Chapter III: Part 3

The country from Benares to Lucknow is but little different from what we have already passed, though the distance is 190 miles. Population, 250,000. Manufacturers of carpets, rugs, gold lace and embroideries are found here, and seemingly the natives are interested in their employment, but are poor and oppressed. The remains of mausoleums and palaces attest former grandeur before its ownership was absolutely in the hands of its conquerors. Hotel accommodations are poor. We drove to the park to "Leeundea Bagh," where during the mutiny of 1857 two thousand mutineers were killed within two hours--Sir Colin Campbell under command. The residency was built in 1800 by Sahondah Ally Kahn. During the mutiny it contained only 927 Europeans, who were besieged by the rebels. Shot and shell marks are to be seen in the walls. The Fort Mueks' Bhawan, built during the famine as relief work at great cost, is of much interest; also a museum filled with objects of curiosity. Lucknow, famous in song, ran through my mind as we looked in vain for a Lalla Rookh, the imaginary character of the poet Moore.

Cawnpoor, thirty miles further on, with 130,000 inhabitants, presents large industries of leather work, rice mills and jute manufactories. The drive to the beautiful park, which now crosses the battlefield, is most interesting. The stately monument of pure white marble, surmounted by a female figure, with widespread wings, and in each hand a palm of most exquisite workmanship, combined with gracefulness. An English officer stands near by ready to give you a brief but graphic account of the mutiny. The monument stands on the spot over the great well, into which were thrown alive 700 men, women and children, who were hurled into it in one day by the order of Nana Sahib. A beautiful memorial church not far away has been erected in memory of the loved and lost. We enter during vesper hours; such perfect peace and quiet reigns in and around this sacred spot, where many English men and women were gathered at the service. It seemed so isolated to me so far from home. The drives in the vicinity are fascinating, yet the rice fields were beginning to grow scarce and less grass was seen. We journey on. Wheat fields appear more frequently; apparently no demarcation between land of different owners. Trees are scarce, but the excrement of cattle is sun baked and used for fuel. The homes of the people are mud-walled pens, huddled together, surrounded by walls of the same material. This grouping of homes, such as they were, attracted our attention all along our journey. This is evidently for protection. No isolated farm houses, with the comforts of life, were in evidence.

The pay of the laborers who construct the railroad is three annas a day (2-1/4 cents); an English-speaking servant will get 34 cents a day (one rupee and four annas) for food. We do not realize how thickly settled the country is in traveling on the railroad, but by and by we see the mud-walled village again with its hundreds of inhabitants, who rush out on the approach of the train, the women and children crying piteously for backsheesh. The wealth and strength of the past ages is now seen in their morgues, mausoleums and palaces, many of them wrecks of their former beauty, but patience and long years of toil are evident in their crumbling walls.

The Punjab country lies between the five great branches of the Indus River. The men here are magnificent specimens of physical development. The Sikh soldiers are the handsomest known. We see them acting as policemen at Hongkong, and we stop to admire their erect carriage and military tread. There is one defect, however, in the anatomy of the men of India; they have no calves to their legs. The Sikh is less servile than any other tribe, hard fighters, but attain to more or less civility in their contact with Europeans.

Our next stopping place to Benares was Aigra, so full of interest; namely, the Fort; the Pearl Mosque, the imperial palace, built by Abkur, the grandfather of Shah Jehan; the palace of wonders; its walls inlaid with agates, topaz, tagula and other more precious stones. The rooms set apart for the harem women are exquisitely beautiful. The oriental imagination must have lost itself in the construction and adornment of this palace. The apartments built for his favorite wife, with a boudoir and marble baths--the water furnished for the latter was delicately perfumed--and walls, mirrored with small pieces of glass, looked like the firmament in its brightness, but it remained for Shah Jehan to astonish the world with the mausoleum built for his (not the most correct) wife. The Tag Mahal, the tomb of his sultana, Montag Mahal, is the most beautiful creation in marble in existence. We are told she was beautiful; her devotion to Shah Jehan was proverbial, and his for her idolatrous. Her dying request was that her husband should never take for himself another wife, and in her memory should build a tomb that could have no rival, and one that all the world would admire. "Tag" is a pet name of endearment; "Mahal" means great or beautiful; "Montag Mahal," the chosen of the palace. In the words of another I will describe the Tag Mahal, as I know no more fitting words to use. "Passing through a majestic Saracenic arch, eighty feet in height, supported by two abutments of sand stone, on the panels of which are carved passages from the Koran, is a long vista of cypress trees, shading a marble paved canal, on either side of which are beds of flowers and crystal fountains. At the end of this magic avenue stands the "Tag" on a terrace; at either corner of this square is an edifice of sandstone, with a dome of the same material. The "Tag" is built of polished white marble, its oriental dome shaped like a globe, tapering up into a spire surmounted by a golden crescent. The platform upon which the "Tag" is placed is a square of 313 feet each side and eighteen feet in height. From each of the corners rise four lesser domes of the same matchless marble, forming graceful minarets." By moonlight and by sunset we gaze upon this Arabian night or day dream. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Italian, Sarascenic and Persian are all suggested in its architecture, and we are told that Shah Jehan expected to build for himself a tomb of black polished marble within sight, but on the other side of the River Jumna, but the depleted state of the treasury caused alarm in the mind of his son; fearing he would be impoverished, he made his father a prisoner in the imperial palace. We stood in the room wherein he had lain in his dying hours, and gazed out of the windows, as he did, upon the beautiful vision which was within his sight, his last wish was gratified, and his earthly vision failed in the view he had of Montag's tomb. He looked out beyond the Jumna, as the western sun's rays kissed the pure white marble, reflecting on its polished surface--the reflex it may have been of a heavenly vision, vouchsafed only to those who pass the portals.

