Читать книгу Life and Travel in Lower Burmah: A Retrospect - C. T. Paske - Страница 6

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“Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in no other.”

Franklin.

For my own part I remained on board till the deck had assumed a less chaotic appearance, when I resolved to migrate temporarily to one of the hotels. This, however was not to be; for an old friend, anticipating my resolve, and bent on frustrating it, suddenly appeared on board with the welcome information that he had hired a room for me at his quarters. Nothing loth, I bundled my traps into the boat, and prepared to accompany my friend, bidding au revoir to the officers with no little regret; they had throughout the voyage treated me with the utmost courtesy, and I had almost grown to look upon the old ship as my home. Nor was the City of Palaces just then calculated to impress a new arrival very favourably, or to raise his spirit-barometer. Darkness was coming on apace, as it always does in the East, and the dim, weird light afforded by the few oil lamps scattered about was considerably obscured by the dense mist that was rising from a large open space, through which we drove in my friend’s “buggy.” This sombre picture was completed by the dusky figures that flitted hither and thither; and, taken altogether, I found it gruesome and depressing.

The house in which my friend resided was a boarding-establishment (with table d’hôte), very convenient for temporary sojourners of the male persuasion; we sat up till a very late, or rather, early hour, as there was much to chat about; and eventually my friend consigned me to the care of his own special valet, with the most detailed instructions—for I knew not a word of the language—and wished me “Good night.” With sundry misgivings, I followed my swarthy attendant, who glided noiselessly in front of me. The room that had been assigned to my use was evidently very spacious—one can tell somehow when one is in a large room, even in total darkness—but as it was only very dimly illuminated by a small wick steeped in oil, I was unable to ascertain its exact dimensions until the next morning. I remember that it also struck me as chilly and damp, and I wished myself back in the cosy cabin in which I had enjoyed many an uninterrupted night’s rest for the last four months. In the middle of the apartment I discerned a bed, surmounted by an enclosure of netting; on one side was a strip of carpet, and close at hand stood a chair. Now, my friend had particularly impressed on me that the mosquitoes were just now very strong on the wing, and as hungry as hunters; also that on the manner in which I got under the netting depended all my chances of sleep. He further instructed me to sign to the “bearer” when I was ready, who would, he said, just raise the edge of the curtain, when I must jump in. The eventful moment arrived: I signed to the “bearer,” and pointed to the bed, whereupon he commenced beating the air around with a kind of switch, and lifted a corner of the net.

By this time I began to realize in the whole proceeding a pleasurable element of excitement, and as he raised the net, I darted in. Alas! it was but to fall out the other side. I felt myself going, and as a drowning man will clutch at a straw, I held on to the bedclothes, dragging them along with me, curtains and all. When I had at length got clear, there was the “bearer” staring at me as if I were a wild beast or a lunatic; then he fled—returning shortly afterwards with another set of curtains, after which he once more made the bed. This entrée was successfully accomplished; but my troubles did not end here. The fact was, I felt uncommonly cold; suddenly a happy thought occurred to me, and stealthily thrusting out an arm from under the curtains, I dragged in my clothes and the strip of carpet. I slept soundly, but woke betimes—as who, indeed, even of the Seven Sleepers, would not have?—for of all the discordant uproars I had ever heard, the réveille of the feathered tribe—crows, minahs, and other villains—certainly stood first.

Shortly afterwards the “bearer” entered, noiseless as a tiger, and proceeded to open the shutters and admit the morning light. He next advanced to my couch with the evident intention of rousing me, but seeing the additions that I had made in my bed-clothing, stopped short. I pretended to be asleep, but watched him carefully. The poor fellow opened his eyes to their widest, looked round the room, thought for a moment, and then fled as before; returning this time in the company of my friend, who glanced at the bed, and immediately roared with laughter. It was all very funny, no doubt; but, not being quite able to appreciate the joke, I took refuge in pretended sleep. Later on, at breakfast, I gave a detailed account of what had happened, which my friend supplemented with the “bearer’s” version. Poor bearer! In spite of repeated explanations, he avoided me as much as possible, and evidently considered me dangerous. A day or two after I was claimed by a relation, and that domestic at least was greatly relieved by my departure! There is, gentle reader, a right and a wrong way of getting into bed as well as out of it, as I found to my cost on more than one occasion; as, for example, the first stormy night at sea, when I made use of my swing-cot.

Ignorance both of the language of the country and of the vast vocabulary of Anglo-Indian expressions was a sad drawback to anything like real enjoyment in those early days; as, besides feeling a bore of the first-water, having to ask so many questions, one felt more or less at every one’s mercy.

