Chapter IV: The Captive Free (3)

We had not remained long in the city before I was afforded the rare privilege of being present at a Jewish wedding. The solemnization of the marriage rite is preceded by seven days’ feasting and rejoicing at the house of the betrothed. Open house is indeed kept, where the friends and relations of the affianced couple meet every day to eat, drink, and be merry. The guests usually assemble before noon. On my arrival at twelve o’clock, the rooms were already filled with visitors. I was conducted first to a chamber where the bride, prettily attired and veiled, was seated on a bed to be looked at: Moorish modesty forbidding that she should take any other part in the merry-making than that of silently looking on. Passing through the adjoining rooms—where cakes, wine and fruit of every description were spread in abundance—I was ushered into the presence of the family group and their large circle of friends, all of the gentler sex: male visitors being rigidly prohibited. I have rarely seen any thing more classically beautiful than the faces of those Jewish women. One more beautiful and pensive-looking than the rest appeared to take a prominent part in the affair. She was magnificently dressed in amber-colored and crimson silk damask embroidered with gold, white silk with satin stripes; spangles; a jacket of pale blue velvet embroidered with gold and trimmed with gold buttons; sleeves of white gauze, curiously pinned together behind the back, leaving the arms exposed, the rounded form of which was set off by costly bracelets, in keeping with a profusion of jewelry in the shape of brooches, ear-rings, and necklace. A handkerchief was tied over the head, and red slippers, embroidered in silver, completed the dress.

Dancing appeared to form the chief entertainment, and was kept up with great spirit to the discordant sounds of sundry tomtoms and a fiddle. The want of harmony was, however, amply compensated by the singularity of their national dances. They are intended to represent the human passions. They were generally performed singly, though sometimes two persons stood up together, each holding a gay-colored handkerchief coquettishly over the head. They seldom moved from one spot, and their movements were nearly all with the body, not with the legs. Their figures were entirely unconfined by stays. The Terpsichorean part of the rejoicing terminated about six o’clock, and a sumptuous banquet followed, of which about thirty of the guests partook. The table was decorated with massive candelabra, and a costly service of plate, which is generally an heir-loom in the families of these rich Jewish merchants.

As a looker-on, I was not asked to join in the feast; but I am not unacquainted with the mysteries of the Jewish _cuisine_ and can pronounce them capable of satisfying even Epicurean tastes. We had already seen some portions of the viands which now smoked upon the board; for, according to the ancient Jewish custom, the animal part of their food undergoes a process of sprinkling with salt and water, and during this operation it is placed in the open court, and is, therefore, seen by all who may enter the house: indeed, the first thing which attracted our attention on arriving was the goodly array of some two or three dozen head of poultry, arranged in rows upon a wooden machine, resembling a common garden flower-stand, where they were put to drain out every drop of blood. The betrothed had, like myself, nothing to eat; being condemned to remain daily on her show-bed, until the departure of the guests.

I felt curious to know at what time a Moorish bride eats and drinks during the eight days of purgatory to which she is subject; for at whatever hour you enter you find her always in the same position. On the eve of the eighth day she is exhibited until an unusually late hour, in consequence of the customary display of the marriage gifts; all of which are spread out upon the bed where she is sitting, to be curiously examined by the visitors. Amongst the gaudy display of silk and gauze dresses, scarfs, etc.—for the Jews are remarkable for their love of gay colors—may be seen the long glossy tresses, of which the intended bride is—according to the Jewish custom—always despoiled before marriage; being, as wives, strictly forbidden to wear their own hair. They feel no regret at losing what is said to be a “woman’s glory,” as it is certainly one of her greatest ornaments.

On the morning of the eighth day, the friends and relations—who are to be present at the ceremony—arrive as early as seven o’clock, to assist the bride in the last duties of her toilet, which are somewhat onerous; for a Moorish woman indulges freely in the use of rouge, white lead, and powder. Her eyebrows and eyelashes are darkened, the tips of her fingers are painted pink, and her nails are dyed with henna. These operations over, scarf, head-dress and veil are put on by the woman of the highest rank present. The bridal head-dress is formed of paste-board worked over with silk, and profusely ornamented with jewels: it is very high, and resembles in shape the papal crown. The toilet fairly achieved, the damsel is conducted to the principal apartment, and placed in an arm-chair, raised on a kind of dais about three feet from the floor; a bride’s-woman standing on each side, holding in her right hand a long wax-candle, such as those seen on the altars in Catholic churches. There are no bridesmaids; their office being always performed by married women: virgin eyes not being allowed to gaze on a marriage feast. The important moment was now at hand: the moment which was to decide the happiness or misery of the fair timid child, whose youth and beauty it seemed a sin to sacrifice. She was only thirteen years of age.

In proportion as the preceding seven days had been joyous, the eighth appeared solemn. The scene seemed to awaken sad memories in the minds of those present. In the expression of one woman I fancied I could read a mother’s grief for her dishonored child: in another, imagination conjured up a wife weeping over her childless state; and—in the latter—I was not mistaken, for I was afterward informed that the beautiful, pensive-looking woman—whose dress we admired—had just been divorced from her husband, having been wedded two years without presenting him with a representative of his name. This alone was ground for divorce.