Delhi, the next station en route, notwithstanding the dust and heat, has its attractions. The Bungalow Hotel is kept by an Englishwoman who, with her sons, had a number of hostelries in India and along the tourist line of travel. This one offered but few comforts. The proprietress assured me that they would soon build a good hotel, as travel demanded it. She evidently had received a telegram that we were on our way from her son's place, at whose table we had sat at Aigra. She sent her private conveyance for us to the depot, and received us herself with some cordiality, and was much gratified to learn of our pleasant memories of Aigra, with its tombs, temples, and its exquisite embroideries--the best we saw in India--woven of the finest texture and wrought upon with such delicacy that we could scarce realize that the dark, swarthy fingers of those poor native Indians could work out such marvels. We bought handsome table decorations in embroidered satin and bemoaned that we did not get more, after we were too far away to retrace our steps.

One of the attractions of Delhi is the tower of Kutah Mina, rising to a height of 240 feet, divided into five stories, built of red, buff and pink sandstone. The column, or tower, is of fluted architecture for most of the height, and decorated at intervals with layers of white marble slabs. We were told it was built for a favorite daughter of the ruling monarch, that she might, from its height, view the Holy River Jumna, which was at a great distance from her home. According to the tale told us, this tower must be ascended before she broke her morning fast. Near by stands the iron pillar, nearly a foot and a half in diameter and over forty feet high above the ground. It is a solid shaft of malleable iron, the natives claim its foundation is laid in the center of the earth. To see the tower and iron pillar necessitates a ride of eleven miles through dust and dirt and but little of any interest along the wayside. We visited the tomb of Johanara, the daughter of Shah Jehan, who shared her father's captivity. Pure in spirit and humble she chose a plain block of marble or alabaster, to cover her grave, screened by a delicately wrought white marble. The epitaph inscribed on her tomb reads:

"Place naught but one green herb above my head;
This alone befits the poor and lonely dead."

Pious monks keep fresh grass on her tomb; a slab at the head of the grave bears this inscription in Arabic: "God is life and the resurrection." The shops are attractive and we find and purchase some ivories and, if one cares for the likeness of Shah Jehan, they will be able to purchase paintings in miniature of him and his wife, done on porcelain. Whether or not true to nature, we are unable to judge. Beautiful pink pearls are shown us. How often I have regretted not buying some of them; we never found them so perfect after leaving Delhi. The enameled bracelets are shown in great variety, and yet we pass them by.

Jeypore is a typical Indian city, twelve hours by rail from Delhi. The streets are wide and well watered, the houses of stucco, gaudily painted in hieroglyphic designs, are two and three stories high. In the middle of the streets, at intervals of two or three squares, are stone wells, around which rested diminutive gods of wood and stone. In the early morning hours the natives lay an offering of flowers before these idols and wash their hands or faces in the water and go on their way rejoicing. Innumerable pigeons, regarded as sacred, swarm in the streets, where they are fed.

We spend Thanksgiving day (November, 1895) in Jeypore, sight-seeing, our hearts longing for the dear ones at home. In our wanderings we met a wedding party. The bride, we are told, was twelve years old, the groom twenty-one. They were seated in a gaudily decorated car, drawn by oxen. A scarlet canopy, with India shawl draperies, hung gracefully down and almost concealed the little veiled lady; she wore a scarlet wrap. The groom elect, sat Turkish fashion, wore a tall hat and looked most solemn. We entered a bazaar, where bronze and lacquer were for sale, together with ancient armor, kept by one Mr. Zoroaster, a man of distinction. While on the second floor of the building, overlooking a court-yard, some gaily dressed veiled women came in and began to beat their tomtoms. Mr. Zoroaster remarked: "It is only on great occasions that my sister ever leaves her home. It is she who is below, accompanied by her women in waiting, and have come to bid my family to the wedding of her daughter." He told us the bride and groom were wealthy, and that her father was to give a feast to five thousand people on this, their wedding day. He, Mr. Zoroaster, told us the dress of his sister for the occasion cost 2,000 rupees. It was crimson, embroidered in gold, a fluted skirt; many yards in width. Her bracelets and bangles were studded with jewels. The band played as the procession moved slowly through the streets.

