"Nana Sahib, the native leader of the mutiny, was the adopted son of the former peshwa, or ruler, of the Mahrattas, as certain states in the west and middle of India are called. His foster-father had been deprived of his dominion, and lived on a pension paid by the British. The son had been brought up as a nobleman, with expensive habits. When the father died in 1851, the pension was not continued to the son. He was bitterly disappointed that his income was cut off, and it stirred up all the bad blood in his nature, and there was a good deal of it. He did his best to foment discontent, and succeeded too well; for the mutiny was his work.

"As Havelock and his puny force approached Cawnpore, this miscreant incited the cold-blooded massacre of all the women and children the rebels had captured on the day before the place was taken. The intrepid general found the Sepoys strongly intrenched at a village; but he turned their left, and carried the works by a splendid charge of the 78th Highlanders. Entering Cawnpore, he saw the results of the atrocious massacre in the mutilated bodies of the women and children with his own eyes.

"The sight inspired the little band of heroes with renewed courage, and Havelock began his march upon Lucknow.

"After fighting eight victorious battles, his little force was so reduced by sickness and fatigue that he was forced to retire to Cawnpore. In September General Outram arrived there with additional troops, and operations against Lucknow were renewed. The general in command of this force outranked Havelock, and the command belonged to him; but with a noble generosity he waived his claim, and served in the expedition under his victorious subordinate as a volunteer.

"Havelock's army now numbered 2,500 men, with seventeen guns. He encountered the enemy, and scattered them several times. They reached the thickly settled town where each house was a fortress, and with valor equal to anything on record, fought their way to the Residency, where they were rapturously received by the beleaguered garrison.

"But with all that could be mustered they were only a handful of men compared with the hosts that surrounded them, and in turn they were at once besieged by the rebels. They were not the men to yield to any odds; and they held their own till November, when Sir Colin Campbell, with 4,700 regulars, forced his way through the enemy, and relieved the place. He was one of the bravest and most distinguished generals of modern times. He fought in the United States in 1814, and in many other parts of the world. He was in the Crimea, and Alma and Balaklava are called his battles; for he did the most to win them.

"In India he completed the work which Havelock had begun, and the following year announced to the viceroy that the rebellion was ended. Just before he had been created Lord Clyde. On his return to England he was made a field-marshal, and received a pension of L2,000.

"To return to Havelock, great honors were bestowed upon him. He was made a baronet, created a Knight Commander of the Bath, and a pension of L1,000 was awarded to him. But he did not live to enjoy his rewards and honors, or even to see the end of the mutiny at which he struck the first heavy blows. In that very month of November when Sir Colin came to the rescue, Havelock was taken with dysentery, died on the twenty-second, and was buried in the Alum-Bagh, the fort containing a palace and a fortress, which he had carried in his last battle.

"Havelock was very strict in his religious principles, and a rigid disciplinarian in the army. He was like the grave and fearless Puritan soldier, somewhat after the type of 'Stonewall Jackson' of your Civil War, though not as fanatical. In his last moments he said: 'For more than forty years I have so ruled my life that when death came I might face it without fear.' This he did; and England will never cease to remember the Christian hero, Sir Henry Havelock. In Trafalgar Square, in London, you may see the statue erected to him by the people of his native country.

"Aside from the mischief done by Nana Sahib, which seems to have had only a limited effect, what were the causes of this mutiny, Lord Tremlyn?" asked Dr. Hawkes.

"There were many causes that produced independent rebellions, such as the greased cartridges served out to the Sepoys, though this was only insignificant. There were too many Bramins in the ranks, and they were fanatics; and biting off the cartridge brought their lips in contact with the grease, which was religious pollution to them. A score of provocatives might be mentioned, but all of them would not explain it. The natives had been transformed into trained soldiers, and they felt the power that was in them.

"Before the mutiny, one British soldier to six Sepoys was about the proportion between them in numbers. The small discontents clustered around this grand error, and broke out in the mutiny. After its suppression, one of the first reforms of the government was to change the proportion of the soldiers; and now they are as one European to two natives. The government is liberal in the introduction of improvements. Now all the strategetic points are under the control of our own soldiers; and at present they constitute nearly the whole of the artillery force of the country. Peace and order have reigned since 1858, and it is not now believed that a rebellion is possible. I expect and hope to be with you for some time to come, and my companions and myself will do our best to inform you in regard to everything in which you may feel an interest."

The viscount bowed very politely to his audience, and was hailed with all the enthusiasm which could be gathered up by a baker's dozen Americans. All of them testified that they had been exceedingly interested in his address, especially that part relating to the mutiny.

"We shall be exceedingly happy in your company, my Lord, as long as you are pleased to remain with us," added the commander. "I have done something towards preparing a route through India; and I should be glad to have the advice of such counsellors as we were so fortunate as to pick up in the midst of the rage of the stormy ocean."