All eyes were now turned toward the door: the betrothed peered through her veil, as anxious to behold the ceremony as we were; and, as eight o’clock struck, the Rabbi entered, followed by the bridegroom. Taking his place in front of the bride’s chair, the bridegroom standing on his right, and the guests in a circle round him; the Rabbi read aloud from the Hebraic ritual the moral and social duties to be observed by the man and wife. The greater part of the service is chanted—all present lending their voices. A massive gold ring, of a strange form, was given, to be worn on the forefinger of the right hand. The service ended, the bride was carried in her chair of state to the chamber where she had been exhibited during the preceding week; and—halting on the threshold—a piece of sugar was given to her by the Rabbi, who, taking a full glass of water, at the same time broke the glass over her head. The sugar is typical of the sweets of Hymen: the water of its purity: and the broken glass of the irrevocable character of the ceremony. The bride was then placed again upon the bed, and her mother took her place beside her, as if to guard the precious treasure until called upon to resign her to her husband.

The ceremony of the sugar and broken glass only appertains to Jewish weddings. The cutting off the betrothed’s hair is also peculiar to them: but many of the Moorish and ancient Jewish rites have become identical. The eight days’ feasting and the exclusion of male visitors are alike common to both. A pair of female slippers placed on the threshold of the door is a sign that no male visitor above the age of twelve may cross it. The costume of the Moorish and Jewish bride is also the same, except that women of the Shreefian family—or those descended from the Prophet—wear green. In rich families, the wedding is always followed by horse-races and fireworks. The women look on closely veiled, or—more correctly—sheeted. The bride is carried through the streets in procession, to the sound of music, in a sort of Punch-theatre, placed on the back of a horse. If the procession pass a mosque, all the persons composing it are obliged to take off their shoes and walk barefooted. Lastly—the Moorish bride on arriving at her husband’s house is lifted over the threshold of the door, lest she should stumble while entering, which would be a fearful omen.

* * * * *

=THE OLD MAN’S EVENING THOUGHTS.=

The former days return again—
I hear the cricket sing
From its pastoral nook in the shaven mead,
And the lizard at the spring.

From the silent realm, wild images
Come thronging round once more,
The bounding limb, the gentle eye,
And the crooked form of yore.

At the still twilight’s dewy hour,
Their varied tones I hear,
As when I ranged these pastures o’er
In childhood’s sunny year.

On the evening air a lay is borne,
Soft wandering up the vale,
Where smoky wreaths o’er cottage brood,
Quiet as yon bright sail.

The hamlet has its voices yet—
I hear them where I stand,
And I love to fancy them still the lays
Of the olden minstrel band.

The time is like those fairy hours
When life had no regret—
I seem to feel its vernal breeze
Fanning these temples yet.

Nature is ever beautiful,
Her form the youth of old;
These limbs are tending to their earth—
Mind triumphs o’er the mould.
F. G.

* * * * *

=MY FIRST INKLING OF A ROYAL TIGER.=

=BY AN OLD INDIAN OFFICER.=

A change came o’er the spirit of my dream—
The boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds
Of fiery climes, he made himself a home,
And his soul drank their sunbeams: he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects: by his sleeping side
Stood camels grazing; and some goodly steeds
Were fastened near a fountain—— Byron.

Many years have elapsed since the occurrence took place which I am now about to relate; but the period is yet fresh in my mind, when, shortly after arriving at Madras, I was dispatched on a march of several hundred miles to join my regiment, then stationed in the Deccan.

No sooner had our detachment crossed the rocky bed of the Kishnah, and ascended the table-land beyond, than we found ourselves in quite a different climate from the Carnatic. We now inhaled a dry and bracing atmosphere; the mornings and evenings were deliciously cool, and a blanket proved, under canvas, a not superfluous covering at night—for it happened to be at that delightful period of the year when Nature, in these sunny regions of the East, is still arrayed in all her gayest holyday garb—the verdant garlands with which she is then decked out not being yet faded by the withering influence of that simoom-like blast, which, periodically sweeping across the desert, soon licks up with fiery breath every sign of verdure and vegetation, leaving—except where patches of hardy jungle intervene—naught over which the eye can rest save a brown, arid, and burnt-up soil, here and there dotted with still more bare, brown, and desolate-looking masses of stone and rock.

I must not, however, anticipate. On crossing the Kishnah, we entered a region quite different in feature and aspect from that which we had hitherto traversed since leaving the Coromandel coast. High, undulating tracts of land—in some parts covered with low thorny thickets, in others (at this season of the year) with high waving grass, amidst which might occasionally be caught a glimpse of the graceful antelope, or from whence the florikan and bustard were sometimes flushed; whilst peering from an ocean of jungle verdure—like the back of a huge whale—some dark denuded mass of rock, all bristling with native battlements and forts, would occasionally protrude from the surrounding jungle or “meidan,”[12] and pleasingly diversify the scene.

The nature of the vegetation, and agricultural products of the country, appeared likewise to be completely changed, the moment we entered the “Deccan,” from what we had been accustomed to witness in the low and level plains of the Carnatic, which we had so recently left behind. The cultivation of rice, with its concomitant swamps, had in a great measure disappeared, and was replaced in the low grounds by waving fields of Indian corn, and occasionally—though as yet but rarely—by the tall and graceful sugar-cane; whilst Bengal gram,[13] and other stunted pulse, marked the sites of the higher, and consequently drier and more arid portions of the cultivated soil.

The feathery cocoa-nut and fan-like palmyra of the lower country had now given way to the no less serviceable—and hardly less beautiful—date-tree, which, although in this part of the world yielding a scarcely palatable fruit, is nevertheless applied to an infinity of useful purposes, and yields, moreover, a very considerable revenue to the state. For each individual of these

“Groups of lovely ‘date-trees,’
Bending their leaf-crowned heads
On youthful maids, like sleep descending,
To warn them to their silken beds,”

was taxed to the annual amount of one rupee, which sum was strictly exacted from the poor oppressed Ryot, by the zemindar intrusted with the collection of the revenue of each particular district of the Nizam’s dominions.