The palace of the Maha Rajah was opened for inspection; the rugs were rolled; the furniture covered and, as the Rajah was away from home, things seemed neglected. Pigeons were stalking around and in the palace, and rare birds of bright plumage seemed to the manor born as they stood or flew in and out at their own sweet will. Hundreds of elephants were kept on these grounds and owned by the Maha Rajah. It was an imposing sight to see these clumsy but dignified animals with their oriental trappings and painted ear flaps. The coloring was most harmonious. Horses innumerable were in the stables and were with their care keepers, making ready for their daily outing. It is a scene, when elephants, horses and tigers are led through the streets and, perhaps, witnessed nowhere else in such regal splendor. Camels stalked through the highways with their burdens; panther dogs, led by their masters, strolled leisurely along; in fact, one might feel it was a gala day and a menagerie on exhibition. There are public cages here; lions and tigers can be seen within the city's limit. Around these cages, where the crowds gather, come the poor, wretched, deformed beggars, heart-rending to gaze upon--to say nothing of the loathsome lepers, which were more hideous than the wild beasts.

A school of fine arts, sustained by the rulers of Jeypore, was well equipped with men and boys, who were industriously and skillfully beating and moulding brass into useful and decorative articles. Pottery, and especially lacquer work is carried on, we were told, to a greater degree of perfection than elsewhere in the world.

It was at Jeypore we saw the Nautch girls, kept by the Maha Rajah for his own amusement. Our guide would have us believe that we were greatly favored in this, our opportunity. One hour spent with them was quite enough, and cost us six dollars, a ridiculous expenditure. However, we have started out to see the sights; this is one of them. We were taken to a house and led up to the second story back porch, we might call it, overlooking a gloomy courtyard. A white quilted rug was thrown upon the floor. Three native girls appeared, dressed gorgeously in knife-pleated skirts to the knees, embroidered in gold. On their heads were thrown beautiful grenadine scarfs, drawn gracefully over their shoulders. Coronets studded with jewels, with ear-rings, bracelets and bangles resplendent with dazzling gems. Three women stood behind these girls, advancing and retreating, keeping time with their rude musical instruments. They move their bodies in a most disgusting manner from the hip down, while they attempt to portray great intensity of feeling. In a short time they became very familiar, and disposed to be very flirtatious with the gentlemen of our party, taking off their bracelets, ear-rings and other ornaments and attempted to place them on their wrists or hang them on their ears. They, in return are anxious to secure a ring or any ornament we wear. They are repulsive and full of evil, judging from their looks and actions. They were roughly spoken to by an old, grey-headed woman, who evidently had them in charge, and, we thought, was urging them to offer us wine or refreshment, from which we could not escape before paying, but we had been forewarned and hastily withdrew, our guide settling our bill, while we hurried into our carriage. In their gyrations they would represent snake charmers, kite-flyers and divers and other mysterious movements that were anything but graceful.

Our visit to Amber, a city of ruins adjacent to Jeypore, was made partly by carriage and the ascent of the mountain by elephant to the winter palace of the Rajah. A small ladder was attached to the howdah on the back of the animal, and one by one we climbed and took our seat, two on one side and two on the other--back to back. While making this climb the huge elephant knelt, all four feet doubled under him. When we were seated he arose. The motion was not pleasant, but all fear was dispelled by the two faithful coolies who walked on either side of Jumbo and directed his footsteps with an iron probe. We reach the palace, after a tedious ride, and to alight was a feat, but we were quite repaid by the interior views. We were too late for a sacrifice that had just been made of a sheep or lamb; saw nothing but a sprinkling of blood and the dying embers, or ashes, upon which a portion of the animal sacrificed is cooked for the priests in attendance. The walls of the palace were most unique. Doubtless, while the plaster was still wet, pieces of mirror, the size of a 25-cent piece were imbedded in it, and so thickly studded were these walls and ceilings that the effect was brilliant. The rooms were large and orange trees grew apace where a spot of ground appeared. The ruins of Amber, which we overlook, seemed the haunts of fakirs, naked and covered with dirt; with their thin, long hair matted, hanging over their shoulders or on their faces. These fanatics, in their self abnegation, are looking for their reward in Nirvanna, where they think only those enter who from self-denial purify themselves. Our return down the mountain seemed perilous, but our sure-footed Jumbo forbids fears and where his instincts failed the goad of the native caretakers seemed effective. We found it a slow mode of traveling, but sure. We could but admire the oriental coloring of Jumbo's ear flaps; they were those of a superb India shawl. On the wayside we saw altars for sacrifice and to imitate blood was rude bespatterment of red paint or a like mixture. I wondered if their religion taught them that this is emblematic of the blood that cleanseth from all sin. I could not learn from inquiries made of my guide.

BOMBAY.

The trip from Jeypore to Bombay was the most tedious of any made in India, as we made no stops. It took us from 10:30 p. m. Monday till 8:30 p. m. on Wednesday. The road was monotonous and dusty; however, the nights were cool and comfortable. Our compartment, although commodious, was covered with, it seemed, the dust of ages, but on pointing it out to our stupid servant he immediately took off his turban of white cheese cloth and mopped with it the seats and floor, shook off the dust, literally, and replaced it in form of a turban, slightly changed in coloring. The chiaroscuro was striking. The meals obtained at the stations were most unattractive.

Bombay is built upon an island, although the separation from the mainland is scarcely perceptible. The waters of the bay are studded with islands, and the harbor is capacious enough for the commerce of the world. The beautiful road skirting the bay leads to Malabar Hill, upon which are the homes of the foreign officials, and upon this boulevard is the exquisite statue in white marble, most delicately carved, of Queen Victoria in her palmy day appearance, when youth and hope make the countenance brighter. This statue was rudely defaced during the recent plague (1899) by unknown hands. On the summit of Malabar Hill are the Towers of Silence, surrounded by a grove of palm trees, with well laid out grounds. On either side of the entrance to these towers are chapels on whose altar burns the unquenchable fire and in whose purification the following of Zoroaster believe.

