barber +and the midwife perform, with due regard for public opinion, in the +village of Isser Jang. So far as manufactures go, the difference between +Chicago on the lake and Isser Jang on the Montgomery road is one of +degree only, and not of kind. As far as the understanding of the uses of +life goes Isser Jang, for all its seasonal cholera, has the advantage +over Chicago. Jowala Singh knows and takes care to avoid the three or +four ghoul-haunted fields on the outskirts of the village; but he is not +urged by millions of devils to run about all day in the sun and swear +that his ploughshares are the best in the Punjab; nor does Puran Dass +fly forth in a cart more than once or twice a year, and he knows, on a +pinch, how to use the railway and the telegraph as well as any son<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1148" id="Page_1148">[Pg 148]</a></span> of +Israel in Chicago. But this is absurd. The East is not the West, and +these men must continue to deal with the machinery of life, and to call +it progress. Their very preachers dare not rebuke them. They gloss over +the hunting for money and the twice-sharpened bitterness of Adam's curse +by saying that such things dower a man with a larger range of thoughts +and higher aspirations. They do not say: "Free yourself from your own +slavery," but rather, "If you can possibly manage it, do not set quite +so much store on the things of this world." And they do not know what +the things of this world are.</p> + +<p>I went off to see cattle killed by way of clearing my head, which, as +you will perceive, was getting muddled. They say every Englishman goes +to the Chicago stockyards. You shall find them about six miles from the +city; and once having seen them will never forget the sight. As far as +the eye can reach stretches a township of cattle-pens, cunningly divided +into blocks so that the animals of any pen can be speedily driven out +close to an inclined timber path which leads to an elevated covered way +straddling high above the pens. These viaducts are two-storied. On the +upper storey tramp the doomed cattle, stolidly for the most part. On the +lower, with a scuffling of sharp hooves and multitudinous yells, run the +pigs. The same end is appointed for each. Thus you will see the gangs of +cattle waiting their turn—as they wait sometimes for days; and they +need not be distressed by the sight of their fellows running about in +the fear of death. All they know is that a man on horseback causes their +next-door neighbours to move by means of a whip. Certain bars and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1149" id="Page_1149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +fences are unshipped, and, behold, that crowd have gone up the mouth of +a sloping tunnel and return no more. It is different with the pigs. They +shriek back the news of the exodus to their friends, and a hundred pens +skirl responsive. It was to the pigs I first addressed myself. Selecting +a viaduct which was full of them, as I could hear though I could not +see, I marked a sombre building whereto it ran, and went there, not +unalarmed by stray cattle who had managed to escape from their proper +quarters. A pleasant smell of brine warned me of what was coming. I +entered the factory and found it full of pork in barrels, and on another +storey more pork unbarrelled, and in a huge room, the halves of swine +for whose use great lumps of ice were being pitched in at the window. +That room was the mortuary chamber where the pigs lie for a little while +in state ere they begin their progress through such passages as kings +may sometimes travel. Turning a corner and not noting an overhead +arrangement of greased rail, wheel, and pulley, I ran into the arms of +four eviscerated carcasses, all pure white and of a human aspect, being +pushed by a man clad in vehement red. When I leaped aside, the floor was +slippery under me. There was a flavour of farmyard in my nostrils and +the shouting of a multitude in my ears. But there was no joy in that +shouting! Twelve men stood in two lines—six a-side. Between them and +overhead ran the railway of death that had nearly shunted me through the +window. Each man carried a knife, the sleeves of his shirt were cut off +at the elbows, and from bosom to heel he was blood-red. The atmosphere +was stifling as a night in the Rains, by reason of the steam and the +crowd. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1150" id="Page_1150">[Pg 150]</a></span> climbed to the beginning of things and, perched upon a narrow +beam, overlooked very nearly all the pigs ever bred in Wisconsin. They +had just been shot out of the mouth of the viaduct and huddled together +in a large pen. Thence they were flicked persuasively, a few at a time, +into a smaller chamber, and there a man fixed tackle on their hinder +legs so that they rose in the air suspended from the railway of death. +Oh! it was then they shrieked and called on their mothers and made +promises of amendment till the tackle-man punted them in their backs, +and they slid head down into a brick-floored passage, very like a big +kitchen sink that was blood-red. There awaited them a red man with a +knife which he passed jauntily through their throats, and the +full-voiced shriek became a sputter, and then a fall as of heavy +tropical rain. The red man who was backed against the passage wall stood +clear of the wildly kicking hoofs and passed his hand over his eyes, not +from any feeling of compassion, but because the spurted blood was in his +eyes, and he had barely time to stick the next arrival. Then that first +stuck swine dropped, still kicking, into a great vat of boiling water, +and spoke no more words, but wallowed in obedience to some unseen +machinery, and presently came forth at the lower end of the vat and was +heaved on the blades of a blunt paddle-wheel-thing which said, "Hough! +Hough! Hough!" and skelped all the hair off him except what little a +couple of men with knives could remove. Then he was again hitched by the +heels to that said railway and passed down the line of the twelve +men—each man with a knife—leaving with each man a certain amount of +his individuality<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1151" id="Page_1151">[Pg 151]</a></span> which was taken away in a wheel-barrow, and when he +reached the last man he was very beautiful to behold, but immensely +unstuffed and limp. Preponderance of individuality was ever a bar to +foreign travel. That pig could have been in no case to visit you in +India had he not parted with some of his most cherished notions.</p> + +<p>The dissecting part impressed me not so much as the slaying. They were +so excessively alive, these pigs. And then they were so excessively +dead, and the man in the dripping, clammy, hot passage did not seem to +care, and ere the blood of such an one had ceased to foam on the floor, +such another, and four friends with him, had shrieked and died. But a +pig is only the Unclean animal—forbidden by the Prophet.</p> + +<p>I was destined to make rather a queer discovery when I went over to the +cattle-slaughter. All the buildings here were on a much larger scale, +and there was no sound of trouble, but I could smell the salt reek of +blood before I set foot in the place. The cattle did not come directly +through the viaduct as the pigs had done. They debouched into a yard by +the hundred, and they were big red brutes carrying much flesh. In the +centre of that yard stood a red Texan steer with a headstall on his +wicked head. No man controlled him. He was, so to speak, picking his +teeth and whistling in an open byre of his own when the cattle arrived. +As soon as the first one had fearfully quitted the viaduct, this red +devil put his hands in his pockets and slouched across the yard, no man +guiding him. Then he lowed something to the effect that he was the +regularly appointed guide of the establishment and would show them +round. They were country folk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1152" id="Page_1152">[Pg 152]</a></span> but they knew how to behave; and so +followed Judas some hundred strong, patiently, and with a look of bland +wonder in their faces. I saw his broad back jogging in advance of them, +up a lime-washed incline where I was forbidden to follow. Then a door +shut, and in a minute back came Judas with the air of a virtuous +plough-bullock and took up his place in his byre. Somebody laughed +across the yard, but I heard no sound of cattle from the big brick +building into which the mob had disappeared. Only Judas chewed the cud +with a malignant satisfaction, and so I knew there was trouble, and ran +round to the front of the factory and so entered and stood aghast.</p> + +<p>Who takes count of the prejudices which we absorb through the skin by +way of our surroundings? It was not the spectacle that impressed me. The +first thought that almost spoke itself aloud was: "They are killing +kine;" and it was a shock. The pigs were nobody's concern, but +cattle—the brothers of the Cow, the Sacred Cow—were quite otherwise. +The next time an M.P. tells me that India either Sultanises or +Brahminises a man, I shall believe about half what he says. It is +unpleasant to watch the slaughter of cattle when one has laughed at the +notion for a few years. I could not see actually what was done in the +first instance, because the row of stalls in which they lay was +separated from me by fifty impassable feet of butchers and slung +carcasses. All I know is that men swung open the doors of a stall as +occasion required, and there lay two steers already stunned, and +breathing heavily. These two they pole-axed, and half raising them by +tackle they cut their throats. Two men skinned each carcase, somebody +cut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1153" id="Page_1153">[Pg 153]</a></span> off the head, and in half a minute more the overhead rail carried +two sides of beef to their appointed place. There was clamour enough in +the operating room, but from the waiting cattle, invisible on the other +side of the line of pens, never a sound. They went to their death, +trusting Judas, without a word. They were slain at the rate of five a +minute, and if the pig men were spattered with blood, the cow butchers +were bathed in it. The blood ran in muttering gutters. There was no +place for hand or foot that was not coated with thicknesses of dried +blood, and the stench of it in the nostrils bred fear.</p> + +<p>And then the same merciful Providence that has showered good things on +my path throughout sent me an embodiment of the city of Chicago, so that +I might remember it forever. Women come sometimes to see the slaughter, +as they would come to see the slaughter of men. And there entered that +vermilion hall a young woman of large mould, with brilliantly scarlet +lips, and heavy eyebrows, and dark hair that came in a "widow's peak" on +the forehead. She was well and healthy and alive, and she was dressed in +flaming red and black, and her feet (know you that the feet of American +women are like unto the feet of fairies?) her feet, I say, were cased in +red leather shoes. She stood in a patch of sunlight, the red blood under +her shoes, the vivid carcasses packed round her, a bullock bleeding its +life away not six feet away from her, and the death factory roaring all +round her. She looked curiously, with hard, bold eyes, and was not +ashamed.</p> + +<p>Then said I: "This is a special Sending. I have seen the City of +Chicago." And I went away to get peace and rest.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1154" id="Page_1154">[Pg 154]</a></span><a name="No_XXXVI" id="No_XXXVI"></a>No. XXXVI</h2> + +<p>HOW I FOUND PEACE AT MUSQUASH ON THE MONONGAHELA.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Prince, blown by many a western breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our vessels greet you treasure-laden;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We send them all—but best of these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A free and frank young Yankee maiden."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>It is a mean thing and an unhandsome to "do" a continent in +five-hundred-mile jumps. But after those swine and bullocks at Chicago I +felt that complete change of air would be good. The United States at +present hinge in or about Chicago, as a double-leaved screen hinges. To +be sure, the tiny New England States call a trip to Pennsylvania "going +west," but the larger-minded citizen seems to reckon his longitude from +Chicago. Twenty years hence the centre of population—that shaded square +on the census map—will have shifted, men say, far west of Chicago. +Twenty years later it will be on the Pacific slope. Twenty years after +that America will begin to crowd up, and there will be some trouble. +People will demand manufactured goods for their reduced-establishment +households at the cheapest possible rates, and the cry that the land is +rich enough to afford protection will cease with a great abruptness. At +present it is the farmer who pays most dearly for the luxury of high +prices. In the old days,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1155" id="Page_1155">[Pg 155]</a></span> when the land was fresh and there was plenty +of it and it cropped like the garden of Eden, he did not mind paying. +Now there is not so much free land, and the old acres are needing +stimulants, which cost money, and the farmer, who pays for everything, +is beginning to ask questions. Also the great American nation, which +individually never shuts a door behind its noble self, very seldom +attempts to put back anything that it has taken from Nature's shelves. +It grabs all it can and moves on. But the moving-on is nearly finished +and the grabbing must stop, and then the Federal Government will have to +establish a Woods and Forests Department the like of which was never +seen in the world before. And all the people who have been accustomed to +hack, mangle, and burn timber as they please will object, with shots and +protestations, to this infringement of their rights. The nigger will +breed bounteously, and <i>he</i> will have to be reckoned with; and the +manufacturer will have to be contented with smaller profits, and <i>he</i> +will have to be reckoned with; and the railways will no longer rule the +countries through which they run, and they will have to be reckoned +with. And nobody will approve of it in the least.</p> + +<p>Yes; it will be a spectacle for all the world to watch, this big, +slashing colt of a nation, that has got off with a flying start on a +freshly littered course, being pulled back to the ruck by that very +mutton-fisted jockey Necessity. There will be excitement in America when +a few score millions of "sovereigns" discover that what they considered +the outcome of their own Government is but the rapidly diminishing +bounty of Nature; and that if they want to get on comfortably they must +tackle every single problem from labour to finance humbly, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1156" id="Page_1156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +gasconade, and afresh. But at present they look "that all the to-morrows +shall be as to-day," and if you argue with them they say that the +Democratic Idea will keep things going. They believe in that Idea, and +the less well-informed fortify themselves in their belief by curious +assertions as to the despotism that exists in England. This is pure +provincialism, of course; but it is very funny to listen to, especially +when you compare the theory with the practice (pistol, chiefly) as +proven in the newspapers. I have striven to find out where the central +authority of the land lies. It isn't at Washington, because the Federal +Government can't do anything to the States save run the mail and collect +a Federal tax or two. It isn't in the States, because the townships can +do as they like; and it isn't in the townships, because these are bossed +by alien voters or rings of patriotic homebred citizens. And it +certainly is not in the citizens, because they are governed and coerced +by despotic power of public opinion as represented by their papers, +preachers, or local society. I found one man who told me that if +anything went wrong in this huge congress of kings,—if there was a +split or an upheaval or a smash,—the people in detail would be subject +to the Idea of the sovereign people in mass. This is a survival from the +Civil War, when, you remember, the people in a majority did with guns +and swords slay and wound the people in detail. All the same, the notion +seems very much like the worship by the savage of the unloaded rifle as +it leans against the wall.</p> + +<p>But the men and women set Us an example in patriotism. They believe in +their land and its future, and its honour, and its glory, and they are +not ashamed to say so.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1157" id="Page_1157">[Pg 157]</a></span> From the largest to the least runs this same +proud, passionate conviction to which I take off my hat and for which I +love them. An average English householder seems to regard his country as +an abstraction to supply him with policemen and fire-brigades. The +cockney cad cannot understand what the word means. The bloomin' toffs he +knows, and the law, and the soldiers that supply him with a spectacle in +the Parks; but he would laugh in your face at the notion of any duty +being owed by himself to his land. Pick an American of the second +generation anywhere you please—from the cab-rank, the porter's room, or +the plough-tail,—'specially the plough-tail,—and that man will make +you understand in five minutes that he understands what manner of thing +his Republic is. He might laugh at a law that didn't suit his +convenience, draw your eye-teeth in a bargain, and applaud 'cuteness on +the outer verge of swindling: but you should hear him stand up and +sing:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My country 'tis of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet land of liberty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thee I sing!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I have heard a few thousand of them engaged in that employment. I +respect him. There is too much Romeo and too little balcony about our +National Anthem. With the American article it is all balcony. There must +be born a poet who shall give the English <i>the</i> song of their own, own +country—which is to say, of about half the world. Remains then only to +compose the greatest song of all—The Saga of the Anglo-Saxon all round +the earth—a pæan that shall combine the terrible slow swing of the +<i>Battle Hymn of the Republic</i> (which, if you know not,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1158" id="Page_1158">[Pg 158]</a></span> get chanted to +you) with <i>Britannia needs no Bulwarks</i>, the skirl of the <i>British +Grenadiers</i> with that perfect quickstep, <i>Marching through Georgia</i>, and +at the end the wail of the <i>Dead March</i>. For We, even We who share the +earth between us as no gods have ever shared it, we also are mortal in +the matter of our single selves. Will any one take the contract?</p> + +<p>It was with these rambling notions that I arrived at the infinite peace +of the tiny township of Musquash on the Monongahela River. The clang and +tumult of Chicago belonged to another world. Imagine a rolling, wooded, +English landscape, under softest of blue skies, dotted at three-mile +intervals with fat little, quiet little villages, or aggressive little +manufacturing towns that the trees and the folds of the hills mercifully +prevented from betraying their presence. The golden-rod blazed in the +pastures against the green of the mulleins, and the cows picked their +way home through the twisted paths between the blackberry bushes. All +summer was on the orchards, and the apples—such apples as we dream of +when we eat the woolly imitations of Kashmir—were ripe and toothsome. +It was good to lie in a hammock with half-shut eyes, and, in the utter +stillness, to hear the apples dropping from the trees, and the tinkle of +the cowbells as the cows walked statelily down the main road of the +village. Everybody in that restful place seemed to have just as much as +he wanted; a house with all comfortable appliances, a big or little +verandah wherein to spend the day, a neatly shaved garden with a wild +wealth of flowers, some cows, and an orchard. Everybody knew everybody +else intimately, and what they did not know, the local daily paper—a +daily for a village of twelve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1159" id="Page_1159">[Pg 159]</a></span> hundred people!—supplied. There was a +court-house where justice was done, and a jail where some most enviable +prisoners lived, and there were four or five churches of four or five +denominations. Also it was impossible to buy openly any liquor in that +little paradise. But—and this is a very serious <i>but</i>—you could by +procuring a medical certificate get strong drinks from the chemist. That +is the drawback of prohibition. It makes a man who wants a drink a +shirker and a contriver, which things are not good for the soul of a +man, and presently, 'specially if he be young, causes him to believe +that he may just as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb; and the +end of that young man is not pretty. Nothing except a rattling fall will +persuade an average colt that a fence is not meant to be jumped over; +whereas if he be turned out into the open he learns to carry himself +with discretion. One heard a good deal of this same dread of drink in +Musquash, and even the maidens seemed to know too much about its effects +upon certain unregenerate youths, who, if they had been once made +thoroughly, effectually, and persistently drunk—with a tepid brandy and +soda thrust before their goose-fleshed noses on the terrible Next +Morning—would perhaps have seen the futility of their ways. It was a +sin by village canons to imbibe lager, though—<i>experto crede</i>—you can +get dropsy on that stuff long before you can get drunk. "But what man +knows his mind?" Besides, it was all their own affair.</p> + +<p>The little community seemed to be as self-contained as an Indian +village. Had the rest of the land sunk under the sea, Musquash would +have gone on sending its sons to school in order to make them "good +citizens," which is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1160" id="Page_1160">[Pg 160]</a></span> the constant prayer of the true American father, +settling its own road-making, local cesses, town-lot arbitrations, and +internal government by ballot and vote and due respect to the voices of +the headmen (which is the salvation of the ballot), until such time as +all should take their places in the cemetery appointed for their faith. +Here were Americans and no aliens—men ruling themselves by themselves +and for themselves and their wives and their children—in peace, order, +and decency.</p> + +<p>But what went straightest to this heart, though they did not know it, +was that they were Methody folk for the most part—ay, Methody as ever +trod a Yorkshire Moor, or drove on a Sunday to some chapel of the Faith +in the Dales. The old Methody talk was there, with the discipline +whereby the souls of the Just are, sometimes to their intense vexation, +made perfect on this earth in order that they may "take out their +letters and live and die in good standing." If you don't know the talk, +you won't know what that means. The discipline, or dis<i>cip</i>line, is no +thing to be trifled with, and its working among a congregation depends +entirely upon the tact, humanity, and sympathy of the leader who works +it. He, knowing what youth's desires are, can turn the soul in the +direction of good, gently, instead of wrenching it savagely towards the +right path only to see it break away quivering and scared. The arm of +the Dis<i>cip</i>line is long. A maiden told me, as a new and strange fact +and one that would interest a foreigner, of a friend of hers who had +once been admonished by some elders somewhere—not in Musquash—for the +heinous crime of dancing. She, the friend, did not in the least like it. +She would not. Can't you imagine the delightful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1161" id="Page_1161">[Pg 161]</a></span> results of a formal +wigging administered by a youngish and austere elder who was not +accustomed to make allowances for the natural dancing instincts of the +young of the human animal? The hot irons that are held forth to scare +may also sear, as those who have ever lain under an unfortunate +exposition of the old Faith can attest.</p> + +<p>But it was all immensely interesting—the absolutely fresh, wholesome, +sweet life that paid due reverence to the things of the next world, but +took good care to get enough tennis in the cool of the evening; that +concerned itself as honestly and thoroughly with the daily round, the +trivial task (and that same task is anything but trivial when you are +"helped" by an American "help") as with the salvation of the soul. I had +the honour of meeting in the flesh, even as Miss Louisa Alcott drew +them, Meg and Joe and Beth and Amy, whom you ought to know. There was no +affectation of concealment in their lives who had nothing to conceal. +There were many "little women" in that place, because, even as is the +case in England, the boys had gone out to seek their fortunes. Some were +working in the thundering, clanging cities, others had removed to the +infinite West, and others had disappeared in the languid, lazy South; +and the maidens waited their return, which is the custom of maidens all +over the world. Then the boys would come back in the soft sunlight, +attired in careful raiment, their tongues cleansed of evil words and +discourtesy. They had just come to call—bless their carefully groomed +heads so they had,—and the maidens in white dresses glimmered like +ghosts on the stoop and received them according to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1162" id="Page_1162">[Pg 162]</a></span> their merits. Mamma +had nothing to do with this, nor papa either, for he was down-town +trying to drive reason into the head of a land surveyor; and all along +the shaded, lazy, intimate street you heard the garden-gates click and +clash, as the mood of the man varied, and bursts of pleasant laughter +where three or four—be sure the white muslins were among +them,—discussed a picnic past or a buggy-drive to come. Then the +couples went their ways and talked together till the young men had to go +at last on account of the trains, and all trooped joyously down to the +station and thought no harm of it. And, indeed, why should they? From +her fifteenth year the American maiden moves among "the boys" as a +sister among brothers. They are her servants to take her out +riding,—which is driving,—to give her flowers and candy. The last two +items are expensive, and this is good for the young man, as teaching him +to value friendship that costs a little in cash and may necessitate +economy on the cigar side. As to the maiden, she is taught to respect +herself, that her fate is in her own hands, and that she is the more +stringently bound by the very measure of the liberty so freely accorded +to her. Wherefore, in her own language, "she has a lovely time" with +about two or three hundred boys who have sisters of their own, and a +very accurate perception that if they were unworthy of their trust a +syndicate of other boys would probably pass them into a world where +there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. And so time goes till +the maiden knows the other side of the house,—knows that a man is not a +demi-god nor a mysteriously veiled monster, but an average, egotistical, +vain, gluttonous,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1163" id="Page_1163">[Pg 163]</a></span> but on the whole companionable, sort of person, to be +soothed, fed, and managed—knowledge that does not come to her sister in +England till after a few years of matrimony. And then she makes her +choice. The Golden Light touches eyes that are full of comprehension; +but the light is golden none the less, for she makes just the same +sweet, irrational choices that an English girl does. With this +advantage: she knows a little more, has experience in entertaining, +insight into the businesses, employ, and hobbies of men, gathered from +countless talks with the boys, and talks with the other girls who find +time at those mysterious conclaves to discuss what Tom, Ted, Stuke, or +Jack have been doing. Thus it happens that she is a companion, in the +fullest sense of the word, of the man she weds, zealous for the interest +of the firm, to be consulted in time of stress and to be called upon for +help and sympathy in time of danger. Pleasant it is that one heart +should beat for you; but it is better when the head above that heart has +been thinking hard on your behalf, and when the lips, that are also very +pleasant to kiss, give wise counsel.</p> + +<p>When the American maiden—I speak now for the rank and file of that +noble army—is once married, why, it is finished. She has had her lovely +time. It may have been five, seven, or ten years according to +circumstances. She abdicates promptly with startling speed, and her +place knows her no more except as with her husband. The Queen is dead, +or looking after the house. This same household work seems to be the +thing that ages the American woman. She is infamously "helped" by the +Irish trollop and the negress alike. It is not fair upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1164" id="Page_1164">[Pg 164]</a></span> her, because +she has to do three parts of the housework herself, and in dry, +nerve-straining air the "chores" are a burden. Be thankful, O my people, +for Mauz Baksh, Kadir Baksh, and the <i>ayah</i> while they are with you. +They are twice as handy as the unkempt slatterns of the furnished +apartments to which you will return, Commissioners though you be; and +five times as clever as the Amelia Araminta Rebellia Secessia Jackson +(coloured) under whose ineptitude and insolence the young American +housewife groans. But all this is far enough from peaceful, placid +Musquash and its boundless cordiality, its simple, genuine hospitality, +and its—what's the French word that just covers +all?—<i>gra</i>—<i>gracieuseness</i>, isn't it? Oh, be good to an American +wherever you meet him. Put him up for the club, and he will hold you +listening till three in the morning; give him the best tent, and the +gram-fed mutton. I have incurred a debt of salt that I can never repay, +but do you return it piecemeal to any of that Nation, and the account +will be on my head till our paths in the world cross again. He drinks +iced water just as we do; but he doesn't quite like our cigars.</p> + +<p>And how shall I finish the tale? Would it interest you to learn of the +picnics in the hot, still woods that overhang the Monongahela, when +those idiotic American buggies that can't turn round got stuck among the +brambles and all but capsized; of boating in the blazing sun on the +river that but a little time before had cast at the feet of the +horrified village the corpses of the Johnstown tragedy? I saw one, only +one, remnant of that terrible wreck. He had been a minister. House, +church, congregation, wife, and children had been swept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1165" id="Page_1165">[Pg 165]</a></span> away from him +in one night of terror. He had no employment; he could have employed +himself at nothing; but God had been very good to him. He sat in the sun +and smiled a little weakly. It was in his poor blurred mind that +something had happened—he was not sure what it was, but undoubtedly +something had occurred. One could only pray that the light would never +return.