Chapter II: Part 2

A smooth sea and fair breeze made the next two days and a half fairly enjoyable, but the heat was overpowering at times; the nights were spent by many on deck, where the firmament could be enjoyed, as the Southern Cross was seen in its great beauty. Singapore, the next stopping place, afforded us a fine drive in a chariot through the country. These vehicles seat comfortably four persons, a charioteer, who drove, and an outrider seated behind. Their turkey-red calico sacques, with a white cheese cloth skirt and high red turban, gave them a showy appearance, while the diminutive animal which drew us in the most submissive fashion plodded his way over the well-rolled roads of red clay. The tropical growth of trees and shrubbery almost hid from view the bungalows of the better class of people. These buildings were one story in height, surrounded by wide verandas, the roofs of which were thatched with huge palm leaves, while the bamboo split in two formed excellent gutters to convey the water to the ground. Dates hung in profusion upon the trees alongside of the road, and bananas half as long as your arm were offered you, the taste of which is very unlike ours. The palm and rubber trees grow like the forest trees in our own land. The red and white arbiscus, running wild over trees and house, with the ox-eyed daisy, almost as large as the sunflower, and the marigold, which is the flower that the Indian idolater uses in his worship, grows in profusion here. The abundant moisture from frequent showers, followed by a blazing sunshine, produces that tropical luxuriance for which this portion of the Orient is celebrated. To sit upon the steamer's deck at early dawn one sees close to the horizon in the north the Pole Star, in the south a few degrees higher the constellation of the southern cross is in full view, while on land the scene of the greatest activity is at this hour. The rude cart, drawn by cream-colored, humped-back, reversed-horn cattle, driven by a coal-black Tamil in a bright red turban and perhaps a loin cloth, lends interest to the picture, and the superb shoulders of the natives are well exhibited, as they unload from barges drawn close to the steamer's side huge sacks of coal, which they heave to one another till they reach the hold of the vessel. This is performed mostly by women with a weird chant of "heave ho" that seems to render the task less irksome.

Singapore was purchased by the British. It is the greatest tin producing country in the world. Sago is grown in quantities and shipped to every port; it is the pith of the tree trunk. Here the gum of the rubber tree is gathered and dried in chunks, placed in gunny bags and sent to all quarters of the globe in the crude state. The rattan, which is elaborately woven by the natives into chairs and other useful pieces of furniture, is light in weight and capable of great endurance. The tree grows like a palm to a great height, throwing above ground long tendrils extending a half mile. These are cut in lengths of thirty feet, soaked, scraped and ready for use. The indigo bush is cut and dried, then boiled, the sediment forming the dry substance exported. Tea is also cultivated successfully. Mangoes, yellow as pumpkins, in shape of pears, with disagreeable flavor, but most in favor with the natives, as well as the children of adoption, are the Dorean fruits, with custard-like contents, offensive to the smell, but agreeable to the taste. The business portion of the city is substantially built, but we were told that the use of opium, like the Upas tree, casts a blight on this fair country and its inhabitants. We invited a missionary to dine on the steamer with us. He conducted a boys' school of 600 pupils. The building cost $20,000, built by local contributions of the English and Chinese. They practice the Salvation Army methods in gathering audiences for Bible instruction, and those who accepted Christianity closely adhered to their vows.