There are eighty steps to ascend to reach these towers, the place where the Parsee dead are deposited. Four carriers support the bier, followed closely by two long-bearded men (who alone enter the tower, handling the corpse with tongs and gloved hands). Fifty or a hundred men follow, two by two (clothed in white, with the funnel-shaped hat worn by the Parsees). One peculiarity of this solemn procession was the tying of the right and left hand of each couple, which had some religious signification. A short burial service is held in the chapel and then the body deposited at the foot of a ladder that clings to and reaches the door of the tower. This aperture is about five feet from the top of the tower, wherein lies a gridiron circular in form, ready for the dead. The tower is cylindrical in shape, built of strong masonry, at a cost of from $100,000 to $150,000. There are four of these in the enclosure; the largest is twenty-five feet high, and from eighty to one hundred feet in diameter. A deep well is underneath the tower, and as the flesh is consumed by the vultures, which are perched close beside each other on top of this circular wall, the bones fall into a deep well (subterranean), where by some chemical process they soon dissolve and pass off through a conduit to the sea. The voracious vulture is so gluttonous over the amount of food brought for their consumption that they frequently become so gorged that they are unable to fly back to their perch from the grating. There is nothing visible that is revolting, and no odors are emitted. The winding-sheet used on and dispensed with on depositing the body in the tower is burnt; in this way there are no remains of impurity. The Parsees worship one supreme God, and revere the sun and fire only as manifestations of the Deity, and never fail to show their adoration when the sun is declining below the horizon, by stretching forth their hands and bowing to its expiring rays, thus acknowledging the teachings of Zoroaster, their leader.

Bombay has a mixed population. Besides the native Indians are Persians, Arabians, Abyssinians, Syrians, Turks, Greeks and people from the Island of Madagascar, and--last and much in evidence--the English. The Parsees, the most respected sect, vie with the educated Hindoo in establishing charity schools and hospitals, and both are alike represented in the legislative councils. The more opulent of the Parsees educate their sons at Cambridge and Oxford, and generally are great travelers. They dress in European costume, but never at home lay aside their Parsee hat, so characteristic of the sect. We were told it is never discarded by day or night. Caste does not separate them and animal food is not forbidden.

We are invited to the home of Mr. Tata, a Parsee gentleman. His family ranks high in wealth and position in Bombay. My brother had, on one occasion, traveled with him up the Nile. His father and mother adhere to the Parsee dress, but their sons, having been educated in Cambridge and Oxford, have adopted the European dress, but still wear the hat of their sect. Their home occupied an entire square, and a small park separated it from the boulevard. We were invited to a four-o'clock tea. As we drove into the grounds and to a porte cochere we passed, in a victoria, Mr. Tata's brother with his wife. She was dressed in the graceful, elegant robes that the Parsee lady wears with such apparent ease. The doors were thrown open on our approach, by two turbaned and handsomely clad servants. Their white turbans were striped with gold thread; their dignified, quiet demeanor was refreshing. At the head of some twenty marble steps, full thirty feet in length, we were met by more servants in oriental dress, and were shown into the reception room. Mr. Tata was there to receive us, and after a few commonplace remarks I could restrain myself no longer and began to expatiate on the surroundings. He then told us that the house was thrown open once a week for a length of time after it was first built, that their friends might come and bring guests to see their collection of bric-a-brac and the rare pictures. At the head of these marble steps we reached a hall, the walls of which were lined with valuable oil paintings. The house was built on the line of the street--a solid front--but the interior rooms faced a court yard, filled with the most exquisite foliage plant and palms like forest trees. A glass roof, that could be slid aside, kept these from the elements. With a modest air of ease Mr. Tata took us from room to room. The portieres separating these apartments had been made to order in Japan--embroideries on satin of pale grey, lined with different shades of pink, blue, nile green, and some with white silk. On both sides of these portieres were hung what we would call the sheerest linen cambric. Tying back each pair, when desired, were ribbons or tassels of corresponding colors. All the wood used in this house was imported, rare in quality. The collection of carved ivories was surpassingly beautiful, as were also articles of jade. We, who had priced them in China, Japan and India, knew their value. The dining room was oblong, and at an oblong table in the middle of the floor could be seated five hundred guests. The table had a hollow center. By lifting up a hinged leaf persons could be seated on either side. We were shown the butler's pantry, large enough for an army of servants. Its floors were inlaid as Mosaic with pieces of broken china and cut glass. Mr. Tata said it was his father's idea and he urged him to get out a patent. The wine department made one thirsty, and the coolers are most unique, built in the wall, each bottle lying on its side in marble chiseled grooves, the process of cooling being hid from sight. We ascended a stairway of marble, whose broad steps afforded a landing place for our feet, and we could but linger to admire the works of art hung upon the walls. A beautiful stained glass window, with full effect of the setting sun, fronted the south and west at the head of these steps of mammoth dimensions. We were taken into Mr. Tata's own private parlor and from his bed-room, or an anteroom, sprang at our approach more turbaned and splendidly arrayed servants, who immediately after seating us offered on gold salvers delicately shaped tea cups, filled with the inviting Indian tea, and delicious rolled sandwiches hid in doilies of jeweled satin. Well, we drank the tea, but visions of the castle that Aladdin had built in one night by the fairies was before my eyes, and fairly blinded me. We were disappointed in not meeting his mother and father, both of whom he said were at the bedside of his aunt, who was very ill. In bidding adieu to our admirable host, we were told a carriage was ready to join ours that would convey his best friend with us to a Parsee wedding. We wondered why Mr. Tata himself did not accompany us, but found no Parsee would be bidden or allowed to enter the place set apart for the guest at a wedding feast, without a wedding garment, and when we saw that of the gentleman who went with us, we thought Mr. Tata did not care to make such an appearance before his American friends.