</p> + +<p>But there be many pictures on my mind. Of a huge manufacturing city of +three hundred thousand souls lighted and warmed by natural gas, so that +the great valley full of flaming furnaces sent up no smoke wreaths to +the clear sky. Of Musquash itself lighted by the same mysterious agency, +flares of gas eight feet long, roaring day and night at the corners of +the grass-grown streets because it wasn't worth while to turn them out; +of fleets of coal-flats being hauled down the river on an interminable +journey to St. Louis; of factories nestling in woods where all the +axe-handles and shovels in the world seemed to be manufactured daily; +and last, of that quaint forgotten German community, the Brotherhood of +Perpetual Separation, who founded themselves when the State was yet +young and land cheap, and are now dying out because they will neither +marry nor give in marriage and their recruits are very few. The advance +in the value of land has almost smothered these poor old people in a +golden affluence that they never desired. They live in a little village +where the houses are built old Dutch fashion, with their front doors +away from the road, and cobbled paths all about. The cloistered peace of +Musquash is a metropolitan riot beside the hush of that village. And +there is, too, a love-tale tucked away among the flowers. It has taken +seventy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1166" id="Page_1166">[Pg 166]</a></span> years in the telling, for the brother and sister loved each +other well, but they loved their duty to the brotherhood more. So they +have lived and still do live, seeing each other daily, and separated for +all time. Any trouble that might have been is altogether wiped out of +their faces, which are as calm as those of very little children. To the +uninitiated those constant ones resemble extremely old people in +garments of absurd cut. But they love each other, and that seems to +bring one back quite naturally to the girls and the boys in Musquash. +The boys were nice boys—graduates of Yale of course; you mustn't +mention Harvard here—but none the less skilled in business, in stocks +and shares, the boring for oil, and the sale of everything that can be +sold by one sinner to another. Skilled, too, in baseball, +big-shouldered, with straight eyes and square chins—but not above +occasional diversion and mild orgies. They will make good citizens and +possess the earth, and eventually wed one of the nice white muslin +dresses. There are worse things in this world than being "one of the +boys" in Musquash.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1167" id="Page_1167">[Pg 167]</a></span><a name="No_XXXVII" id="No_XXXVII"></a>No. XXXVII</h2> + +<p>AN INTERVIEW WITH MARK TWAIN.</p> + + +<p>You are a contemptible lot, over yonder. Some of you are Commissioners, +and some Lieutenant-Governors, and some have the V. C., and a few are +privileged to walk about the Mall arm in arm with the Viceroy; but <i>I</i> +have seen Mark Twain this golden morning, have shaken his hand, and +smoked a cigar—no, two cigars—with him, and talked with him for more +than two hours! Understand clearly that I do not despise you; indeed, I +don't. I am only very sorry for you, from the Viceroy downward. To +soothe your envy and to prove that I still regard you as my equals, I +will tell you all about it.</p> + +<p>They said in Buffalo that he was in Hartford, Conn.; and again they said +"perchance he is gone upon a journey to Portland"; and a big, fat +drummer vowed that he knew the great man intimately, and that Mark was +spending the summer in Europe—which information so upset me that I +embarked upon the wrong train, and was incontinently turned out by the +conductor three-quarters of a mile from the station, amid the wilderness +of railway tracks. Have you ever, encumbered with great-coat and valise, +tried to dodge diversely-minded locomotives when the sun was shining in +your eyes?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1168" id="Page_1168">[Pg 168]</a></span> But I forgot that you have not seen Mark Twain, you people +of no account!</p> + +<p>Saved from the jaws of the cow-catcher, me wandering devious a stranger +met.</p> + +<p>"Elmira is the place. Elmira in the State of New York—this State, not +two hundred miles away;" and he added, perfectly unnecessarily, "Slide, +Kelley, slide."</p> + +<p>I slid on the West Shore line, I slid till midnight, and they dumped me +down at the door of a frowzy hotel in Elmira. Yes, they knew all about +"that man Clemens," but reckoned he was not in town; had gone East +somewhere. I had better possess my soul in patience till the morrow, and +then dig up the "man Clemens'" brother-in-law, who was interested in +coal.</p> + +<p>The idea of chasing half a dozen relatives in addition to Mark Twain up +and down a city of thirty thousand inhabitants kept me awake. Morning +revealed Elmira, whose streets were desolated by railway tracks, and +whose suburbs were given up to the manufacture of door-sashes and +window-frames. It was surrounded by pleasant, fat, little hills, rimmed +with timber and topped with cultivation. The Chemung River flowed +generally up and down the town, and had just finished flooding a few of +the main streets.</p> + +<p>The hotel-man and the telephone-man assured me that the much-desired +brother-in-law was out of town, and no one seemed to know where "the man +Clemens" abode. Later on I discovered that he had not summered in that +place for more than nineteen seasons, and so was comparatively a new +arrival.</p> + +<p>A friendly policeman volunteered the news that he had seen Twain or +"some one very like him" driving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1169" id="Page_1169">[Pg 169]</a></span> a buggy the day before. This gave me a +delightful sense of nearness. Fancy living in a town where you could see +the author of <i>Tom Sawyer</i>, or "some one very like him," jolting over +the pavements in a buggy!</p> + +<p>"He lives out yonder at East Hill," said the policeman; "three miles +from here."</p> + +<p>Then the chase began—in a hired hack, up an awful hill, where +sunflowers blossomed by the roadside, and crops waved, and <i>Harper's +Magazine</i> cows stood in eligible and commanding attitudes knee-deep in +clover, all ready to be transferred to photogravure. The great man must +have been persecuted by outsiders aforetime, and fled up the hill for +refuge.</p> + +<p>Presently the driver stopped at a miserable, little, white wood shanty, +and demanded "Mister Clemens."</p> + +<p>"I know he's a big-bug and all that," he explained, "but you can never +tell what sort of notions those sort of men take into their heads to +live in, anyways."</p> + +<p>There rose up a young lady who was sketching thistle-tops and goldenrod, +amid a plentiful supply of both, and set the pilgrimage on the right +path.</p> + +<p>"It's a pretty Gothic house on the left-hand side a little way farther +on."</p> + +<p>"Gothic h——," said the driver. "Very few of the city hacks take this +drive, specially if they know they are coming out here," and he glared +at me savagely.</p> + +<p>It was a very pretty house, anything but Gothic, clothed with ivy, +standing in a very big compound, and fronted by a verandah full of +chairs and hammocks. The roof of the verandah was a trellis-work of +creepers, and the sun peeping through moved on the shining boards +below.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1170" id="Page_1170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>Decidedly this remote place was an ideal one for work, if a man could +work among these soft airs and the murmur of the long-eared crops.</p> + +<p>Appeared suddenly a lady used to dealing with rampageous outsiders. "Mr. +Clemens has just walked down-town. He is at his brother-in-law's house."</p> + +<p>Then he was within shouting distance, after all, and the chase had not +been in vain. With speed I fled, and the driver, skidding the wheel and +swearing audibly, arrived at the bottom of that hill without accidents. +It was in the pause that followed between ringing the brother-in-law's +bell and getting an answer that it occurred to me for the first time +Mark Twain might possibly have other engagements than the entertainment +of escaped lunatics from India, be they never so full of admiration. And +in another man's house—anyhow, what had I come to do or say? Suppose +the drawing-room should be full of people,—suppose a baby were sick, +how was I to explain that I only wanted to shake hands with him?</p> + +<p>Then things happened somewhat in this order. A big, darkened +drawing-room; a huge chair; a man with eyes, a mane of grizzled hair, a +brown mustache covering a mouth as delicate as a woman's, a strong, +square hand shaking mine, and the slowest, calmest, levellest voice in +all the world saying:—</p> + +<p>"Well, you think you owe me something, and you've come to tell me so. +That's what I call squaring a debt handsomely."</p> + +<p>"Piff!" from a cob-pipe (I always said that a Missouri meerschaum was +the best smoking in the world), and, behold! Mark Twain had curled +himself up in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1171" id="Page_1171">[Pg 171]</a></span> big armchair, and I was smoking reverently, as befits +one in the presence of his superior.</p> + +<p>The thing that struck me first was that he was an elderly man; yet, +after a minute's thought, I perceived that it was otherwise, and in five +minutes, the eyes looking at me, I saw that the grey hair was an +accident of the most trivial. He was quite young. I was shaking his +hand. I was smoking his cigar, and I was hearing him talk—this man I +had learned to love and admire fourteen thousand miles away.</p> + +<p>Reading his books, I had striven to get an idea of his personality, and +all my preconceived notions were wrong and beneath the reality. Blessed +is the man who finds no disillusion when he is brought face to face with +a revered writer. That was a moment to be remembered; the landing of a +twelve-pound salmon was nothing to it. I had hooked Mark Twain, and he +was treating me as though under certain circumstances I might be an +equal.</p> + +<p>About this time I became aware that he was discussing the copyright +question. Here, so far as I remember, is what he said. Attend to the +words of the oracle through this unworthy medium transmitted. You will +never be able to imagine the long, slow surge of the drawl, and the +deadly gravity of the countenance, the quaint pucker of the body, one +foot thrown over the arm of the chair, the yellow pipe clinched in one +corner of the mouth, and the right hand casually caressing the square +chin:—</p> + +<p>"Copyright? Some men have morals, and some men have—other things. I +presume a publisher is a man. He is not born. He is created—by +circumstances. Some publishers have morals. Mine have. They pay me for +the English productions of my books. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1172" id="Page_1172">[Pg 172]</a></span> you hear men talking of Bret +Harte's works and other works and my books being pirated, ask them to be +sure of their facts. I think they'll find the books are paid for. It was +ever thus.</p> + +<p>"I remember an unprincipled and formidable publisher. Perhaps he's dead +now. He used to take my short stories—I can't call it steal or pirate +them. It was beyond these things altogether. He took my stories one at a +time and made a book of it. If I wrote an essay on dentistry or theology +or any little thing of that kind—just an essay that long (he indicated +half an inch on his finger), any sort of essay—that publisher would +amend and improve my essay.</p> + +<p>"He would get another man to write some more to it or cut it about +exactly as his needs required. Then he would publish a book called +<i>Dentistry by Mark Twain</i>, that little essay and some other things not +mine added. Theology would make another book, and so on. I do not +consider that fair. It's an insult. But he's dead now, I think. I didn't +kill him.</p> + +<p>"There is a great deal of nonsense talked about international copyright. +The proper way to treat a copyright is to make it exactly like +real-estate in every way.</p> + +<p>"It will settle itself under these conditions. If Congress were to bring +in a law that a man's life was not to extend over a hundred and sixty +years, somebody would laugh. That law wouldn't concern anybody. The man +would be out of the jurisdiction of the court. A term of years in +copyright comes to exactly the same thing. No law can make a book live +or cause it to die before the appointed time.</p> + +<p>"Tottletown, Cal., was a new town, with a population<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1173" id="Page_1173">[Pg 173]</a></span> of three +thousand—banks, fire-brigade, brick buildings, and all the modern +improvements. It lived, it flourished, and it disappeared. To-day no man +can put his foot on any remnant of Tottletown, Cal. It's dead. London +continues to exist. Bill Smith, author of a book read for the next year +or so, is real-estate in Tottletown. William Shakespeare, whose works +are extensively read, is real-estate in London. Let Bill Smith, equally +with Mr. Shakespeare now deceased, have as complete a control over his +copyright as he would over his real-estate. Let him gamble it away, +drink it away, or—give it to the church. Let his heirs and assigns +treat it in the same manner.</p> + +<p>"Every now and again I go up to Washington, sitting on a board to drive +that sort of view into Congress. Congress takes its arguments against +international copyright delivered ready made, and—Congress isn't very +strong. I put the real-estate view of the case before one of the +Senators.</p> + +<p>"He said: 'Suppose a man has written a book that will live for ever?'</p> + +<p>"I said: 'Neither you nor I will ever live to see that man, but we'll +assume it. What then?'</p> + +<p>"He said: 'I want to protect the world against that man's heirs and +assigns, working under your theory.'</p> + +<p>"I said: 'You think that all the world has no commercial sense. The book +that will live for ever can't be artificially kept up at inflated +prices. There will always be very expensive editions of it and cheap +ones issuing side by side.'</p> + +<p>"Take the case of Sir Walter Scott's novels," Mark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1174" id="Page_1174">[Pg 174]</a></span> Twain continued, +turning to me. "When the copyright notes protected them, I bought +editions as expensive as I could afford, because I liked them. At the +same time the same firm were selling editions that a cat might buy. They +had their real estate, and not being fools, recognised that one portion +of the plot could be worked as a gold mine, another as a vegetable +garden, and another as a marble quarry. Do you see?"</p> + +<p>What I saw with the greatest clearness was Mark Twain being forced to +fight for the simple proposition that a man has as much right to the +work of his brains (think of the heresy of it!) as to the labour of his +hands. When the old lion roars, the young whelps growl. I growled +assentingly, and the talk ran on from books in general to his own in +particular.</p> + +<p>Growing bold, and feeling that I had a few hundred thousand folk at my +back, I demanded whether Tom Sawyer married Judge Thatcher's daughter +and whether we were ever going to hear of Tom Sawyer as a man.</p> + +<p>"I haven't decided," quoth Mark Twain, getting up, filling his pipe, and +walking up and down the room in his slippers. "I have a notion of +writing the sequel to <i>Tom Sawyer</i> in two ways. In one I would make him +rise to great honour and go to Congress, and in the other I should hang +him. Then the friends and enemies of the book could take their choice."</p> + +<p>Here I lost my reverence completely, and protested against any theory of +the sort, because, to me at least, Tom Sawyer was real.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he <i>is</i> real," said Mark Twain. "He's all the boy that I have known +or recollect; but that would be a good way of ending the book"; then, +turning round,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1175" id="Page_1175">[Pg 175]</a></span> "because, when you come to think of it, neither +religion, training, nor education avails anything against the force of +circumstances that drive a man. Suppose we took the next four and twenty +years of Tom Sawyer's life, and gave a little joggle to the +circumstances that controlled him. He would, logically and according to +the joggle, turn out a rip or an angel."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe that, then?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. Isn't it what you call Kismet?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but don't give him two joggles and show the result, because he +isn't your property any more. He belongs to us."</p> + +<p>He laughed—a large, wholesome laugh—and this began a dissertation on +the rights of a man to do what he liked with his own creations, which +being a matter of purely professional interest, I will mercifully omit.</p> + +<p>Returning to the big chair, he, speaking of truth and the like in +literature, said that an autobiography was the one work in which a man, +against his own will and in spite of his utmost striving to the +contrary, revealed himself in his true light to the world.</p> + +<p>"A good deal of your life on the Mississippi is autobiographical, isn't +it?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"As near as it can be—when a man is writing to a book and about +himself. But in genuine autobiography, I believe it is impossible for a +man to tell the truth about himself or to avoid impressing the reader +with the truth about himself.</p> + +<p>"I made an experiment once. I got a friend of mine—a man painfully +given to speak the truth on all occasions—a man who wouldn't dream of +telling a lie—and I made him write his autobiography for his own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1176" id="Page_1176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +amusement and mine. He did it. The manuscript would have made an octavo +volume, but—good, honest man that he was—in every single detail of his +life that I knew about he turned out, on paper, a formidable liar. He +could not help himself.</p> + +<p>"It is not in human nature to write the truth about itself. None the +less the reader gets a general impression from an autobiography whether +the man is a fraud or a good man. The reader can't give his reasons any +more than a man can explain why a woman struck him as being lovely when +he doesn't remember her hair, eyes, teeth, or figure. And the impression +that the reader gets is a correct one."</p> + +<p>"Do you ever intend to write an autobiography?"</p> + +<p>"If I do, it will be as other men have done—with the most earnest +desire to make myself out to be the better man in every little business +that has been to my discredit; and I shall fail, like the others, to +make my readers believe anything except the truth."</p> + +<p>This naturally led to a discussion on conscience. Then said Mark Twain, +and his words are mighty and to be remembered:—</p> + +<p>"Your conscience is a nuisance. A conscience is like a child. If you pet +it and play with it and let it have everything that it wants, it becomes +spoiled and intrudes on all your amusements and most of your griefs. +Treat your conscience as you would treat anything else. When it is +rebellious, spank it—be severe with it, argue with it, prevent it from +coming to play with you at all hours, and you will secure a good +conscience; that is to say, a properly trained one. A spoiled one simply +destroys all the pleasure in life. I think I have reduced mine to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1177" id="Page_1177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +order. At least, I haven't heard from it for some time. Perhaps I have +killed it from over-severity. It's wrong to kill a child, but, in spite +of all I have said, a conscience differs from a child in many ways. +Perhaps it's best when it's dead."</p> + +<p>Here he told me a little—such things as a man may tell a stranger—of +his early life and upbringing, and in what manner he had been influenced +for good by the example of his parents. He spoke always through his +eyes, a light under the heavy eyebrows; anon crossing the room with a +step as light as a girl's, to show me some book or other; then resuming +his walk up and down the room, puffing at the cob pipe. I would have +given much for nerve enough to demand the gift of that pipe—value, five +cents when new. I understood why certain savage tribes ardently desired +the liver of brave men slain in combat. That pipe would have given me, +perhaps, a hint of his keen insight into the souls of men. But he never +laid it aside within stealing reach.</p> + +<p>Once, indeed, he put his hand on my shoulder. It was an investiture of +the Star of India, blue silk, trumpets, and diamond-studded jewel, all +complete. If hereafter, in the changes and chances of this mortal life, +I fall to cureless ruin, I will tell the superintendent of the workhouse +that Mark Twain once put his hand on my shoulder; and he shall give me a +room to myself and a double allowance of paupers' tobacco.</p> + +<p>"I never read novels myself," said he, "except when the popular +persecution forces me to—when people plague me to know what I think of +the last book that every one is reading."</p> + +<p>"And how did the latest persecution affect you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1178" id="Page_1178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Robert?" said he, interrogatively.</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>"I read it, of course, for the workmanship. That made me think I had +neglected novels too long—that there might be a good many books as +graceful in style somewhere on the shelves; so I began a course of novel +reading. I have dropped it now; it did not amuse me. But as regards +Robert, the effect on me was exactly as though a singer of street +ballads were to hear excellent music from a church organ. I didn't stop +to ask whether the music was legitimate or necessary. I listened, and I +liked what I heard. I am speaking of the grace and beauty of the style."</p> + +<p>"You see," he went on, "every man has his private opinion about a book. +But that is my private opinion. If I had lived in the beginning of +things, I should have looked around the township to see what popular +opinion thought of the murder of Abel before I openly condemned Cain. I +should have had my private opinion, of course, but I shouldn't have +expressed it until I had felt the way. You have my private opinion about +that book. I don't know what my public ones are exactly. They won't +upset the earth."</p> + +<p>He recurled himself into the chair and talked of other things.</p> + +<p>"I spend nine months of the year at Hartford. I have long ago satisfied +myself that there is no hope of doing much work during those nine +months. People come in and call. They call at all hours, about +everything in the world. One day I thought I would keep a list of +interruptions. It began this way:—</p> + +<p>"A man came and would see no one but Mr. Clemens.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1179" id="Page_1179">[Pg 179]</a></span> He was an agent for +photogravure reproductions of Salon pictures. I very seldom use Salon +pictures in my books.</p> + +<p>"After that man another man, who refused to see any one but Mr. Clemens, +came to make me write to Washington about something. I saw him. I saw a +third man, then a fourth. By this time it was noon. I had grown tired of +keeping the list. I wished to rest.</p> + +<p>"But the fifth man was the only one of the crowd with a card of his own. +He sent up his card. 'Ben Koontz, Hannibal, Mo.' I was raised in +Hannibal. Ben was an old schoolmate of mine. Consequently I threw the +house wide open and rushed with both hands out at a big, fat, heavy man, +who was not the Ben I had ever known—nor anything like him.</p> + +<p>"'But <i>is</i> it you, Ben?' I said. 'You've altered in the last thousand +years.'</p> + +<p>"The fat man said: 'Well, I'm not Koontz exactly, but I met him down in +Missouri, and he told me to be sure and call on you, and he gave me his +card, and'—here he acted the little scene for my benefit—'if you can +wait a minute till I can get out the circulars—I'm not Koontz exactly, +but I'm travelling with the fullest line of rods you ever saw.'"</p> + +<p>"And what happened?" I asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"I shut-the door. He was not Ben Koontz—exactly—not my old +school-fellow, but I had shaken him by both hands in love, and ... I had +been bearded by a lightning-rod man in my own house.</p> + +<p>"As I was saying, I do very little work in Hartford. I come here for +three months every year, and I work four or five hours a day in a study +down the garden of that little house on the hill. Of course, I do not +object<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1180" id="Page_1180">[Pg 180]</a></span> to two or three interruptions. When a man is in the full swing +of his work these little things do not affect him. Eight or ten or +twenty interruptions retard composition."</p> + +<p>I was burning to ask him all manner of impertinent questions, as to +which of his works he himself preferred, and so forth; but, standing in +awe of his eyes, I dared not. He spoke on, and I listened, grovelling.</p> + +<p>It was a question of mental equipment that was on the carpet, and I am +still wondering whether he meant what he said.</p> + +<p>"Personally I never care for fiction or story-books. What I like to read +about are facts and statistics of any kind. If they are only facts about +the raising of radishes, they interest me. Just now, for instance, +before you came in"—he pointed to an encyclopædia on the shelves—"I +was reading an article about 'Mathematics.' Perfectly pure mathematics.</p> + +<p>"My own knowledge of mathematics stops at 'twelve times twelve,' but I +enjoyed that article immensely. I didn't understand a word of it: but +facts, or what a man believes to be facts, are always delightful. That +mathematical fellow believed in his facts. So do I. Get your facts +first, and"—the voice dies away to an almost inaudible drone—"then you +can distort 'em as much as you please."</p> + +<p>Bearing this precious advice in my bosom, I left; the great man assuring +me with gentle kindness that I had not interrupted him in the least. +Once outside the door, I yearned to go back and ask some questions—it +was easy enough to think of them now—but his time was his own, though +his books belonged to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1181" id="Page_1181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>I should have ample time to look back to that meeting across the graves +of the days. But it was sad to think of the things he had not spoken +about.</p> + +<p>In San Francisco the men of <i>The Call</i> told me many legends of Mark's +apprenticeship in their paper five and twenty years ago; how he was a +reporter delightfully incapable of reporting according to the needs of +the day. He preferred, so they said, to coil himself into a heap and +meditate until the last minute. Then he would produce copy bearing no +sort of relationship to his legitimate work—copy that made the editor +swear horribly, and the readers of <i>The Call</i> ask for more.</p> + +<p>I should like to have heard Mark's version of that, with some stories of +his joyous and variegated past. He has been journeyman printer (in those +days he wandered from the banks of the Missouri even to Philadelphia), +pilot cub and full-blown pilot, soldier of the South (that was for three +weeks only), private secretary to a Lieutenant-Governor of Nevada (that +displeased him), miner, editor, special correspondent in the Sandwich +Islands, and the Lord only knows what else. If so experienced a man +could by any means be made drunk, it would be a glorious thing to fill +him up with composite liquors, and, in the language of his own country, +"let him retrospect." But these eyes will never see that orgy fit for +the gods! </p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1182" id="Page_1182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> +<hr /> + +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1183" id="Page_1183">[Pg 183]</a></span>THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT </h2> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1184" id="Page_1184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1185" id="Page_1185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT</h2> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Jan.-Feb.</span>, 1888</p> + +<p class="center">A REAL LIVE CITY</p> + + +<p>We are all backwoodsmen and barbarians together—we others dwelling +beyond the Ditch, in the outer darkness of the Mofussil. There are no +such things as commissioners and heads of departments in the world, and +there is only one city in India. Bombay is too green, too pretty, and +too stragglesome; and Madras died ever so long ago. Let us take off our +hats to Calcutta, the many-sided, the smoky, the magnificent, as we +drive in over the Hugli Bridge in the dawn of a still February morning. +We have left India behind us at Howrah Station, and now we enter foreign +parts. No, not wholly foreign. Say rather too familiar.</p> + +<p>All men of a certain age know the feeling of caged irritation—an +illustration in the <i>Graphic</i>, a bar of music or the light words of a +friend from home may set it ablaze—that comes from the knowledge of our +lost heritage of London. At Home they, the other men, our equals, have +at their disposal all that Town can supply—the roar of the streets, the +lights, the music, the pleasant places, the millions of their own kind, +and a wilderness full of pretty, fresh-coloured Englishwomen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1186" id="Page_1186">[Pg 186]</a></span> theatres +and restaurants. It is their right. They accept it as such, and even +affect to look upon it with contempt. And we—we have nothing except the +few amusements that we painfully build up for ourselves—the dolorous +dissipations of gymkhanas where every one knows everybody else, or the +chastened intoxication of dances where all engagements are booked, in +ink, ten days ahead, and where everybody's antecedents are as patent as +his or her method of waltzing. We have been deprived of our inheritance. +The men at home are enjoying it all, not knowing how fair and rich it +is, and we at the most can only fly westward for a few months and gorge +what, properly speaking, should take seven or eight or ten luxurious +years. That is the lost heritage of London; and the knowledge of the +forfeiture, wilful or forced, comes to most men at times and seasons, +and they get cross.</p> + +<p>Calcutta holds out false hopes of some return. The dense smoke hangs +low, in the chill of the morning, over an ocean of roofs, and, as the +city wakes, there goes up to the smoke a deep, full-throated boom of +life and motion and humanity. For this reason does he who sees Calcutta +for the first time hang joyously out of the <i>ticca-ghari</i><a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> and sniff +the smoke, and turn his face toward the tumult, saying: "This is, at +last, some portion of my heritage returned to me. This is a City. There +is life here, and there should be all manner of pleasant things for the +having, across the river and under the smoke."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> hired carriage.