We now enter the straits of Malacca, as smooth as a river, but clouds and showers render the atmosphere low and depressing. We meet on the steamer those who have spent years in this climate. A lady from Holland told me that it was so exhausting that life was almost unendurable. She spoke of the Queen of Holland, the young "Wilhelmina," and of her mother, the Dowager Queen Emma, now acting as regent. She was the second wife of King William of Holland, and had this only daughter. He had three sons by his first wife, all deceased. This present widow was a German princess, and at this time (1895) was thirty-four years old and her daughter fifteen. It was very evident from the conversation of this Holland lady that Germans were in disrepute with her people--the Holland Dutch. From the straits we run into the Indian Ocean, "with a wet sheet and a flowing sea, and a wind that follows fast." To forget the swell I take up a sensational novel, "The Old Love and the New," but that influence is not enough to drive away mal de mer, that soon gets the better of the passengers and drives us to our cabins. Four days of sailing brings us to Ceylon's shores, where we fail to catch the spicy breezes of which we have so often sung. We are on deck early to realize the descriptions given of the southern coast of this island, then turn northward and round into the harbor of Colombo. The hotels and government buildings are located along the quay. The forest of cocoanut palms and the lofty peaks of the mountain form an impressive background. Ceylon is two-thirds as large as Ireland and is in possession of the English. Some English writer has said "that in the train of England's conquests comes the broadest, wisest and most tolerant statesmanship the world has ever witnessed. To be humbled by her is to be exalted by her." There seemed a good feeling between the natives and their rulers. The Oriental Hotel swarms with people of all nations. Breakfast is served in your room, consisting of coffee, toast, fruit and sweets. Luncheon is a hasty meal, but dinner to the foreigner, served at 7 or 8 p. m., seems thoroughly enjoyable. The Englishman, dressed in black trousers, broad sash-belts of black or red silk, which seems to make more pronounced the smooth shirt bosom, with a spotless white pea-jacket, forms a refreshing costume. Ladies almost invariably are in low-neck black dresses, with a broad piece of white lace which droops gracefully as a bertha, with bright flowers in their hair, while a band of stringed instruments makes the scene enlivening. The broad arcade from which you enter the dining hall is after dinner filled to overflowing with guests seated around small tables, where brandy and coffee is served, and is the harvest time of the tradesmen, who are allowed to spread before you their embroideries, laces, jewels and baskets of curious workmanship and bright colors, together with elephants of ebony and ivory. Close to the entrance of the hotel are jugglers with their baskets of cobras, whose poisonous fangs have been extracted; together with the dwarfed trees which miraculously grow before your eyes, and divers tricks are performed to entertain the stranger and to earn for themselves a scant livelihood. The Singhalese and Tamil women, men and children, whose features seemed carved in ebony, are of the Aryan race--so different from the Mongol Malay race. It is amusing when riding to be followed by the native children crying "No papa, no mamma, no rice." And when these claims are recognized they laugh immoderately and wait for other persons to attack with the same pathetic appeal. A drive to the Cinnamon garden, in the midst of which is a fine museum with a rare collection of sea urchins; these fasten themselves to a rock, in which with their black, stiff, cigar-shaped feelers they dig a cell, resembling machine work so accurate are they in their measurement to fit their bodies. Here we are shown the original tooth of Buddha, which looks more like a small tusk of an elephant. This is placed under a glass cover; the sea-horse suckling its young, the myriads of birds, besides every wild beast of the forest are finely preserved. The bungalows of more wealthy inhabitants are built along these beautiful drives, and are almost concealed by the dense foliage, and must necessarily be damp, as the sun's rays can scarcely enter. We are offered neatly bound bunches of camphor wood and cinnamon by children on the road, but which have little aroma left. The men are athletic in appearance, erect and graceful, hair black and curly. The Singhalese wear a circular shell comb to confine their glossy curls. The men are semi-clad; the women wear low-neck corset covers with an ample strip of cloth that is pinned around the body for a skirt, which shows the ankles with their silver anklets, while the black neck and arms are adorned with gilt beads and bangles, the nose and lobes of the ear being pierced and fairly weighed down with jeweled rings. The deformity is appalling among the lower class; their only compensation is that the stranger never passes them by without bestowing some gift, denoting their sympathy. We are in Ceylon in the tail end of a monsoon (October 30). Such sheets of water, deluging alike streets and people, are scarcely heeded--so soon do the sun's rays dry up the roads. We take a cart drawn by two bullocks, goaded by a small boy, who sits on the yoke and so close to the animals that one can scarcely detect his mode of thrusting a sharp steel instrument into the body to make them move, but this is his great incentive, as he easily could outwalk them; it is the novelty that attracts, not the speed. We are landed close by the market, where all fish, fowl and vegetables are sold. We purchase a bunch of Betel leaves, neatly piled one upon the other. The nut of the same bush is cut into small pieces, mixed with a teaspoonful of slackened lime, and a little tobacco or more often opium. This mixture laid upon a leaf is rolled and we are asked to try it. We give that pleasure to our small boy or guide. One of these leaves will be material enough for two or three hours' pleasure, and the coolie is seldom seen without this delectable morsel in his mouth. He seldom expectorates but seems to swallow the fluid, which is like red ink in color; the habit is most disgusting, but assuages hunger.

We frequently see on the children's naked body a cord around the loins. The placing of this is a religious ceremony, with a religious signification. The drive along the beach is grand, and the roads smooth. The crowds of English and Australians taking their evening outing, cheered by the music of the military band and stimulated by the dashing of the breakers on the sea-girt shore add to the pleasure. If you are walking you are waylaid at every step by some drummer who represents his own or the shop of some one whose jewels are displayed in the greatest profusion. Sapphires, diamonds, rubies and pearls and other stones are shown the customer until the eye fairly wearies of the sparkle. If you decide not to purchase them but to call again, woe be to you if you do not keep your word, as you are followed and the cry of "Lady, come back, you promised!" becomes a trifle wearisome.

To visit Kandy, situated eighteen hundred feet above the sea, in the mountains of the interior of Ceylon, we take passage on a railroad of marvelous engineering. To quote a traveler's words may give you some idea of the beauty of the views obtained: "As one skirts the flanks of the mountains and looks down into an enormous gorge, its sides clad with the most beautiful and varied foliage of flowers and trees, and on the level bottom lands can be seen cascades, which are formed by the artificial lakes that overflow the exquisitely delicate green of the young rice." Our attention is directed to the Tollipot tree, which flourishes for sixty years, and blooms just before it dies. The bloom is at the top of the tree and reminded me of huge bunches of pampas grass. The distance from Colombo to Kandy is seventy-eight miles. Roundabout this region live the tea planters with their families. Kandy is a resort, during the summer season, for the inhabitants of the lowlands, and is built on the shore of a charming little lake, its banks shaded by the Tamarind and royal palms. The vine-clad bungalows add to its attractiveness. Within sight of the hotel is the Malagawa Buddhist temple, the most sacred of the shrines of Buddhism. We are again shown an actual tooth of the Deity, two and one-half inches long and one inch wide.