At my first dinner-party I well recollect a gentleman inviting me to take “simkin” with him; politeness constrained me to accept “with pleasure”—and also with some secret misgivings; and some coagulated stuff was shot into my glass, which, on melting, turned out to be champagne—a word beyond any native’s power of pronunciation, and, in consequence, corrupted into “simkin” by natives and Europeans alike.

Another friend begged me to call on him at some house in “Mango Lane.” I promised to do so, but, unfortunately suspecting a practical joke, I retaliated by telling him that my abode was “Pine-Apple Alley.” Had I only inquired, matters would have turned out otherwise. As it was, the poor fellow drove all over the town in search of a place that did not exist; while I never took the slightest trouble to find out his abode, though it was situated in one of the most important thoroughfares in Calcutta, where merchants most did congregate. Shortly afterwards we met out driving; and after the ensuing explanation, I made the amende honorable.

I have already said that Calcutta did not impress me favourably at first; and after each subsequent visit I disliked the place more and more.

The event of the day, to which all looked forward with great eagerness, was the evening drive up and down a road running parallel with the river; but its duration was of the briefest. As if by magic, the place would suddenly swarm with all sorts of conveyances, from the well-appointed barouche to the modest buggy. The ladies, one and all, looked cadaverous, so much so that I felt quite concerned about them; but was somewhat reassured by my friend’s reply to my inquiries: “Oh! no, they are all ill; they all get like that after they have been out here a short time.”

As far as I could judge, the aim of each native coachman was to outdrive his fellow Jehu, for we certainly moved at a break-neck pace. Consequently, I seldom saw any of my shipmates there. That rapid transit for a brief hour in an open conveyance, with occasionally an hour’s visiting and shopping in a closed one, seemed to me all the outdoor exercise that the ladies had, and this accounted in a great measure for the extreme pallor of their complexions.

In the way of contrasts, I do not think I ever beheld anything so pronounced as the fresh, rosy, and yet bronzed complexions of the new arrivals, and those of the more acclimatized specimens of the gentler sex; yet at the same time, where there prevailed any redundancy of colour and tendency to coarseness, the climate appeared to exercise an ameliorating effect, imparting grace and refinement.

I thought, of course, that every one would be abroad in the early morning, but the Europeans were conspicuous by their absence; and, during the colder months at least, the state of the atmosphere was none too inviting, as a chilly mist invariably hung over the place like a pall, to be dispersed only when the sun was too high to render going forth at all agreeable.

Notwithstanding, I used to make my way through it from one end of the large, open space—the “Maidan”—to the other, returning home with my hair and moustache covered with dewy moisture.

I used on these occasions to meet with one countryman, who, like myself, felt bound to have his morning “constitutional” at any price; and after various stages of recognition we became closely acquainted. I came across him a year ago—nearly forty years after the time of which I write—in Richmond; we were both walking!

During the day, with the sun shining upon it, the City of Palaces looked somewhat imposing, especially the business quarters, alive with people of almost every nationality, and the most heterogeneous collection of conveyances, foremost among which was the indigenous “Palkee.” It was pleasant to watch—from a distance; in fact, the perfumes of Arabia did not predominate; and, as water-carts were an unknown quantity, the dust and the glare combined to produce headache and thirst, the latter being temporarily quenched by various American drinks, in which, as my head told me, rum predominated.

There was an amazing demand for these drinks; and, without wishing to enlarge on their merits or the reverse, I must say they were honest drinks, compounded of the best materials, and very unlike those that I have tasted under similar names at certain of our Exhibitions.

The most appalling thing about the Calcutta of those days was the nauseating effluvium that arose from all parts of it; this was a smell sui generis, noticeable indeed in and around “Chowringhee,” the European quarter; still more so in the neighbourhood of the best shops; and reaching its climax in the China Bazaar, a den of the most arrant thieves to be met with in any country. I imagine that it was a peculiar distillation of sewage, brought about by the action of a hot sun; and I remarked its peculiar intensity at daybreak, and just after nightfall. On one occasion, I mistook the hour for a funeral, and arrived a great deal too soon at the rendezvous, which was close to that exceedingly filthy river the Hooghly; I was, I remember, well-nigh poisoned—a dissecting-room could hardly come up to it. I had almost said that, on the part of the residents, familiarity with the odour had bred contempt; but that would be falling short of the mark, inasmuch as I believe they had positively learned to like it.