</p></div> + +<p>The litany is an expressive one and exactly describes the first emotions +of a wandering savage adrift in Calcutta. The eye has lost its sense of +proportion, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1187" id="Page_1187">[Pg 187]</a></span> focus has contracted through overmuch residence in +up-country stations—twenty minutes' canter from hospital to +parade-ground, you know—and the mind has shrunk with the eye. Both say +together, as they take in the sweep of shipping above and below the +Hugli Bridge: "Why, this is London! This is the docks. This is Imperial. +This is worth coming across India to see!"</p> + +<p>Then a distinctly wicked idea takes possession of the mind: "What a +divine—what a heavenly place to <i>loot</i>!" This gives place to a much +worse devil—that of Conservatism. It seems not only a wrong but a +criminal thing to allow natives to have any voice in the control of such +a city—adorned, docked, wharfed, fronted, and reclaimed by Englishmen, +existing only because England lives, and dependent for its life on +England. All India knows of the Calcutta Municipality; but has any one +thoroughly investigated the Big Calcutta Stink? There is only one. +Benares is fouler in point of concentrated, pent-up muck, and there are +local stenches in Peshawar which are stronger than the B. C. S.; but, +for diffused, soul-sickening expansiveness, the reek of Calcutta beats +both Benares and Peshawar. Bombay cloaks her stenches with a veneer of +assafœtida and tobacco; Calcutta is above pretence. There is no +tracing back the Calcutta plague to any one source. It is faint, it is +sickly, and it is indescribable; but Americans at the Great Eastern +Hotel say that it is something like the smell of the Chinese quarter in +San Francisco. It is certainly not an Indian smell. It resembles the +essence of corruption that has rotted for the second time—the clammy +odour of blue slime. And there is no escape from it. It blows across the +<i>maidan</i>; it comes in gusts into the corridors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1188" id="Page_1188">[Pg 188]</a></span> of the Great Eastern +Hotel; what they are pleased to call the "Palaces of Chowringhi" carry +it; it swirls round the Bengal Club; it pours out of by-streets with +sickening intensity, and the breeze of the morning is laden with it. It +is first found, in spite of the fume of the engines, in Howrah Station. +It seems to be worst in the little lanes at the back of Lai Bazar where +the drinking-shops are, but it is nearly as bad opposite Government +House and in the Public Offices. The thing is intermittent. Six +moderately pure mouthfuls of air may be drawn without offence. Then +comes the seventh wave and the queasiness of an uncultured stomach. If +you live long enough in Calcutta you grow used to it. The regular +residents admit the disgrace, but their answer is: "Wait till the wind +blows off the Salt Lakes where all the sewage goes, and <i>then</i> you'll +smell something." That is their defence! Small wonder that they consider +Calcutta is a fit place for a permanent Viceroy. Englishmen who can +calmly extenuate one shame by another are capable of asking for +anything—and expecting to get it.</p> + +<p>If an up-country station holding three thousand troops and twenty +civilians owned such a possession as Calcutta does, the Deputy +Commissioner or the Cantonment Magistrate would have all the natives off +the board of management or decently shovelled into the background until +the mess was abated. Then they might come on again and talk of +"high-handed oppression" as much as they liked. That stink, to an +unprejudiced nose, damns Calcutta as a City of Kings. And, in spite of +that stink, they allow, they even encourage, natives to look after the +place! The damp, drainage-soaked soil is sick with the teeming life of a +hundred years, and the Municipal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1189" id="Page_1189">[Pg 189]</a></span> Board list is choked with the names of +natives—men of the breed born in and raised off this surfeited +muck-heap! They own property, these amiable Aryans on the Municipal and +the Bengal Legislative Council. Launch a proposal to tax them on that +property, and they naturally howl. They also howl up-country, but there +the halls for mass-meetings are few, and the vernacular papers fewer, +and with a strong Secretary and a President whose favour is worth the +having and whose wrath is undesirable, men are kept clean despite +themselves, and may not poison their neighbours. Why, asks a savage, let +them vote at all? They can put up with this filthiness. They <i>cannot</i> +have any feelings worth caring a rush for. Let them live quietly and +hide away their money under our protection, while we tax them till they +know through their purses the measure of their neglect in the past, and +when a little of the smell has been abolished, let us bring them back +again to talk and take the credit of enlightenment. The better classes +own their broughams and barouches; the worse can shoulder an Englishman +into the kennel and talk to him as though he were a cook. They can refer +to an English lady as an <i>aurat</i><a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>; they are permitted a freedom—not +to put it too coarsely—of speech which, if used by an Englishman toward +an Englishman, would end in serious trouble. They are fenced and +protected and made inviolate. Surely they might be content with all +those things without entering into matters which they cannot, by the +nature of their birth, understand.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> woman.</p></div> + +<p>Now, whether all this genial diatribe be the outcome of an unbiassed +mind or the result first of sickness caused by that ferocious stench, +and secondly of headache due<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1190" id="Page_1190">[Pg 190]</a></span> to day-long smoking to drown the stench, +is an open question. Anyway, Calcutta is a fearsome place for a man not +educated up to it.</p> + +<p>A word of advice to other barbarians. Do not bring a north-country +servant into Calcutta. He is sure to get into trouble, because he does +not understand the customs of the city. A Punjabi in this place for the +first time esteems it his bounden duty to go to the <i>Ajaib-ghar</i>—the +Museum. Such an one has gone and is even now returned very angry and +troubled in the spirit. "I went to the Museum," says he, "and no one +gave me any abuse. I went to the market to buy my food, and then I sat +upon a seat. There came an orderly who said, 'Go away, I want to sit +here.' I said, 'I am here first.' He said, 'I am a <i>chaprassi</i>!<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> get +out!' and he hit me. Now that sitting-place was open to all, so I hit +him till he wept. He ran away for the Police, and I went away too, for +the Police here are all Sahibs. Can I have leave from two o'clock to go +and look for that man and hit him again?"</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> messenger.</p></div> + +<p>Behold the situation! An unknown city full of smell that makes one long +for rest and retirement, and a champing servant, not yet six hours in +the stew, who has started a blood-feud with an unknown <i>chaprassi</i> and +clamours to go forth to the fray.</p> + +<p>Alas! for the lost delusion of the heritage that was to be restored. Let +us sleep, let us sleep, and pray that Calcutta may be better to-morrow.</p> + +<p>At present it is remarkably like sleeping with a corpse.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1191" id="Page_1191">[Pg 191]</a></span>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="center">THE REFLECTIONS OF A SAVAGE.</p> + + +<p>Morning brings counsel. <i>Does</i> Calcutta smell so pestiferously after +all? Heavy rain has fallen in the night. She is newly washed, and the +clear sunlight shows her at her best. Where, oh where, in all this +wilderness of life shall a man go?</p> + +<p>The Great Eastern hums with life through all its hundred rooms. Doors +slam merrily, and all the nations of the earth run up and down the +staircases. This alone is refreshing, because the passers bump you and +ask you to stand aside. Fancy finding any place outside the Levée-room +where Englishmen are crowded together to this extent! Fancy sitting down +seventy strong to <i>tâble d'hôte</i> and with a deafening clatter of knives +and forks! Fancy finding a real bar whence drinks may be obtained! and, +joy of joys, fancy stepping out of the hotel into the arms of a live, +white, helmeted, buttoned, truncheoned Bobby! What would happen if one +spoke to this Bobby? Would he be offended? He is not offended. He is +affable. He has to patrol the pavement in front of the Great Eastern and +to see that the crowding carriages do not jam. Toward a presumably +respectable white he behaves as a man and a brother. There is no +arrogance, about him. And this is disappointing. Closer inspection shows +that he is not a <i>real</i> Bobby after all. He is a Municipal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1192" id="Page_1192">[Pg 192]</a></span> Police +Something and his uniform is not correct; at least if they have not +changed the dress of the men at Home. But no matter. Later on we will +inquire into the Calcutta Bobby, because he is a white man, and has to +deal with some of the "toughest" folk that ever set out of malice +aforethought to paint Job Charnock's city vermilion. You must not, you +cannot cross Old Court House Street without looking carefully to see +that you stand no chance of being run over. This is beautiful. There is +a steady roar of traffic, cut every two minutes by the deep roll of the +trams. The driving is eccentric, not to say bad, but there is the +traffic—more than unsophisticated eyes have beheld for a certain number +of years. It means business, it means money-making, it means crowded and +hurrying life, and it gets into the blood and makes it move. Here be big +shops with plate-glass fronts—all displaying the well-known names of +firms that we savages only correspond with through the Parcels Post.<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> +They are all here, as large as life, ready to supply anything you need +if you only care to sign. Great is the fascination of being able to +obtain a thing on the spot without having to write for a week and wait +for a month, and then get something quite different. No wonder pretty +ladies, who live anywhere within a reasonable distance, come down to do +their shopping personally.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> C.O.D.</p></div> + +<p>"Look here. If you want to be respectable you mustn't smoke in the +streets. Nobody does it." This is advice kindly tendered by a friend in +a black coat. There is no Levée or Lieutenant-Governor in sight; but he +wears the frock-coat because it is daylight, and he can be seen. He +refrains from smoking for the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1193" id="Page_1193">[Pg 193]</a></span> reason. He admits that Providence +built the open air to be smoked in, but he says that "it isn't the +thing." This man has a brougham, a remarkably natty little pill-box with +a curious wabble about the wheels. He steps into the brougham and puts +on—a top-hat, a shiny black "plug."</p> + +<p>There was a man up-country once who owned a top-hat. He leased it to +amateur theatrical companies for some seasons until the nap wore off. +Then he threw it into a tree and wild bees hived in it. Men were wont to +come and look at the hat, in its palmy days, for the sake of feeling +homesick. It interested all the station, and died with two seers of +<i>babul</i>-flower honey in its bosom. But top-hats are not intended to be +worn in India. They are as sacred as home letters and old rosebuds. The +friend cannot see this. He allows that if he stepped out of his brougham +and walked about in the sunshine for ten minutes he would get a bad +headache. In half-an-hour he would probably die of sunstroke. He allows +all this, but he keeps to his Hat and cannot see why a barbarian is +moved to inextinguishable laughter at the sight. Every one who owns a +brougham and many people who hire <i>ticca-gharis</i> keep top-hats and black +frock-coats. The effect is curious, and at first fills the beholder with +surprise.</p> + +<p>And now, "let us see the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles +dwell." Northerly lies the great human jungle of the native city, +stretching from Burra Bazar to Chitpore. That can keep. Southerly is the +<i>maidan</i> and Chowringhi. "If you get out into the centre of the <i>maidan</i> +you will understand why Calcutta is called the City of Palaces." The +travelled American said so at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1194" id="Page_1194">[Pg 194]</a></span> the Great Eastern. There is a short +tower, falsely called a "memorial," standing in a waste of soft, sour +green. That is as good a place to get to as any other. The size of the +<i>maidan</i> takes the heart out of any one accustomed to the "gardens" of +up-country, just as they say Newmarket Heath cows a horse accustomed to +more a shut-in course. The huge level is studded with brazen statues of +eminent gentlemen riding fretful horses on diabolically severe curbs. +The expanse dwarfs the statues, dwarfs everything except the frontage of +the far-away Chowringhi Road. It is big—it is impressive. There is no +escaping the fact. They built houses in the old days when the rupee was +two shillings and a penny. Those houses are three-storied, and +ornamented with service-staircases like houses in the Hills. They are +very close together, and they have garden walls of masonry pierced with +a single gate. In their shut-upness they are British. In their +spaciousness they are Oriental, but those service-staircases do not look +healthy. We will form an amateur sanitary commission and call upon +Chowringhi.</p> + +<p>A first introduction to the Calcutta <i>durwân</i> or door-keeper is not +nice. If he is chewing <i>pân</i>, he does not take the trouble to get rid of +his quid. If he is sitting on his cot chewing sugar-cane, he does not +think it worth his while to rise. He has to be taught those things, and +he cannot understand why he should be reproved. Clearly he is a survival +of a played-out system. Providence never intended that any native should +be made a <i>concierge</i> more insolent than any of the French variety. The +people of Calcutta put a man in a little lodge close to the gate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1195" id="Page_1195">[Pg 195]</a></span> of +their house, in order that loafers may be turned away, and the houses +protected from theft. The natural result is that the <i>durwân</i> treats +everybody whom he does not know as a loafer, has an intimate and +vendible knowledge of all the outgoings and incomings in that house, and +controls, to a large extent, the nomination of the servants. They say +that one of the estimable class is now suing a bank for about three +lakhs of rupees.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> Up-country, a Lieutenant-Governor's servant has to +work for thirty years before he can retire on seventy thousand rupees of +savings. The Calcutta <i>durwân</i> is a great institution. The head and +front of his offence is that he will insist upon trying to talk English. +How he protects the houses Calcutta only knows. He can be frightened out +of his wits by severe speech, and is generally asleep in calling hours. +If a rough round of visits be any guide, three times out of seven he is +fragrant of drink. So much for the <i>durwân</i>. Now for the houses he +guards.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Say $100,000.</p></div> + +<p>Very pleasant is the sensation of being ushered into a pestiferously +stablesome drawing-room. "Does this always happen?" "No, not unless you +shut up the room for some time; but if you open the shutters there are +other smells. You see the stables and the servants' quarters are close +to." People pay five hundred a month for half-a-dozen rooms filled with +scents of this kind. They make no complaint. When they think the honour +of the city is at stake they say defiantly: "Yes, but you must remember +we're a metropolis. We are crowded here. We have no room. We aren't like +your little stations." Chowringhi is a stately place full of sumptuous +houses, but it is best to look at it hastily. Stop to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1196" id="Page_1196">[Pg 196]</a></span> consider for a +moment what the cramped compounds, the black soaked soil, the netted +intricacies of the service-staircases, the packed stables, the seethment +of human life round the <i>durwâns'</i> lodges and the curious arrangement of +little open drains mean, and you will call it a whited sepulchre.</p> + +<p>Men living in expensive tenements suffer from chronic sore throat, and +will tell you cheerily that "we've got typhoid in Calcutta now." Is the +pest ever out of it? Everything seems to be built with a view to its +comfort. It can lodge comfortably on roofs, climb along from the +gutter-pipe to piazza, or rise from sink to verandah and thence to the +topmost story. But Calcutta says that all is sound and produces figures +to prove it; at the same time admitting that healthy cut flesh will not +readily heal. Further evidence may be dispensed with.</p> + +<p>Here come pouring down Park Street on the <i>maidân</i> a rush of broughams, +neat buggies, the lightest of gigs, trim office brownberrys, shining +victorias, and a sprinkling of veritable hansom cabs. In the broughams +sit men in top-hats. In the other carts, young men, all very much alike, +and all immaculately turned out. A fresh stream from Chowringhi joins +the Park Street detachment, and the two together stream away across the +<i>maidân</i> toward the business quarter of the city. This is Calcutta going +to office—the civilians to the Government Buildings and the young men +to their firms and their blocks and their wharves. Here one sees that +Calcutta has the best turn-out in the Empire. Horses and traps alike are +enviably perfect, and—mark the touchstone of civilization—<i>the lamps +are in their sockets!</i> The country-bred is a rare beast here; his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1197" id="Page_1197">[Pg 197]</a></span> place +is taken by the Waler,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> and the Waler, though a ruffian at heart, can +be made to look like a gentleman. It would be indecorous to applaud the +winking harness, the perfectly lacquered panels, and the liveried +<i>saises</i>. They show well in the outwardly fair roads shadowed by the +Palaces.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Imported Australian horse.</p></div> + +<p>How many sections of the complex society of the place do the carts +carry? <i>First</i>, the Bengal Civilian who goes to Writers' Buildings and +sits in a perfect office and speaks flippantly of "sending things to +India," meaning thereby referring matters to the Supreme Government. He +is a great person, and his mouth is full of promotion-and-appointment +"shop." Generally he is referred to as a "rising man." Calcutta seems +full of "rising men." <i>Secondly</i>, the Government of India man, who wears +a familiar Simla face, rents a flat when he is not up in the Hills, and +is rational on the subject of the drawbacks of Calcutta. <i>Thirdly</i>, the +man of the "firms," the pure non-official who fights under the banner of +one of the great houses of the City, or for his own hand in a neat +office, or dashes about Clive Street in a brougham doing "share work" or +something of the kind. He fears not "Bengal," nor regards he "India." He +swears impartially at both when their actions interfere with his +operations. His "shop" is quite unintelligible. He is like the English +city man with the chill off, lives well and entertains hospitably. In +the old days he was greater than he is now, but still he bulks large. He +is rational in so far that he will help the abuse of the Municipality, +but womanish in his insistence on the excellencies of Calcutta. Over and +above these who are hurrying to work are the various<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1198" id="Page_1198">[Pg 198]</a></span> brigades, squads, +and detachments of the other interests. But they are sets and not +sections, and revolve round Belvedere, Government House, and Fort +William. Simla and Darjeeling claim them in the hot weather. Let them +go. They wear top-hats and frock-coats.</p> + +<p>It is time to escape from Chowringhi Road and get among the long-shore +folk, who have no prejudices against tobacco, and who all use very much +the same sort of hat.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1199" id="Page_1199">[Pg 199]</a></span>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="center">THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>He set up conclusions to the number of nine thousand seven +hundred and sixty-four ... he went afterwards to the Sorbonne, +where he maintained argument against the theologians for the +space of six weeks, from four o'clock in the morning till six in +the evening, except for an interval of two hours to refresh +themselves and take their repasts, and at this were present the +greatest part of the lords of the court, the masters of request, +presidents, counsellors, those of the accompts, secretaries, +advocates, and others; as also the sheriffs of the said +town.—<i>Pantagruel.</i> </p></div> + + +<p>"The Bengal Legislative Council is sitting now. You will find it in an +octagonal wing of Writers' Buildings: straight across the <i>maidân</i>. It's +worth seeing." "What are they sitting on?" "Municipal business. No end +of a debate." So much for trying to keep low company. The long-shore +loafers must stand over. Without doubt this Council is going to hang +some one for the state of the City, and Sir Steuart Bayley will be chief +executioner. One does not come across councils every day.</p> + +<p>Writers' Buildings are large. You can trouble the busy workers of +half-a-dozen departments before you stumble upon the black-stained +staircase that leads to an upper chamber looking out over a populous +street. Wild orderlies block the way. The Councillor Sahibs are sitting, +but any one can enter. "To the right of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1200" id="Page_1200">[Pg 200]</a></span> the Lât Sahib's chair, and go +quietly." Ill-mannered minion! Does he expect the awe-stricken spectator +to prance in with a war-whoop or turn Catherine-wheels round that +sumptuous octagonal room with the blue-domed roof? There are gilt +capitals to the half pillars and an Egyptian patterned lotus-stencil +makes the walls gay. A thick piled carpet covers all the floor, and must +be delightful in the hot weather. On a black wooden throne, comfortably +cushioned in green leather, sits Sir Steuart Bayley, Ruler of Bengal. +The rest are all great men, or else they would not be there. Not to know +them argues oneself unknown. There are a dozen of them, and sit six +aside at two slightly curved lines of beautifully polished desks. Thus +Sir Steuart Bayley occupies the frog of a badly made horse-shoe split at +the toe. In front of him, at a table covered with books and pamphlets +and papers, toils a secretary. There is a seat for the Reporters, and +that is all. The place enjoys a chastened gloom, and its very atmosphere +fills one with awe. This is the heart of Bengal, and uncommonly well +upholstered. If the work matches the first-class furniture, the inkpots, +the carpet, and the resplendent ceilings, there will be something worth +seeing. But where is the criminal who is to be hanged for the stench +that runs up and down Writers' Buildings staircases; for the rubbish +heaps in the Chitpore Road; for the sickly savour of Chowringhi; for the +dirty little tanks at the back of Belvedere; for the street full of +small-pox; for the reeking ghari-stand outside the Great Eastern; for +the state of the stone and dirt pavements; for the condition of the +gullies of Shampooker, and for a hundred other things?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1201" id="Page_1201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p>"This, I submit, is an artificial scheme in supersession of Nature's +unit, the individual." The speaker is a slight, spare native in a flat +hat-turban, and a black alpaca frock-coat. He looks like a scribe to the +boot-heels, and, with his unvarying smile and regulated gesticulation, +recalls memories of up-country courts. He never hesitates, is never at a +loss for a word, and never in one sentence repeats himself. He talks and +talks and talks in a level voice, rising occasionally half an octave +when a point has to be driven home. Some of his periods sound very +familiar. This, for instance, might be a sentence from the <i>Indian +Mirror</i>: "So much for the principle. Let us now examine how far it is +supported by precedent." This sounds bad. When a fluent native is +discoursing of "principles" and "precedents," the chances are that he +will go on for some time. Moreover, where is the criminal, and what is +all this talk about abstractions? They want shovels not sentiments, in +this part of the world.</p> + +<p>A friendly whisper brings enlightenment: "They are ploughing through the +Calcutta Municipal Bill—plurality of votes, you know. Here are the +papers." And so it is! A mass of motions and amendments on matters +relating to ward votes. Is <i>A</i> to be allowed to give two votes in one +ward and one in another? Is section 10 to be omitted, and is one man to +be allowed one vote and no more? How many votes does three hundred +rupees' worth of landed property carry? Is it better to kiss a post or +throw it in the fire? Not a word about carbolic acid and gangs of +sweepers. The little man in the black dressing-gown revels in his +subject. He is great on principles and precedents, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1202" id="Page_1202">[Pg 202]</a></span> the necessity of +"popularising our system." He fears that under certain circumstances +"the status of the candidates will decline." He riots in "self-adjusting +majorities," and "the healthy influence of the educated middle classes."</p> + +<p>For a practical answer to this, there steals across the council chamber +just one faint whiff of the Stink. It is as though some one laughed low +and bitterly. But no man heeds. The Englishmen look supremely bored, the +native members stare stolidly in front of them. Sir Steuart Bayley's +face is as set as the face of the Sphinx. For these things he draws his +pay,—a low wage for heavy labour. But the speaker, now adrift, is not +altogether to be blamed. He is a Bengali, who has got before him just +such a subject as his soul loveth,—an elaborate piece of academical +reform leading nowhere. Here is a quiet room full of pens and papers, +and there are men who must listen to him. Apparently there is no time +limit to the speeches. Can you wonder that he talks? He says "I submit" +once every ninety seconds, varying the form with "I do submit, the +popular element in the electoral body should have prominence." Quite so. +He quotes one John Stuart Mill to prove it. There steals over the +listener a numbing sense of nightmare. He has heard all this before +somewhere—yea; even down to J. S. Mill and the references to the "true +interests of the ratepayers." He sees what is coming next. Yes, there is +the old Sabha, Anjuman journalistic formula—"Western education is an +exotic plant of recent importation." How on earth did this man drag +Western education into this discussion? Who knows? Perhaps Sir Steuart +Bayley does. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1203" id="Page_1203">[Pg 203]</a></span> seems to be listening. The others are looking at their +watches. The spell of the level voice sinks the listener yet deeper into +a trance. He is haunted by the ghosts of all the cant of all the +political platforms of Great Britain. He hears all the old, old vestry +phrases, and once more he smells the Smell. <i>That</i> is no dream. Western +education is an exotic plant. It is the upas tree, and it is all our +fault. We brought it out from England exactly as we brought out the +ink-bottles and the patterns for the chairs. We planted it and it +grew—monstrous as a banian. Now we are choked by the roots of it +spreading so thickly in this fat soil of Bengal. The speaker continues. +Bit by bit we builded this dome, visible and invisible, the crown of +Writers' Buildings, as we have built and peopled the buildings. Now we +have gone too far to retreat, being "tied and bound with the chain of +our own sins." The speech continues. We made that florid sentence. That +torrent of verbiage is Ours. We taught him what was constitutional and +what was unconstitutional in the days when Calcutta smelt. Calcutta +smells still, but We must listen to all that he has to say about the +plurality of votes and the threshing of wind and the weaving of ropes of +sand. It is Our own fault.</p> + +<p>The speech ends, and there rises a grey Englishman in a black +frock-coat. He looks a strong man, and a worldly. Surely he will say, +"Yes, Lala Sahib, all this may be true talk, but there's a vile smell in +this place, and everything must be cleaned in a week, or the Deputy +Commissioner will not take any notice of you in <i>durbar</i>." He says +nothing of the kind. This is a Legislative Council, where they call each +other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1204" id="Page_1204">[Pg 204]</a></span> "Honourable So-and-So's." The Englishman in the frock-coat begs +all to remember that "we are discussing principles, and no consideration +of the details ought to influence the verdict on the principles." Is he +then like the rest? How does this strange thing come about? Perhaps +these so English office fittings are responsible for the warp. The +Council Chamber might be a London Board-room. Perhaps after long years +among the pens and papers its occupants grew to think that it really is, +and in this belief give <i>résumés</i> of the history of Local +Self-Government in England.</p> + +<p>The black frock-coat, emphasising his points with his spectacle-case, is +telling his friends how the parish was first the unit of +self-government. He then explains how burgesses were elected, and in +tones of deep fervour announces, "Commissioners of Sewers are elected in +the same way." Whereunto all this lecture? Is he trying to run a motion +through under cover of a cloud of words, essaying the well-known +"cuttle-fish trick" of the West?</p> + +<p>He abandons England for a while, and <i>now</i> we get a glimpse of the +cloven hoof in a casual reference to Hindus and Mahometans. The Hindus +will lose nothing by the complete establishment of plurality of votes. +They will have the control of their own wards as they used to have. So +there is race-feeling, to be explained away, even among these beautiful +desks. Scratch the Council, and you come to the old, old trouble. The +black frock-coat sits down, and a keen-eyed, black-bearded Englishman +rises with one hand in his pocket to explain his views on an alteration +of the vote qualification. The idea of an amendment seems to have just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1205" id="Page_1205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +struck him. He hints that he will bring it forward later on. He is +academical like the others, but not half so good a speaker. All this is +dreary beyond words. Why do they talk and talk about owners and +occupiers and burgesses in England and the growth of autonomous +institutions when the city, the great city, is here crying out to be +cleansed? What has England to do with Calcutta's evil, and why should +Englishmen be forced to wander through mazes of unprofitable argument +against men who cannot understand the iniquity of dirt?