On the evening of our arrival a great festival was held at the temple. The procession was headed by eight standard bearers, dressed in full white skirts, followed by eight more in red costumes. Their waists were uncovered. They bore aloft flaming torches, followed by the most fantastically dressed musicians beating drums and dancing in a frantic manner. Close behind these were the "Devil dancers," four in number, whose skirts of gay-colored silks were elaborately studded with jewels and turbans to match. These skirts were so full that when making their convolutions they looked like inflated balloons. The contortions of their bodies were painful to witness, and as the reflection from the torches lit up their faces one could but feel they were aptly named. Three elephants walked abreast, most gorgeously apparelled, and moved with a dignity most surprising. They wore jewelled masks, their bodies enveloped with jewelled mantles, while on the back of the center animal rested a gilded cage, in which, in a pagoda-shaped vessel, was the sacred tooth. Following the elephants were more drummers, more Devil dancers and other elephants, whose huge tusks were incased in gold. Each animal was closely guarded by his keeper, while riders sat astride in the most gorgeous-colored skirts and turbans. The chief man of the temple, representative of the old Kandy kings, rivaled Falstaff in his appearance. He wore a full white skirt, a large white hat, with a white mantle or cape thrown over his shoulders. His dignified tread was akin to that of Jumbo, and was greeted by all along the procession. We were told he was the banker of the village. During the August festival the procession is much more impressive, as three hundred elephants are in line. The festivities ended by a feast at the temple. Along each side of the entrance the poor of the village sat with their empty vessels, which were to be filled by those in authority. Buddha was most conspicuous on the altar of the temple, carved woods and ivories surrounding the image, where later a dance was performed; but we were too unholy to be permitted to remain and witness it. A description of the Paradeniza gardens would be like attempting to picture to one's imagination the Garden of Eden. The two hundred and fifty varieties of palms, the bamboo, one hundred feet high and growing in clumps one hundred and fifty feet in circumference, give some idea of the tropical growth. We see spicy cinnamon, the chinchona, the upas tree, the latter bearing to a great height its lofty head, not unlike a palm in growth, with its bark gray and spotted like a snake. It is not indigenous to the soil, but comes from Java, where its dense groves are called the "Valley and Shadow of Death," and when I stood under its shade without knowing the tree, I will confess a superstitious fear came over me when I was told by our frightened guide that I was in danger. The candle tree produces a fruit shaped like a candle, but not edible. The traveler's palm gives the thirsty traveler a refreshing drink when an incision in the stem of its leaves is made. Cocaine grows in profusion, while alongside, coffee and tea plants and nutmegs and other spices grow apace. The Jacqueminot and La France roses grow to the size of saucers, while the orchids fasten themselves like grape vines over wooden props, beautiful and varied in color, and are native to the jungles, brought therefrom and sold by coolies to the traveler for a pittance. The governor's palace is beautifully located. From its windows we gaze upon a beautiful river, while the grounds are watered from the spray of fountains. The palace was unoccupied and we were permitted to go through its spacious rooms and halls. The drives all about Kandy are fascinating, and are made more so by now and then a temple hid almost from sight, but of interest when visited, while the industrious weaver of straw mats, a yard and a half in length and a yard wide, meets us along the way, urging us to buy--a temptation we cannot resist, although we wonder what we shall do with them when we get them. But adieux must be made to Ceylon, with its spicy breezes, for the "Steamer Pekin" lies at anchor off Colombo which is to bear us over 1,300 miles to Calcutta, the voyage only broken by a short stay at Madras, where a brief visit is long enough, for the heat and dust are oppressive. We see the juggernaut car lying in disuse on the roadside under a temporary covering of a palm thatched roof. A most cumbersome vehicle, the wheels of which are so closely set together that one can imagine the poor victims over whose body it rolls, could easily be reduced to powder. Government interferes in its further usage, save in territories not easily managed. The official buildings are European, but the homes of the natives are of burnt clay, with no windows--a small open door reveals its inmates stretched out sleeping, almost devoured by flies. The filth of the quarter makes it uninviting; the botanical garden is hardly worth the ride there. We take the only small vessel in use to carry us back to the steamer awaiting us in this beautiful Bay of Bengal. The governor's house is lofty in appearance, the exterior dingy from dust and dirt, but we are told the household appointments are magnificent, the decorations partly in the oriental and some of them in European style; servants by the score, hundreds of coolies who do nothing but keep the Punkas (swinging fans) in motion in every part of the building by day and night. The natives of Madras are quite dark in color, with straight hair and regular features, diminutive in stature, slender forms, with small hands and feet, and have a pensive look and manner. The deformity among the beggars is revolting, and we fear to alight from our chariot, lest we may come in contact with these poor, unfortunate beings. We learn that the wheels of government move slowly in these oriental countries. If an audience with the governor is desired, a book is given you in which the name of the solicitor is registered. At the end of two weeks the governor gives notice that he will give a public breakfast at the palace, and those who have registered their names will be received and their requests will be heard. Time seems not to be considered of any import.