"The time of our party is at your disposal for as long a period as we can be of service to you. We do not wish to force ourselves upon you. We owe our lives to you, and we believe we may contribute to your pleasure and instruction; for we are at home here."

"We did only our duty when we found you on the wreck; and anything in the nature of a recompense for the service which every sailor owes to his fellow-men, or to those who sail on the seas, would be repugnant to me, as it would be to my officers," replied Captain Ringgold.

"I beg you will not regard my proposition as anything in the shape of a recompense; for all our fortunes and all our time for years to come would not be an adequate return for the immeasurable service you have rendered to us," protested the viscount. "We have all been delighted with the manner in which we have been entertained on board of the Guardian-Mother; and without regard to our rescue from the very jaws of death, I declare, upon my honor as a gentleman, that you have won our hearts,—you, Mr. Commander, and all connected with you on board."

"Amen!" shouted Dr. Ferrolan in a burst of enthusiasm.

"So say we all of us!" cried Sir Modava.

"Now permit me to say in all sincerity, that if our acquaintance had begun when we set foot on the deck of your ship, and the noble conduct of the ship's company were entirely obliterated from our memories, we should feel as we do now," said Lord Tremlyn.

"So say we all of us," sang the doctor with Sir Modava.

"I may say that if I had gone on board of the Guardian-Mother for the first time in the harbor of Bombay, I should have felt the same, and had just as strong a desire to assist you in seeing India. When gentlemen of education and character come here from England, the officials give them a warm welcome, and do their best to enable them to see the country, its manners and customs, and its institutions, to the best advantage. We should do the same with Americans; and I account myself fortunate in being the first to greet you, and welcome you to India."

The other two heartily responded to the sentiments of the speaker, and the commander could say no more. By this time the steamer was in the midst of the fishing-boats and other craft. Louis called for three cheers for the guests, and they were given with vigor and sincerity. The party separated, and its members gave themselves up to an examination of the surroundings.



CHAPTER XV

ARRIVAL OF THE GUARDIAN-MOTHER AT BOMBAY

The coast of Bombay was in plain sight, the province, or state, whose capital has the same name. Groves of cocoanut, date, and other palm-trees bordered it; and far back of it was a range of mountains, the Western Ghats, a chain extending for hundreds of miles along the shore, though from twenty to fifty miles from it.

The fishing-boats were Oriental, and nothing new to the tourists; but the men in them were swarthy-looking fellows, not abundantly provided with clothing. The greater portion of India has a warm climate, and the dress of the people is adapted to it. For the most part, the natives are bundled up in loose white cotton cloth, or what was originally white, which they twist about their bodies with a skill acquired by practice. But these boatmen were almost in a primitive condition.

The distinguished guests on board of the Guardian-Mother were perfectly familiar with Bombay and its surroundings, as they were with all of the country, and their services were just now in demand. The Woolridges had attached themselves to Lord Tremlyn; Louis Belgrave was very likely to be in their company most of the time, and the viscount had manifested no little interest in the young millionaire. He was pointing out the country, and describing it, to this group of four.

Dr. Ferrolan was not so much of a ladies' man as his two younger companions, and was rendering similar service to his professional brother, Uncle Moses, and Professor Giroud. They formed a quartet of educated men, and were more in touch with each other than they might otherwise have been. Sir Modava Rao had attracted to his side Mrs. Belgrave; Mrs. Blossom was usually her shadow; and of course Captain Ringgold, when not employed in his duties in the navigation of the steamer, gravitated, not materially but sentimentally, to this group; for wherever Mrs. Belgrave was, the commander was not far off.

Felix divided himself up among the three parties; and, as he was a lively boy, he afforded no little amusement to all of them. The entire company, including the captain and the third officer, who were to take part in the business of sight-seeing, consisted of sixteen persons, which was just the complement for four carriages, if they were large enough to seat four.

The pilot came on board, and was inducted into the pilot-house. He spoke English, and seemed to be a bright fellow so far as his occupation was concerned. The pilots are said to "pool their issues," and divide their fees. They take their own time, therefore, and are very independent. But this one, when informed that the Guardian-Mother was a yacht conveying a young millionaire all-over-the-world, was very respectful and deferential.

"I have heard of this vessel before, and they say here that the young rajah is worth millions of pounds," said he, when he had laid the course of the steamer.

"I suppose he is as well off as some of your Grand Moguls; but I think you had better call it dollars instead of pounds," replied Mr. Boulong, laughing at the absurdity of the story; but the pilot knew nothing about dollars, and perhaps the reports had been swelled by changing the unit of American currency into that of the British Empire.

"Now you can see the islands more distinctly," said Lord Tremlyn to his group.

"I don't see any islands," replied Miss Blanche.

"They are too near together to be distinguished separately. The Bombay to which we are going is an island eleven and a half miles long. The town has an abundant territory; but large as it is, portions of it are very densely peopled, averaging twenty-one inmates to a house," continued the viscount. "Next to Calcutta it is the largest city in India, and comes within 40,000 of that.