The dress of the men was of white cotton cloth, made into short, stiff and exceedingly full skirts reaching to the knee, an embroidered jacket and a tall Parsee hat, bare legs and sandals. The ladies wear one outside garment of silk crepe about five yards long of delicate pink, blue and other dainty tints and on either edge of this garment is a narrow velvet ribbon an inch wide, of a contrasting color--dark blue, light blue, pink or maroon in shade. This strip of velvet is embroidered in gold and silver thread and inlaid with turquoise, emeralds, pearls, etc. This article of drapery is first thrown over the head to cover one ear, on the other of which, by the way, is hung the most gorgeous solitaire diamond, emerald or ruby. This scarf is then draped most artistically about the shoulders and waist and droops in graceful folds over a silk or satin petticoat. They are very expensive; even those wrought with imitation gems cost more than we felt like expending.

There seems to be a building, or rather two of them, set apart for the wedding ceremonies which, we were told, were only consummated at certain seasons of the year (December and January). The grounds around were beautifully laid out with arches of electric lights spanning the fountains, with their sparkling waters, made more scintillating by the flickering lights above them. The bride's house was on one side of the entrance, the groom's on the other. Her friends were with her; the groom's friends with him. He sat at the door, with a magnificent India shawl folded and thrown over his arm, the gift of his best man, and wore the costume described above. The bride wore a blue crepe of very light shade. At a given signal she, with a female friend, was followed by all of those men, women and children in procession from the door of her apartment to that of the groom's. He received her at the threshold and conducted her to one of four seats--two for themselves and two for their attendants. These chairs were placed on a rug. Priests, two in number, stood on either side of them. A table with a large silver salver, filled with well scraped cocoanut in their shells, together with two large bowls of rice were brought and placed before them, the former designating plenty, the latter denoting increase or conveying the command, "multiply and replenish." These the priests hold in their hands after first causing the bride to take a seat opposite her husband elect and, throwing a cord around their waists, tie them closely together, and begin alternately to speak in an emphatic manner, showering, continually, the rice on their devoted heads; when the quantity was exhausted the bowls were replenished. Afterwards cocoanuts were given to each to hold, and for two hours this went on. The crowd, in the meantime, stood while a rug was spread and chairs were given to us, the honored guests. The children were most elaborately attired in pink and blue satin, short and full skirt, with bracelets and bangles in profusion; they were very attractive. One of these dear little girls never let go my hand, but had led me in the procession to the groom's house, and sat with me during the ceremony. Love begets love and I felt like keeping her close to me. Beautiful little satin slippers matched their dresses. After the ceremony was over, the cord was loosened and the bride sat at her husband's left and received congratulations. We then returned to the bride's house, across the court-yard and had a rich feast of fruits, dainties and wines; a few drops of the latter turned my head, but had to be drank for the sake of politeness. The ceremony was only half over when we left, all exhausted, for immediately after refreshments another two hours of this harangue by the priests had to be endured. What bliss was this?

On the following day the visit to the Elphanta caves by sailing vessel was most tedious, as the wind was against us, but on our return it was in our favor, "and we flew like a bird from the mountain" homeward. The landing at these caves was difficult. Stepping stones of huge dimensions stretch out into the water like a pier; an ascent of one hundred and fifty steps from the sea level brings us to the home of the carekeeper, who at once, for an admittance fee, proceeds to the temple close by and explains clearly all things necessary for our enlightenment. The temple is of solid rock; the builders began half way up the mountain of stone and cut down perpendicularly, thus removing the mountain face to a depth of thirty feet by one hundred and fifty feet in width. This Besaltic rock is chiseled into the interior of the mountain, where perfect chambers, with colossal gods, wrought by hand out of the stone, stand in representation of the Trinity gods. Brahma represents the creative power; Vishnu the preserving power, and Siva the destroying power. The guardian of this temple, an old Englishman and his wife, who keep things scrupulously clean, and in their own habitation offer us refreshments for a small compensation. Our ship the "Caledonia," Capt. Andrews in command, sails to-morrow. All is bustle and confusion at the Oriental Hotel. We have enjoyed Bombay, with its beautiful carved woods; its ivories, and lovely sandal wood boxes; its teak furniture; its markets, where everything from a shoe string to a monkey or parrot can be bought; its bazaars, where one must have a level head to survive the noise of bartering, to say nothing or but little of the jugglers who swarm beneath the veranda of the hotel, performing most marvelous feats with their cobras and swords for the few piasters that are thrown from an admiring and amazed crowd of travelers. We must not fail to speak of pleasant acquaintances made; of Sir Richard and Lady Campbell, who will be our companions en voyage when we leave this port of Bombay until we shall say good bye to them, and Mr. and Miss ----, of England, of whom I have before written. We ship all trunks, save our steamer, to Albert Docks, London, where we hope to reclaim them before re-embarking for home. The parting of retired army officers, their wives and daughters, from the sons and brothers who are left behind to achieve fame perhaps, or lose their lives in the farther service to their country, seemed less affecting than I imagined such scenes would be, but we find patriotism very pronounced among the British subjects. They expressed hope of a speedy return for one or many more wild boar or tiger hunts amid the jungles, where they may add to their already large stock of skins. We found the best stock of these for sale in Calcutta in a famous house on the opposite side of the street from the Grand Hotel. It is essential to select a tiger skin with perfect claws and natural teeth, as too often artificial ones are used to promote a sale, and to have them perfect in their curing is most desirable; if not, your trunk in which they are packed will be well filled with vermin. A zinc trunk is advisable, which can be purchased in the shops, and at reasonable prices.