The calm waters of the Bay of Bengal, with its southern breezes, makes the journey pleasant, as the traveler seeks his extended chair on deck of the steamer, protected from the scorching sun by its broad awnings. On entrance to the Hoogly River, a native pilot comes aboard--for here the ever-moving sands render navigation uncertain and perilous--until the dangerous sand bars of the James and Mary rivers are passed; every sailor must be at his post as the steamer wends its way through the treacherous channel, and each passenger silently congratulates himself when he is assured the Rubicon is past. The bottom of these rivers is a vast quicksand. The vessel entering must await the tide. The banks are low and sandy. Straw thatched huts, shaded by clusters of date palms, gave a picturesque appearance to the shores, and the tropical growth grew richer and more dense as we approached Calcutta. The excitement on arrival of the steamer is intense; custom house officers present themselves: all baggage is ordered from the cabins on deck, even to the smallest hand-bag; search is made for fire arms: strict laws regarding them are enforced, and if you are unfortunate enough to have one in your possession, as was one of our party, you are quickly relieved of it, and only by paying as much as the original price, with much red tape, are you enabled to regain it.

INDIA.

India, in 1892, had a population of 300,000,000. The area of the land on which they live is equal to the United States, east of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. Much of it is uncultivated; other lands yield crops under irrigation. The soil in places has become exhausted by use without manure. Between monsoons (that is, periods of no rainfall), these regions cease to produce and there is a scarcity.

Regions cultivated by irrigation are enhanced in value, for the products bring better prices, but when rivers and tanks dry up from which water for irrigation is drawn, then scarcity becomes a famine, where the rain has failed. There are two annual crops in India; the former inferior grade is used for home consumption, the other for export. Of the army, seventy thousand strong, forty per cent are incapacitated by diseases. Civil servants are superannuated at fifty-five years of age and are sent home on a pension, seldom enjoying life longer than two years afterward.

Seven per cent native males read and write; only one per cent native females can read or write. The different castes will not intermarry and will not touch each other's food.

Calcutta is a city of 500,000 inhabitants, of these, 14,000 are Europeans.

The streets of the English concession are broad and well laid out. Fine hotel buildings, banks and storehouses line the main thoroughfare. The hotels have broad verandas extending from the second floor, over the sidewalk, affording a cool resting place for the guests, and would be most acceptable were it not for the myriads of insects that cover you. The protection these porches afford at night to the natives who, wrapped in their cotton blankets, lie closely huddled together along the sidewalk, while scarcely leaving room enough for a pathway for the pedestrian serve to exempt them (the natives) from the dews of the night. The palace of the viceroy, centrally located, is surrounded by beautiful grounds, with magnificent shade trees. It is built upon the grand esplanade, three miles in length, and skirts the water's edge. From the hours of 5:00 till 8:00 p. m. this grand avenue presents a lively appearance, for all the elite of Calcutta seems gathered there. Handsome victorias drawn by beautiful horses, coachmen and footmen, with their bright turbans and oriental dress, lends enchantment to the view and reminded one of the display Aladdin made when he went to claim his bride. In the Garden of Eden, near by, a band of forty native musicians, well trained, discourse sweet music--the latest European airs. During the performances all vehicles must remain in one position, thus affording the scores of flower venders opportunity to move noiselessly roundabout the carriages, offering the beautiful orchids, camellias and roses, for a small pittance, to the occupants. To say nothing of toy monkeys, which one cannot resist buying. The European residence quarters lie along this beautiful, sun-baked road. The houses are large and well built, with the luxuriant surroundings of tropical growth that almost hide the homes from view. On every veranda is the tea table, with its urn or samovar; all English observe the hour of 4:00 o'clock to serve the necessary stimulant at home and abroad. The city is supplied with water from the Hoogly River, gathered into large reservoirs, and filtered. The Esplanade is sprinkled by the native coolie, who, from his well-filled goatskin, moves gracefully in a surpentine fashion over its well rolled surface; while the streets in the business portion are watered from carts managed by women. A visit to the crematory at the early dawn--the hour set apart for burning their dead--is interesting, but horrible, to witness. A building of 100 feet is located upon the bank of the river. At intervals of ten feet on its earthen floor are trenches, dug the length of a body; they do not exceed two feet in depth, if that. In this excavation is placed some clean straw and sandal wood with myrrh and sweet perfumes. Upon this is laid, first crosswise and then lengthwise, sticks of cordwood, and a fresh bed of straw, upon which the body is laid. The body of an aged woman was brought in for cremation while we stood there. It was wrapped in white cheese cloth and rested on the bed upon which she died, which is their custom to burn. It is the length of the body, made of rope interlaced; at each end are two small wooden legs which support the wooden sides and are, in height, like the old-fashioned trundle bed. The winding sheet was removed, the body anointed with oil and rubbed with saffron powder. The face, which was most emaciated and betrayed great suffering, was completely besmeared with this mixture. The body was then placed face downwards on the pile. Being somewhat longer than the bed prepared for it, the limb from the knee was bent towards the body. The cracking of the dry bones was most grewsome. The body had a fresh wrap of cheese cloth thrown over it, the face having her caste designated by lines of ashes on her forehead, made by a priest, and sticks of cordwood were placed crosswise and then lengthwise so close together that the entire body was concealed. A pitcher of water from the sacred Hoogly River, nearby, was brought and thrown over the pile. Then the nearest relative of the deceased ran violently around the body seven times, crying in a loud voice to the gods that another soul was awaiting reincarnation, while a wild-eyed, maniacal-looking priest took up a huge bunch of straw and made the circuit seven times, giving vent to the most uncanny wail, when the son or husband of the dead touched the burning torch to the straw underneath; soon all was ablaze. The mourners, a few women, withdrew, and a man, whose office it is, stood near by, and as the arms or legs or pieces of burning wood fell, would replace them with a pitch fork. Scores of bodies were brought in that morning, but seeing two cremations was all we needed to make an indelible impression not easily eradicated. It requires about two hours to reduce the body to ashes, or a granulated substance, when it is gathered and thrown into the holy river, and the excavation is made clean for another body.