To the casual inquirer it might appear that such an impost would amount to almost a prohibition on the culture of this tree; they nevertheless abound in all parts of the country adapted to their growth; and this can only be accounted for, from the numerous and manifold purposes to which every portion of it is usefully and profitably applied. The fruit, although in this part of the world coarse and rough to the taste, is nevertheless made use of for different purposes by the natives; the stems and leaves are severally converted into baskets and mats, and are likewise employed to roof their lowly huts; but the chief produce of the Indian date-tree is the “tara,” or, as called in English, “toddy,” it so plentifully yields, and which is extracted by making deep incisions in the trunk, for here—

“The ‘date,’ that graceful dryad of the woods,
Within whose bosom infant Bacchus broods,”

when thus tapped, readily gives forth a sweet, pleasant, and abundant beverage, which, if partaken of at the cool hour of early morn, is both refreshing and salubrious, but soon becomes a deleterious and intoxicating liquor when fermented, by being exposed to the powerful rays of a tropical sun. The tara, or toddy, in this condition is a liquor much sought after, and often conducive to great irregularity and crime amidst English soldiery in the East; and the vicinity of a “toddy tope,” or date-grove, should for this reason be sedulously avoided in the pitching of a camp.

On entering the Nizam’s dominions, after the passage of the Kishnah, the sportsmen of our party found ample scope for the employment of their fowling-pieces; for although snipe and water-fowl were here much more scarce than in the low ground of the Carnatic, this deficiency was amply made up, in the far greater abundance of larger and nobler game.

The rangers of the “meidan,” or open grassy “prairies,” through which the line of march would now often lie for miles, therein found abundance of hares, of partridges, and every variety of quail—occasionally got a shot at a florikan, or a bustard; sometimes even stalked an antelope; and enjoyed occasionally an opportunity of breathing their nags in a gallop after the dog-hyæna, the wily little Indian fox, or a skulking jackal. Such as adventured into the jungle in quest of painted partridge or pea-fowl, sometimes recounted on their return to camp, that they had witnessed indubitable traces of animals of a more formidable kind, and described the appearance of what they concluded must be the foot-marks of the royal tiger, which they had seen imprinted in the sandy bed of the dry “nullahs,” or water-courses they had traversed during their sporting excursions from the camp.

Although these conjectures of being occasionally on the trail of a “Bagh,” (as the royal tiger is called in India) were repeatedly confirmed by the protestations of such of the camp-followers and other natives who might have been employed as “beaters,” still such complete “Griffins”[14] were we all, that we could not bring ourselves to the belief of being actually in the vicinity—perhaps often within the spring—of so dangerous a customer, as, even in our profound ignorance, we were all perfectly aware that a royal tiger must undoubtedly have proved.

Rife with the impression that all “natives” are necessarily liars by nature, without any “old hand” in Indian sports, to instruct and inform us of the real state of things; and in spite of the repeated warnings we received from our servants and camp-followers, we began, after a few marches north of the Kishnah, to be extremely sceptical as to the very existence of any tigers, near so much-frequented a thoroughfare as that between Hyderabad and Madras; and it was only after a laughable adventure, which might have been attended with fatal results, that we at last found out our mistake.

Our camp was, on the occasion here alluded to, pitched near a large village, or more strictly speaking, a small Mahommedan town, situated between two lofty hills, composed of those bare and gigantic masses of granite, so characteristic of the strange geological features of this part of the country. I am however wrong in describing both these elevations as bare and denuded masses of blackened rock. The most northerly of the two possessed, in a most remarkable degree, those stern features of aridity, but the crest of its opposite neighbor, crowned with ruins—apparently the remains of some old stronghold or castle—rose from amidst huge chaotic masses of granite, whose interstices nourished the growth of innumerable parasitical lianes and creeping plants, mostly of a thorny or prickly nature; amongst which the wild cactus might be distinguished, even from the valley beneath, as luxuriantly flourishing and widely spreading its fantastic, fleshy, and thorn-covered growth.

The tents, pitched in the valley formed by those “ruins of some former world,” had the full benefit of the refracted heat emanating from both; and to this moment I can well remember the grilling we underwent on that day, and the delight with which we hailed the prospect of the declining sun, in order to be able to sally forth, and take our usual evening stroll.

Accompanied by the assistant-surgeon doing duty with the detachment—a remarkably short and corpulent personage from the “land o’ cakes,” who stuttered intolerably, besides speaking the broadest Scotch—accompanied by this nondescript character, who, with all his national peculiarities, was, however, a most excellent fellow, and whom, for want of a better “_nom de guerre_,” I shall here designate as Doctor Macgillivan; and attended by a single “ghorawallah,” or “saïs” (_Anglice_, horsekeeper or groom) did I, at the period in question, sally forth from the stifling atmosphere of my tent, in order to breathe the cooling and refreshing evening breeze. Thus accompanied, the doctor and myself bent our footsteps toward the native town, in the vicinity of which our camp had been pitched. We were soon within the precincts of its narrow streets, and wandering through a densely-crowded bazaar.

To a “tazawallah” (a native term corresponding to that of a “Johnny Newcome”)—to a young hand lately imported from Europe—in short, to the animal commonly yclept a “Griffin,” in the East, the usual resort of a large concourse of natives generally presents an untiring source of interest and amusement. The different strange sights, sounds and “smells,” which meet the eye, the ear, and the olfactories of the uninitiated, would in themselves require a long chapter to describe.