</p> + +<p>A pause follows the black-bearded man's speech. Rises another native, a +heavily built Babu, in a black gown and a strange head-dress. A snowy +white strip of cloth is thrown duster-wise over his shoulders. His voice +is high, and not always under control. He begins, "I will try to be as +brief as possible." This is ominous. By the way, in Council there seems +to be no necessity for a form of address. The orators plunge <i>in medias +res</i>, and only when they are well launched throw an occasional "Sir" +towards Sir Steuart Bayley, who sits with one leg doubled under him and +a dry pen in his hand. This speaker is no good. He talks, but he says +nothing, and he only knows where he is drifting to. He says: "We must +remember that we are legislating for the Metropolis of India, and +therefore we should borrow our institutions from large English towns, +and not from parochial institutions." If you think for a minute, that +shows a large and healthy knowledge of the history of Local +Self-Government. It also reveals the attitude of Calcutta. If the city +thought less about itself as a metropolis and more as a midden, its +state would be better. The speaker talks patronisingly of "my friend,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1206" id="Page_1206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +alluding to the black frock-coat. Then he flounders afresh, and his +voice gallops up the gamut as he declares, "and <i>therefore</i> that makes +all the difference." He hints vaguely at threats, something to do with +the Hindus and the Mahometans, but what he means it is difficult to +discover. Here, however, is a sentence taken <i>verbatim</i>. It is not +likely to appear in this form in the Calcutta papers. The black +frock-coat had said that if a wealthy native "had eight votes to his +credit, his vanity would prompt him to go to the polling-booth, because +he would feel better than half-a-dozen <i>ghari-wans</i> or petty traders." +(Fancy allowing a <i>ghari-wan</i> to vote! He has yet to learn how to +drive!) Hereon the gentleman with the white cloth: "Then the complaint +is that influential voters will not take the trouble to vote? In my +humble opinion, if that be so, adopt voting-papers. <i>That</i> is the way to +meet them. In the same way—The Calcutta Trades' Association—you +abolish all plurality of votes: and that is the way to meet <i>them</i>." +Lucid, is it not? Up flies the irresponsible voice, and delivers this +statement, "In the election for the House of Commons plurality are +allowed for persons having interest in different districts." Then +hopeless, hopeless fog. It is a great pity that India ever heard of +anybody higher than the heads of the Civil Service. Once more a whiff of +the Stink. The gentleman gives a defiant jerk of his shoulder-cloth, and +sits down.</p> + +<p>Then Sir Steuart Bayley: "The question before the Council is," etc. +There is a ripple of "Ayes" and "Noes," and the "Noes" have it, whatever +it may be. The black-bearded gentleman springs his amendment about the +voting qualifications. A large senator in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1207" id="Page_1207">[Pg 207]</a></span> white waistcoat, and with a +most genial smile, rises and proceeds to smash up the amendment. Can't +see the use of it. Calls it in effect rubbish. The black dressing-gown, +he who spoke first of all, speaks again, and talks of the "sojourner who +comes here for a little time, and then leaves the land." Well it is for +the black gown that the sojourner does come, or there would be no comfy +places wherein to talk about the power that can be measured by wealth +and the intellect "which, sir, I submit, cannot be so measured." The +amendment is lost; and trebly and quadruply lost is the listener. In the +name of sanity and to preserve the tattered shirt-tails of a torn +illusion, let us escape! This is the Calcutta Municipal Bill. They have +been at it for several Saturdays. Last Saturday Sir Steuart Bayley +pointed out that at their present rate they would be about two years in +getting it through. Now they will sit till dusk, unless Sir Steuart +Bayley, who wants to see Lord Connemara off, puts up the black +frock-coat to move an adjournment. It is not good to watch a Government +close to. This leads to the formation of blatantly self-satisfied +judgments, which may be quite as wrong as the cramping system with which +we have encompassed ourselves. And in the streets outside Englishmen +summarise the situation brutally, thus: "The whole thing is a farce. +Time is money to us. We can't stick out those everlasting speeches in +the municipality. The natives choke us off, but we know that if things +get too bad the Government will step in and interfere, and so we worry +along somehow."</p> + +<p>Meantime Calcutta continues to cry out for the bucket and the broom.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1208" id="Page_1208">[Pg 208]</a></span>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p class="center">ON THE BANKS OF THE HUGLI.</p> + + +<p>The clocks of the city have struck two. Where can a man get food? +Calcutta is not rich in respect of dainty accommodation. You can stay +your stomach at Peliti's or Bonsard's, but their shops are not to be +found in Hastings Street, or in the places where brokers fly to and fro +in office-jauns, sweating and growing visibly rich. There must be some +sort of entertainment where sailors congregate. "Honest Bombay Jack" +supplies nothing but Burma cheroots and whisky in liqueur-glasses, but +in Lal Bazar, not far from "The Sailors' Coffee-rooms," a board gives +bold advertisement that "officers and seamen can find good quarters." In +evidence a row of neat officers and seamen are sitting on a bench by the +"hotel" door smoking. There is an almost military likeness in their +clothes. Perhaps "Honest Bombay Jack" only keeps one kind of felt hat +and one brand of suit. When Jack of the mercantile marine is sober, he +is very sober. When he is drunk he is—but ask the river police what a +lean, mad Yankee can do with his nails and teeth. These gentlemen +smoking on the bench are impassive almost as Red Indians. Their +attitudes are unrestrained, and they do not wear braces. Nor, it would +appear from the bill of fare, are they particular as to what they eat +when they attend <i>tâble d'hôte</i>. The fare is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1209" id="Page_1209">[Pg 209]</a></span> substantial and the +regulation "peg"—every house has its own depth of peg if you will +refrain from stopping Ganymede—something to wonder at. Three fingers +and a trifle over seems to be the use of the officers and seamen who are +talking so quietly in the doorway. One says—he has evidently finished a +long story—"and so he shipped for four pound ten with a first mate's +certificate and all. And that was in a German barque." Another spits +with conviction and says genially, without raising his voice, "That was +a hell of a ship. Who knows her?" No answer from the assembly, but a +Dane or a German wants to know whether the <i>Myra</i> is "up" yet. A dry, +red-haired man gives her exact position in the river—(How in the world +can he know?)—and the probable hour of her arrival. The grave debate +drifts into a discussion of a recent river accident, whereby a big +steamer was damaged, and had to put back and discharge cargo. A burly +gentleman who is taking a constitutional down Lal Bazar strolls up and +says: "I tell you she fouled her own chain with her own forefoot. Hev +you seen the plates?" "No." "Then how the —— can any —— like you +---- say what it —— well was?" He passes on, having delivered his +highly flavored opinion without heat or passion. No one seems to resent +the garnish.</p> + +<p>Let us get down to the river and see this stamp of men more thoroughly. +Clarke Russell has told us that their lives are hard enough in all +conscience. What are their pleasures and diversions? The Port Office, +where live the gentlemen who make improvements in the Port of Calcutta, +ought to supply information. It stands large and fair, and built in an +orientalised manner after the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1210" id="Page_1210">[Pg 210]</a></span> Italians at the corner of Fairlie Place +upon the great Strand Road, and a continual clamour of traffic by land +and by sea goes up throughout the day and far into the night against its +windows. This is a place to enter more reverently than the Bengal +Legislative Council, for it controls the direction of the uncertain +Hugli down to the Sandheads, owns enormous wealth, and spends huge sums +on the frontaging of river banks, the expansion of jetties, and the +manufacture of docks costing two hundred lakhs of rupees. Two million +tons of sea-going shippage yearly find their way up and down the river +by the guidance of the Port Office, and the men of the Port Office know +more than it is good for men to hold in their heads. They can without +reference to telegraphic bulletins give the position of all the big +steamers, coming up or going down, from the Hugli to the sea, day by +day, with their tonnage, the names of their captains and the nature of +their cargo. Looking out from the verandah of their office over a +lancer-regiment of masts, they can declare truthfully the name of every +ship within eye-scope, with the day and hour when she will depart.</p> + +<p>In a room at the bottom of the building lounge big men, carefully +dressed. Now there is a type of face which belongs almost exclusively to +Bengal Cavalry officers—majors for choice. Everybody knows the bronzed, +black-moustached, clear-speaking Native Cavalry officer. He exists +unnaturally in novels, and naturally on the Frontier. These men in the +big room have his cast of face so strongly marked that one marvels what +officers are doing by the river. "Have they come to book passages for +home?" "Those men? They're pilots. Some of them draw between two and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1211" id="Page_1211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +three thousand rupees a month. They are responsible for half-a-million +pounds' worth of cargo sometimes." They certainly are men, and they +carry themselves as such. They confer together by twos and threes, and +appeal frequently to shipping lists.</p> + +<p>"<i>Isn't</i> a pilot a man who always wears a pea-jacket and shouts through +a speaking-trumpet?" "Well, you can ask those gentlemen if you like. +You've got your notions from Home pilots. Ours aren't that kind exactly. +They are a picked service, as carefully weeded as the Indian Civil. Some +of 'em have brothers in it, and some belong to the old Indian army +families." But they are not all equally well paid. The Calcutta papers +echo the groans of the junior pilots who are not allowed the handling of +ships over a certain tonnage. As it is yearly growing cheaper to build +one big steamer than two little ones, these juniors are crowded out, +and, while the seniors get their thousands, some of the youngsters make +at the end of one month exactly thirty rupees. This is a grievance with +them, and it seems well-founded.</p> + +<p>In the flats above the pilot's room are hushed and chapel-like offices, +all sumptuously fitted, where Englishmen write and telephone and +telegraph, and deft Babus for ever draw maps of the shifting Hugli. Any +hope of understanding the work of the Port Commissioners is thoroughly +dashed by being taken through the Port maps of a quarter of a century +past. Men have played with the Hugli as children play with a +gutter-runnel, and, in return, the Hugli once rose and played with men +and ships till the Strand Road was littered with the raffle and the +carcasses of big ships. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1212" id="Page_1212">[Pg 212]</a></span> are photos on the walls of the cyclone of +'64, when the <i>Thunder</i> came inland and sat upon an American barque, +obstructing all the traffic. Very curious are these photos, and almost +impossible to believe. How can a big, strong steamer have her three +masts razed to deck level? How can a heavy, country boat be pitched on +to the poop of a high-walled liner? and how can the side be bodily torn +out of a ship? The photos say that all these things are possible, and +men aver that a cyclone may come again and scatter the craft like chaff. +Outside the Port Office are the export and import sheds, buildings that +can hold a ship's cargo apiece, all standing on reclaimed ground. Here +be several strong smells, a mass of railway lines, and a multitude of +men. "Do you see where that trolly is standing, behind the big P. and O. +berth? In that place as nearly as may be the <i>Govindpur</i> went down about +twenty years ago, and began to shift out!" "But that is solid ground." +"She sank there, and the next tide made a scour-hole on one side of her. +The returning tide knocked her into it. Then the mud made up behind her. +Next tide the business was repeated—always the scour-hole in the mud +and the filling up behind her. So she rolled, and was pushed out and out +until she got in the way of the shipping right out yonder, and we had to +blow her up. When a ship sinks in mud or quicksand she regularly digs +her own grave and wriggles herself into it deeper and deeper till she +reaches moderately solid stuff. Then she sticks." Horrible idea, is it +not, to go down and down with each tide into the foul Hugli mud?</p> + +<p>Close to the Port Offices is the Shipping Office, where the captains +engage their crews. The men must produce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1213" id="Page_1213">[Pg 213]</a></span> their discharges from their +last ships in the presence of the shipping master, or, as they call him, +"The Deputy Shipping." He passes them after having satisfied himself +that they are not deserters from other ships, and they then sign +articles for the voyage. This is the ceremony, beginning with the +"dearly beloved" of the crew-hunting captain down to the "amazement" of +the deserter. There is a dingy building, next door to the Sailors' Home, +at whose gate stand the cast-ups of all the seas in all manner of +raiment. There are the Seedee boys, Bombay <i>serangs</i> and Madras +fishermen of the salt villages, Malays who insist upon marrying Calcutta +women, grow jealous and run <i>amok</i>; Malay-Hindus, Hindu-Malay-Whites, +Burmese, Burma-Whites, Burma-Native-Whites, Italians with gold earrings +and a thirst for gambling, Yankees of all the States, with Mulattoes and +pure buck-niggers, red and rough Danes, Cingalese, Cornish boys fresh +taken from the plough-tail, "corn-stalks" from colonial ships where they +got four pound ten a month as seamen, tun-bellied Germans, Cockney mates +keeping a little aloof from the crowd and talking in knots together, +unmistakable "Tommies" who have tumbled into seafaring life by some +mistake, cockatoo-tufted Welshmen spitting and swearing like cats, +broken-down loafers, grey-headed, penniless, and pitiful, swaggering +boys, and very quiet men with gashes and cuts on their faces. It is an +ethnological museum where all the specimens are playing comedies and +tragedies. The head of it all is the "Deputy Shipping," and he sits, +supported by an English policeman whose fists are knobby, in a great +Chair of State. The "Deputy Shipping" knows all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1214" id="Page_1214">[Pg 214]</a></span> iniquity of the +river-side, all the ships, all the captains, and a fair amount of the +men. He is fenced off from the crowd by a strong wooden railing behind +which are gathered the unemployed of the mercantile marine. They have +had their spree—poor devils—and now they will go to sea again on as +low a wage as three pound ten a month, to fetch up at the end in some +Shanghai stew or San Francisco hell. They have turned their backs on the +seductions of the Howrah boarding-houses and the delights of +Colootollah. If Fate will, "Nightingale's" will know them no more for a +season. But what skipper will take some of these battered, shattered +wrecks whose hands shake and whose eyes are red?</p> + +<p>Enter suddenly a bearded captain, who has made his selection from the +crowd on a previous day, and now wants to get his men passed. He is not +fastidious in his choice. His eleven seem a tough lot for such a +mild-eyed, civil-spoken man to manage. But the captain in the Shipping +Office and the captain on his ship are two different things. He brings +his crew up to the "Deputy Shipping's" bar, and hands in their greasy, +tattered discharges. But the heart of the "Deputy Shipping" is hot +within him, because, two days ago, a Howrah crimp stole a whole crew +from a down-dropping ship, insomuch that the captain had to come back +and whip up a new crew at one o'clock in the day. Evil will it be if the +"Deputy Shipping" finds one of these bounty-jumpers in the chosen crew +of the <i>Blenkindoon</i>.</p> + +<p>The "Deputy Shipping" tells the story with heat. "I didn't know they did +such things in Calcutta," says the captain. "Do such things! They'd +steal the eye-teeth out of your head there, Captain." He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1215" id="Page_1215">[Pg 215]</a></span> picks up a +discharge and calls for Michael Donelly, a loose-knit, vicious-looking +Irish-American who chews. "Stand up, man, stand up!" Michael Donelly +wants to lean against the desk, and the English policeman won't have it. +"What was your last ship?" "<i>Fairy Queen.</i>" "When did you leave her?" +"'Bout 'leven days." "Captain's name?" "Flahy." "That'll do. Next man: +Jules Anderson." Jules Anderson is a Dane. His statements tally with the +discharge-certificate of the United States, as the Eagle attesteth. He +is passed and falls back. Slivey, the Englishman, and David, a huge +plum-coloured negro who ships as cook, are also passed. Then comes +Bassompra, a little Italian, who speaks English. "What's your last +ship?" "<i>Ferdinand.</i>" "No, after that?" "German barque." Bassompra does +not look happy. "When did she sail?" "About three weeks ago." "What's +her name?" "<i>Haidée.</i>" "You deserted from her?" "Yes, but she's left +port." The "Deputy Shipping" runs rapidly through a shipping-list, +throws it down with a bang. "'Twon't do. No German barque <i>Haidée</i> here +for three months. How do I know you don't belong to the <i>Jackson's</i> +crew? Cap'en, I'm afraid you'll have to ship another man. He must stand +over. Take the rest away and make 'em sign."</p> + +<p>The bead-eyed Bassompra seems to have lost his chance of a voyage, and +his case will be inquired into. The captain departs with his men and +they sign articles for the voyage, while the "Deputy Shipping" tells +strange tales of the sailorman's life. "They'll quit a good ship for the +sake of a spree, and catch on again at three pound ten, and by Jove, +they'll let their skippers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1216" id="Page_1216">[Pg 216]</a></span> pay 'em at ten rupees to the sovereign—poor +beggars. As soon as the money's gone they'll ship, but not before. Every +one under rank of captain engages here. The competition makes +first-mates ship sometimes for five pounds or as low as four ten a +month." (The gentleman in the boarding-house was right, you see.) "A +first mate's wages are seven ten or eight, and foreign captains ship for +twelve pounds a month and bring their own small stores—everything, that +is to say, except beef, peas, flour, coffee, and molasses."</p> + +<p>These things are not pleasant to listen to while the hungry-eyed men in +the bad clothes lounge and scratch and loaf behind the railing. What +comes to them in the end? They die, it seems, though that is not +altogether strange. They die at sea in strange and horrible ways; they +die, a few of them, in the Kintals, being lost and suffocated in the +great sink of Calcutta; they die, in strange places by the water-side, +and the Hugli takes them away under the mooring chains and the buoys, +and casts them up on the sands below, if the River Police have missed +the capture. They sail the sea because they must live; and there is no +end to their toil. Very, very few find haven of any kind, and the earth, +whose ways they do not understand, is cruel to them, when they walk upon +it to drink and be merry after the manner of beasts. Jack ashore is a +pretty thing when he is in a book or in the blue jacket of the Navy. +Mercantile Jack is not so lovely. Later on, we will see where his +"sprees" lead him.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1217" id="Page_1217">[Pg 217]</a></span>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p class="center">WITH THE CALCUTTA POLICE.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The City was of Night—perchance of Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But certainly of Night."<br /></span> +<span class="i8">—<i>The City of Dreadful Night.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>In the beginning, the Police were responsible. They said in a +patronising way that they would prefer to take a wanderer round the +great city themselves, sooner than let him contract a broken head on his +own account in the slums. They said that there were places and places +where a white man, unsupported by the arm of the Law, would be robbed +and mobbed; and that there were other places where drunken seamen would +make it very unpleasant for him.</p> + +<p>"Come up to the fire look-out in the first place, and then you'll be +able to see the city." This was at No. 22, Lal Bazar, which is the +headquarters of the Calcutta Police, the centre of the great web of +telephone wires where Justice sits all day and all night looking after +one million people and a floating population of one hundred thousand. +But her work shall be dealt with later on. The fire look-out is a little +sentry-box on the top of the three-storied police offices. Here a native +watchman waits to give warning to the brigade below if the smoke rises +by day or the flames by night in any ward of the city. From this eyrie, +in the warm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1218" id="Page_1218">[Pg 218]</a></span> night, one hears the heart of Calcutta beating. Northward, +the city stretches away three long miles, with three more miles of +suburbs beyond, to Dum-Dum and Barrackpore. The lamplit dusk on this +side is full of noises and shouts and smells. Close to the Police +Office, jovial mariners at the sailors' coffee-shop are roaring hymns. +Southerly, the city's confused lights give place to the orderly +lamp-rows of the <i>maidân</i> and Chowringhi, where the respectabilities +live and the Police have very little to do. From the east goes up to the +sky the clamour of Sealdah, the rumble of the trams, and the voices of +all Bow Bazar chaffering and making merry. Westward are the business +quarters, hushed now; the lamps of the shipping on the river; and the +twinkling lights on the Howrah side. "Does the noise of traffic go on +all through the hot weather?" "Of course. The hot months are the busiest +in the year and money's tightest. You should see the brokers cutting +about at that season. Calcutta <i>can't</i> stop, my dear sir." "What happens +then?" "Nothing happens; the death-rate goes up a little. That's all!" +Even in February, the weather would, up-country, be called muggy and +stifling, but Calcutta is convinced that it is her cold season. The +noises of the city grow perceptibly; it is the night side of Calcutta +waking up and going abroad. Jack in the sailors' coffee-shop is singing +joyously: "Shall we gather at the River—the beautiful, the beautiful, +the River?" There is a clatter of hoofs in the courtyard below. Some of +the Mounted Police have come in from somewhere or other out of the great +darkness. A clog-dance of iron hoofs follows, and an Englishman's voice +is heard soothing an agitated horse who seems to be standing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1219" id="Page_1219">[Pg 219]</a></span> on his +hind legs. Some of the Mounted Police are going out into the great +darkness. "What's on?" "A dance at Government House. The Reserve men are +being formed up below. They're calling the roll." The Reserve men are +all English, and big English at that. They form up and tramp out of the +courtyard to line Government Place, and see that Mrs. Lollipop's +brougham does not get smashed up by Sirdar Chuckerbutty Bahadur's +lumbering C-spring barouche with the two raw Walers. Very military men +are the Calcutta European Police in their set-up, and he who knows their +composition knows some startling stories of gentleman-rankers and the +like. They are, despite the wearing climate they work in and the wearing +work they do, as fine a five-score of Englishmen as you shall find east +of Suez.</p> + +<p>Listen for a moment from the fire look-out to the voices of the night, +and you will see why they must be so. Two thousand sailors of fifty +nationalities are adrift in Calcutta every Sunday, and of these perhaps +two hundred are distinctly the worse for liquor. There is a mild row +going on, even now, somewhere at the back of Bow Bazar, which at +nightfall fills with sailormen who have a wonderful gift of falling foul +of the native population. To keep the Queen's peace is of course only a +small portion of Police duty, but it is trying. The burly president of +the lock-up for European drunks—Calcutta central lock-up is worth +seeing—rejoices in a sprained thumb just now, and has to do his work +left-handed in consequence. But his left hand is a marvellously +persuasive one, and when on duty his sleeves are turned up to the +shoulder that the jovial mariner may see that there is no deception. The +president's labours are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1220" id="Page_1220">[Pg 220]</a></span> handicapped in that the road of sin to the +lock-up runs through a grimy little garden—the brick paths are worn +deep with the tread of many drunken feet—where a man can give a great +deal of trouble by sticking his toes into the ground and getting mixed +up with the shrubs. A straight run-in would be much more convenient both +for the president and the drunk. Generally speaking—and here Police +experience is pretty much the same all over the civilised world—a +woman-drunk is a good deal worse than a man-drunk. She scratches and +bites like a Chinaman and swears like several fiends. Strange people may +be unearthed in the lock-ups. Here is a perfectly true story, not three +weeks old. A visitor, an unofficial one, wandered into the native side +of the spacious accommodation provided for those who have gone or done +wrong. A wild-eyed Babu rose from the fixed charpoy and said in the best +of English, "Good morning, sir." "<i>Good</i> morning. Who are you, and what +are you in for?" Then the Babu, in one breath: "I would have you know +that I do not go to prison as a criminal but as a reformer. You've read +the <i>Vicar of Wakefield</i>?" "Ye-es." "Well, <i>I</i> am the Vicar of +Bengal—at least that's what I call myself." The visitor collapsed. He +had not nerve enough to continue the conversation. Then said the voice +of the authority: "He's down in connection with a cheating case at +Serampore. May be shamming insane, but he'll be looked to in time."</p> + +<p>The best place to hear about the Police is the fire look-out. From that +eyrie one can see how difficult must be the work of control over the +great, growling beast of a city. By all means let us abuse the Police, +but let us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1221" id="Page_1221">[Pg 221]</a></span> see what the poor wretches have to do with their three +thousand natives and one hundred Englishmen. From Howrah and Bally and +the other suburbs at least a hundred thousand people come in to Calcutta +for the day and leave at night. Then, too, Chandernagore is handy for +the fugitive law-breaker, who can enter in the evening and get away +before the noon of the next day, having marked his house and broken into +it.</p> + +<p>"But how can the prevalent offence be house-breaking in a place like +this?" "Easily enough. When you've seen a little of the city you'll see. +Natives sleep and lie about all over the place, and whole quarters are +just so many rabbit-warrens. Wait till you see the Machua Bazar. Well, +besides the petty theft and burglary, we have heavy cases of forgery and +fraud, that leave us with our wits pitted against a Bengali's. When a +Bengali criminal is working a fraud of the sort he loves, he is about +the cleverest soul you could wish for. He gives us cases a year long to +unravel. Then there are the murders in the low houses—very curious +things they are. You'll see the house where Sheikh Babu was murdered +presently, and you'll understand. The Burra Bazar and Jora Bagan +sections are the two worst ones for heavy cases; but Colootollah is the +most aggravating. There's Colootollah over yonder—that patch of +darkness beyond the lights. That section is full of tuppenny-ha'penny +petty cases, that keep the men up all night and make 'em swear. You'll +see Colootollah, and then perhaps you'll understand. Bamun Bustee is the +quietest of all, and Lal Bazar and Bow Bazar, as you can see for +yourself, are the rowdiest. You've no notion what the natives come to +the police station for. A man will come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1222" id="Page_1222">[Pg 222]</a></span> on and want a summons against +his master for refusing him half-an-hour's leave. I suppose it <i>does</i> +seem rather revolutionary to an up-country man, but they try to do it +here. Now wait a minute, before we go down into the city and see the +Fire Brigade turned out. Business is slack with them just now, but you +time 'em and see." An order is given, and a bell strikes softly thrice. +There is a rush of men, the click of a bolt, a red fire-engine, spitting +and swearing with the sparks flying from the furnace, is dragged out of +its shelter. A huge brake, which holds supplementary horses, men, and +hatchets, follows, and a hose-cart is the third on the list. The men +push the heavy things about as though they were pith toys. The men +clamber up, some one says softly, "All ready there," and with an angry +whistle the fire-engine, followed by the other two, flies out into Lal +Bazar. Time—1 min. 40 secs. "They'll find out it's a false alarm, and +come back again in five minutes." "Why?" "Because there will be no +constables on the road to give 'em the direction of the fire, and +because the driver wasn't told the ward of the outbreak when he went +out!" "Do you mean to say that you can from this absurd pigeon-loft +locate the wards in the night-time?" "What would be the good of a +look-out if the man couldn't tell where the fire was?" "But it's all +pitchy black, and the lights are so confusing."</p> + +<p>"You'll be more confused in ten minutes. You'll have lost your way as +you never lost it before. You're going to go round Bow Bazar section."</p> + +<p>"And the Lord have mercy on my soul!" Calcutta, the darker portion of +it, does not look an inviting place to dive into at night.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1223" id="Page_1223">[Pg 223]</a></span>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p class="center">THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And since they cannot spend or use aright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The little time here given them in trust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lavish it in weary undelight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of foolish toil, and trouble, strife and lust—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They naturally clamour to inherit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Everlasting Future—that their merit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May have full scope.... As surely is most just."