The Ghats or sacred steps leading down to the waters of the Hoogly are in the same vicinity. Throngs of bathing pilgrims, of both sexes, were gathered for their morning ablutions. After wading out nearly waist deep, they would place their hands reverently together, and apparently after a prayer with great earnestness, dip themselves three times into the water, and those who had flowers (the marigold seemed the favorite), as they prayed would cast them upon the waters one by one, then scour their feet, rinse their mouth and wash their garment, filling a brass vessel which hung to their side with the holy water, and proceed to the well situated under a Boho tree at the head of a Ghat, when they would sprinkle the diminutive gods that were placed there. Priests stood in readiness with paint and ashes and made upon their foreheads the mark of their caste, for which they received a compensation. At a time during the eclipse of the moon, 100,000 pilgrims often find their way to this holy water. It seems as if half their lives are spent in making these pilgrimages in these eastern countries, and if they die far from the holy stream, they are cremated and their ashes sent to some priest, whose office is to make the consecration before sprinkling them on the sacred rivers.

We turn from this scene, not wishing to obliterate the memory, but to forget for awhile in other and perhaps no less disgusting scenes in the native quarters. We are warned to make our visits few, for contagious diseases lurk in these narrow streets and among these filthy people.

We enter narrow lanes, in these quarters, flanked on either side by tumbled-down houses. We are in pursuit of pearls. Strange surroundings for such beautiful gems. We are led into a narrow hall and up a long flight of steps of stone, so worn by the tread of time that we could scarcely keep our foothold. We reach a chamber fronting on a court. The floors are covered with padded matting over which were sheets spread. Kneeling, or rather squatting on these were natives busily employed sorting pearls. Before each were piles of different sizes. The wonderful dexterity displayed by these coolies in separating the large, medium and smaller seed pearls from each other in parcels, by or through the sense of touch of the index finger, seemed to convey to their minds weight and size.

A table or counter was in one end of this room, behind which were seated dignified patriarchal looking dealers, and evidently owners of the establishment. We were shown diamonds of such weight and brilliancy that fairly bewildered us and dazzled our eyes. Emeralds, sapphires, and pearls of different colors (black, pink and white), the former of such size that we almost doubted their genuineness. Evidently we were in a wholesale department, for while there, there came in foreign buyers collecting many of these precious stones. Prices were fixed. The dealers were in touch with the world's market, and values ruled accordingly; there seemed no chance to barter. Our address is taken when we decline to purchase, which means that we will be followed to the hotel by a native who will there unfold the wonders of India's product again to us--specimens even more tempting than those shown in the shops. Our lack of confidence in ourselves as experts and a growing distrust of the dealer makes a breach between buyer and seller. In these places where gems are kept the stock ofttimes seems meager, and we manifest our disappointment, but are at once assured that their supply is large, but at the present time the rarest and most costly have been sent to some Maha Rajah who makes regal purchases, and those he declines, perhaps from his sufficiency, are returned for sale to those whose love for gems is weighed in a balance with their purse.

An English lady artist who was solicited to paint the portrait of one of these Rajahs in his own palace, and to abide in the premises during her time of labor, told me her powers of description failed her in the attempt to portray to others what the coffers of these rulers of provinces contained, and with which they adorned themselves on state occasions, and to convey to canvas their beauties, would have been the work of the Hand that created them.

Calcutta, city of palaces, has a number of theaters, one of which we attended. The evening was warm; the audience quite large. In the gallery sat parties in groups; over each stood stalwart coolies, in whose hands were held a long-handled palm-leaf fan. Not for one moment did they falter, but with an unerring movement, gracefully and uninterruptedly handled this cumbersome article, which must have had a soothing effect. The play was not well supported; now and then was pleasure or displeasure manifested by the audience in a loud voice speaking, we were told, direct to the actors. After the play was over (by the way, it was long drawn out) the foyer rapidly filled and great hilarity prevailed. Full dress, now in evidence among the ladies, and gentlemen with their tall silk hats and boutonierres looked most like English swells, while those in Oriental dress were not eclipsed in brilliant coloring.