This was the first place of any size or note we had yet visited since entering the domains of His Highness the Nizam; and a single glance, as we sauntered along the bazaars, sufficed to show that we were amongst a people quite different from the long-subdued, slavish, and submissive Hindoo inhabitants of the Carnatic.

Here the general outward characteristics of the natives appeared to be a loftier bearing, and a lighter hue of complexion to what we had hitherto seen within the territories of the Company, to the northward of Madras. The predominant race—at least in the town itself—were (as Chiniah, my horsekeeper, informed us) followers of the Prophet—haughty-looking Mussulmans (Moormen, as they are often denominated by our countrymen in the south of India) who, with erect gait and swaggering step, moved proudly past us, their dark eyes flashing fire, their bearded lips curled with contempt for the uncircumcised infidel Nussaranee:[15] the hated “Ferringhees,” whom they longed, but dared not openly to insult. Chiniah, who appeared to entertain a salutary dread of such formidable-looking customers, begged us in no way to interfere with their movements—

“Becase why,” said he, _sotto voce_, as if fearful of being overheard, “Becase why—all Moormen great rascal, but these Deccanneewallahs bigger rascals than all. Give plenty ‘galee’ (abuse) to master; suppose master angry get, and strike ’em, then they quick take out tulwar or creese (sword and dagger) and kill ’em quick!”

“Hout mon! ye dinna mean to say so!” stuttered out the doctor, “come away then, we’ll hae nothing to say to such chiels, for I dinna at all fancy the treatment o’ sic’ like kind of wounds.”

“Come along then, doctor—this way!” said I, perfectly agreeing with him in his conclusions; “but, Chiniah, what are yonder two groups of men in the choultrie, with plenty match-locks, swords, daggers, pistols, and shields?” asked I, pointing to two armed and distinct parties, who appeared to have lately arrived from a long and wearisome march; for they looked way-worn, covered with dust and sweat, and were now apparently preparing to rest, after the toil and heat of the day, but in different compartments of the same “choultrie” or caravanserai: one of those edifices appropriated in the East for the public use of all travelers.

“Ahi! Saïb, come this way!” earnestly said Chiniah, “neber go near them fellow. Deccannee Moormen—they big rascal: them fellow Seikhs and Arabs, bigger rascal still: them cut every man’s, every woman’s throat: them cut master’s throat if fancy take ’em!”

“Hout mon! come away,” interposed the doctor.

“But, Chiniah,” inquired I, “how do you know so much about these people, whom I suppose you have never seen before?”

“I plenty know: I stop five year at Secunderabad in service of Captain M——; him one great shikarree gentleman; him plenty hunt, plenty shoot, plenty trabel, plenty speak Hindostanee. I plenty march with him—I plenty better than English speak Hindostanee—when master learn Hindostanee I can then plenty tings tell.”

Chiniah, who remained afterward for years in my service, told the truth; he had really been long as saïs, or groom, in the service of one of the keenest and best sportsmen of the Deccan; and, as I subsequently became initiated into the “woodland craft” of this part of the world, I found him invaluable from his local knowledge, his capability of enduring fatigue, and often from the presence of mind which, on an emergency, he has more than once displayed. He was, as he averred, far more of an adept in Hindostanee than in the English tongue; however, after his own fashion, he managed to enlighten us on the subject of the formidable-looking groups of warriors who were now assembled in the “Seraï.”

It appeared that they were Seikh and Arab mercenary troops, in the service of the Nizam, and, as I afterward learned, a most refractory and dangerous set of men, who, from their ferocity and numbers, had become the terror of the inhabitants of Hyderabad, and whose long arrears of pay were usually partly liquidated by obtaining grants from the collection of the revenues of certain districts, where they often exercised the most fearful acts of tyranny and oppression upon the poor, mild, defenseless, and unoffending Telougoo cultivators of the soil; for although the population of the towns in the Deccan be mostly composed of Mahomedans, the fields are still cultivated by the aboriginal Hindoo race of this portion of the formerly extensive and ancient empire of Telingana.

As my worthy friend Dr. Macgillivan expressed an equally great aversion to the treatment of gun-shot or match-lock wounds, as he had previously manifested for such as were inflicted by the sharp edge of a Damascus blade, we willingly turned from this dangerous locality, to perambulate the more peaceful regions of the much-frequented bazaar.

In passing through Southern India, the traveler, although he generally carries with him his own supplies, is never in want of the actual necessaries of life; he can generally procure rice and ghee, fowls and eggs, or an occasional sheep; but to every thing in the shape of luxuries—unless we include what he has providently furnished himself with—he must make up his mind to be a perfect stranger; and even fruit of the commonest description is seldom to be had.

Since our departure from Madras, it was only at the large stations of Nellore and Ongole that we had been able to procure this desirable accessory to our daily meals; and we now, therefore, gladly hastened toward a stall, on which were most invitingly displayed pieces of water-melon and sugar-cane, guavas, custard-apples, sweet lemons, plantains or bananas, and—what I have never before seen used as an article of food—the fruit of the cactus, or prickly-pear tree, which Chiniah assured us to be most palatable, and “very good body for!” provided no other beverage were used to wash it down, save the “pure element” in an unmixed and undiluted state.

Purchases of the tempting goods spread out before us, were soon made, with directions to have them sent immediately to camp; but in settling our account with the worthy retailer of the treasures of Vertumnus and Pomona, we were not a little surprised at the much higher value he set on the produce of the cactus, beyond that of his other horticultural stores.