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">—<i>The City of Dreadful Night.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>The difficulty is to prevent this account from growing steadily +unwholesome. But one cannot rake through a big city without encountering +muck.</p> + +<p>The Police kept their word. In five short minutes, as they had +prophesied, their charge was lost as he had never been lost before. +"Where are we now?" "Somewhere off the Chitpore Road, but you wouldn't +understand if you were told. Follow now, and step pretty much where we +step—there's a good deal of filth hereabouts."</p> + +<p>The thick, greasy night shuts in everything. We have gone beyond the +ancestral houses of the Ghoses of the Boses, beyond the lamps, the +smells, and the crowd of Chitpore Road, and have come to a great +wilderness of packed houses—just such mysterious, conspiring tenements +as Dickens would have loved. There is no breeze here, and the air is +perceptibly warmer. If Calcutta<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1224" id="Page_1224">[Pg 224]</a></span> keeps such luxuries as Commissioners of +Sewers and Paving, they die before they reach this place. The air is +heavy with a faint, sour stench—the essence of long-neglected +abominations—and it cannot escape from among the tall, three-storied +houses. "This, my dear Sir, is a <i>perfectly</i> respectable quarter as +quarters go. That house at the head of the alley, with the elaborate +stucco-work round the top of the door, was built long ago by a +celebrated midwife. Great people used to live here once. Now it's +the—Aha! Look out for that carriage." A big mail-phaeton crashes out of +the darkness and, recklessly driven, disappears. The wonder is how it +ever got into this maze of narrow streets, where nobody seems to be +moving, and where the dull throbbing of the city's life only comes +faintly and by snatches. "Now it's the what?" "The St. John's Wood of +Calcutta—for the rich Babus. That 'fitton' belonged to one of them." +"Well, it's not much of a place to look at!" "Don't judge by +appearances. About here live the women who have beggared kings. We +aren't going to let you down into unadulterated vice all at once. You +must see it first with the gilding on—and mind that rotten board."</p> + +<p>Stand at the bottom of a lift shaft and look upwards. Then you will get +both the size and the design of the tiny courtyard round which one of +these big dark houses is built. The central square may be perhaps ten +feet every way, but the balconies that run inside it overhang, and seem +to cut away half the available space. To reach the square a man must go +round many corners, down a covered-in way, and up and down two or three +baffling and confused steps. "Now you will understand," say the Police, +kindly, as their charge blunders, shin-first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1225" id="Page_1225">[Pg 225]</a></span> into a well-dark winding +staircase, "that these are not the sort of places to visit alone." "Who +wants to? Of all the disgusting, inaccessible dens—Holy Cupid, what's +this?"</p> + +<p>A glare of light on the stair-head, a clink of innumerable bangles, a +rustle of much fine gauze, and the Dainty Iniquity stands revealed, +blazing—literally blazing—with jewellery from head to foot. Take one +of the fairest miniatures that the Delhi painters draw, and multiply it +by ten; throw in one of Angelica Kaufmann's best portraits, and add +anything that you can think of from Beckford to Lalla Rookh, and you +will still fall short of the merits of that perfect face! For an +instant, even the grim, professional gravity of the Police is relaxed in +the presence of the Dainty Iniquity with the gems, who so prettily +invites every one to be seated, and proffers such refreshments as she +conceives the palates of the barbarians would prefer. Her maids are only +one degree less gorgeous than she. Half a lakh, or fifty thousand +pounds' worth—it is easier to credit the latter statement than the +former—are disposed upon her little body. Each hand carries five +jewelled rings which are connected by golden chains to a great jewelled +boss of gold in the centre of the back of the hand. Ear-rings weighted +with emeralds and pearls, diamond nose-rings, and how many other hundred +articles make up the list of adornments. English furniture of a gorgeous +and gimcrack kind, unlimited chandeliers, and a collection of atrocious +Continental prints are scattered about the house, and on every landing +squats or loafs a Bengali who can talk English with unholy fluency. The +recurrence suggests—only suggests, mind—a grim possibility<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1226" id="Page_1226">[Pg 226]</a></span> of the +affectation of excessive virtue by day, tempered with the sort of +unwholesome enjoyment after dusk—this loafing and lobbying and +chattering and smoking, and unless the bottles lie, tippling, among the +foul-tongued handmaidens of the Dainty Iniquity. How many men follow +this double, deleterious sort of life? The Police are discreetly dumb.</p> + +<p>"Now don't go talking about 'domiciliary visits' just because this one +happens to be a pretty woman. We've <i>got</i> to know these creatures. They +make the rich man and the poor spend their money; and when a man can't +get money for 'em honestly, he comes under <i>our</i> notice. Now do you see? +If there was any domiciliary 'visit' about it, the whole houseful would +be hidden past our finding as soon as we turned up in the courtyard. +We're friends—to a certain extent." And, indeed, it seemed no difficult +thing to be friends to any extent with the Dainty Iniquity who was so +surpassingly different from all that experience taught of the beauty of +the East. Here was the face from which a man could write <i>Lalla Rookhs</i> +by the dozen, and believe every work that he wrote. Hers was the beauty +that Byron sang of when he wrote—</p> + +<p>"Remember, if you come here alone, the chances are that you'll be +clubbed, or stuck, or, anyhow, mobbed. You'll understand that this part +of the world is shut to Europeans—absolutely. Mind the steps, and +follow on." The vision dies out in the smells and gross darkness of the +night, in evil, time-rotten brickwork, and another wilderness of shut-up +houses.</p> + +<p>Follows, after another plunge into a passage of a courtyard, and up a +staircase, the apparition of a Fat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1227" id="Page_1227">[Pg 227]</a></span> Vice, in whom is no sort of romance, +nor beauty, but unlimited coarse humour. She too is studded with jewels, +and her house is even finer than the house of the other, and more +infested with the extraordinary men who speak such good English and are +so deferential to the Police. The Fat Vice has been a great leader of +fashion in her day, and stripped a zemindar Raja to his last +acre—insomuch that he ended in the House of Correction for a theft +committed for her sake. Native opinion has it that she is a "monstrous +well-preserved woman." On this point, as on some others, the races will +agree to differ.</p> + +<p>The scene changes suddenly as a slide in a magic lantern. Dainty +Iniquity and Fat Vice slide away on a roll of streets and alleys, each +more squalid than its predecessor. We are "somewhere at the back of the +Machua Bazar," well in the heart of the city. There are no houses +here—nothing but acres and acres, it seems, of foul wattle-and-dab +huts, any one of which would be a disgrace to a frontier village. The +whole arrangement is a neatly contrived germ and fire trap, reflecting +great credit upon the Calcutta Municipality.</p> + +<p>"What happens when these pigsties catch fire?" "They're built up again," +say the Police, as though this were the natural order of things. "Land +is immensely valuable here." All the more reason, then, to turn several +Hausmanns loose into the city, with instructions to make barracks for +the population that cannot find room in the huts and sleeps in the open +ways, cherishing dogs and worse, much worse, in its unwashen bosom. +"Here is a licensed coffee-shop. This is where your servants go for +amusement and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1228" id="Page_1228">[Pg 228]</a></span> to see nautches." There is a huge thatch shed, +ingeniously ornamented with insecure kerosene lamps, and crammed with +drivers, cooks, small store-keepers and the like. Never a sign of a +European. Why? "Because if an Englishman messed about here, he'd get +into trouble. Men don't come here unless they're drunk or have lost +their way." The hack-drivers—they have the privilege of voting, have +they not?—look peaceful enough as they squat on tables or crowd by the +doors to watch the nautch that is going forward. Five pitiful +draggle-tails are huddled together on a bench under one of the lamps, +while the sixth is squirming and shrieking before the impassive crowd. +She sings of love as understood by the Oriental—the love that dries the +heart and consumes the liver. In this place, the words that would look +so well on paper have an evil and ghastly significance. The men stare or +sup tumblers and cups of a filthy decoction, and the <i>kunchenee</i> howls +with renewed vigour in the presence of the Police. Where the Dainty +Iniquity was hung with gold and gems, she is trapped with pewter and +glass; and where there was heavy embroidery on the Fat Vice's dress, +defaced, stamped tinsel faithfully reduplicates the pattern on the +tawdry robes of the <i>kunchenee</i>.</p> + +<p>Two or three men with uneasy consciences have quietly slipped out of the +coffee-shop into the mazes of the huts. The Police laugh, and those +nearest in the crowd laugh applausively, as in duty bound. Perhaps the +rabbits grin uneasily when the ferret lands at the bottom of the burrow +and begins to clear the warren.</p> + +<p>"The <i>chandoo</i>-shops shut up at six, so you'll have to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1229" id="Page_1229">[Pg 229]</a></span> see +opium-smoking before dark some day. No, you won't, though." The +detective makes for a half-opened door of a hut whence floats the +fragrance of the Black Smoke. Those of the inhabitants who are able +promptly clear out—they have no love for the Police—and there remain +only four men lying down and one standing up. This latter has a pet +mongoose coiled round his neck. He speaks English fluently. Yes, he has +no fear. It was a private smoking party and—"No business to-night—show +how you smoke opium." "Aha! You want to see. Very good, I show. Hiya! +you"—he kicks a man on the floor—"show how opium-smoke." The kickee +grunts lazily and turns on his elbow. The mongoose, always keeping to +the man's neck, erects every hair of its body like an angry cat, and +chatters in its owner's ear. The lamp for the opium-pipe is the only one +in the room, and lights a scene as wild as anything in the witches' +revel; the mongoose acting as the familiar spirit. A voice from the +ground says, in tones of infinite weariness: "You take <i>afim</i>, so"—a +long, long pause, and another kick from the man possessed of the +devil—the mongoose. "You take <i>afim</i>?" He takes a pellet of the black, +treacly stuff on the end of a knitting-needle. "And light <i>afim</i>." He +plunges the pellet into the night-light, where it swells and fumes +greasily. "And then you put it in your pipe." The smoking pellet is +jammed into the tiny bowl of the thick, bamboo-stemmed pipe, and all +speech ceases, except the unearthly chitter of the mongoose. The man on +the ground is sucking at his pipe, and when the smoking pellet has +ceased to smoke will be half-way to <i>Nibban</i>. "Now you go," says the man +with the mongoose. "I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1230" id="Page_1230">[Pg 230]</a></span> am going smoke." The hut floor closes upon a +red-lit view of huddled legs and bodies, and the man with the mongoose +sinking, sinking on to his knees, his head bowed forward, and the little +hairy devil chattering on the nape of his neck.</p> + +<p>After this the fetid night air seems almost cool, for the hut is as hot +as a furnace. "Now for Colootollah. Come through the huts. There is no +decoration about <i>this</i> vice."</p> + +<p>The huts now gave place to houses very tall and spacious and very dark. +But for the narrowness of the streets we might have stumbled upon +Chowringhi in the dark. An hour and a half has passed, and up to this +time we have not crossed our trail once. "You might knock about the city +for a night and never cross the same line. Recollect Calcutta isn't one +of your poky up-country cities of a lakh and a half of people." "How +long does it take to know it then?" "About a lifetime, and even then +some of the streets puzzle you." "How much has the head of a ward to +know?" "Every house in his ward if he can, who owns it, what sort of +character the inhabitants are, who are their friends, who go out and in, +who loaf about the place at night, and so on and so on." "And he knows +all this by night as well as by day?" "Of course. Why shouldn't he?" "No +reason in the world. Only it's pitchy black just now, and I'd like to +see where this alley is going to end." "Round the corner beyond that +dead wall. There's a lamp there. Then you'll be able to see." A shadow +flits out of a gulley and disappears. "Who's that?" "Sergeant of Police +just to see where we're going in case of accidents." Another shadow +staggers into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1231" id="Page_1231">[Pg 231]</a></span> darkness. "Who's <i>that</i>?" "Soldier from the Fort or a +sailor from the ships. I couldn't quite see." The Police open a shut +door in a high wall, and stumble unceremoniously among a gang of women +cooking their food. The floor is of beaten earth, the steps that lead +into the upper stories are unspeakably grimy, and the heat is the heat +of April. The women rise hastily, and the light of the bull's eye—for +the Police have now lighted a lantern in regular London fashion—shows +six bleared faces—one a half-native half-Chinese one, and the others +Bengali. "There are no men here!" they cry. "The house is empty." Then +they grin and jabber and chew <i>pan</i> and spit, and hurry up the steps +into the darkness. A range of three big rooms has been knocked into one +here, and there is some sort of arrangement of mats. But an average +country-bred is more sumptuously accommodated in an Englishman's stable. +A horse would snort at the accommodation.</p> + +<p>"Nice sort of place, isn't it?" say the Police, genially. "This is where +the sailors get robbed and drunk." "They must be blind drunk before they +come." "Na—na! Na sailor men ee—yah!" chorus the women, catching at +the one word they understand. "Arl gone!" The Police take no notice, but +tramp down the big room with the mat loose-boxes. A woman is shivering +in one of these. "What's the matter?" "Fever. Seek. Vary, <i>vary</i> seek." +She huddles herself into a heap on the <i>charpoy</i> and groans.</p> + +<p>A tiny, pitch-black closet opens out of the long room, and into this the +Police plunge. "Hullo! What's here?" Down flashes the lantern, and a +white hand with black<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1232" id="Page_1232">[Pg 232]</a></span> nails comes out of the gloom. Somebody is asleep +or drunk in the cot. The ring of lantern light travels slowly up and +down the body. "A sailor from the ships. He'll be robbed before the +morning most likely." The man is sleeping like a little child, both arms +thrown over his head, and he is not unhandsome. He is shoeless, and +there are huge holes in his stockings. He is a pure-blooded white, and +carries the flush of innocent sleep on his cheeks.</p> + +<p>The light is turned off, and the Police depart; while the woman in the +loose-box shivers, and moans that she is "seek; vary, <i>vary</i> seek."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1233" id="Page_1233">[Pg 233]</a></span>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p class="center">DEEPER AND DEEPER STILL.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I built myself a lordly pleasure-house,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein at ease for aye to dwell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I said:—'O Soul, make merry and carouse.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear Soul—for all is well.'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">—<i>The Palace of Art.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>"And where next? I don't like Colootollah." The Police and their charge +are standing in the interminable waste of houses under the starlight. +"To the lowest sink of all, but you wouldn't know if you were told." +They lead till they come to the last circle of the Inferno—a long, +quiet, winding road. "There you are; you can see for yourself."</p> + +<p>But there is nothing to be seen. On one side are houses—gaunt and dark, +naked and devoid of furniture; on the other, low, mean stalls, lighted, +and with shamelessly open doors, where women stand and mutter and +whisper one to another. There is a hush here, or at least the busy +silence of an officer of counting-house in working hours. One look down +the street is sufficient. Lead on, gentlemen of the Calcutta Police. We +do not love the lines of open doors, the flaring lamps within, the +glimpses of the tawdry toilet-tables adorned with little plaster dogs, +glass balls from Christmas-trees, and—for religion must not be despised +though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1234" id="Page_1234">[Pg 234]</a></span> women be fallen—pictures of the saints and statuettes of the +Virgin. The street is a long one, and other streets, full of the same +pitiful wares, branch off from it.</p> + +<p>"Why are they so quiet? Why don't they make a row and sing and shout, +and so on?" "Why should they, poor devils?" say the Police, and fall to +telling tales of horror, of women decoyed and shot into this trap. Then +other tales that shatter one's belief in all things and folk of good +repute. "How can you Police have faith in humanity?"</p> + +<p>"That's because you're seeing it all in a lump for the first time, and +it's not nice that way. Makes a man jump rather, doesn't it? But, +recollect, you've <i>asked</i> for the worst places, and you can't complain." +"Who's complaining? Bring on your atrocities. Isn't that a European +woman at that door?" "Yes. Mrs. D——, widow of a soldier, mother of +seven children." "Nine, if you please, and good evening to you," shrills +Mrs. D——, leaning against the door-post, her arms folded on her bosom. +She is a rather pretty, slightly made Eurasian, and whatever shame she +may have owned she has long since cast behind her. A shapeless +Burmo-native trot, with high cheek-bones and mouth like a shark, calls +Mrs. D—— "Mem-Sahib." The word jars unspeakably. Her life is a matter +between herself and her Maker, but in that she—the widow of a soldier +of the Queen—has stooped to this common foulness in the face of the +city, she has offended against the White race. "You're from up-country, +and of course you don't understand. There are any amount of that lot in +the city, say the Police." Then the secret of the insolence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1235" id="Page_1235">[Pg 235]</a></span> of Calcutta +is made plain. Small wonder the natives fail to respect the Sahib, +seeing what they see and knowing what they know. In the good old days, +the Honourable the Directors deported him or her who misbehaved grossly, +and the white man preserved his face. He may have been a ruffian, but he +was a ruffian on a large scale. He did not sink in the presence of the +people. The natives are quite right to take the wall of the Sahib who +has been at great pains to prove that he is of the same flesh and blood.</p> + +<p>All this time Mrs. D—— stands on the threshold of her room and looks +upon the men with unabashed eyes. Mrs. D—— is a lady with a story. She +is not averse to telling it. "What was—ahem—the case in which you +were—er—hmn—concerned, Mrs. D——?" "They said I'd poisoned my +husband by putting something into his drinking water." This is +interesting. "And—ah—<i>did</i> you?" "'Twasn't proved," says Mrs. D—— +with a laugh, a pleasant, lady-like laugh that does infinite credit to +her education and upbringing. Worthy Mrs. D——! It would pay a +novelist—a French one let us say—to pick you out of the stews and make +you talk.</p> + +<p>The Police move forward, into a region of Mrs. D——'s. Everywhere are +the empty houses, and the babbling women in print gowns. The clocks in +the city are close upon midnight, but the Police show no signs of +stopping. They plunge hither and thither, like wreckers into the surf; +and each plunge brings up a sample of misery, filth, and woe.</p> + +<p>A woman—Eurasian—rises to a sitting position on a cot and blinks +sleepily at the Police. Then she throws herself down with a grunt. +"What's the matter with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1236" id="Page_1236">[Pg 236]</a></span> you?" "I live in Markiss Lane and"—this with +intense gravity—"I'm <i>so</i> drunk." She has a rather striking gipsy-like +face, but her language might be improved.</p> + +<p>"Come along," say the Police, "we'll head back to Bentinck Street, and +put you on the road to the Great Eastern." They walk long and steadily, +and the talk falls on gambling hells. "You ought to see our men rush one +of 'em. When we've marked a hell down, we post men at the entrances and +carry it. Sometimes the Chinese bite, but as a rule they fight fair. +It's a pity we hadn't a hell to show you. Let's go in here—there may be +something forward." "Here" appears to be in the heart of a Chinese +quarter, for the pigtails—do they ever go to bed?—are scuttling about +the streets. "Never go into a Chinese place alone," say the Police, and +swing open a postern gate in a strong, green door. Two Chinamen appear.</p> + +<p>"What are we going to see?" "Japanese gir—No, we aren't, by Jove! Catch +that Chinaman, <i>quick</i>." The pigtail is trying to double back across a +courtyard into an inner chamber; but a large hand on his shoulder spins +him round and puts him in rear of the line of advancing Englishmen, who +are, be it observed, making a fair amount of noise with their boots. A +second door is thrown open, and the visitors advance into a large, +square room blazing with gas. Here thirteen pigtails, deaf and blind to +the outer world, are bending over a table. The captured Chinaman dodges +uneasily in the rear of the procession. Five—ten—fifteen seconds pass, +the Englishmen standing in the full light less than three paces from the +absorbed gang who see nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1237" id="Page_1237">[Pg 237]</a></span> Then the burly Superintendent brings his +hand down on his thigh with a crack like a pistol-shot and shouts: "How +do, John?" Follows a frantic rush of scared Celestials, almost tumbling +over each other in their anxiety to get clear. One pigtail scoops up a +pile of copper money, another a chinaware soup-bowl, and only a little +mound of accusing cowries remains on the white matting that covers the +table. In less than half a minute two facts are forcibly brought home to +the visitor. First, that a pigtail is largely composed of silk, and +rasps the palm of the hand as it slides through; and secondly, that the +forearm of a Chinaman is surprisingly muscular and well-developed. +"What's going to be done?" "Nothing. There are only three of us, and all +the ringleaders would get away. We've got 'em safe any time we want to +catch 'em, if this little visit doesn't make 'em shift their quarters. +Hi! John. No pidgin to-night. Show how you makee play. That fat +youngster there is our informer."</p> + +<p>Half the pigtails have fled into the darkness, but the remainder assured +and trebly assured that the Police really mean "no pidgin," return to +the table and stand round while the croupier manipulates the cowries, +the little curved slip of bamboo, and the soup-bowl. They never gamble, +these innocents. They only come to look on, and smoke opium in the next +room. Yet as the game progresses their eyes light up, and one by one put +their money on odd or even—the number of the cowries that are covered +and left uncovered by the little soup-bowl. <i>Mythan</i> is the name of the +amusement, and, whatever may be its demerits, it is clean. The Police +look on while their charge plays and loots a parchment-skinned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1238" id="Page_1238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +horror—one of Swift's Struldburgs, strayed from Laputa—of the enormous +sum of two annas. The return of this wealth, doubled, sets the loser +beating his forehead against the table from sheer gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Most immoral game this. A man might drop five whole rupees, if he began +playing at sun-down and kept it up all night. Don't you ever play whist +occasionally?"</p> + +<p>"Now, we didn't bring you round to make fun of this department. A man +can lose as much as ever he likes and he can fight as well, and if he +loses all his money he steals to get more. A Chinaman is insane about +gambling, and half his crime comes from it. It <i>must</i> be kept down. Here +we are in Bentinck Street and you can be driven to the Great Eastern in +a few minutes. Joss houses? Oh, yes. If you want more horrors, +Superintendent Lamb will take you round with him to-morrow afternoon at +five. Good night."</p> + +<p>The Police depart, and in a few minutes the silent respectability of Old +Council House Street, with the grim Free Kirk at the end of it, is +reached. All good Calcutta has gone to bed, the last tram has passed, +and the peace of the night is upon the world. Would it be wise and +rational to climb the spire of that kirk, and shout: "O true believers! +Decency is a fraud and a sham. There is nothing clean or pure or +wholesome under the stars, and we are all going to perdition together. +Amen!" On second thoughts it would not; for the spire is slippery, the +night is hot, and the Police have been specially careful to warn their +charge that he must not be carried away by the sight of horrors that +cannot be written or hinted at.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1239" id="Page_1239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good morning," says the Policeman tramping the pavement in front of the +Great Eastern, and he nods his head pleasantly to show that he is the +representative of Law and Peace and that the city of Calcutta is safe +from itself for the present.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1240" id="Page_1240">[Pg 240]</a></span>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p class="center">CONCERNING LUCIA.</p> + + +<p>Time must be filled in somehow till five this afternoon, when +Superintendent Lamb will reveal more horrors. Why not, the trams aiding, +go to the Old Park Street Cemetery?</p> + +<p>"You want go Park Street? No trams going Park Street. You get out +<i>here</i>." Calcutta tram conductors are not polite. The car shuffles +unsympathetically down the street, and the evicted is stranded in +Dhurrumtollah, which may be the Hammersmith Highway of Calcutta. +Providence arranged this mistake, and paved the way to a Great Discovery +now published for the first time. Dhurrumtollah is full of the People of +India, walking in family parties and groups and confidential couples. +And the people of India are neither Hindu nor Mussulman—Jew, Ethiop, +Gueber, or expatriated British. They are the Eurasians, and there are +hundreds and hundreds of them in Dhurrumtollah now. There is Papa with a +shining black hat fit for a counsellor of the Queen, and Mamma, whose +silken dress is tight upon her portly figure, and The Brood made up of +straw-hatted, olive-cheeked, sharp-eyed little boys, and leggy maidens +wearing white, open-work stockings calculated to show dust. There are +the young men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1241" id="Page_1241">[Pg 241]</a></span> who smoke bad cigars and carry themselves lordily—such +as have incomes. There are also the young women with the beautiful eyes +and the wonderful dresses which always fit so badly across the +shoulders. And they carry prayer-books or baskets, because they are +either going to mass or the market. Without doubt, these are the People +of India. They were born in it, bred in it, and will die in it. The +Englishman only comes to the country, and the natives of course were +there from the first, but these people have been made here, and no one +has done anything for them except talk and write about them. Yet they +belong, some of them, to old and honourable families, hold houses in +Sealdah, and are rich, a few of them. They all look prosperous and +contented, and they chatter eternally in that curious dialect that no +one has yet reduced to print. Beyond what little they please to reveal +now and again in the newspapers, we know nothing about their life which +touches so intimately the White on the one hand and the Black on the +other. It must be interesting—more interesting than the colourless +Anglo-Indian article; but who has treated of it? There was one novel +once in which the second heroine was an Eurasienne. She was a strictly +subordinate character, and came to a sad end. The poet of the race, +Henry Derozio,—he of whom Mr. Thomas Edwards wrote a history,—was +bitten with Keats and Scott and Shelley, and overlooked in his search +for material things that lay nearest to him. All this mass of humanity +in Dhurrumtollah is unexploited and almost unknown. Wanted, therefore, a +writer from among the Eurasians, who shall write so that men shall be +pleased to read a story of Eurasian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1242" id="Page_1242">[Pg 242]</a></span> life; then outsiders will be +interested in the People of India, and will admit that the race has +possibilities.</p> + +<p>A futile attempt to get to Park Street from Dhurrumtollah ends in the +market—the Hogg Market men call it. Perhaps a knight of that name built +it. It is not one-half as pretty as the Crawford Market, in Bombay, but +... it appears to be the trysting place of Young Calcutta. The natural +inclination of youth is to lie abed late, and to let the seniors do all +the hard work. Why, therefore, should Pyramus, who has to be ruling +account forms at ten, and Thisbe, who <i>cannot</i> be interested in the +price of second-quality beef, wander, in studiously correct raiment, +round and about the stalls before the sun is well clear of the earth? +Pyramus carries a walking stick with imitation silver straps upon it, +and there are cloth tops to his boots; but his collar has been two days +worn. Thisbe crowns her dark head with a blue velvet Tam-o'-Shanter; but +one of her boots lacks a button, and there is a tear in the left-hand +glove. Mamma, who despises gloves, is rapidly filling a shallow basket, +that the coolie-boy carries, with vegetables, potatoes, purple brinjals, +and—Oh, Pyramus! Do you ever kiss Thisbe when Mamma is not +by?