The insect life in Calcutta was most annoying. Before going to the theatre I had left a small flicker from the gas jet in my room and the windows open. What was my dismay on returning to find the originally whitewashed walls of my apartment of a dull grey appearance. I doubted if my steamer trunk had not been transferred in my absence to a more sombre looking chamber, but on my appeal to Brahma, my servant, who lay at my door, he assured me that it was innumerable shad flies (as we would call them) which had been caught by the glare and had lined walls and ceilings and covered my bed spread. Dust pans and brushes were in requisition, counterpane shaken, and lace mosquito netting drawn down and tucked in before I felt like retiring for the night. To attempt to read by an overhanging light was simply impossible, for the print of paper or book would be completely obscured by these pestiferous creatures, and when we sought an outside veranda that we might, in the darkness, at least, carry on a conversation, they would fly down one's throat, when we opened our mouths. Imagine what a sacrifice this was to be compelled to be dumb, when we had so much to say.

In traveling through India a body servant is indispensable. He lies at the door of your sleeping apartment, waits upon you at the table, buys your ticket, cares for your baggage and divers other attentions are rendered by the patient but most indolent Mohammedan. We are advised not to employ a Hindoo servant, as they refuse to serve flesh or fowl to you at the table; according to their religious belief, it would be pollution.

At 9:15 p. m., Nov. 18, 1895, we find ourselves in a most comfortable compartment car, with shower bath and other conveniences. Alongside, but not connected in a way that we could speak to them only by calling from the car window or door, was the apartment designated for servants. They lie down at night on the floor with an extra cotton wrap, which is used for the purpose, and I fancy they use their turban for their pillow. To our party of four we were entitled to an entire compartment, and no intrusion can be made en route, on our privacy. On either side of the car are long, cushioned seats, well upholstered and covered with dark green leather; over these are suspended corresponding ones which, if not in use, are thrown to the ceiling, where they are made secure. At the one end is a shorter seat (width of the car) and at the opposite side a door leads into a toilet room. The traveler provides his own bedding, which consists of pillows or cushions, and steamer blankets or shawls. The nights are cold, but the heat through the day, were we not in motion, would be insupportable, together with the dust that arises along the road, for lack of rain, adds nothing to our comfort. Our coolies, if called upon to roll up our bedding, whether from lack of inclination or from physical weakness we know not, would look morose, or call in, if at a station, additional help to share in the labor, and never fail at the end of the day to ask for compensation for the annas expended on their co-workers.

I could better appreciate the statement made by an English missionary from the Isle of Wight that he kept sixteen servants in his own household (and he was a bachelor); that no one coolie would perform what he himself considered to be the work of two men. I must confess to their indolence, but it appeared to me a trifle extravagant for a dependant upon the missionary board. He was a most agreeable gentleman, however, and I am under many obligations for a prescription which enabled me, when I had it filled, to accomplish my sight seeing, and travel in India, our own remedies having no effect in that country or climate. In returning to the question of manual labor: the working of the "punkas," or swinging fans, alone required many men, to keep the air in motion for the comfort of people. In the hotel dining room these fans were hung on wires, stretched at intervals the entire length and breadth of the salon, say five feet apart. The material used was a white or drab drilling (cotton cloth) made into huge box plaits; wire or rope was attached to and drawn above these punkas to holes in the wall, which separated the dining room from a corridor. There sat, or rather squatted, a dozen, more or less, coolies with these wires either in their hands or fastened to their feet, and would sway to and fro, causing a vibration in the air that was most acceptable in these warm climates, while eating.

The native coolies are neither scrupulously truthful nor honest, indolent to a degree, rather sullen, but to all appearances submissive. They are fond of stimulants, more especially opium and tobacco. In traveling you are under the surveillance of your servants, fearing you may make some purchase without their knowledge, causing them to lose a commission to which they feel themselves entitled for having directed your steps or attention to the shop of the dealer.

They receive their stipulated wages, traveling expenses defrayed by the employer, but added to this is a constant appeal to your sympathies; for instance: "I am just in receipt of news from home. My son is lying (great stress on son) very ill. My mother has no money to employ a doctor. What am I to do if the good lady will not assist me to send some help to her?" It has been proven that these same applicants have no family and have recklessly spent their allowance in riotous living on their journey. We have to provide a winter outfit if it is cold, such as a night blanket of cotton cloth, and some clothing--for during the heated term clothing is unnecessary--and pay for the return trip to their home, without we find travelers going the same route we have just taken, and if the servants have merited a recommendation we give it to them and are thus relieved ourselves. We found one of the tricks of the trade was for the coolie to secure a returning party--we will say, to make ourselves lucid, from Bombay to Calcutta--but to keep the matter secret from us so that we might give them a return ticket, which they could easily sell. In spite of our experience there must be some good and true natives, for her majesty, Queen Victoria, has for her closest body-servant the Indian, chosen for his submission and faithfulness.