On inquiring, through the medium of Chiniah, as to the reason of this difference of price, when from the very spot where we then stood, we could see the prickly-pear trees—the sources from whence this store of riches was derived—flourishing in all the wild luxuriance of nature, amidst the lofty rocks towering high above, we were informed that it was owing to the danger and difficulty of obtaining this species of fruit, which, although growing wild in the stony crevices of the hill, was far from easy to be procured; the natives having a great objection to repair thither, through dread—as observed the worthy fruit-seller—of the many tigers which infested the place, no less than of a certain “Jinn,” or spirit, which was, he averred, in the habit of haunting—particularly toward nightfall—the old ruin on the summit of the rock. As to the existence of the tigers, we turned as usual, an incredulous ear; but the “Jinn” excited our curiosity in no slight degree, and elicited the desire to follow this perturbed spirit through the dilapidated recesses of his romantic retreat.

“Ask the old gentleman,” said the doctor to Chiniah, “ask him if he believes in the ‘ghaist,’ and what it is like?”

“Albuttah! most certainly;” was the reply of the “phulwallah,” or fruit-seller, when thus questioned as to his belief, “there is no more doubt as to the existence of the ‘Jinn,’ than of that of the ‘Baghs’ which nightly prowl amongst yonder rocks; although I have never seen either myself, but people of unquestionable veracity have undoubtedly beheld both. As to the ‘Jinn,’ sometimes he appears in one shape, sometimes in another; sometimes as the ghost of the Hindoo Rajah, who in the days of the Padshahs of Telingana, suffered himself and his followers to be starved to death, rather than surrender his mountain fortress to the victorious followers of the Prophet, who had besieged it for many months. Some again have seen the spirit in the shape of a Parsee, or Fire-worshiper, as those ‘Sheitanees’ (followers of the Evil One) are said at one time constantly to have exposed their dead, to be devoured by eagles and vultures on the top of yonder tower, of which the remains are yet visible amidst the ruined walls still covering the summit of the hill.”

Such was the purport of the communication of the fruit-seller, translated by Chiniah after his own fashion, and the import of which so fully aroused our curiosity as to determine us to attempt an immediate ascent of the hill.

On being questioned concerning his personal knowledge of the localities in question, Chiniah said he well knew the way to the summit of the rock; and although ignorant of the abode of the “Jinn,” professed his firm belief in the existence of tigers, having on one occasion accompanied his former “sahib” on a tiger-shooting expedition to this very spot; although he admitted that they had not been then successful in the pursuit. Chiniah was, however, a bold and willing fellow; and probably forgetting at the moment that he was no longer under the shadow of the unerring rifle of his former lord, but acting as dry-nurse to a couple of regular “griffs,” he unhesitatingly offered to second our views by performing the part of guide. We accordingly forthwith started on our exploratory expedition, in spite of the warning voice of the old “phulwallah,” who unsparingly censured the rashness of the Ferringhees, whom he stigmatized as being all “dewanah,” or, as the doctor would have expressed it, “gone clean daft!”

Painful and toilsome to a degree was the ascent; but when breathless, almost exhausted with fatigue, with our limbs and garments lacerated by the numerous thorny brambles which had opposed our upward progress, we at last succeeded in reaching the summit of the rock, we felt ourselves amply repaid for all the toil and labor we had undergone.

Like a huge ball of fire, the eastern sun was just dipping its burning orb behind the dark ocean of jungle which bounded our view to the west; and whilst the rest of the landscape was already cast into that brief twilight which so shortly precedes the rapidly approaching darkness of a tropical evening, the white buildings of the town, and the whiter tents composing our camp, pitched in the adjacent hollow, were already looking dim and indistinct under the darkening shadow of the opposite hill: the ruined pinnacles of the lofty “Guebres’ tower” (for such we were determined to consider it) was still lit up by the rays of that brilliant luminary in whose honor it had perhaps been raised by the old fire-worshipers of yore—the time-honored followers of Zoroaster, who was supposed to be the mysterious founder of this creed.

Both time and scene most appropriately combined in our favor to nourish this poetic—though, may-be, far-fetched—idea: the crumbling Cyclopean remains of many other massive ruins, which—as subsequent experience taught me—bore in their solid structure unmistakable evidence of the ancient architecture of the Hindoos, and whose solid and gigantic materials could scarcely have been misplaced save by some convulsive effort of nature: the huge disjointed and blackened fragments of rock cast in every direction around, and forming the colossal stepping-stones of our toilsome accent; all favored the impression that—

“Each ravine, each rocky spire
Of that vast mountain, stood on fire.”

* * * * *

The sun had set: the short twilight of the torrid zone was fast merging into darkness, still we continued to explore every nook and corner of the old ruined fort, until warned at last by Chiniah of the lateness of the hour, we reluctantly prepared to retrace our steps.

“Day-time, this bad place—night, ’tis plenty worse!” observed he. “Plenty dark come then: never can see road back to camp: then fall over these big stones. Suppose them tiger come—no rifle got—what we can do?”

“I suspect, Chiniah, your tiger is something like the ‘Jinn’ of the old fellow of the bazaar,” replied I—“a pure creature of fancy!”

Although Chiniah was not sufficiently learned in the Saxon tongue to understand, to its full extent, this figurative mode of speech, he evidently caught the purport of the general meaning of what I said, and replied rather testily that, although he knew nothing about the “Jinns,” he could—if we wished it—show us the tiger’s lair; which, although unsuccessfully watched by his former master, was undoubtedly the usual abode of the “Pharka Bagh,” or “Tiger of the Hill,” of whose existence there could not be the slightest doubt, from the many traces of him which they had then observed—such as hair, skulls, bones, and other remnants of the victims of his hunger, or his wrath.