—garlic—yea, <i>lusson</i> of the bazaar! Mamma is generous in her views +on garlic. Pyramus comes round the corner of the stall looking for +nobody in particular—not he—and is elaborately polite to Mamma. +Somehow, he and Thisbe drift off together, and Mamma, very portly and +very voluble, is left to chaffer and sort and select alone. In the name +of the Sacred Unities do not, young people, retire to the meat-stalls to +exchange confidences! Come up to this end, where the roses are arriving +in great flat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1243" id="Page_1243">[Pg 243]</a></span> baskets, where the air is heavy with the fragrance of +flowers, and the young buds and greenery are littering all the floor. +They won't—they prefer talking by the dead, unromantic muttons, where +there are not so many buyers. There must have been a quarrel to make up. +Thisbe shakes the blue velvet Tam-o'-Shanter and says, "Oah yess!" +scornfully. Pyramus answers: "No-a, no-a. Do-ant say thatt." Mamma's +basket is full and she picks up Thisbe hastily. Pyramus departs. <i>He</i> +never came here to do any marketing. He came to meet Thisbe, who in ten +years will own a figure very much like Mamma's. May their ways be smooth +before them, and after honest service of the Government, may Pyramus +retire on 250 rupees per mensem, into a nice little house somewhere in +Monghyr or Chunar!</p> + +<p>From love by natural sequence to death. Where <i>is</i> the Park Street +Cemetery? A hundred hack-drivers leap from their boxes and invade the +market, and after a short struggle one of them uncarts his capture in a +burial-ground—a ghastly new place, close to a tramway. This is not what +is wanted. The living dead are here—the people whose names are not yet +altogether perished and whose tombstones are tended. "Where are the +<i>old</i> dead?" "Nobody goes there," says the driver. "It is up that road." +He points up a long and utterly deserted thoroughfare, running between +high walls. This is the place, and the entrance to it, with its gardener +waiting with one brown, battered rose for the visitor, its grilled door +and its professional notices, bears a hideous likeness to the entrance +of Simla churchyard. But, once inside, the sightseer stands in the heart +of utter desolation—all the more forlorn for being swept up. Lower<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1244" id="Page_1244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +Park Street cuts a great graveyard in two. The guide-books will tell you +when the place was opened and when it was closed. The eye is ready to +swear that it is as old as Herculaneum and Pompeii. The tombs are small +houses. It is as though we walked down the streets of a town, so tall +are they and so closely do they stand—a town shrivelled by fire, and +scarred by frost and siege. Men must have been afraid of their friends +rising up before the due time that they weighted them with such cruel +mounds of masonry. Strong man, weak woman, or somebody's "infant son +aged fifteen months," for each the squat obelisk, the defaced classic +temple, the cellaret of chunam, or the candlestick of brickwork—the +heavy slab, the rust-eaten railings, the whopper-jawed cherubs, and the +apoplectic angels. Men were rich in those days and could afford to put a +hundred cubic feet of masonry into the grave of even so humble a person +as "Jno. Clements, Captain of the Country Service, 1820." When the +"dearly beloved" had held rank answering to that of Commissioner, the +efforts are still more sumptuous and the verse.... Well, the following +speaks for itself:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Soft on thy tomb shall fond Remembrance shed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warm yet unavailing tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And purple flowers that deck the honoured dead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall strew the loved and honoured bier."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Failure to comply with the contract does not, let us hope, entail +forfeiture of the earnest-money; or the honoured dead might be grieved. +The slab is out of his tomb, and leans foolishly against it; the +railings are rotted, and there are no more lasting ornaments than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1245" id="Page_1245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +blisters and stains, which are the work of the weather, and not the +result of the "warm yet unavailing tear."</p> + +<p>Let us go about and moralise cheaply on the tombstones, trailing the +robe of pious reflection up and down the pathways of the grave. Here is +a big and stately tomb sacred to "Lucia," who died in 1776 <span class="smcap">A.D.</span>, aged +23. Here also be lichened verses which an irreverent thumb can bring to +light. Thus they wrote, when their hearts were heavy in them, one +hundred and sixteen years ago:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What needs the emblem, what the plaintive strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What all the arts that sculpture e'er expressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell the treasure that these walls contain?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let those declare it most who knew her best.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The tender pity she would oft display<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall be with interest at her shrine returned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Connubial love, connubial tears repay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Lucia loved shall still be Lucia mourned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Though closed the lips, though stopped the tuneful breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silent, clay-cold monitress shall teach—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the alarming eloquence of death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With double pathos to the heart shall preach.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Shall teach the virtuous maid, the faithful wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If young and fair, that young and fair was she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then close the useful lesson of her life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tell them what she is, they soon must be."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That goes well, even after all these years, does it not? and seems to +bring Lucia very near, in spite of what the later generation is pleased +to call the stiltedness of the old-time verse.</p> + +<p>Who will declare the merits of Lucia—dead in her spring before there +was even a <i>Hickey's Gazette</i> to chronicle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1246" id="Page_1246">[Pg 246]</a></span> the amusements of Calcutta, +and publish, with scurrilous asterisks, the <i>liaisons</i> of heads of +departments? What pot-bellied East Indiaman brought the "virtuous maid" +up the river, and did Lucia "make her bargain" as the cant of those +times went, on the first, second, or third day after her arrival? Or did +she, with the others of the batch, give a spinsters' ball as a last +trial—following the custom of the country? No. She was a fair Kentish +maiden, sent out, at a cost of five hundred pounds, English money, under +the captain's charge, to wed the man of her choice, and <i>he</i> knew Clive +well, had had dealings with Omichand, and talked to men who had lived +through the terrible night in the Black Hole. He was a rich man, Lucia's +battered tomb proves it, and he gave Lucia all that her heart could +wish: a green-painted boat to take the air in on the river of evenings. +Coffree slave-boys who could play on the French horn, and even a very +elegant, neat coach with a genteel rutlan roof ornamented with flowers +very highly finished, ten best polished plate glasses, ornamented with a +few elegant medallions enriched with mother-o'-pearl, that she might +take her drive on the course as befitted a factor's wife. All these +things he gave her. And when the convoys came up the river, and the guns +thundered, and the servants of the Honourable the East India Company +drank to the king's health, be sure that Lucia before all the other +ladies in the Fort had her choice of the new stuffs from England and was +cordially hated in consequence. Tilly Kettle painted her picture a +little before she died, and the hot-blooded young writers did duel with +small swords in the fort ditch for the honour of piloting her through a +minuet at the Calcutta theatre or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1247" id="Page_1247">[Pg 247]</a></span> the Punch House. But Warren Hastings +danced with her instead, and the writers were confounded—every man of +them. She was a toast far up the river. And she walked in the evening on +the bastions of Fort William, and said, "La! I protest!" It was there +that she exchanged congratulations with all her friends on the 20th of +October, when those who were alive gathered together to felicitate +themselves on having come through another hot season; and the men—even +the sober factor saw no wrong here—got most royally and Britishly drunk +on Madeira that had twice rounded the Cape. But Lucia fell sick, and the +doctor—he who went home after seven years with five lakhs and a half, +and a corner of this vast graveyard to his account—said that it was a +pukka or putrid fever, and the system required strengthening. So they +fed Lucia on hot curries, and mulled wine worked up with spirits and +fortified with spices, for nearly a week; at the end of which time she +closed her eyes on the weary river and the Fort for ever, and a gallant, +with a turn for <i>belles-lettres</i>, wept openly as men did then and had no +shame of it, and composed the verses above set, and thought himself a +neat hand at the pen—stap his vitals! But the factor was so grieved +that he could write nothing at all—could only spend his money—and he +counted his wealth by lakhs—on a sumptuous grave. A little later on he +took comfort, and when the next batch came out—</p> + +<p>But this has nothing whatever to do with the story of Lucia, the +virtuous maid, the faithful wife. Her ghost went to a big Calcutta +Powder Ball that very night, and looked very beautiful. I met her. </p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1248" id="Page_1248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1249" id="Page_1249">[Pg 249]</a></span>AMONG THE RAILWAY FOLK</h2> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Mar.</span>, 1888</p> + +<p class="center">A RAILWAY SETTLEMENT.</p> + + +<p>Jamalpur is the headquarters of the East India Railway. This in itself +is not a startling statement. The wonder begins with the exploration of +Jamalpur, which is a station entirely made by, and devoted to, the use +of those untiring servants of the public, the railway folk. They have +towns of their own at Toondla and Assensole; a sun-dried sanitarium at +Bandikui; and Howrah, Ajmir, Allahabad, Lahore, and Pindi know their +colonies. But Jamalpur is unadulteratedly "Railway," and he who has +nothing to do with the E. I. Railway in some shape or another feels a +stranger and an interloper. Running always east and southerly, the train +carries him from the torments of the northwest into the wet, woolly +warmth of Bengal, where may be found the hothouse heat that has ruined +the temper of the good people of Calcutta. The land is fat and greasy +with good living, and the wealth of the bodies of innumerable dead +things; and here—just above Mokameh—may be seen fields stretching, +without stick, stone, or bush to break the view, from the railway line +to the horizon.</p> + +<p>Up-country innocents must look at the map to learn that Jamalpur is near +the top left-hand corner of the big<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1250" id="Page_1250">[Pg 250]</a></span> loop that the E. I. R. throws out +round Bhagalpur and part of the Bara-Banki districts. Northward of +Jamalpur, as near as may be, lies the Ganges and Tirhoot, and eastward +an offshoot of the volcanic Rajmehal range blocks the view.</p> + +<p>A station which has neither Judge, Commissioner, Deputy, or 'Stunt, +which is devoid of law courts, <i>ticca-gharies</i>, District Superintendents +of Police, and many other evidences of an over-cultured civilisation, is +a curiosity. "We administer ourselves," says Jamalpur, proudly, "or we +did—till we had local self-government in—and now the racket-marker +administers us." This is a solemn fact. The station, which had its +beginnings thirty odd years ago, used, till comparatively recent times, +to control its own roads, sewage, conservancy, and the like. But, with +the introduction of local self-government, it was ordained that the +"inestimable boon" should be extended to a place made by, and maintained +for, Europeans, and a brand-new municipality was created and nominated +according to the many rules of the game. In the skirmish that ensued, +the Club racket-marker fought his way to the front, secured a place on a +board largely composed of Babus, and since that day Jamalpur's views on +government have not been fit for publication. To understand the +magnitude of the insult, one must study the city—for station, in the +strict sense of the word, it is not. Crotons, palms, mangoes, +<i>mellingtonias</i>, teak, and bamboos adorn it, and the <i>poinsettia</i> and +<i>bougainvillea</i>, the railway creeper and the <i>bignonia venusta</i>, make it +gay with many colours. It is laid out with military precision to each +house its just share of garden, its red brick path, its growth of +trees,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1251" id="Page_1251">[Pg 251]</a></span> and its neat little wicket gate. Its general aspect, in spite of +the Dutch formality, is that of an English village, such a thing as +enterprising stage-managers put on the theatres at home. The hills have +thrown a protecting arm round nearly three sides of it, and on the +fourth it is bounded by what are locally known as the "sheds"; in other +words, the station, offices, and workshops of the company. The E. I. R. +only exists for outsiders. Its servants speak of it reverently, angrily, +despitefully, or enthusiastically as "The Company"; and they never omit +the big, big C. Men must have treated the Honourable the East India +Company in something the same fashion ages ago. "The Company" in +Jamalpur is Lord Dufferin, all the Members of Council, the Body-Guard, +Sir Frederick Roberts, Mr. Westland, whose name is at the bottom of the +currency notes, the Oriental Life Assurance Company, and the Bengal +Government all rolled into one. At first, when a stranger enters this +life, he is inclined to scoff and ask, in his ignorance, "<i>What</i> is this +Company that you talk so much about?" Later on, he ceases to scoff; for +the Company is a "big" thing—almost big enough to satisfy an American.</p> + +<p>Ere beginning to describe its doings, let it be written, and repeated +several times hereafter, that the E. I. R. passenger carriages, and +especially the second-class, are just now horrid—being filthy and +unwashen, dirty to look at, and dirty to live in. Having cast this small +stone, we will examine Jamalpur. When it was laid out, in or before the +Mutiny year, its designers allowed room for growth, and made the houses +of one general design—some of brick, some of stone, some three, four,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1252" id="Page_1252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +and six roomed, some single men's barracks and some two-storied—all for +the use of the employés. King's Road, Prince's Road, Queen's Road, and +Victoria Road—Jamalpur is loyal—cut the breadth of the station; and +Albert Road, Church Street, and Steam Road the length of it. Neither on +these roads or on any of the cool-shaded smaller ones is anything +unclean or unsightly to be found. There is a dreary village in the +neighbourhood which is said to make the most of any cholera that may be +going, but Jamalpur itself is specklessly and spotlessly neat. From St. +Mary's Church to the railway station, and from the buildings where they +print daily about half a lakh of tickets, to the ringing, roaring, +rattling workshops, everything has the air of having been cleaned up at +ten that very morning and put under a glass case. There is a holy calm +about the roads—totally unlike anything in an English manufacturing +town. Wheeled conveyances are few, because every man's bungalow is close +to his work, and when the day has begun and the offices of the "Loco." +and "Traffic" have soaked up their thousands of natives and hundreds of +Europeans, you shall pass under the dappled shadows of the trees, +hearing nothing louder than the croon of some bearer playing with a +child in the verandah or the faint tinkle of a piano. This is pleasant, +and produces an impression of Watteau-like refinement tempered with +Arcadian simplicity. The dry, anguished howl of the "buzzer," the big +steam-whistle, breaks the hush, and all Jamalpur is alive with the +tramping of tiffin-seeking feet. The Company gives one hour for meals +between eleven and twelve. On the stroke of noon there is another rush +back to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1253" id="Page_1253">[Pg 253]</a></span> works or the offices, and Jamalpur sleeps through the +afternoon till four or half-past, and then rouses for tennis at the +institute.</p> + +<p>In the hot weather it splashes in the swimming bath, or reads, for it +has a library of several thousand books. One of the most nourishing +lodges in the Bengal jurisdiction—"St. George in the East"—lives at +Jamalpur, and meets twice a month. Its members point out with +justifiable pride that all the fittings were made by their own hands; +and the lodge in its accoutrements and the energy of the craftsmen can +compare with any in India. But the institute is the central gathering +place, and its half-dozen tennis-courts and neatly-laid-out grounds seem +to be always full. Here, if a stranger could judge, the greater part of +the flirtation of Jamalpur is carried out, and here the dashing +apprentice—the apprentices are the liveliest of all—learns that there +are problems harder than any he studies at the night school, and that +the heart of a maiden is more inscrutable than the mechanism of a +locomotive. On Tuesdays and Fridays, the volunteers parade. A and B +Companies, 150 strong in all, of the E. I. R. Volunteers, are stationed +here with the band. Their uniform, grey with red facings, is not lovely, +but they know how to shoot and drill. They have to. The "Company" makes +it a condition of service that a man must be a volunteer; and volunteer +in something more than name he must be, or some one will ask the reason +why. Seeing that there are no regulars between Howrah and Dinapore, the +"Company" does well in exacting this toll. Some of the old soldiers are +wearied of drill, some of the youngsters don't like it, but—the way +they entrain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1254" id="Page_1254">[Pg 254]</a></span> and detrain is worth seeing. They are as mobile a corps as +can be desired, and perhaps ten or twelve years hence the Government may +possibly be led to take a real interest in them and spend a few thousand +rupees in providing them with real soldiers' kits—not uniform and rifle +merely. Their ranks include all sorts and conditions of men—heads of +the "Loco." and "Traffic," the "Company" is no respecter of rank—clerks +in the "audit," boys from mercantile firms at home, fighting with the +intricacies of time, fare, and freight tables; guards who have grown +grey in the service of the Company; mail and passenger drivers with +nerves of cast-iron, who can shoot through a long afternoon without +losing temper or flurrying; light-blue East Indians; Tyne-side men, slow +of speech and uncommonly strong in the arm; lathy apprentices who have +not yet "filled out"; fitters, turners, foremen, full, assistant, and +sub-assistant station-masters, and a host of others. In the hands of the +younger men the regulation Martini-Henri naturally goes off the line +occasionally on hunting expeditions.</p> + +<p>There is a twelve-hundred yards' range running down one side of the +station, and the condition of the grass by the firing butts tells its +own tale. Scattered in the ranks of the volunteers are a fair number of +old soldiers, for the Company has a weakness for recruiting from the +Army for its guards who may, in time, become station-masters. A good man +from the Army, with his papers all correct and certificates from his +commanding officer, can, after depositing twenty pounds to pay his home +passage, in the event of his services being dispensed with, enter the +Company's service on something less<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1255" id="Page_1255">[Pg 255]</a></span> than one hundred rupees a month and +rise in time to four hundred as a station-master. A railway +bungalow—and they are as substantially built as the engines—will cost +him more than one-ninth of the pay of his grade, and the Provident Fund +provides for his latter end.</p> + +<p>Think for a moment of the number of men that a line running from Howrah +to Delhi must use, and you will realise what an enormous amount of +patronage the Company holds in its hands. Naturally a father who has +worked for the line expects the line to do something for the son; and +the line is not backward in meeting his wishes where possible. The sons +of old servants may be taken on at fifteen years of age, or thereabouts, +as apprentices in the "shops," receiving twenty rupees in the first and +fifty in the last year, of their indentures. Then they come on the books +as full "men" on perhaps Rs. 65 a month, and the road is open to them in +many ways. They may become foremen of departments on Rs. 500 a month, or +drivers earning with overtime Rs. 370; or if they have been brought into +the audit or the traffic, they may control innumerable Babus and draw +several hundreds of rupees monthly; or, at eighteen or nineteen, they +may be ticket-collectors, working up to the grade of guard, etc. Every +rank of the huge, human hive has a desire to see its sons placed +properly, and the native workmen, about three thousand, in the +locomotive department only, are, said one man, "making a family affair +of it altogether. You see all those men turning brass and looking after +the machinery? They've all got relatives, and a lot of 'em own land out +Monghyr-way close to us. They bring on their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1256" id="Page_1256">[Pg 256]</a></span> sons as soon as they are +old enough to do anything, and the Company rather encourages it. You see +the father is in a way responsible for his son, and he'll teach him all +he knows, and in that way the Company has a hold on them all. You've no +notion how sharp a native is when he's working on his own hook. All the +district round here, right up to Monghyr, is more or less dependent on +the railway."</p> + +<p>The Babus in the traffic department, in the stores, issue department, in +all the departments where men sit through the long, long Indian day +among ledgers, and check and pencil and deal in figures and items and +rupees, may be counted by hundreds. Imagine the struggle among them to +locate their sons in comfortable cane-bottomed chairs, in front of a big +pewter inkstand and stacks of paper! The Babus make beautiful +accountants, and if we could only see it, a merciful Providence has made +the Babu for figures and detail. Without him, the dividends of any +company would be eaten up by the expenses of English or city-bred +clerks. The Babu is a great man, and, to respect him, you must see five +score or so of him in a room a hundred yards long, bending over ledgers, +ledgers, and yet more ledgers—silent as the Sphinx and busy as a bee. +He is the lubricant of the great machinery of the Company whose ways and +works cannot be dealt with in a single scrawl.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1257" id="Page_1257">[Pg 257]</a></span>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="center">THE SHOPS.</p> + + +<p>The railway folk, like the army and civilian castes, have their own +language and life, which an outsider cannot hope to understand. For +instance, when Jamalpur refers to itself as being "on the Long Siding," +a lengthy explanation is necessary before the visitor grasps the fact +that the whole of the two hundred and thirty odd miles of the loop from +Luckeeserai to Kanu-Junction <i>via</i> Bhagalpur is thus contemptuously +treated. Jamalpur insists that it is out of the world, and makes this an +excuse for being proud of itself and all its institutions. But in one +thing it is badly, disgracefully provided. At a moderate estimate there +must be about two hundred Europeans with their families in this place. +They can, and do, get their small supplies from Calcutta, but they are +dependent on the tender mercies of the bazaar for their meat, which +seems to be hawked from door to door. There is a Raja who owns or has an +interest in the land on which the station stands, and he is averse to +cow-killing. For these reasons, Jamalpur is not too well supplied with +good meat, and what it wants is a decent meat-market with cleanly +controlled slaughtering arrangements. The "Company," who gives grants to +the schools and builds the institute and throws the shadow of its +protection all over the place, might help this scheme forward.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1258" id="Page_1258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + +<p>The heart of Jamalpur is the "shops," and here a visitor will see more +things in an hour than he can understand in a year. Steam Street very +appropriately leads to the forty or fifty acres that the "shops" cover, +and to the busy silence of the loco. superintendent's office, where, a +man must put down his name and his business on a slip of paper before he +can penetrate into the Temple of Vulcan. About three thousand five +hundred men are in the "shops," and, ten minutes after the day's work +has begun, the assistant superintendent knows exactly how many are "in." +The heads of departments—silent, heavy-handed men, captains of five +hundred or more—have their names fairly printed on a board which is +exactly like a pool-marker. They "star a life" when they come in, and +their few names alone represent salaries to the extent of six thousand a +month. They are men worth hearing deferentially. They hail from +Manchester and the Clyde, and the great ironworks of the North: pleasant +as cold water in a thirsty land is it to hear again the full +Northumbrian burr or the long-drawn Yorkshire "aye." Under their great +gravity of demeanour—a man who is in charge of a few lakhs' worth of +plant cannot afford to be riotously mirthful—lurks melody and humour. +They can sing like north-countrymen, and in their hours of ease go back +to the speech of the Iron countries they have left behind, when "Ab o' +th' yate" and all "Ben Briarly's" shrewd wit shakes the warm air of +Bengal with deep-chested laughter. Hear "Ruglan' Toon," with a chorus as +true as the fall of trip-hammers, and fancy that you are back again in +the smoky, rattling, ringing North!</p> + +<p>But this is the "unofficial" side. Go forward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1259" id="Page_1259">[Pg 259]</a></span> through the gates under +the mango trees, and set foot at once in sheds which have as little to +do with mangoes as a locomotive with Lakshmi. The "buzzer" howls, for it +is nearly tiffin time. There is a rush from every quarter of the shops, +a cloud of flying natives, and a procession of more sedately pacing +Englishmen, and in three short minutes you are left absolutely alone +among arrested wheels and belts, pulleys, cranks, and cranes—in a +silence only broken by the soft sigh of a far-away steam-valve or the +cooing of pigeons. You are, by favour freely granted, at liberty to +wander anywhere you please through the deserted works. Walk into a huge, +brick-built, tin-roofed stable, capable of holding twenty-four +locomotives under treatment, and see what must be done to the Iron Horse +once in every three years if he is to do his work well. On reflection, +Iron Horse is wrong. An engine is a she—as distinctly feminine as a +ship or a mine. Here stands the <i>Echo</i>, her wheels off, resting on +blocks, her underside machinery taken out, and her side scrawled with +mysterious hieroglyphics in chalk. An enormous green-painted iron +harness-rack bears her piston and eccentric rods, and a neatly painted +board shows that such and such Englishmen are the fitter, assistant, and +apprentice engaged in editing that <i>Echo</i>. An engine seen from the +platform and an engine viewed from underneath are two very different +things. The one is as unimpressive as a cart; the other as imposing as a +man-of-war in the yard.</p> + +<p>In this manner is an engine treated for navicular, laminitis, +back-sinew, or whatever it is that engines most suffer from. No. 607, we +will say, goes wrong at Dinapore, Assensole, Buxar, or wherever it may +be, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1260" id="Page_1260">[Pg 260]</a></span> three years' work. The place she came from is stencilled on +the boiler, and the foreman examines her. Then he fills in a hospital +sheet, which bears one hundred and eighty printed heads under which an +engine can come into the shops. No. 607 needs repair in only one hundred +and eighteen particulars, ranging from mud-hole-flanges and blower-cocks +to lead-plugs, and platform brackets which have shaken loose. This +certificate the foreman signs, and it is framed near the engine for the +benefit of the three Europeans and the eight or nine natives who have to +mend No. 607. To the ignorant the superhuman wisdom of the examiner +seems only equalled by the audacity of the two men and the boy who are +to undertake what is frivolously called the "job." No. 607 is in a +sorely mangled condition, but 403 is much worse. She is reduced to a +shell—is a very elle-woman of an engine, bearing only her funnel, the +iron frame and the saddle that supports the boiler.</p> + +<p>Four-and-twenty engines in every stage of decomposition stand in one +huge shop. A travelling crane runs overhead, and the men have hauled up +one end of a bright vermilion loco. The effect is the silence of a +scornful stare—just such a look as a colonel's portly wife gives +through her <i>pince-nez</i> at the audacious subaltern. Engines are the +"livest" things that man ever made. They glare through their +spectacle-plates, they tilt their noses contemptuously, and when their +insides are gone they adorn themselves with red lead, and leer like +decayed beauties; and in the Jamalpur works there is no escape from +them. The shops can hold fifty without pressure, and on occasion as many +again. Everywhere there are engines, and everywhere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1261" id="Page_1261">[Pg 261]</a></span> brass domes lie +about on the ground like huge helmets in a pantomime. The silence is the +weirdest touch of all. Some sprightly soul—an apprentice be sure—has +daubed in red lead on the end of an iron tool-box a caricature of some +friend who is evidently a riveter. The picture has all the interest of +an Egyptian cartouche, for it shows that men have been here, and that +the engines do not have it all their own way.