Our journey to Benares was at night, because of the freedom from dust and heat. The early dawn found us awake and peeping out of shutters for a sight of the country through which we were passing. The stations are well built, and crowds of natives, men and women, flock there on arrival of trains, offering for sale flowers, sweets, fruits, the cocoanut, lemons and a sort of banana. At your desire the cocoanut, nicely scraped and clean, will be broken so that you may quaff at your leisure what must be to them a delicious cool drink--a little goes a good way with me. It is well to be supplied with plenty of their small coin, for they are so slow in making the necessary change that the car has proceeded on its way before they have accomplished the task.

The experience of one of our party was a lesson to us. A gentleman from California, desiring some nuts or fruit, gave in exchange a pound in gold--all he had at hand. The train started, but all in vain were his protestations; the speed increased, and what was most provoking, was to see at a safe distance the naked boy running, apparently, trying to overtake us, but laughing immoderately at the joke--he will get his reward. This reminds me of a story to the point. On one occasion in my own native land I had an appeal made for help for a poor family. Having often allowed my heart to run away with my head, I determined this time to be forearmed. So I visited the house of distress, found things clean and tidy, but cupboards empty and a man in bed, supposed to be the husband of the woman who had sought my aid. It was with apparent difficulty he spoke to me. I hurried to order from the adjacent market a full supply for several days. After exhausting my strength I felt myself unable to go farther into the city where I could replace an undershirt his loving spouse said had been stolen from the clothes line, and his need of a change was most pressing. On my way home, tired and footsore, I resolved to call on a neighboring friend where gentlemen were more plentiful than with me, and ask for cast-off underwear. On interrogating me, my friend laughed to see my distress, and informed me it was an old trick of the woman. The sick man was a perfectly strong, well man--and rarely was the same man on exhibition. Alack, for me! I had, during the day, met our pastor, Mr. Monroe Gibson, and begged that he might call at his earliest convenience, lest the dying man might go out of the world without a prayer, for his soul's salvation. In the twilight I retraced my steps to tell Mr. Gibson how, in common parlance, "I had been sold." After a sympathetic look, he in his Scotch brogue said: "Well, never mind; you remember the man who put a crown in the contribution box where he intended to put a penny and, on retiring from the church, went to the man who had charge of the alms box and told him that he had made a mistake. The pastor did not offer to refund it, but simply said: 'Brother, you will have your reward in heaven'" (for a good intention, not for the amount given).

Low mud houses, hid among the palms, afforded shelter from the sun during the noonday hours. Men, women and children, the former and latter nude or scantily clad, grouped together along the road; the faces of the women were partially veiled. The scene is rather picturesque, with the chatter of the monkeys and the singing of bright plumaged birds. They lend some animation to the otherwise barren prospects. We learn there are common schools throughout the country for the male population, but women are uneducated except in religious art and duties. Government no longer tolerates the wife sacrificing her body on the pyre of her dead husband; but death is preferable to a life of widowhood, owing to the self-denial forced upon her by his family.

The climate of India is conducive to economy in clothing, as little, if any, is needed. The diet of the native would be starvation in a cooler clime. A mud hut gives the needed shelter, and the offal of the animals, dried in cakes on the sides of their hovels, give them sufficient fuel to boil their rice and other vegetables. The masses have never known anything but oppression; they are apparently kind to man and beast. We never heard any wrangling, nor witnessed any street brawls. A native will step aside, rather than tread upon an ant, which is the pest of the country.

Benares is sixteen hours' ride from Calcutta, a distance of 450 miles. We find there Clark's Hotel patronized by tourists, on the outskirts of the city, a refreshing looking spot and most restful bungalow. We rested under the cool shades of the palm trees until a favorable hour, and then drove to the "Holiest of Holy Cities," situated on the Ganges river, once alike holy to the Buddhist as it is now to the Hindoo. The sacred, the three-fold divine river, runs, according to their religion, through Heaven, Hell and Earth. To die on its banks, and to have one's ashes thrown upon its bosom, is a through ticket to Paradise. Troops of men, women and children, tired and footsore, are met wending their way to the shrines. To bathe in the Ganges is to wash away all sins.

Crowds throng the narrow, dusty streets; the women rather gracefully attired, with a profusion of silver ornaments, ear-rings, nose-rings, bracelets and bangles; the men nude or with a scant loin cloth. The houses are built of clay, sun baked, some of brick, stuccoed, ancient as time in appearance, unfit for habitation, but are grouped among the shops and temples in close proximity. The monkey temple is especially interesting, surrounded by well wooded grounds where the monkeys frisk and frolic all day long and are fed by an admiring crowd, who regard them as sacred animals. These temples are reached by a long flight of stone steps, which I found myself slowly climbing, when, without warning, I was rudely pushed to one side. On looking around, I saw a diminutive grey cow ascending the steps with great dignity, and it was the contact with this animal that had so shocked me. I quickened my gait, and in my attempt to get out of the way. I rushed into the first opening that met my view, which proved to be the entrance to the temple grounds, set apart for these sacred cows. The animal was close beside me and I vaulted like a school boy to a neighboring ledge of rock. I became agile from fear, but the fright occasioned by the cow's triumphant entry was nothing to the brandishing of arms of the natives in charge. I was brushed aside like a fly in the sacred enclosure, where no heretic was allowed to enter. Truly, I felt far from home! Garlands of marigolds, kept fresh at wells of water, are sold to devotees to lay at the feet or to encircle the gods of brass and stone that are seen in every direction. We are not permitted to enter a Hindoo temple, but get a glimpse in passing of their tinselled gaudiness. This seething caldron, where beasts usurp the rights of men, women and children, who are all bowing down to objects of wood and stone, is a sight one may long for--but once in a lifetime is quite satisfactory, and we gladly withdraw.