The mention of smells associated with sewers brings to my mind the “bandicoot” rat, one of which, to my considerable discomfiture, I saw making its way across my friend’s “compound.” It appeared to me quite as large as a leveret, and considerably more formidable, nor was I greatly reassured by the information, “Oh! that’s only a bandicoot; plenty of them about.” The term “bandicoot” is a corruption of the native name pandikoku, which signifies pig-rat. It is a clean feeder living on grain and roots, and is said to be as delicate eating as the porcupine. The internecine “war of the rats,” waged in our country between the black and the brown, terminated in favour of the former, those useful scavengers that, for the most part, live in our sewers; but in the East—from which they were, like most other nasty things, originally imported—they swarm everywhere, and are most destructive. For the sake of the grain, which my sheep would turn out of their troughs, each in his eagerness to obtain the lion’s share, they positively honeycombed my field. Having in vain tried extermination by means of drowning and smoking, I bethought me as a last resource of phosphorescent paste, and by spreading it on pieces of native bread and placing it near their holes, I killed heaps of them, which were buried under my vine with good effect.

I thoughtlessly tried the same experiment in my bungalow; this time, however, instead of coming out to die as they had done in the field, the rats preferred to die in retirement. I consequently had to vacate the house for six weeks, during which time it was thoroughly dismantled and purified. They not unfrequently show fight. On one occasion, going to a cupboard late at night, in search of some supper for a friend and myself, I found everything in the possession of rats. We drove them off for a time, but they returned to the charge, and even came on the table in numbers, literally fighting with us for the mastery. Carving-knives, however, gained the victory, but not until a dozen or so had been disposed of. Fortunately the bandicoot is not aggressive, otherwise not knives but swords would be necessary.

During the first few weeks at Calcutta I had occasion to make a few purchases in the way of light clothing, and boldly dived into that unsavoury locality the China Bazaar. The dealers recognized the novice by their own inherent instinct, and set to work accordingly.

No. 1 informed me that he was an honest man, the only one indeed to be found in the place; would I step inside his shop and see the wares, that were very good and ridiculously cheap; he also very kindly and emphatically warned me against dealing with the man over the way, “one d—— big thief!” No. 2 came up and vituperated No. 1: told me that the articles offered were worthless, but that his shop, &c., &c. No. 3 next arrived on the scene, and in a patronizing tone vilified Nos. 1 and 2; they were both thieves, and in league to cheat me. At length, sick at heart, I took refuge in my conveyance and drove home, sending my servant for the articles I required, a thing that I ought to have done at first.

The whole thing was on a par with the mercantile qualifications of a native who once sold a bird to a friend of mine on the Upper Congo, and who, by way of summing up all the warbler’s good qualities, exclaimed—

“Father cock, mother cock, sing from three in the morning till late at night—so help me!”

All Calcutta was wrapt at night time in impenetrable gloom; I occasionally drove to the Barrackpore end of the town, the deserted streets only lit by the faint glimmer of an occasional oil lamp, and the stillness broken now and again by a troop of jackals yelling, and then scampering off, as if pursued by the Prince of Darkness. On such occasions one of the troop is supposed to say—and it certainly sounds remarkably like it—“I smell the body of a dead Hindoo,” when the rest join in with, “Whe-re, whe-re, whe-re!” in a very shrill voice.

Of places of amusement, theatres and the like, there seemed absolutely none. I soon discovered too that everything in the East was diametrically opposed to our Western notions, and, among other instances, it was customary for new arrivals to call on the residents, instead of vice versa, as at home.

I derived much amusement from the spectacle afforded by a ball, where the dancers of both sexes partook for the most part of the “shadowed livery of the burnished sun.” White dresses and gay colours contrasted rather strangely on the female form divine, though evening dress was not altogether unbecoming on the males. The women were, on the whole, remarkably good-looking, and displayed faultless figures, as well as being very graceful dancers. They also had an eye to the main chance, and were somewhat less reserved on such matters than is sanctioned by the usages of society elsewhere; and an old chum told me that a coloured beauty, with whom he had danced several times during the evening, without being aware of having held her more tightly than usual, murmured to him, as she was leaving, “Why for you squeeze my chumrah (skin) and not propose me matrimony?”

Bad as Calcutta was from a sanitary point of view, it would have been ten times worse but for the huge army of nature’s scavengers that swarmed in the atmosphere, chief among which were the kites and crows. But the most dignified was the Argala, or “Adjutant,” a wading bird, not unlike the stork, especially in its preference for human society. This species particularly affected the roof of Government House. They are about five feet high, and their head and neck almost destitute of feathers; and the beak is so large as to enable them to seize and swallow a dead cat or bandicoot.

The new arrival in the East has, it will be seen, much to see and learn, and still more to unlearn. He buys his experience at a considerable cost, for, although the sky may change, the mind is too indelibly stamped with old impressions for them to be easily effaced. For some time he is a very helpless being, tossed about in a sea of trouble, and dependent for assistance on those around him.

I most unexpectedly came across kind friends, else I should indeed have felt a fish out of water. They have joined the great majority—peace to their souls!