</p> + +<p>And so, out in the open, away from the three great sheds, between and +under more engines, till we strike a wilderness of lines all converging +to one turn-table. Here be elephant-stalls ranged round a half-circle, +and in each stall stands one engine, and each engine stares at the +turn-table. A stolid and disconcerting company is this ring-of-eyes +monsters; 324, 432, and 8 are shining like toys. They are ready for +their turn of duty, and are as spruce as hansoms. Lacquered chocolate, +picked out with black, red, and white, is their dress and delicate lemon +graces the ceilings of the cabs. The driver should be a gentleman in +evening dress with white kid gloves, and there should be gold-headed +champagne bottles in the spick and span tenders. Huckleberry Finn says +of a timber raft, "It amounted to something being captain of that raft." +Thrice enviable is the man who, drawing Rs. 220 a month, is allowed to +make Rs. 150 overtime out of locos Nos. 324, 432, or 8. Fifty yards +beyond this gorgeous trinity are ten to twelve engines who have put in +to Jamalpur to bait. They are alive, their fires are lighted, and they +are swearing and purring and growling one at another as they stand +alone. Here is evidently one of the newest type—No. 25, a giant who has +just brought the mail in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1262" id="Page_1262">[Pg 262]</a></span> and waits to be cleaned up preparatory to +going out afresh.</p> + +<p>The tiffin hour has ended. The buzzer blows, and with a roar, a rattle, +and a clang the shops take up their toil. The hubbub that followed on +the Prince's kiss to the sleeping beauty was not so loud or sudden. +Experience, with a foot-rule in his pocket, authority in his port, and a +merry twinkle in his eye, comes up and catches Ignorance walking +gingerly round No. 25. "That's one of the best we have," says +Experience, "a four-wheeled coupled bogie they call her. She's by Dobbs. +She's done her hundred and fifty miles to-day; and she'll run in to +Rampore Haut this afternoon; then she'll rest a day and be cleaned up. +Roughly, she does her three hundred miles in the four-and-twenty hours. +She's a beauty. She's out from home, but we can build our own +engines—all except the wheels. We're building ten locos. now, and we've +got a dozen boilers ready if you care to look at them. How long does a +loco. last? That's just as may be. She will do as much as her driver +lets her. Some men play the mischief with a loco. and some handle 'em +properly. Our drivers prefer Hawthorne's old four-wheeled coupled +engines because they give the least bother. There is one in that shed, +and it's a good 'un to travel. But eighty thousand miles generally sees +the gloss off an engine, and she goes into the shops to be overhauled +and refitted and replaned, and a lot of things that you wouldn't +understand if I told you about them. No. 1, the first loco. on the line, +is running still, but very little of the original engine must be left by +this time. That one there, came out in the Mutiny year. She's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1263" id="Page_1263">[Pg 263]</a></span> by +Slaughter and Grunning, and she's built for speed in front of a light +load. French-looking sort of thing, isn't she? That's because her +cylinders are on a tilt. We used her for the Mail once, but the Mail has +grown heavier and heavier, and now we use six-wheeled coupled +eighteen-inch, inside cylinder, 45-ton locos. to shift thousand-ton +trains. <i>No!</i> All locos. aren't alike. It isn't merely pulling a lever. +The Company likes its drivers to know their locos., and a man will keep +his Hawthorne for two or three years. The more mileage he gets out of +her before she has to be overhauled the better man he is. It pays to let +a man have his fancy engine. A man must take an interest in his loco., +and that means she must belong to him. Some locos. won't do anything, +even if you coax and humour them. I don't think there are any unlucky +ones now, but some years ago No. 31 wasn't popular. The drivers went +sick or took leave when they were told off for her. She killed her +driver on the Jubbulpore line, she left the rails at Kajra, she did +something or other at Rampur Haut, and Lord knows what she didn't do or +try to do in other places! All the drivers fought shy of her, and in the +end she disappeared. They said she was condemned, but I shouldn't wonder +if the Company changed her number quietly, and changed the luck at the +same time. You see, the Government Inspector comes and looks at our +stock now and again, and when an engine's condemned he puts his +dhobi-mark on her, and she's broken up. Well, No. 31 was condemned, but +there was a whisper that they only shifted her number, and ran her out +again. When the drivers didn't know, there were no accidents. I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1264" id="Page_1264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +think we've got an unlucky one running now. Some are different from +others, but there are no man-eaters. Yes, a driver of the mail <i>is</i> +somebody. He can make Rs. 370 a month if he's a covenanted man. We get a +lot of our drivers in the country, and we don't import from England as +much as we did. 'Stands to reason that, now there's more competition +both among lines and in the labour market, the Company can't afford to +be as generous as it used to be. It doesn't cheat a man though. It's +this way with the drivers. A native driver gets about Rs. 20 a month, +and in his way he's supposed to be good enough for branch work and +shunting and such. Well, an English driver'll get from Rs. 80 to Rs. +220, and overtime. The English driver knows what the native gets, and in +time they tell the driver that the native'll improve. The driver has +that to think of. You see? That's competition!"</p> + +<p>Experience returns to the engine-sheds, now full of clamour, and +enlarges on the beauties of sick locomotives. The fitters and the +assistants and the apprentices are hammering and punching and gauging, +and otherwise technically disporting themselves round their enormous +patients, and their language, as caught in snatches, is beautifully +unintelligible.</p> + +<p>But one flying sentence goes straight to the heart. It is the cry of +Humanity over the task of Life, done into unrefined English. An +apprentice, grimed to his eyebrows, his cloth cap well on the back of +his curly head and his hands deep in his pockets, is sitting on the edge +of a tool-box ruefully regarding the very much disorganised engine whose +slave is he. A handsome boy, this apprentice, and well made. He whistles +softly between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1265" id="Page_1265">[Pg 265]</a></span> his teeth, and his brow puckers. Then he addresses the +engine, half in expostulation and half in despair, "Oh, you condemned +old female dog!" He puts the sentence more crisply—much more +crisply—and Ignorance chuckles sympathetically.</p> + +<p>Ignorance also is puzzled over these engines.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1266" id="Page_1266">[Pg 266]</a></span>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="center">VULCAN'S FORGE.</p> + + +<p>In the wilderness of the railway shops—and machinery that planes and +shaves, and bevels and stamps, and punches and hoists and nips—the +first idea that occurs to an outsider, when he has seen the men who +people the place, is that it must be the birthplace of inventions—a +pasture-ground of fat patents. If a writing-man, who plays with shadows +and dresses dolls that others may laugh at their antics, draws help and +comfort and new methods of working old ideas from the stored shelves of +a library, how, in the name of Commonsense, his god, can a doing-man, +whose mind is set upon things that snatch a few moments from flying Time +or put power into weak hands, refrain from going forward and adding new +inventions to the hundreds among which he daily moves?</p> + +<p>Appealed to on this subject, Experience, who had served the E. I. R. +loyally for many years, held his peace. "We don't go in much for +patents; but," he added, with a praiseworthy attempt to turn the +conversation, "we can build you any mortal thing you like. We've got the +<i>Bradford Leslie</i> steamer for the Sahibgunge ferry. Come and see the +brass-work for her bows. It's in the casting-shed."</p> + +<p>It would have been cruel to have pressed Experience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1267" id="Page_1267">[Pg 267]</a></span> further, and +Ignorance, to foredate matters a little, went about to discover why +Experience shied off this question, and why the men of Jamalpur had not +each and all invented and patented something. He won his information in +the end, but did not come from Jamalpur. <i>That</i> must be clearly +understood. It was found anywhere you please between Howrah and Hoti +Mardan; and here it is that all the world may admire a prudent and +far-sighted Board of Directors. Once upon a time, as every one in the +profession knows, two men invented the D. and O. sleeper—cast iron, of +five pieces, very serviceable. The men were in the Company's employ, and +their masters said: "Your brains are ours. Hand us over those sleepers." +Being of pay and position, D. and O. made some sort of resistance and +got a royalty or a bonus. At any rate, the Company had to pay for its +sleepers. But thereafter, and the condition exists to this day, they +caused it to be written in each servant's covenant, that if by chance he +invented aught, his invention was to belong to the Company. Providence +has mercifully arranged that no man or syndicate of men can buy the +"holy spirit of man" outright without suffering in some way or another +just as much as the purchase. America fully, and Germany in part, +recognises this law. The E. I. Railway's breach of it is thoroughly +English. They say, or it is said of them that they say, "We are afraid +of our men, who belong to us, wasting their time on trying to invent."</p> + +<p>Is it wholly impossible, then, for men of mechanical experience and +large sympathies to check the mere patent-hunter and bring forward the +man with an idea? Is there no supervision in the "shops," or have the +men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1268" id="Page_1268">[Pg 268]</a></span> who play tennis and billiards at the institute not a minute which +they can rightly call their very own? Would it ruin the richest Company +in India to lend their model-shop and their lathes to half a dozen, or, +for the matter of that, half a hundred, abortive experiments? A +Massachusetts organ factory, a Racine buggy shop, an Oregon lumber-yard, +would laugh at the notion. An American toy-maker might swindle an +employé after the invention, but he would in his own interests help the +man to "see what comes of the thing." Surely a wealthy, a powerful and, +as all Jamalpur bears witness, a considerate Company might cut that +clause out of the covenant and await the issue. There would be quite +enough jealousy between man and man, grade and grade, to keep down all +but the keenest souls; and, with due respect to the steam-hammer and the +rolling-mill, we have not yet made machinery perfect. The "shops" are +not likely to spawn unmanageable Stephensons or grasping Brunels; but in +the minor turns of mechanical thought that find concrete expressions in +links, axle-boxes, joint packings, valves, and spring-stirrups something +might—something would—be done were the practical prohibition removed. +Will a North countryman give you anything but warm hospitality for +nothing? Or if you claim from him overtime service as a right, will he +work zealously? "Onything but t' brass," is his motto, and his ideas are +his "brass."</p> + +<p>Gentlemen in authority, if this should meet your august eyes, spare it a +minute's thought, and, clearing away the floridity, get to the heart of +the mistake and see if it cannot be rationally put right. Above all, +remember that Jamalpur supplied no information. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1269" id="Page_1269">[Pg 269]</a></span> as mute as an +oyster. There is no one within your jurisdiction to—ahem—"drop upon."</p> + +<p>Let us, after this excursion into the offices, return to the shops and +only ask Experience such questions as he can without disloyalty answer.</p> + +<p>"We used once," says he, leading to the foundry, "to sell our old rails +and import new ones. Even when we used 'em for roof beams and so on, we +had more than we knew what to do with. Now we have got rolling-mills, +and we use the rails to make tie-bars for the D. and O. sleepers and all +sorts of things. We turn out five hundred D. and O. sleepers a day. +Altogether, we use about seventy-five tons of our own iron a month here. +Iron in Calcutta costs about five-eight a hundredweight; ours costs +between three-four and three-eight, and on that item alone we save three +thousand a month. Don't ask me how many miles of rails we own. There are +fifteen hundred miles of line, and you can make your own calculation. +All those things like babies' graves, down in that shed, are the moulds +for the D. and O. sleepers. We test them by dropping three hundredweight +and three hundred quarters of iron on top of them from a height of seven +feet, or eleven sometimes. They don't often smash. We have a notion here +that our iron is as good as the Home stuff."</p> + +<p>A sleek, white, and brindled pariah thrusts himself into the +conversation. His house appears to be on the warm ashes of the +bolt-maker. This is a horrible machine, which chews red-hot iron bars +and spits them out perfect bolts. Its manners are disgusting, and it +gobbles over its food.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Jack!" says Experience, stroking the interloper,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1270" id="Page_1270">[Pg 270]</a></span> "you've been +trying to break your leg again. That's the dog of the works. At least he +makes believe that the works belong to him. He'll follow any one of us +about the shops as far as the gate, but never a step further. You can +see he's in first-class condition. The boys give him his ticket, and, +one of these days, he'll try to get on to the Company's books as a +regular worker. He's too clever to live." Jack heads the procession as +far as the walls of the rolling-shed and then returns to his machinery +room. He waddles with fatness and despises strangers.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to be hot-potted there?" says Experience, who has +read and who is enthusiastic over <i>She</i>, as he points to the great +furnaces whence the slag is being dragged out by hooks. "Here is the old +material going into the furnace in that big iron bucket. Look at the +scraps of iron. There's an old D. and O. sleeper, there's a lot of clips +from a cylinder, there's a lot of snipped-up rails, there's a +driving-wheel block, there's an old hook, and a sprinkling of +boiler-plates and rivets."</p> + +<p>The bucket is tipped into the furnace with a thunderous roar and the +slag below pours forth more quickly. "An engine," says Experience, +reflectively, "can run over herself so to say. After she's broken up she +is made into sleepers for the line. You'll see how she's broken up +later." A few paces further on, semi-nude demons are capering over +strips of glowing hot iron which are put into a mill as rails and emerge +as thin, shapely tie-bars. The natives wear rough sandals and some +pretence of aprons, but the greater part of them is "all face." "As I +said before," says Experience, "a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1271" id="Page_1271">[Pg 271]</a></span> native's cuteness when he's working +on ticket is something startling. Beyond occasionally hanging on to a +red-hot bar too long and so letting their pincers be drawn through the +mills, these men take precious good care not to go wrong. Our machinery +is fenced and guard-railed as much as possible, and these men don't get +caught up by the belting. In the first place, they're careful—the +father warns the son and so on—and in the second, there's nothing about +'em for the belting to catch on unless the man shoves his hand in. Oh, a +native's no fool! He knows that it doesn't do to be foolish when he's +dealing with a crane or a driving-wheel. You're looking at all those +chopped rails? We make our iron as they blend baccy. We mix up all sorts +to get the required quality. Those rails have just been chopped by this +tobacco-cutter thing." Experience bends down and sets a vicious-looking, +parrot-headed beam to work. There is a quiver—a snap—and a dull smash +and a heavy rail is nipped in two like a stick of barley-sugar.</p> + +<p>Elsewhere, a bull-nosed hydraulic cutter is rail-cutting as if it +enjoyed the fun. In another shed stand the steam-hammers; the unemployed +ones murmuring and muttering to themselves, as is the uncanny custom of +all steam-souled machinery. Experience, with his hand on a long lever, +makes one of the monsters perform: and though Ignorance knows that a man +designed and men do continually build steam-hammers, the effect is as +though Experience were maddening a chained beast. The massive block +slides down the guides, only to pause hungrily an inch above the anvil, +or restlessly throb through a foot and a half of space, each motion +being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1272" id="Page_1272">[Pg 272]</a></span> controlled by an almost imperceptible handling of the levers. +"When these things are newly overhauled, you can regulate your blow to +within an eighth of an inch," says Experience. "We had a foreman here +once who could work 'em beautifully. He had the touch. One day a +visitor, no end of a swell in a tall, white hat, came round the works, +and our foreman borrowed the hat and brought the hammer down just enough +to press the nap and no more. 'How wonderful!' said the visitor, putting +his hand carelessly upon this lever rod here." Experience suits the +action to the word and the hammer thunders on the anvil. "Well, you can +guess for yourself. Next minute there wasn't enough left of that tall, +white hat to make a postage-stamp of. Steam-hammers aren't things to +play with. Now we'll go over to the stores...."</p> + +<p>Whatever apparent disorder there might have been in the works, the store +department is as clean as a new pin, and stupefying in its naval order. +Copper plates, bar, angle, and rod iron, duplicate cranks and slide +bars, the piston rods of the <i>Bradford Leslie</i> steamer, engine grease, +files, and hammer-heads—every conceivable article, from leather laces +of beltings to head-lamps, necessary for the due and proper working of a +long line, is stocked, stacked, piled, and put away in appropriate +compartments. In the midst of it all, neck deep in ledgers and indent +forms, stands the many-handed Babu, the steam of the engine whose power +extends from Howrah to Ghaziabad.</p> + +<p>The Company does everything, and knows everything. The gallant +apprentice may be a wild youth with an earnest desire to go occasionally +"upon the bend." But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1273" id="Page_1273">[Pg 273]</a></span> three times a week, between 7 and 8 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, he must +attend the night-school and sit at the feet of M. Bonnaud, who teaches +him mechanics and statics so thoroughly that even the awful Government +Inspector is pleased. And when there is no night-school the Company will +by no means wash its hands of its men out of working-hours. No man can +be violently restrained from going to the bad if he insists upon it, but +in the service of the Company a man has every warning; his escapades are +known, and a judiciously arranged transfer sometimes keeps a good fellow +clear of the down-grade. No one can flatter himself that in the +multitude he is overlooked, or believe that between 4 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> and 9 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> he +is at liberty to misdemean himself. Sooner or later, but generally +sooner, his goings-on are known, and he is reminded that "Britons never +shall be slaves"—to things that destroy good work as well as souls. +Maybe the Company acts only in its own interest, but the result is good.</p> + +<p>Best and prettiest of the many good and pretty things in Jamalpur is the +institute of a Saturday when the Volunteer Band is playing and the +tennis courts are full and the babydom of Jamalpur—fat, sturdy +children—frolic round the band-stand. The people dance—but big as the +institute is, it is getting too small for their dances—they act, they +play billiards, they study their newspapers, they play cards and +everything else, and they flirt in a sumptuous building, and in the hot +weather the gallant apprentice ducks his friend in the big +swimming-bath. Decidedly the railway folk make their lives pleasant.</p> + +<p>Let us go down southward to the big Giridih collieries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1274" id="Page_1274">[Pg 274]</a></span> and see the coal +that feeds the furnace that smelts the iron that makes the sleeper that +bears the loco. that pulls the carriage that holds the freight that +comes from the country that is made richer by the Great Company Badahur, +the East Indian Railway.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1275" id="Page_1275">[Pg 275]</a></span>THE GIRIDIH COAL-FIELDS</h2> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p class="center">ON THE SURFACE.</p> + + +<p>Southward, always southward and easterly, runs the Calcutta Mail from +Luckeeserai, till she reaches Madapur in the Sonthal Parganas. From +Madapur a train, largely made up of coal-trucks, heads westward into the +Hazaribagh district and toward Giridih. A week would not have exhausted +"Jamalpur and its environs," as the guide-books say. But since time +drives and man must e'en be driven, the weird, echoing bund in the hills +above Jamalpur, where the owls hoot at night and hyenas come down to +laugh over the grave of "Quilem Roberts, who died from the effects of an +encounter with a tiger near this place, <span class="smcap">A.D.</span> 1864," goes undescribed. +Nor is it possible to deal with Monghyr, the headquarters of the +district, where one sees for the first time the age of Old Bengal in the +sleepy, creepy station, built in a time-eaten fort, which runs out into +the Ganges, and is full of quaint houses, with fat-legged balustrades on +the roofs. Pensioners certainly, and probably a score of ghosts, live in +Monghyr. All the country seems haunted. Is there not at Pir Bahar a +lonely house on a bluff, the grave of a young lady, who, thirty years +ago, rode her horse down the cliff and perished? Has not Monghyr a +haunted house in which tradition says sceptics have seen much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1276" id="Page_1276">[Pg 276]</a></span> more than +they could account for? And is it not notorious throughout the +countryside that the seven miles of road between Jamalpur and Monghyr +are nightly paraded by tramping battalions of spectres, phantoms of an +old-time army massacred, who knows how long ago? The common voice +attests all these things, and an eerie cemetery packed with blackened, +lichened, candle-extinguisher tomb-stones persuades the listener to +believe all that he hears. Bengal is second—or third is it?—in order +of seniority among the Provinces, and like an old nurse, she tells many +witch-tales.</p> + +<p>But ghosts have nothing to do with collieries, and that ever-present +"Company," the E. I. R., has more or less made Giridih—principally +more. "Before the E. I. R. came," say the people, "we had one meal a +day. Now we have two." Stomachs do not tell fibs, whatever mouths may +say. That "Company," in the course of business, throws about five lakhs +a year into the Hazaribagh district in the form of wages alone, and +Giridih Bazaar has to supply the wants of twelve thousand men, women, +and children. But we have now the authority of a number of high-souled +and intelligent native prints that the Sahib of all grades spends his +time in "sucking the blood out of the country," and "flying to England +to spend his ill-gotten gains."</p> + +<p>Giridih is perfectly mad—quite insane! Geologically, "the country is in +the metamorphic higher grounds that rise out of the alluvial flats of +Lower Bengal between the Osri and the Barakar rivers." Translated, this +sentence means that you can twist your ankle on pieces of pure white, +pinky, and yellowish granite, slip over weather-worn sandstone, +grievously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1277" id="Page_1277">[Pg 277]</a></span> cut your boots over flakes of trap, and throw hornblende +pebbles at the dogs. Never was such a place for stone-throwing as +Giridih. The general aspect of the country is falsely park-like, because +it swells and sinks in a score of grass-covered undulations, and is +adorned with plantation-like jungle. There are low hills on every side, +and twelve miles away bearing south the blue bulk of the holy hill of +Parasnath, greatest of the Jain Tirthankars, overlooks the world. In +Bengal they consider four thousand five hundred feet good enough for a +Dagshai or Kasauli, and once upon a time they tried to put troops on +Parasnath. There was a scarcity of water, and Thomas of those days found +the silence and seclusion prey upon his spirits. Since twenty years, +therefore, Parasnath has been abandoned by Her Majesty's Army.</p> + +<p>As to Giridih itself, the last few miles of train bring up the reek of +the "Black Country." Memory depends on smell. A noseless man is devoid +of sentiment, just as a noseless woman, in this country, must be devoid +of honour. That first breath of the coal should be the breath of the +murky, clouded tract between Yeadon and Dale—or Barnsley, rough and +hospitable Barnsley—or Dewsbury and Batley and the Derby Canal on a +Sunday afternoon when the wheels are still and the young men and maidens +walk stolidly in pairs. Unfortunately, it is nothing more than +Giridih—seven thousand miles away from Home and blessed with a warm and +genial sunshine, soon to turn into something very much worse. The +insanity of the place is visible at the station door. A G. B. T. cart +once married a bathing-machine, and they called the child <i>tum-tum</i>. You +who in flannel and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1278" id="Page_1278">[Pg 278]</a></span> Cawnpore harness drive bamboo-carts about up-country +roads, remember that a Giridih <i>tum-tum</i> is painfully pushed by four +men, and must be entered crawling on all-fours, head first. So strange +are the ways of Bengal!</p> + +<p>They drive mad horses in Giridih—animals that become hysterical as soon +as the dusk falls and the countryside blazes with the fires of the great +coke ovens. If you expostulate tearfully, they produce another horse, a +raw, red fiend whose ear has to be screwed round and round, and round +and round, before she will by any manner of means consent to start. The +roads carry neat little eighteen-inch trenches at their sides, admirably +adapted to hold the flying wheel. Skirling about this savage land in the +dark, the white population beguile the time by rapturously recounting +past accidents, insisting throughout on the super-equine "steadiness" of +their cattle. Deep and broad and wide is their jovial hospitality; but +somebody—the Tirhoot planters for choice—ought to start a mission to +teach the men of Giridih what to drive. They know <i>how</i>, or they would +be severally and separately and many times dead, but they do not, they +do not indeed, know that animals who stand on one hind leg and beckon +with all the rest, or try to pigstick in harness, are not trap-horses +worthy of endearing names, but things to be pole-axed. Their feelings +are hurt when you say this. "Sit tight," say the men of Giridih; "we're +insured! We can't be hurt."</p> + +<p>And now with grey hairs, dry mouth, and chattering teeth to the +collieries. The E. I. R. estate, bought or leased in perpetuity from the +Serampore Raja, may be about four miles long and between one and two +miles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1279" id="Page_1279">[Pg 279]</a></span> across. It is in two pieces, the Serampore field being separated +from the Karharbari (or Kurhurballi or Kabarbari) field by the property +of the Bengal Coal Company. The Raneegunge Coal Association lies to the +east of all other workings. So we have three companies at work on about +eleven square miles of land.</p> + +<p>There is no such thing as getting a full view of the whole place. A +short walk over a grassy down gives on to an outcrop of very dirty +sandstone, which in the excessive innocence of his heart the visitor +naturally takes to be the coal lying neatly on the surface. Up to this +sandstone the path seems to be made of crushed sugar, so white and shiny +is the quartz. Over the brow of the down comes in sight the old familiar +pit-head wheel, spinning for the dear life, and the eye loses itself in +a maze of pumping sheds, red-tiled, mud-walled miners' huts, dotted all +over the landscape, and railway lines that run on every kind of +gradient. There are lines that dip into valleys and disappear round the +shoulders of slopes, and lines that career on the tops of rises and +disappear over the brow of the slopes. Along these lines whistle and +pant metre-gauge engines, some with trucks at their tail, and others +rattling back to the pit-bank with the absurd air of a boy late for +school that an unemployed engine always assumes. There are six engines +in all, and as it is easiest to walk along the lines one sees a good +deal of them. They bear not altogether unfamiliar names. Here, for +instance, passes the "Cockburn" whistling down a grade with thirty tons +of coal at her heels; while the "Whitly" and the "Olpherts" are waiting +for their complement of trucks. Now a Mr. T. F. Cockburn was +superintendent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1280" id="Page_1280">[Pg 280]</a></span> of these mines nearly thirty years ago, in the days +before the chord-lines from Kanu to Luckeeserai were built, and all the +coal was carted to the latter place; and surely Mr. Olpherts was an +engineer who helped to think out a new sleeper. What may these things +mean?</p> + +<p>"Apotheosis of the Manager," is the reply. "Christen the engines after +the managers. You'll find Cockburn, Dunn, Whitly, Abbott, Olpherts, and +Saise, knocking about the place. Sounds funny, doesn't it? Doesn't sound +so funny, when one of these idiots does his best to derail Saise, +though, by putting a line down anyhow. Look at that line! Laid out in +knots—by Jove!" To the unprofessional eye the rails seem all correct; +but there must be something wrong, because "one of those idiots" is +asked why in the name of all he considers sacred he does not ram the +ballast properly.