Adieux are spoken, the beautiful bay sparkles in the sunlight, and we bid a farewell to the land we may never see again. My own personal regrets are few, for I have suffered during the entire sojourn from a depression very unlike my normal condition. I hope this benighted race may yet be brought from darkness into light and that one common brotherhood may be established, and love divine shine over all.

EGYPT.

The Arabian sea is to me a reminder of tranquility; the thought of no more temples to see, no more heights to climb, no poor, wretched beings, whose only existence is prolonged agony to behold, for at least from the hour of sailing, 12 a. m., on Saturday, 14th of December, 1895, until we reach Ismalia, Saturday, December 21, at 12:30 p. m., what blissful anticipation, and so fully realized on this quiet trip. A snug, cool cabin all to myself, which opened into a private hallway with a great open hatchway, or open half-door, gave me the delicious sea air in its fulness of life and vigor without the necessity of my going on deck. Our steamer chairs bought at Hongkong were shipped through from Ismalia on the same vessel we were sailing to Albert Docks, London, where I found mine in good condition. I could recline in this private hall, book in hand, and cull from its valuable contents, information of the objects I had seen, and what was still in store for me--all the Oriental steamers have well-chosen libraries for the benefit of travelers. I had in anticipation from the beginning of my trip a strong desire to note in my diary items of interest, that I might have enough driftwood on my return home for winter fireside, and from further research to be able to leave to my grandchildren some fruit that would be to them a lasting remembrance of me.

We have booked on the steamer "Caledonia" seventy first-class passengers. Among them, my new-made acquaintances, Sir Richard Campbell, wife and two daughters. The former was none too happy in his retirement from active service to a passive one in the bogs of Ireland or to a shoot on the moors of Scotland. We will credit him with no desire to capture and hold captive the native coolies, but with a longing while still in sight of India's coral strand for the boar and tiger haunts. I suggested when he bemoaned of having no longer sufficient work to do to keep him happy, that he would write a book of experiences of his life in English service. He replied: "The market is overstocked and with but little variety or freshness in the productions of the pen." His wife will long live in my memory as a fac simile of gentleness and refinement. I doubt whether she is in the body at my time of writing, as a slow but sure sapping of life's strength was going on from her long stay in India's treacherous climate.

Sunday's service was read on board our steamer by an officer, at whose right hand at the table, I was seated during our voyage. He was clever and I enjoyed the conversations held with him. A smooth sea and a fresh-laundried shirt waist were most refreshing on that warm, but lovely sail. We landed at Aden, a British port and important coaling station, at 11:00 a. m., December 17 (Wednesday), where we lay three hours. From Aden is exported Mocha coffee. Where it grows I cannot imagine, for the port is to all appearances, the most rocky, barren shore we have yet seen--desolation of desolation. Fortunately no coaling was necessary for our vessel; it is a most disagreeable task, and passengers go ashore if possible to escape the dirt and noise. All the carpets and furniture are covered with temporary coverings during the transfer from the barges of these huge sacks filled with coal. From hand to hand are they tossed by the native coolies, the majority of the number employed being women. The labor here, as on the Nile, seems to be lightened by a cry, or wail, which never ceases till the work is accomplished. Natives in their canoes came in swarms around the steamer as she lay at anchor, bringing their stock in trade, which consisted of ostrich feather boas, black or a color bordering on it, with those of the original grey. In our excitement to get a bargain we purchased, but they were poor specimens and not worth the pound we paid for them, but we enjoyed the fun of bartering. Some of the passengers bought long, stiff, white plumes, which could be utilized in making fans. After our purchases were made Mrs. Dudley and myself having each selected a grey boa, were warned by one who had been there before that we had more than we bargained for, and that it would be better before depositing them in the trunks to investigate. We needed no farther explanation, but held at a safe distance the coveted articles and rushed to my cabin, while Mrs. Dudley sent to the head steward for a package of cayenne pepper, which had been my suggestion. After a fierce struggle, we succeeded in thoroughly sprinkling the feathery lengths, and then purloined a steamer towel, sewing them up until we should reach Paris, where we determined to have them steamed and curled, providing there was anything to curl. On my arrival in that city of fashion, I immediately sought a Tapissier or cleaner, and besought them not to sue me for damages, if they should, on opening the package, sneeze themselves to death. In a few days, on my return to our Pension with two friends, we passed the feather cleaner's establishment, when what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a huge caterpillar in appearance in the window, which we all declared, must have escaped from the jardin d'acclimatation. After many uncomplimentary remarks, I was compelled to acknowledge that it belonged to me and was bought in the Orient among other articles of "virtu." But to return to Aden. We were struck with the weird looks of the natives, with nothing to conceal their nakedness but the sacred cord around their loins. Their hair was red; their skin black; the "Witches of Endor" would have paled in comparison. The water seemed to be their native element; they would dive down and under the vessel, appearing on the opposite side for a piaster, which, when thrown from the deck of the vessel into the water, they would bring to the surface in their mouths.