“Come along, then,” said I: “and since we have not been able to discover any signs of the ‘Jinn,’ show us now where this tiger of yours has pitched his tent?”

Readily did Chiniah comply with this behest: his veracity had been apparently called in question; and he seemed, moreover, gladly to avail himself of the opportunity of descending from the summit of the hill, around which darkness was fast spreading its leaden mantle, when—as he justly observed—there might be considerable difficulty, as well as danger, in finding our way back to camp.

Availing himself, however, of the still glimmering twilight, he unhesitatingly struck into a sort of goat-track, in the opposite direction to that of our ascent, which—winding down the face of the rock—led us to the brink of a deep fissure or chasm, partly over-arched by huge masses of granite, and the “brown horrors” of whose depths our eyes could not fathom by that fast declining and uncertain light.

“There, sar! down there, big tiger, him live—look!” added he, in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard by the grim tenant of the dark skeleton-strewed Golgotha, which yawned at our feet. “Look! them white things all bones—bullock-bones, buckra-bones, man and woman bones, children-bones, all sort bones, now plenty dark, can’t see—day-time plenty can see. I go down there with Captain M——, but then tiger never find: him gone out. Captain M——, one great Shikar gentleman; wherefore tiger him plenty afraid: him then leave house: him go away to jungle.”

Suddenly stopping short in his interesting discourse, Chiniah, raising his hand to enjoin silence, remained in a listening attitude; whilst, struck by his sudden action, we peered still more intently and in breathless silence into the depths of the abyss below.

A sort of rustling noise—as that proceeding from some large animal making its way through underwood or brambles—was evidently perceptible to us all: then through the nearly total darkness now pervading the cavernous opening below, suddenly glistened forth two round, bright, shining objects, glistening like living coals through the obscurity around—and, ere we had time to form any conjecture as to their origin or cause, an appalling roar issued forth from the yawning chasm at our feet; and so loud, so deep, and so terrific was this awful sound, that for a second it rooted us in silent horror to the spot, where we remained fixed as if suddenly stricken by an electric shock.

“_Sauve qui peut_,” appeared next instant to have become—not the “standing” but “running” order of the day. Chiniah, in his terror, bounded downward, like a mountain goat, from rock to rock; and, being in those days tolerably active myself, and moreover, well accustomed to range “o’er the mountain’s brow,” I followed pretty closely in his wake; for awhile losing sight and—I am ashamed to say—all recollection of my more corpulent and less agile comrade, who was apparently quite distanced in the race. Chiniah and myself had now well nigh, and without accident, succeeded in reaching the bottom of the hill, which—as may well be imagined—was effected in a considerably shorter time than that occupied in our ascent; and whilst here traversing a broad, level, and slippery slab of granite, on a very inclined plane, my feet suddenly slipping from under me, during my still rapid course, I came heavily down “by the stern,” as sailors would term it, on the hard surface of the rock.

Ere I could regain my feet, I heard immediately in my rear a sort of dull rushing sound. Making sure the tiger was now upon me, I gave myself up for lost, and mentally resigned myself to my fate—when, to my infinite relief and satisfaction, instead of being grappled by a deadly foe, the cause of alarm shot rapidly past and proved to be neither more nor less than the rotund corporation of my friend the Doctor; which—after continuing its rotatory course, with all the impetus and rapidity of a huge snow-ball or avalanche, along the steep, smooth, and slippery surface that had caused my fall—was projected over the precipitous ledge terminating the declivity, and then disappeared amidst the sound of crashing branches and opposing brambles, through a dense mass of underwood below. On regaining my feet and looking around, my first sentiment was one of gladness, to find that the enemy was nowhere to be seen; the next was a feeling of alarm at my companion’s still unknown fate.

I cautiously approached the ledge over which I had seen him disappear, and through an intervening mass of jungle and foliage I could indistinctly perceive a white object struggling some twelve or fifteen feet below, and from whence proceeded piteous sounds of suffering and lamentation. This was the Doctor; who—after having shot over the ledge of rock—had been securely lodged amidst the thorny, complex, and massive leaves of a dense bush of cactus, or prickly pear, which grew immediately below.

After a long _détour_, and some considerable delay, I succeeded in approaching the spot where the poor Medico sat impaled, as it were, on his prickly throne; and, with the assistance of Chiniah, succeeded at last in liberating him from so uncomfortable a position, and then conveyed him to his tent.

The reader, who may chance to know the nature of the thorns of the cactus, will be able fully to appreciate the sufferings poor Doctor Macgillivan underwent, together with the time and labor it took to extract the innumerable prickles from that most prominent and vulnerable part on which, by the laws of gravity, he had naturally lodged.

-----

[12] A Persian term, much used in Hindostan, and signifying a plain open space of ground.

[13] A sort of pea, on which the horses are fed in India, and which in Spain, under the denomination of “garbansos,” constitutes a general article of human food.

[14] A term usually applied to a new-comer in India, and having a synonymous meaning to that of “greenhorn.”

[15] Meaning “Nazarenes,” or Christians, who are likewise denominated “Ferringhees,” or Franks.

