The Life of Captain Sir Richard F. Burton (Vol. 1&2). Lady Isabel Burton
Highlanders. The latter brought to the Examination Hall one of the finest Irish brogues ever heard there. I had been humble enough before I passed, but, having once got through, I was ready to back my knowledge against the world. This was no great feat on my part, as I had begun Arabic at Oxford, and worked at Hindostani in London, and on board the ship, and had studied for twelve hours a day at Baroda. Before I quitted the Presidency, I had an unpleasantness with a certain Dr. Bird, a pseudo-Orientalist, who, after the fashion of the day, used the brains of moonshee and pandit to make his own reputation. I revenged myself by lampooning him, when, at the ripe age of forty-five, he was about to take to himself a spare-rib. The line began—
"A small grey bird goes out to woo,
Primed with Persian ditties new;
To the gardens straight he flew,
Where he knew the rosebud grew."
We afterwards met in London, and were very good friends.
Dr. Bird only regretted that he had wasted his time on native languages, instead of studying his own profession. He practised medicine for a short time in London, and died.
I left Bombay on May 12th, and rejoined my regiment just before the burst of the south-west monsoon. This was a scene that has often been described in verse and prose. It was a prime favourite with the Sanscrit poets, and English readers are familiar with it through Horace Hayman Wilson's Hindú theatre. But the discomforts of the season in a cowshed-like bungalow were considerable; you sat through the day in a wet skin, and slept through the night with the same. The three months were an alternation of steaming heat and damp, raw cold.
The rains are exceptionally heavy in Gujarat, and sometimes the rainpour lasted without interval for seven days and seven nights. This is mostly the case in the lowlands of India, especially at Bombay and other places, where the Gháts approach the coast. Throughout the inner plateau, as at Poonah, the wet season, which the Portuguese call winter, with its occasional showers and its bursts of sunshine, is decidedly pleasant. The brown desolation of the land disappears in a moment, and is replaced by a brilliant garb of green. The air is light and wholesome, and the change is hailed by every one; but at Baroda there were torments innumerable. The air was full of loathsome beings, which seemed born for the occasion—flying horrors of all kinds, ants and bugs, which persisted in intruding into meat and drink. At Mess it was necessary to have the glasses carefully covered, and it was hardly safe to open one's mouth. The style of riding to a dinner has been already described. There was no duty, and the parade-ground was a sheet of water. Shooting was impossible, except during the rare intervals of sunshine; and those who did not play billiards suffered from mortal ennui.
I now attacked with renewed vigour the Gujarati language, spoken throughout the country, and by the Parsees of Bombay and elsewhere. My teacher was a Nagar Brahman, named Him Chand. Meanwhile I took elementary lessons of Sanscrit, from the regimental pandit. Every Sepoy Corps, in those days, kept one of these men, who was a kind of priest as well as a schoolmaster, reading out prayers, and superintending the nice conduct of Festivals, with all their complicated observances. Besides these men, the Government also supplied schoolmasters, and the consequence was, that a large percentage of young Sepoys could read and write. I once won a bet from my brother-in-law Stisted, by proving that more men in the 18th Bombay Native Infantry than in the 78th Queen's could read and write. In the latter, indeed, they occasionally had recruits who could not speak English, but only Gaelic.
Receives the Brahminical Thread.
Under my two teachers I soon became as well acquainted, as a stranger can, with the practice of Hinduism. I carefully read up Ward, Moor, and the publications of the Asiatic Society, questioning my teachers, and committing to writing page after page of notes, and eventually my Hindú teacher officially allowed me to wear the Janeo (Brahminical thread). My knowledge, indeed, not a little surprised my friend Dr. H. G. Carter, who was secretary to the Asiatic Society at Bombay. On June 26th, 1843, I was appointed interpreter to my regiment, which added something—a few rupees, some thirty a month—to my income. My brother officers now began to see that I was working with an object. When I returned from Bombay, they had been surprised at my instantly resuming work, and not allowing myself a holiday. They grumbled not a little at having so unsociable a messmate.
About that time, too, I began to acquire the ominous soubriquet of "The White Nigger," and what added not a little to the general astonishment was, that I left off "sitting under" the garrison Chaplain, and transferred myself to the Catholic Chapel of the chocolate-coloured Goanese priest, who adhibited spiritual consolation to the bultrels (butlers and head-servants) and other servants of the camp.6 At length, on August 22nd, 1843, I again obtained leave "to proceed to Bombay to be examined in the Guzerattee language." This time I was accompanied on the journey by Lieutenant R. A. Manson, who was on like business, to the Presidency. The march was detestable. We could hardly ride our horses through the sticky and knee-deep mud of Gujarat. So we fitted up native carts with waterproof tilts, and jogged behind the slow-paced steers on the high-road to Broach. Here we found a detachment of a native Corps, living the usual dull, monotonous life.
Hence we proceeded to Surat, once the cradle of the British power in India, and afterwards doomed to utter neglect. Its masterful position for trade secured it from utter ruin, but no thanks to its rulers. Here we again took a pattymar, and dropped down the river, en route to the Presidency. But this time it was very different voyaging. The south-west monsoon was dead against us, and nothing could be more ominous than the aspect of the weather. We reached Bombay on September 26th, just in time to avoid the Elephanta, or dangerous break up of the rainy monsoon. Little Manson, who had been wrecked when coming out in Back Bay, was in an extreme state of nervousness, and I was prepared for any risk when I saw the last sheets of lightning hung out by the purple-black clouds. The examination took place on October 16th, 1843, again in presence of old General Vans-Kennedy and the normal three or four nobodies, and I again passed first, distancing my rival, Lieutenant C. P. Rigby, of the 16th Bombay N.I. I wished to remain in Bombay to await my regiment, then under orders for Sind, but on the 10th of November I was ordered north, and yet the corps had received orders to march on November 23rd.
The break up of the Cantonment produced all manner of festivities. The two Corps took leave of one another, and passed the last night in the enjoyment of a stupendous Nach, or Nautch.
On the March.
A March with a regiment in those days was a pleasure. The first bugle sounded shortly after midnight, and presently came the signal—
"Don't you hear the general say,
'Strike your tents and march away'?"
After a few days' practice, the camp was on the ground and ready packed for starting on carts and camels, within a few minutes. Naturally loose marching was the rule. The men were only expected to keep in Companies, and the officers, with rifles in their hands, rode before, behind, or alongside of them. In this way many a head of game made its appearance at the regimental Mess. The Marches seldom exceeded fifteen miles a day; at the end of the stage the Sepoys were drawn up into line, inspected, and told off to pitching the tents. Breakfast was generally eaten by the officers shortly after sunrise, and the morning air gave fine appetites. The food was generally carried in a dúli, a kind of portable palanquin, primarily intended for the sick and wounded. After the tents were pitched most men were glad to have a short sleep. They assembled again at Tiffin, and its objectionable properties disappeared during the march. They then amused themselves with shooting, or strolling about the country, till Mess hour. The officers' wives were always present at dinner, and no smoking was allowed until they had disappeared. After mess, men were only too glad to turn in, and to get as much sleep as they could before the morning bugle.
The regiment embarked in a native craft at Tankaria-Bunder, and on December 26th, 1843, encamped on the Esplanade, Bombay. They were in the highest spirits, for all expected to see service. The wing from Mhow had been ordered to rejoin head-quarters, and the same was the case with the Staff officers, Captains Jamieson and Partridge, Lieutenants MacDonald, Hough, Compton, and Ensign Anderson. Needless to say that