</p> + +<p>"What would happen if you threw an engine off the line?" "Can't say that +I know exactly. You see, our business is to keep them <i>on</i>, and we do +that. Here's rather a curiosity. You see that pointsman! They say he's +an old mutineer, and when he relaxes he boasts of the Sahibs he has +killed. He's glad enough to eat the Company's salt now." Such a withered +old face was the face of the pointsman at No. 11 point! The information +suggested a host of questions, and the answers were these: "You won't be +able to understand till you've been down into a mine. We work our men in +two ways: some by direct payment—under our own hand, and some by +contractors. The contractor undertakes to deliver us the coal, supplying +his own men, tools, and props. He's responsible for the safety of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1281" id="Page_1281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +men, and of course the Company knows and sees his work. Just fancy, +among these five thousand people, what sort of effect the news of an +accident would produce! It would go all through the Sonthal Parganas. We +have any amount of Sonthals besides Mahometans and Hindus of every +possible caste, down to those Musahers who eat pig. They don't require +much administering in the civilian sense of the word. On Sundays, as a +rule, if any man has had his daughter eloped with, or anything of that +kind, he generally comes up to the manager's bungalow to get the matter +put straight. If a man is disabled through accident he knows that as +long as he's in the hospital he gets full wages, and the Company pays +for the food of any of his women-folk who come to look after him. <i>One</i>, +of course; not the whole clan. That makes our service popular with the +people. Don't you believe that a native is a fool. You can train him to +everything except responsibility. There's a rule in the workings that if +there is any dangerous work—we haven't choke-damp; I will show you when +we get down—no gang must work without an Englishman to look after them. +A native wouldn't be wise enough to understand what the danger was, or +where it came in. Even if he did, he'd shirk the responsibility. We +can't afford to risk a single life. All our output is just as much as +the Company want—about a thousand tons per working day. Three hundred +thousand in the year. We could turn out more? Yes—a little. Well, yes, +twice as much. I won't go on, because you wouldn't believe me. There's +the coal under us, and we work it at any depth from following up an +outcrop down to six hundred feet. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1282" id="Page_1282">[Pg 282]</a></span> is our deepest shaft. We have no +necessity to go deeper. At home the mines are sometimes fifteen hundred +feet down. Well, the thickness of this coal here varies from anything +you please to anything you please. There's enough of it to last your +time and one or two hundred years longer. Perhaps even longer than that. +Look at that stuff. That's big coal from the pit."</p> + +<p>It was aristocratic-looking coal, just like the picked lumps that are +stacked in baskets of coal agencies at home with the printed legend atop +"only 23<i>s</i> a ton." But there was no picking in this case. The great +piled banks were all "equal to sample," and beyond them lay piles of +small, broken, "smithy" coal. "The Company doesn't sell to the public. +This small, broken coal is an exception. That is sold, but the big stuff +is for the engines and the shops. It doesn't cost much to get out, as +you say; but our men can earn as much as twelve rupees a month. Very +often when they've earned enough to go on with they retire from the +concern till they've spent their money and then come on again. It's +piece-work and they are improvident. If some of them only lived like +other natives they would have enough to buy land and cows with. When +there's a press of work they make a good deal by overtime, but they +don't seem to keep it. You should see Giridih Bazaar on a Sunday if you +want to know where the money goes. About ten thousand rupees change +hands once a week there. If you want to get at the number of people who +are indirectly dependent or profit by the E. I. R. you'll have to +conduct a census of your own. After Sunday is over the men generally lie +off on Monday and take it easy on Tuesday. Then they work hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1283" id="Page_1283">[Pg 283]</a></span> for the +next four days and make it up. Of course there's nothing in the wide +world to prevent a man from resigning and going away to wherever he came +from—behind those hills if he's a Sonthal. He loses his employment, +that's all. But they have their own point of honour. A man hates to be +told by his friends that he has been guilty of shirking. And now we'll +go to breakfast. You shall be 'pitted' to-morrow to any depth you +like."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1284" id="Page_1284">[Pg 284]</a></span>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p class="center">IN THE DEPTHS.</p> + + +<p>"Pitted to any extent you please." The only difficulty was for Joseph to +choose his pit. Giridih was full of them. There was an arch in the side +of a little hill, a blackened brick arch leading into thick night. A +stationary engine was hauling a procession of coal-laden trucks—"tubs" +is the technical word—out of its depths. The tubs were neither pretty +nor clean. "We are going down in those when they are emptied. Put on +your helmet and <i>keep</i> it on, and keep your head down."</p> + +<p>There is nothing mirth-provoking in going down a coal-mine—even though +it be only a shallow incline running to one hundred and forty feet +vertical below the earth. "Get into the tub and lie down. Hang it, no! +This is not a railway carriage: you can't see the country out of the +windows. Lie <i>down</i> in the dust and don't lift your head. Let her go!"</p> + +<p>The tubs strain on the wire rope and slide down fourteen hundred feet of +incline, at first through a chastened gloom, and then through darkness. +An absurd sentence from a trial report rings in the head: "About this +time prisoner expressed a desire for the consolations of religion." A +hand with a reeking flare-lamp hangs over the edge of the tub, and there +is a glimpse of a blackened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1285" id="Page_1285">[Pg 285]</a></span> hat near it, for those accustomed to the +pits have a merry trick of going down sitting or crouching on the +coupling of the rear tub. The noise is deafening, and the roof is very +close indeed. The tubs bump, and the occupant crouches lovingly in the +coal dust. What would happen if the train went off the line? The desire +for the "consolations of religion" grows keener and keener as the air +grows closer and closer. The tubs stop in darkness spangled by the light +of the flare-lamps which many black devils carry. Underneath and on both +sides is the greasy blackness of the coal, and, above, a roof of grey +sandstone, smooth as the flow of a river at evening. "Now, remember that +if you don't keep your hat on, you'll get your head broken, because you +will forget to stoop. If you hear any tubs coming up behind you step off +to one side. There's a tramway under your feet: be careful not to trip +over it."</p> + +<p>The miner has a gait as peculiarly his own as Tommy's measured pace or +the bluejacket's roll. Big men who slouch in the light of day become +almost things of beauty underground. Their foot is on their native +heather; and the slouch is a very necessary act of homage to the great +earth, which if a man observe not, he shall without doubt have his +hat—bless the man who invented pith hats!—grievously cut.</p> + +<p>The road turns and winds and the roof becomes lower, but those accursed +tubs still rattle by on the tramways. The roof throws back their noises, +and when all the place is full of a grumbling and a growling, how under +earth is one to know whence danger will turn up next? The air brings to +the unacclimatised a singing in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1286" id="Page_1286">[Pg 286]</a></span> ears, a hotness of the eyeballs, +and a jumping of the heart. "That's because the pressure here is +different from the pressure up above. It'll wear off in a minute. <i>We</i> +don't notice it. Wait till you get down a four-hundred-foot pit. <i>Then</i> +your ears will begin to sing, if you like."</p> + +<p>Most people know the One Night of each hot weather—that still, clouded +night just before the Rains break, when there seems to be no more +breathable air under the bowl of the pitiless skies, and all the weight +of the silent, dark house lies on the chest of the sleep-hunter. This is +the feeling in a coal-mine—only more so—much more so, for the darkness +is the "gross darkness of the inner sepulchre." It is hard to see which +is the black coal and which the passage driven through it. From far +away, down the side galleries, comes the regular beat of the pick—thick +and muffled as the beat of the labouring heart. "Six men to a gang, and +they aren't allowed to work alone. They make six-foot drives through the +coal—two and sometimes three men working together. The rest clear away +the stuff and load it into the tubs. We have no props in this gallery +because we have a roof as good as a ceiling. The coal lies under the +sandstone here. It's beautiful sandstone." It <i>was</i> beautiful +sandstone—as hard as a billiard table and devoid of any nasty little +bumps and jags.</p> + +<p>There was a roaring down one road—the roaring of infernal fires. This +is not a pleasant thing to hear in the dark. It is too suggestive. +"That's our ventilating shaft. Can't you feel the air getting brisker? +Come and look."</p> + +<p>Imagine a great iron-bound crate of burning coal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1287" id="Page_1287">[Pg 287]</a></span> hanging over a gulf +of darkness faintly showing the brickwork of the base of a chimney. +"We're at the bottom of the shaft. That fire makes a draught that sucks +up the foul air from the bottom of the pit. There's another down-draw +shaft in another part of the mine where the clean air comes in. We +aren't going to set the mines on fire. There's an earth and brick floor +at the bottom of the pit; the crate hangs over. It isn't so deep as you +think." Then a devil—a naked devil—came in with a pitchfork and fed +the spouting flames. This was perfectly in keeping with the landscape.</p> + +<p>More trucks, more muffled noises, more darkness made visible, and more +devils—male and female—coming out of darkness and vanishing. Then a +picture to be remembered. A great Hall of Eblis, twenty feet from +inky-black floor to grey roof, upheld by huge pillars of shining coal, +and filled with flitting and passing devils. On a shattered pillar near +the roof stood a naked man, his flesh olive-coloured in the light of the +lamps, hewing down a mass of coal that still clove to the roof. Behind +him was the wall of darkness, and when the lamps shifted he disappeared +like a ghost. The devils were shouting directions, and the man howled in +reply, resting on his pick and wiping the sweat from his brow. When he +smote the coal crushed and slid and rumbled from the darkness into the +darkness, and the devils cried <i>Shabash!</i> The man stood erect like a +bronze statue, he twisted and bent himself like a Japanese grotesque, +and anon threw himself on his side after the manner of the dying +gladiator. Then spoke the still small voice of fact: "A first-class +workman if he would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1288" id="Page_1288">[Pg 288]</a></span> only stick to it. But as soon as he makes a little +money he lies off and spends it. That's the last of a pillar that we've +knocked out. See here. These pillars of coal are square, about thirty +feet each way. As you can see, we make the pillar first by cutting out +all the coal between. Then we drive two square tunnels, about seven feet +wide, through and across the pillar, propping it with balks. There's one +fresh cut."</p> + +<p>Two tunnels crossing at right angles had been driven through a pillar +which in its under-cut condition seemed like the rough draft of a statue +for an elephant. "When the pillar stands only on four legs we chip away +one leg at a time from a square to an hour-glass shape, and then either +the whole of the pillar crashes down from the roof or else a quarter or +a half. If the coal lies against the sandstones it carries away clear, +but in some places it brings down stone and rubbish with it. The +chipped-away legs of the pillars are called stooks."</p> + +<p>"Who has to make the last cut that breaks a leg through?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Englishmen of sorts. We can't trust natives for the job unless it's +very easy. The natives take kindly to the pillar-work though. They are +paid just as much for their coal as though they had hewed it out of the +solid. Of course we take very good care to see that the roof doesn't +come in on us. You would never understand how and why we prop our roofs +with those piles of sleepers. Anyway, you can see that we cannot take +out a whole line of pillars. We work 'em <i>en echelon</i>, and those big +beams you see running from floor to roof are our indicators. They show +when the roof is going to give. Oh! dear no, there's no dramatic effect +about it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1289" id="Page_1289">[Pg 289]</a></span> No splash, you know. Our roofs give plenty of warning by +cracking and then collapse slowly. The parts of the work that we have +cleared out and allowed to fall in are called goafs. You're on the edge +of a goaf now. All that darkness there marks the limit of the mine. We +have worked that out piece-meal, and the props are gone and the place is +down. The roof of any pillar-working is tested every morning by +tapping—pretty hard tapping."</p> + +<p>"Hi yi! yi!" shout all the devils in chorus, and the Hall of Eblis is +full of rolling sound. The olive man has brought down an avalanche of +coal. "It is a sight to see the whole of one of the pillars come away. +They make an awful noise. It would startle you out of your wits. But +there's not an atom of risk."</p> + +<p>("Not an atom of risk." Oh, genial and courteous host, when you turned +up next day blacker than any sweep that ever swept, with a neat, +half-inch gash on your forehead—won by cutting a "stook" and getting +caught by a bounding coal-knob—how long and earnestly did you endeavour +to show that "stook-cutting" was an employment as harmless and +unexciting as wool-samplering!)</p> + +<p>"Our ways are rather primitive, but they're cheap, and safe as houses. +Doms and Bauris, Kols and Beldars, don't understand refinements in +mining. They'd startle an English pit where there was fire-damp. Do you +know it's a solemn fact that if you drop a Davy lamp or snatch it +quickly you can blow a whole English pit inside out with all the miners? +Good for us that we don't know what fire-damp is here. We can use +flare-lamps."</p> + +<p>After the first feeling of awe and wonder is worn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1290" id="Page_1290">[Pg 290]</a></span> out, a mine becomes +monotonous. There is only the humming, palpitating darkness, the rumble +of the tubs, and the endless procession of galleries to arrest the +attention. And one pit to the uninitiated is as like to another as two +peas. Tell a miner this and he laughs—slowly and softly. To him the +pits have each distinct personalities, and each must be dealt with +differently.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1291" id="Page_1291">[Pg 291]</a></span>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p class="center">THE PERILS OF THE PITS.</p> + + +<p>An engineer, who has built a bridge, can strike you nearly dead with +professional facts; the captain of a seventy-horse-power Ganges +river-steamer can, in one hour, tell legends of the Sandheads and the +James and Mary shoal sufficient to fill half a <i>Pioneer</i>, but a couple +of days spent on, above, and in a coal-mine yields more mixed +information than two engineers and three captains. It is hopeless to +pretend to understand it all.</p> + +<p>When your host says, "Ah, such an one is a thundering good +fault-reader!" you smile hazily, and by way of keeping up the +conversation, adventure on the statement that fault-reading and +palmistry are very popular amusements. Then men explain.</p> + +<p>Every one knows that coal-strata, in common with women, horses, and +official superiors, have "faults" caused by some colic of the earth in +the days when things were settling into their places. A coal-seam is +suddenly sliced off as a pencil is cut through with one slanting blow of +the penknife, and one-half is either pushed up or pushed down any number +of feet. The miners work the seam till they come to this break-off, and +then call for an expert to "read the fault." It is sometimes very hard +to discover whether the sliced-off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1292" id="Page_1292">[Pg 292]</a></span> <ins title="beam in original">seam</ins> has gone up or down. +Theoretically, the end of the broken piece should show the direction. +Practically its indications are not always clear. Then a good +"fault-reader," who must more than know geology, is a useful man, and is +much prized; for the Giridih fields are full of faults and "dykes." +Tongues of what was once molten lava thrust themselves sheer into the +coal, and the disgusted miner finds that for about twenty feet on each +side of the tongue all coal has been burnt away.</p> + +<p>The head of the mine is supposed to foresee these things and more. He +can tell you, without looking at the map, what is the geological +formation of any thousand square miles of India; he knows as much about +brickwork and the building of houses, arches, and shafts as an average +P. W. D. man; he has not only to know the intestines of a pumping or +winding engine, but must be able to take them to pieces with his own +hands, indicate on the spot such parts as need repair, and make drawings +of anything that requires renewal; he knows how to lay out and build +railways with a grade of one in twenty-seven; he has to carry, in his +head all the signals and points between and over which his locomotive +engines work; he must be an electrician capable of controlling the +apparatus that fires the dynamite charges in the pits, and must +thoroughly understand boring operations with thousand-foot drills. He +must know by name, at least, one thousand of the men on the works, and +must fluently speak the vernaculars of the low castes. If he has +Sonthali, which is more elaborate than Greek, so much the better for +him. He must know how to handle men of all grades, and, while holding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1293" id="Page_1293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +himself aloof, must possess sufficient grip of the men's private lives +to be able to see at once the merits of a charge of attempted abduction +preferred by a clucking, croaking Kol against a fluent English-speaking +Brahmin. For he is literally the Light of Justice, and to him the +injured husband and the wrathful father look for redress. He must be on +the spot and take all responsibility when any specially risky job is +under way in the pit, and he can claim no single hour of the day or the +night for his own. From eight in the morning till one in the afternoon +he is coated with coal-dust and oil. From one till eight in the evening +he has office work. After eight o'clock he is free to attend to anything +that he may be wanted for.</p> + +<p>This is a soberly drawn picture of a life that Sahibs on the mines +actually enjoy. They are spared all private socio-official worry, for +the Company, in its mixture of State and private interest, is as +perfectly cold-blooded and devoid of bias as any great Department of the +Empire. If certain things be done, well and good. If certain things be +not done the defaulter goes, and his place is filled by another. The +conditions of service are graven on stone. There may be generosity; +there undoubtedly is justice, but above all, there is freedom within +broad limits. No irrepressible shareholder cripples the executive arm +with suggestions and restrictions, and no private piques turn men's +blood to gall within them. They work like horses and are happy.</p> + +<p>When he can snatch a free hour, the grimy, sweating, cardigan-jacketed, +ammunition-booted, pick-bearing ruffian turns into a well-kept English +gentleman, who plays a good game of billiards, and has a batch of new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1294" id="Page_1294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +books from England every week. The change is sudden, but in Giridih +nothing is startling. It is right and natural that a man should be +alternately Valentine and Orson, specially Orson. It is right and +natural to drive—always behind a mad horse—away and away towards the +lonely hills till the flaming coke ovens become glow-worms on the dark +horizon, and in the wilderness to find a lovely English maiden teaching +squat, filthy Sonthal girls how to become Christians. Nothing is strange +in Giridih, and the stories of the pits, the raffle of conversation that +a man picks up as he passes, are quite in keeping with the place. Thanks +to the law, which enacts that an Englishman must look after the native +miners, and if any one be killed must explain satisfactorily that the +accident was not due to preventable causes, the death-roll is kept +astoundingly low. In one "bad" half-year, six men out of the five +thousand were killed, in another four, and in another none at all. As +has been said before, a big accident would scare off the workers, for, +in spite of the age of the mines—nearly thirty years—the hereditary +pitman has not yet been evolved. But to small accidents the men are +orientally apathetic. Read of a death among the five thousand:—</p> + +<p>A gang has been ordered to cut clay for the luting of the coke furnaces. +The clay is piled in a huge bank in the open sunlight. A coolie hacks +and hacks till he has hewn out a small cave with twenty foot of clay +above him. Why should he trouble to climb up the bank and bring down the +eave of the cave? It is easier to cut in. The Sirdar of the gang is +watching round the shoulder of the bank. The coolie cuts lazily as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1295" id="Page_1295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +stands. Sunday is very near, and he will get gloriously drunk in Giridih +Bazaar with his week's earnings. He digs his own grave stroke by stroke, +for he has not sense enough to see that undercut clay is dangerous. He +is a Sonthal from the hills. There is a smash and a dull thud, and his +grave has shut down upon him in an avalanche of heavy-caked clay.</p> + +<p>The Sirdar calls to the Babu of the Ovens, and with the promptitude of +his race the Babu loses his head. He runs puffily, without giving +orders, anywhere, everywhere. Finally he runs to the Sahib's house. The +Sahib is at the other end of the collieries. He runs back. The Sahib has +gone home to wash. Then his indiscretion strikes him. He should have +sent runners—fleet-footed boys from the coal-screening gangs. He sends +them and they fly. One catches the Sahib just changed after his bath. +"There is a man dead at such a place"—he gasps, omitting to say whether +it is a surface or a pit accident. On goes the grimy pit-kit, and in +three minutes the Sahib's dogcart is flying to the place indicated.</p> + +<p>They have dug out the Sonthal. His head is smashed in, spine and +breastbone are broken, and the gang-Sirdar, bowing double, throws the +blame of the accident on the poor, shapeless, battered dead. "I had +warned him, but he would not listen! <i>Twice</i> I warned him! These men are +witnesses."</p> + +<p>The Babu is shaking like a jelly. "Oh, sar, I have never seen a man +killed before! Look at that eye, sar! I should have sent runners. I ran +everywhere! I ran to your house. You were not in. I was running for +hours. It was not my fault! It was the fault of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1296" id="Page_1296">[Pg 296]</a></span> gang-Sirdar." He +wrings his hands and gurgles. The best of accountants, but the poorest +of coroners is he. No need to ask how the accident happened. No need to +listen to the Sirdar and his "witnesses." The Sonthal had been a fool, +but it was the Sirdar's business to protect him against his own folly. +"Has he any people here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, his <i>rukni</i>,—his kept-woman,—and his sister's brother-in-law. +His home is far-off."</p> + +<p>The sister's brother-in-law breaks through the crowd howling for +vengeance on the Sirdar. He will send for the police, he will have the +price of his brother's blood full tale. The windmill arms and the angry +eyes fall, for the Sahib is making the report of the death.</p> + +<p>"Will the Government give me <i>pensin</i>? I am his wife," a woman clamours, +stamping her pewter-ankleted feet. "He was killed in your service. Where +is his <i>pensin</i>? I am his wife."</p> + +<p>"You lie! You're his <i>rukni</i>. Keep quiet! Go! The pension comes to +<i>us</i>."</p> + +<p>The sister's brother-in-law is not a refined man, but the <i>rukni</i> is his +match. They are silenced. The Sahib takes the report, and the body is +borne away. Before to-morrow's sun rises the gang-Sirdar may find +himself a simple "surface-coolie," earning nine <i>pice</i> a day; and in a +week some Sonthal woman behind the hills may discover that she is +entitled to draw monthly great wealth from the coffers of the Sirkar. +But this will not happen if the sister's brother-in-law can prevent it. +He goes off swearing at the <i>rukni</i>.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, what have the rest of the dead man's gang been doing? +They have, if you please, abating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1297" id="Page_1297">[Pg 297]</a></span> not one stroke, dug out all the clay, +and would have it verified. They have seen their comrade die. He is +dead. <i>Bus!</i><a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> Will the Sirdar take the tale of clay? And yet, were +twenty men to be crushed by their own carelessness in the pit, these +same impassive workers would scatter like panic-stricken horses.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Enough.</p></div> + +<p>Turning from this sketch, let us set in order a few stories of the pits. +In some of the mines the coal is blasted out by the dynamite which is +fired by electricity from a battery on the surface. Two men place the +charges, and then signal to be drawn up in the cage which hangs in the +pit-eye. Once two natives were intrusted with the job. They performed +their parts beautifully till the end, when the vaster idiot of the two +scrambled into the cage, gave signal, and was hauled up before his +friend could follow.</p> + +<p>Thirty or forty yards up the shaft all possible danger for those in the +cage was over, and the charge was accordingly exploded. Then it occurred +to the man in the cage that his friend stood a very good chance of +being, by this time, riven to pieces and choked.</p> + +<p>But the friend was wise in his generation. He had missed the cage, but +found a coal-tub—one of the little iron trucks—and turning this upside +down, crawled into it. When the charge went off, his shelter was +battered in so much, that men had to hack him out, for the tub had made, +as it were, a tinned, sardine of its occupant. He was absolutely unhurt, +but for his feelings. On reaching the pit-bank his first words were, "I +do not desire to go down to the pit with <i>that</i> man any more." His wish +had been already gratified, for "that man" had fled. Later on, the story +goes, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1298" id="Page_1298">[Pg 298]</a></span> "that man" found that the guilt of murder was not at his +door, he returned, and was made a mere surface-coolie, and his brothers +jeered at him as they passed to their better-paid occupation.</p> + +<p>Occasionally there are mild cyclones in the pits. An old working, +perhaps a mile away, will collapse: a whole gallery sinking bodily. Then +the displaced air rushes through the inhabited mine, and, to quote their +own expression, blows the pitmen about "like dry leaves." Few things are +more amusing than the spectacle of a burly Tyneside foreman who, failing +to dodge round a corner in time, is "put down" by the wind, +sitting-fashion, on a knobby lump of coal.</p> + +<p>But most impressive of all is a tale they tell of a fire in a pit many +years ago. The coal caught light. They had to send earth and bricks down +the shaft and build great dams across the galleries to choke the fire. +Imagine the scene, a few hundred feet underground, with the air growing +hotter and hotter each moment, and the carbonic acid gas trickling +through the dams. After a time the rough dams gaped, and the gas poured +in afresh, and the Englishmen went down and leeped the cracks between +roof and dam-sill with anything they could get. Coolies fainted, and had +to be taken away, but no one died, and behind the first dams they built +great masonry ones, and bested that fire; though for a long time +afterwards, whenever they pumped water into it, the steam would puff out +from crevices in the ground above.</p> + +<p>It is a queer life that they lead, these men of the coal-fields, and a +"big" life to boot. To describe one-half of their labours would need a +week at the least, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1299" id="Page_1299">[Pg 299]</a></span> would be incomplete then. "If you want to see +anything," they say, "you should go over to the Baragunda copper-mines; +you should look at the Barakar ironworks; you should see our boring +operations five miles away; you should see how we sink pits; you should, +above all, see Giridih Bazaar on a Sunday. Why, you haven't seen +anything. There's no end of a Sonthal Mission hereabouts. All the little +dev—dears have gone on a picnic. Wait till they come back, and see 'em +learning to read."</p> + +<p>Alas! one cannot wait. At the most one can but thrust an impertinent pen +skin-deep into matters only properly understood by specialists.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1300" id="Page_1300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr /> + +<p class="center">THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS</p> + +<p class="center">GARDEN CITY, N. Y.</p> + + + +<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2> + +<p>Use the phase to find the text referenced.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_290">Page 290</a></p> + +<p>rate will know what I mean.</p> + +<p>'known' changed to 'know'.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_353">Page 353</a></p> + +<p>lanquer stands</p> + +<p>'lanquer' may be 'lacquer'. Unchanged.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_382">Page 382</a></p> + +<p>if they show the least disposition</p> + +<p>'dispositon' changed to 'disposition'.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_393">Page 393</a></p> + +<p>door with <i>cloisonnée</i> hinges,</p> + +<p>cloisonnée also spelled cloissonnée in this book. No change.<br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p>Part 2<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1074">Page 74</a></p> + +<p>jet of steam</p> + +<p>'stream' changed to 'steam'.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1080">Page 80</a></p> + +<p>black-yellow, and pink pools</p> + +<p>'link' changed to 'pink'.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1105">Page 105</a></p> + +<p>Lord forgie us</p> + +<p>'forgie' may be a form of dialect meaning 'forgive'. Unchanged.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1114">Page 114</a></p> + +<p>the final book of Mononi</p> + +<p>'Mononi' may be 'Moroni'. Unchanged.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1193">Page 193</a></p> + +<p>maidan also spelled maidân and maidàn. No change.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1231">Page 231</a></p> + +<p>pan also spelled pân. No change.<br /><br /></p> + +<p><a href="#Page_1292">Page 292</a></p> + +<p>seam has gone up or down.</p> + +<p>'beam' changed to 'seam'.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of From Sea to Sea, by Rudyard Kipling + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM SEA TO SEA *** + +***** This file should be named 32977-h.htm or 32977-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/9/7/32977/ + +Produced by Stephen Hope, Joseph Cooper, Leonard Johnson +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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