* * * * *

=REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.=

_Papers from the Quarterly Review. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1
vol. 18mo._

Another volume of “Appleton’s Popular Library”—books intended to “quicken the intelligence of youth, delight age, decorate prosperity, shelter and solace us in adversity, bring enjoyment at home, befriend us out of doors, pass the night with us, travel with us, go into the country with us.” The present volume contains some happily selected papers from the London Quarterly Review, on “The Printer’s Devil,” “Gastronomy and Gastronomers,” “The Honey Bee,” “Music,” and “The Art of Dress;” papers which are gracefully written, and abounding in interesting anecdote. Our favorite is the article on “Gastronomy and Gastronomers,” in which the art of cooking is raised to its true dignity as one of the Fine Arts, and its great exemplars are generally judged according to the principles of the profoundest philosophical criticism. The great cooks have found in the author of this article one born to be their critic—the Schlegel of gastronomy. From the New Zealand cannibal, with his “cold clergyman on the sideboard,” to the exquisite Brummel, who “once eat a pea,” our author ranges at will, the interpretator of palates. And in truth the subject is worthy of such an analyst. It is generally conceded that the highest action of the mind, in the gladdest rush of its creative energy, is combination. From combination proceeds the picturesque, represented in literature by Shakspeare in England, and Calderon in Spain. The essence of the picturesque is the “union, harmonious melting down and fusion of the diverse in kind and disparate in degree;” and we suppose that in this quality of mind the great cook is preëminent. He creates, by combination, new dishes out of old materials; is the author of edible Hamlets and deliciously flavored Romeos; and appeals, not to gluttons and fat-witted beer guzzlers, but to the fine senses of the educated gastronomer.

It is impossible for an American, to whom a dinner is a mere filling up of an empty stomach, to realize the art and science of eating as practiced and taught in France. Our author tells us that no less a dignitary than M. Henrion de Pensey, late President of the Court of Cassation—a magistrate, says, or said, M. Royer Collard, “of whom regenerated France has reason to be proud”—expressed to MM. Laplace, Chaptol and Berthollet his views of the comparative importance of the astronomical and gastronomical sciences, in these memorable words: “I regard the discovery of a dish as a far more interesting event than the discovery of a star, _for we have always stars enough, but we can never_ _have too many dishes_; and I shall not regard the sciences as sufficiently honored or adequately represented amongst us, until I see a cook in the first class of the Institute.”

In this article we have also a complete account given of the lives and viands of the French masters of cookery, and minute directions given respecting the character of the chief Parisian cafés. It must be confessed that the celebrities of gastronomy have felt the dignity of their art full as much as the sculptors and poets. George the Fourth, by persevering diplomacy, and the offer of a salary of £1000, induced Caréme to come to Carlton House as his _chef_; but the artist, indignant at the lack of refined taste at the monarch’s table, left him at the end of a few months in disgust. Russia and Austria then attempted to bribe him to their kitchens; but, turning a deaf ear to imperial solicitations, and determined never again to leave France, he accepted as engagement with Baron Rothschild. Another of these dignitaries refused to accompany the Duke of Richmond to Ireland, though offered a liberal salary, because he understood that there was no Italian opera in Dublin.

The great book on the palate is M. Brillat-Savarin’s “_Physiologie du Goût_.” Among other important facts established in this world-renowned treatise, there is one of great importance to ladies. “The penchant,” says this profound writer, “of the fair sex for gourmandise has in it something of the nature of instinct, for gourmandise is favorable to beauty. A train of exact and rigid observations have demonstrated that a succulent, delicate and careful regimen repels to a distance, and for a length of time, the external appearances of old age. It gives more brilliancy to the eyes, more freshness to the skin, more support to the muscles; and as it is certain in physiology, that it is the depression of the muscles which causes wrinkles, those formidable enemies of beauty, it is equally true to say that, _cateris paribus_, those who understand eating are comparatively ten years younger than those who are strangers to this science.”

We have all heard that poets are born, not made; but M. Brillat-Savarin makes the same assertion respecting gourmands. The art of eating, it seems, cannot be acquired. Those who have an original aptitude to enjoy the luxuries of the table, are described as having “broad faces, sparkling eyes, small foreheads, short noses, full lips, and round chins. The females are plump, rather pretty than handsome, with a tendency to embonpoint. It is under this exterior that the pleasantest guests are to be found; they accept all that is offered, _eat slowly_, and _taste with reflection_. They never hurry away from the places where they have been well treated; and you are sure of them for the evening, because they know all the games and pastimes which form the ordinary accessories of a gastronomic meeting. Those, on the contrary, to whom nature has refused an aptitude for the enjoyments of taste, have long faces, long noses, and large eyes; whatever their height, they have always in their tournure a character of elongation. They have black and straight hair, and are above all deficient in _embonpoint; it is they_ _who invented trowsers_. The women whom nature has affected with the same misfortune are angular, get tired at table, and live on tea and scandal.”

In the same strain he speaks of _eprouvettes_, “dishes of acknowledged flavor, of such undoubted excellence, that their bare appearance ought to excite in a human being, properly organized, all the faculties of taste; so that all those in whom, in such cases, we perceive neither the flush of desire nor the radiance of ecstasy, may be justly noted as unworthy of the honors of the sitting and the pleasures attached to it.”

As an awful warning to the eaters of America, it should be mentioned that Napoleon owed his ruin to his habits of rapid eating. At Borodino and at Leipsic he was prevented from pushing his successes to a victorious conclusion, solely from the indecision and weakness of mind proceeding from a disordered stomach. On the third day at Dresden—we have it on the authority of the poet Hoffman—he again evinced a lack of his usual energy, owing to his having eat part of a shoulder of mutton stuffed with onions—“a dish,” says the writer in the Quarterly, “only to be paralleled by the pork chops which Messrs. Thurtell and Co. regaled on, after completing the murder of their friend Mr. Weare.” One instance of Napoleon’s good taste, and the only one, we have reluctantly been compelled to give up as a fiction. Tom Moore, in “The Fudge Family in Paris,” mentions Chambertin Burgundy, the most delicious wine in the world, as the “pet tipple of Nap;” but the Quarterly asserts that it was never taken on serious occasions, for after the battle of Waterloo there were found in his carriage two bottles—empty—one of which was marked _Malaga_, the other _Rum_.