The day following we were on the Red Sea--smooth sailing, and no land in sight; weather, (December 18th,) beautifully cool and pleasant. The passengers on deck enjoyed the sport so much in vogue on these "P. and O." steamers. "Pull for your life," which enlisted the participation of ladies and gentlemen; the latter, after removing their shoes, could stand on the well-sanded deck. The leaders locked horns and their comrades chose sides, each placing their arms around the waists of the one preceding them, and then came the "tug of war." It was as great fun to the bystander as it was good exercise for those engaged in the sport. A reward followed to the victorious side, which, perhaps, took the form of ginger ale or seltzer. We enter the Suez canal at 4:00 p. m., December 21st (Saturday afternoon). The evening shadows closed around us; the low shores sank into half-transparent vagueness, and threw into relief against the evening sky a solitary individual straying along the water's edge, while within, a hundred yards from shore, were a band of Arabs, folding their tents, preparatory to a long journey across the desert. It was a most impressive scene. The quiet was almost overpowering. The lonely hour and the more lonely surroundings, all combined, made an indelible impression. The camels were in the act of kneeling to receive the burden they must carry on the journey. In the moonlight, the undulating sands of the Lybian and Arabian deserts looked like the billows of an ocean, and the camels with their swaying motion like moving sail vessels, were lost to sight in solemn silence. This voyage on the Suez canal has a charm of its own indefinable.

The Suez maritime canal is about 120 miles in length from sea to sea (Mediterranean to the Red). Out of this length only thirty-eight miles were found to be above sea level; the remaining eighty-two were either below or on the same level. About midway between the two seas is Lake Timsah, nine miles in circumference. That basin is converted into a central harbor, where vessels may at all times find a safe and convenient anchorage. From El Guise, through which the canal passes to the Mediterranean, the width is 240 feet, and from El Guise to Ismalia it is 180 feet, after which it passes into the proper width, 240 feet. The estimate of keeping the canal in order, from its completion in 1869 to 1895, is about L75,000 sterling. Great dredges lie near the shore as we pass, from which vessels steer away. Charges agreed upon for transit are ten francs, or two dollars, per ton; hence, our steamer "Caledonia" paid for her weight of 4,125 tons, $825. The Indian steamers, instead of stopping at Suez, steam directly to Port Said, anchoring off Ismalia only long enough for passengers to land. We reached this point at 12:00 p. m. Before arriving a late supper was ordered by a few to celebrate the leave-taking, for many who had traveled together so far were to continue their journey to Marseilles and from thence to England, and others with us were to go into Egypt. We here bade good-bye to Mr. and Miss Donnesthorpe, who had been with us en route from Nagasaki, Japan. Before leaving Mr. Donnesthorpe gave me his confidence regarding his engagement to an English girl he had left at home. The outward-bound vessels, instead of stopping at Alexandria, steam direct through the canal to Suez and Bombay, while one vessel homeward bound passes through this canal every week. Thus, two vessels a week make 104 a year. Averaging 1,000 tons per vessel, the aggregate 104,000 tons at two dollars a ton will produce the sum of L41,600 sterling annually. These vessels carry to and from home about 10,000 persons a year, and this number pay L4,000, so that from the Peninsular and Oriental line of steamers alone the canal company will receive L45,000 annually, exclusive of the duties received from coal ships. Total averages from other lines are about L185,000, to say nothing of the pilgrims from Tunis, Tripoli, on their pilgrimages to Medinah and Mecca. $5,000 to $8,000 is saved on this route of travel to the merchants from England to India. The depth of this canal in every part is twenty-six feet. Steam is supplanting the use of sails, for the Red Sea offers no exceptional difficulties to steamers. No vessel would require more than her sails, for the wind blows strong and steady during nine months of the year.