The early dawn of day finds us driving through the already crowded streets on our way to the "Ghats." Boats lie in readiness to convey us along the sacred shore of the Ganges, for but one bank is consecrated; the opposite shore seems a dreary waste. For miles homes and sacred structures are reared; here and there massive ruins attest the powers of the Ganges' floods on solid masonry. From a distance it is picturesque, but on close inspection has a most dilapidated appearance. The well-built stone steps, or Ghats, are crowded at this early hour with pilgrims and devotees wrapped in their white robes. They wade out into the holy stream, bowing and drinking double hands full of water, so nauseous in appearance, and taking off from themselves garlands of marigolds, throw them on the surface of the water, then wash their mouths, and return on shore for certain ministrations that the priests stood in readiness to perform for them, which seemed to complete the purification. Their caste was manifested by certain marks made with ashes or paint on their foreheads.

From the upper deck of our small steamer we overlook the ceremony of cremation, not unlike that we had seen in Calcutta. The bodies were wrapped in crimson-colored cheese cloth and laid upon a rude bier composed of two poles, laced together with rope; so near the water were these bodies placed that the feet were completely covered. We were told that very sick persons were brought when dying, and the immersion in the holy water would bring about a reaction, and restoration to health would ensue. No mourners were around the body, and those who ministered at the cremation were ostracized socially, being considered unclean for a certain length of time, and are of the lowest caste. The sheik who has charge of the burning has the ashes thoroughly sifted to secure any jewelry that may have been on the body, and as theft is often committed by the men employed to rake up the ashes, great disputes arise in consequence.

The colossal form in stone of the "God Beem" lies prostrate on the ground, and women in peril of childbirth come in throngs on moonlight nights to pray for the safe deliverance of a son; girls are at a discount in the Orient. We saw a man stretched upon a bed of spikes, paying penance for some sin committed, or to find favor by self-abnegation with his god. When we appeared, incredulous as to the actual facts, the man arose to show the pierced flesh and the sharp points of which his bed was composed. The upholding of an arm until the flesh withers, and the limb stiffens, is most revolting. These devotees allow their finger nails to become, so extended that they look like claws, or more like the roots of a tree seen in Ceylon, which lie on top of the ground. We are privileged to visit the palace of the Maha Rajah, which is quite a distance from Benares and on the unconsecrated shore of the Ganges. Numbers of naked coolies run along the shore, pulling with all their strength on the ropes attached to the boat. When we arrive opposite the palace we are transferred to a raft, which is rowed and pushed to the landing. The gloomy structure rises before us, and the approach to it is rather intricate, through courtyards much littered up with debris. As we enter with our guide, we are informed of the Rajah's absence from home, but we are permitted to wander through rooms most inhospitable in appearance. A few pictures adorn the walls and some handsome bric-a-brac is scattered here and there. We are told that the Rajah himself is most hospitable, and much more would have been shown us had he been at home. The great attraction in making this visit is to see the hundreds of elephants and tigers he has in his possession, but "the shades of night were falling fast" and we declined any further delay.

Our trip to Benares was much more rapid on returning. We floated down the Ganges by moonlight; it was a grewsome scene. We were gathered together on the deck of our steamer, while our guide, at our feet, was beguiling the weary hours by his weird tales. Visions of crocodiles, awaiting their prey, float before our eyes; lights from the shore grew indistinct, and our little group most abject; but the landing place at length was in sight, and we had kept our carriage awaiting our return. We were driven through dark, narrow streets to the garden of a temple, where lived the holy man of Benares. We remained in our vehicle until our guide ascertained whether we could have an interview. It was 9:00 p. m., but being American tourists, we were admitted. He was a man apparently sanctified by his mode of living, not unlike that of Buddha. He was emaciated, and as we approached him, he arose from his cot not entirely nude, but a simple loin cloth was his only clothing. A canopy was above his bed, and that was his home, day and night. He is a profound Hindoo scholar, and without doubt will be canonized after death. His manner toward us was most cordial and especially towards the one of our group who hailed from Chicago. He spoke through an interpreter, saying that the governor of Chicago had called on him before the World's Fair, urging the holy man to visit him at the time of the exhibition, but he could not think of ever leaving India. He then sent for his book of registration and showed us the name registered as Carter H. Harrison. We were asked to write our names, which we did, and were then offered by an attendant fruits and given a book containing his own life to date. He was born in 1833, married at twelve years of age, and was a father at eighteen. Like Buddha, he withdrew from all natural ties and set himself apart for a religious life. When asked if he did not feel the cold night air to be injurious, his reply was in his graceful gesture pointing heavenward, and in his signal language made us understand that under a watchful eye no harm could befall him.