We commend this pleasant volume to all readers who desire a cosy companion, full of wit, and anecdote, and information, and stimulating just as much thought as the brain can comfortably bear in the hot summer months.

* * * * *

_The Napoleon Ballads. By Bon Gaultier. The Poetical Works of
Louis Napoleon. Now first Translated into English. New York:
Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 18mo._

The idea of this volume is capital, but it is wretchedly carried out. The name of Bon Gaultier, a name associated with wit that “sparkles like salt in fire,” raises anticipations doomed to be dismally disappointed. If written by him, he must have been muddy with beer during the hours of composition; but we presume that the English publisher had as little right to put his name to the volume as translator as he had to put that of Louis Napoleon as the author. One of the few good things in the collection is the Decree which prefaces it. It runs thus:

“Louis Napoleon:
_Prince President of the Republic._

“_Art._ 1. Considering—that it is good for the people to read
good poetry:

“_Art._ 2. Considering that few people can write it;

“_Art._ 3. Considering that he is one of the few, the Prince
President has written the following work. Respecting which

“It is Decreed—That any person within France found without a
copy, warranted to have been duly paid for, shall be liable to
summary trial and deportation, with the confiscation of all his
goods and chattels.

“Done at the Elysée, this first of April.

“Louis Napoleon.
“Countersigned,
“De Maupas.”

This is about as reasonable as many of the President’s decrees; for a tyranny like Louis Napoleon’s defies the powers of the coarsest caricature to reach the depth of its unnatural absurdities.

From the mass of trash which composes the volume, we extract the following clever parody of Tennyson’s “In Memorium:”

“IN MEMORIUM. JUDÆ ISCARIOTTI.

_Obit A. D. 1._

(“The touching piety which has induced the Prince to devote a leisure hour or two to the memory of this remarkable man needs no praise of ours. _Translator._)

“’Tis well—’tis something—we can’t stand
Where Judas in the earth was laid,
But from his pattern may be made
Our conduct to our native land.

“He joined the high-priests—so do I;
He took the money—it is true;
He was a very noble Do,
And planned his treasons on the sly.

“He hung himself on gallows tree—
He gently swung in Potter’s Field,
And blessed crop that spot must yield
Of gracious memories to me.

“My Judas, whom I hope to see,
When my last treason has been done,
Dear as the rowdy to the dun,
More than my bottle is to me.”

There are some spirited lines in the parody of Macaulay’s Armada, and some felicity in the measure of “The Eagle,” a poem after the manner of Poe’s Raven; but the rich materials of the general subject for vitriolic satire and riotous humor, are very imperfectly used. The Prince President is the most accomplished rascal that Europe has yet produced, fertile as she has been in reprobate politicians, and he deserves a Juvenal. There is a meanness about his most vigorous actions which will prevent his being ranked high among the world’s tyrants. He is essentially a robber and ruffian, and his coup d’etat was a piece of brilliant rascality which would have reflected great credit on a captain of a gang of highwaymen. He has not yet performed a single action which indicates a capacity in his nature to rise above vulgar perjury and murder into splendid crime.

* * * * *

_Ingoldsby Legends; Or Mirth and Marvels. By Thomas Ingoldsby,
Esq. (the Rev. Richard Harris Barhaw.) First Series. New York:
D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 16mo._

It is strange that these curious pieces have not been reprinted before. Few contributions to periodical literature, during the present century, are so unmistakably original, and so irresistibly ludicrous, as these legendary audacities; and they are all the more notable from the fact that their author was a clergyman, and passed through life with the reputation of being a pious one. Their chief characteristic is irreverence, not only as regards divine things, but in respect to the sanctities of human life. Indeed, their comic effect results, in a great degree, from the electric shocks of surprise caused by their recklessness, the author’s wit being nothing if not untamed. A spice of the Satanic is in every legend. A mischievousness, which is literally _devilish_ good, plays its wild pranks even with horrors, and impishly extracts fantastical farce out of tragedy. The author’s fancy is a worthy instrument of his tricksy disposition, and is ever ready with queer images and quaint analogies, to support his most venturesome caricatures of sin, death, and the devil. His learning, also, is very great, especially in departments of literature which are unfamiliar to ordinary students, such as old treatises on magic, witchcraft, and astrology, and the like; and this, under the direction of his wit, increases the grotesque effect of his legends. As the result of all these qualities and acquirements we have the most audacious wit of the age, and one of its greatest masters of versification.

* * * * *

_The Life and Letters of Barthold George Niebuhr. With Essays on
his Character and Influence. By the Chevalier Bunsen and
Professors Brandis and Lorbell. New York: Harper and Brothers. 1
vol. 12mo._

This thick volume of some six hundred pages is crammed with interesting matter. The letters of Niebuhr are among the most instructive in literature, and they range in subject over an immense extent of knowledge. The vigor of his character, and its sterling honesty, are as apparent throughout as the vast acquirements and vivid conceptions of his intellect. His comments on the poets and philosophers of Germany will be read with great interest, as he knew many of them intimately, and expresses his opinions of their defects and merits with singular sincerity and acuteness. His views of Goethe, especially, are entitled to the most thoughtful consideration. The essays on Niebuhr, at the end of the volume, are excellent.

* * * * *

_The Solar System. By J. Russell Hind, Foreign Secretary of the
Royal Astronomical Society of London, etc. New York: Geo. P.
Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._