The opening celebration of the canal by the viceroy was regal. An opera house, theatre and circus were constructed in Cairo; gas was introduced into the city of the Mameluke Caliphs; Ezhekiah plaza was renovated in a manner that ten years before would have been thought impossible; the streets were laid out and flanked by granite and freestone curbing, and sidewalks laid with massive flagstone; railway stations renovated and the streets leading to it improved, so that on first introduction a stranger would be favorably impressed. The viceroy's palaces were repainted and every hotel in Cairo was engaged for the guests of the Khedive, to feed them and lodge them at 48 shillings per day per capita; all carriages and cabs free and at their disposal, the cost of entertainment was $2,000,000. Light houses were erected at Bitter Lake, and electric lights of great power at Port Said. Ismalia, the center part of the Suez canal, is on Lake Tismah; it was filled with water from the Mediterranean, November, 1862, through the canal the average depth was nineteen feet. Ismalia stands at the confluence of three canals; the Maritime, Sweet Water from Suez to Ismalia, and the canal from Zazazed to Ismalia, which runs through Ancient Goshen, in whose confines dwelt the children of Israel 400 years.

"The harbor of Suez roadbeds was found to afford anchorage for 500 ships, its depth being from sixteen to twenty-four feet, bottomed with soft mud. In 1858 the canal company chose for its president M. Ferdinand de Lesseps. In 1859 the work was commenced. Mohammed Said Pasha of Egypt took 177,642 shares. In 1863 Said Pasha died and Ismail, son of Ibrahim, son of Mohammed Ali, succeeded to the vice-royalty of Egypt. England was jealous of the concession to France. The sultan wavered, but Napoleon III. had his eye on him, and he was frightened out of his intended course. Ismail broke his contract with the canal company and would furnish no fellahs. Napoleon III. came to the rescue of De Lesseps. A committee composed equally of French and Egyptians, was called by Napoleon and declared in favor of the company to the amount of L3,600,000, to be payable in installments in fifteen years."

De Lesseps, long calumniated, individually persevered against disadvantages in the undertaking, until finally (November 17, 1869) he exhibits with worthy pride his mighty achievement to the civilized globe, represented by crowned heads and dignitaries of all countries, monarchial and republican.

During our stay of twenty-four hours, or even less time, in Ismalia, we visited the home De Lesseps occupied during his sojourn here. It was within an enclosure where beautiful trees overshadowed the house and it looked lonely and forsaken. We also went to the house or palace which the Viceroy had built for himself. Dogs formidably guarded the entrance. We did not tarry long, but my brother and I wandered far enough into the sands of the desert to satisfy all our longings forevermore. The canal was built by the French, but the English bought most of the stock and have control of it, although it runs through Egyptian territory. From the inhospitable Hotel Victoria we rode on a tramway to the depot, where rather a poor train of cars awaited us, conveying us for miles through the desert sands, suddenly merging into plains and reaching Cairo at 6:00 p. m., the 22nd of December. Little by little the plain becomes less green as we approach the Egyptian capital; the valley contracted and the pyramids appear roseate beneath the rays of the setting sun. On the right, through the palm trees, against the yellow tones of the Lybian desert, are the heights of Mokattam, with the citadel and the mosques of Mahomet Ali, the dome of which shines brilliantly between two tapering minarets. A forest of minarets and white walls and we have arrived amid deafening cries of the cabmen and the running omnibuses for the different hotels. My brown "Cheap Jack" purchased in Bombay to carry a steamer rug which I had bought there again proved a white elephant, but after many gestures it is transferred by a porter to Shephard's Hotel. Crowds stand waiting for rooms to be allotted them, and as good luck has so far followed me both on steamers and at hotels, I find myself in a brief time nicely ensconced in a sunny room. We hasten to make ready for dinner, and are most happy to be seated alongside of Mrs. John A. Logan and her party of four young ladies and Doctor B., who heads the table and proves himself a most fitting decoration. The salon is crowded, and at one end on a stage is stationed a band of native musicians, male and female, with European musical instruments upon which the latest opera airs were played. It is customary after dinner is served to join the immense crowd that promenades or is seated, according to choice, in the corridors and exchange of the building. There tiny cups of coffee with brandy, absinthe and cigarettes are offered by the coolies in picturesque dress. Ladies, as well as men, partook freely, handling the cigarette with an air of nonchalance which bespoke its frequent use. It seemed that people from every nation and every tribe were assembled there. The air became dense, and it has been truly said that nowhere else than in Shephard's Hotel can such a transformation scene be witnessed. Many of my own neighbors from Chicago were here. We met our Japanese colonel again. He had just returned from the Nile trip. He walked with the assurance of a man who had won laurels and was wearing them. I was glad to meet him, as our close proximity at the table on the steamers promoted a good feeling between us. Cairo is a winter resort for English, Arabians, Swedes and in fact the climate attracts from all over the world. The ladies who are there for the season make as great a display of fine clothes as we see in our own drawing rooms at home; in fact, the display of jewels is regal. But of this the traveler wearies, as our days are so busy; we willingly retire early to restore nature's wasted powers. One old lady from Wales sat with her gouty feet on a cushion, to which you were oblivious, for she was so bejewelled. She was an Egyptologist, she told me. I found her an agreeable woman, but fond of display. I apologized for my Quaker-like garb, explaining to her why I did not feel at ease in such a crowd in my quiet silk gown; that I had only a steamer trunk with me, and while its contents might ordinarily have passed muster, the piling on top of them--a lot of "Benares brass"--had crushed what little stiffness my balloon sleeves had once maintained. She scanned me closely and, with a confidential air, whispered: "You are a good conversationalist, anyhow, so never mind." I really began to feel a sense of inflation, and looked to see my sleeves puff up.