"Bombay has had its vicissitudes. Of course you know that your Civil War produced a cotton famine in Europe; but it raised this city to the pinnacle of prosperity. A reign of speculation came here, and it was believed that Bombay would be the leading cotton mart of the world. Companies were organized to develop the resources of the country in the textile plant; and the fever raged as high as it did when the South Sea Bubble was blown up, or as it has sometimes in New York and other cities of your country.

"New banks were started; merchants plunged recklessly into the vortex of speculation. Then came the news of the surrender of General Lee, and the end of the war in America. The bubble burst, even before it was fully inflated, and the business prosperity of Bombay collapsed. The certificates of shares in companies and banks were not worth the paper on which they were written. Even the Bank of Bombay, believed to be as solid as the 'Old Lady' of Threadneedle Street, had to suspend, and the commercial distress was frightful.

"But it left its lesson behind it; and since that time Bombay has patiently and painfully regained its former solid prosperity. It has recovered what it lost, and is now steadily increasing in population and wealth."

"I never heard of the South Sea Bubble of which you speak," said Louis.

"That is not strange, as it was an affair of one hundred and eighty-one years ago," replied Lord Tremlyn. "I have not time now to describe it in full. The floating debt of England at that time was L10,000,000; and the Earl of Oxford concocted a scheme to pay it off, and formed a company of merchants for that purpose. The riches of the South Sea Islands, including South America, were most extravagantly estimated at that time, and the monopoly of the trade was secured by the company formed. The 'South Sea Company' was bolstered up by the pledge of the duties on the imports from these far-off regions, and the shares sold like wild-fire, increasing in price in the most extraordinary manner. Shares at a par of L100 were quoted at L550 in May, and L890 in June.

"The failure of the Mississippi Scheme, projected in France by John Law to develop the resources of the American State of Louisiana, alarmed the shareholders; but the managers declared that they had avoided the errors of Law in their finances, and the enterprise still prospered. A mania for stock-gambling spread over England, and the people seemed to have lost their wits. The most tremendous excitement prevailed. The crisis came, and it was realized that the scheme was a fraudulent one. Some of the biggest operators sold out their stock, and a panic ensued. Consternation came upon the bubble capitalists, and financial ruin stared them and their dupes full in the face.

"The country was stirred to its very foundations. Parliament was called together, and the books of the company were examined. The 'Bubble' had burst, as it did in Bombay. The private property of the directors was confiscated. The ruin brought about by this enterprise, rightly called a 'Bubble,' was beyond calculation; but it taught its lesson, as such affairs always do."

"We are approaching the harbor," said Mrs. Woolridge, who was not much interested in the South Sea Scheme, though her husband and Louis listened to the explanation very attentively.

"We are, madam. You see to the northward of us two peninsulas. The one the more distant has two hills on it. The first is Malabar Hill, and the other Cumballa Hill. This is the aristocratic quarter of Bombay. The huge bungalows of the rich merchants and higher government officials are here. The scenery, natural and artificial, is very fine, and Asiatic magnificence prevails there. That will be one of our first rides. You observe near the point of the peninsula some towers, like pagodas, which will give you your first impression of the temples of India."

Opera-glasses were then in demand, and were brought to bear on the towers.

"They are in the village of Walkeshwar. The peninsula now quite near is Colaba. Indian names are very much mixed in regard to their spelling. The c and the k are about interchangeable, and you can use either one of them. Hence this point is often written Kolaba, and the hill yonder Kumballa. The southern part of this neck of land is the native quarter. You will visit all these localities, and it is not worth while to describe them minutely."

"That looks like a cemetery," said Mr. Woolridge, as the steamer approached the point. "There is the lighthouse."

The commander had left his party as the steamer approached the entrance to the harbor, and had gone forward. The ship had slowed down, and the captain spoke to the pilot about a convenient anchorage. The harbor was large enough to accommodate all the navies of the world, and there was no difficulty on this account. Lord Tremlyn had left his party to look at what was to be seen by themselves, and came forward to the pilot-house. The anchorage was settled.

"Captain Ringgold, if you please, we will now exchange places," said the viscount. "Up to the present time we have been your guests; now I will become the host, and you and your party will be my guests. I beg you will raise no objections, my dear sir, and I shall feel very much wounded if you do not accept the hospitality I tender to you. You are at home on the sea as I am in Bombay."

"You have put it in such a way that I cannot refuse to accept," replied the commander, laughing at the corner in which he was placed. "For the present we are your guests, and we place ourselves entirely under your direction."

"I am extremely happy to take you all under my protection; but I cannot submit to the proviso which you have added to my offer, though I will be satisfied to have you 'for the present' as my guests, and we will leave the future to take care of itself. But in whatever capacity we travel over India, or such portion of it as you may elect, it is rather necessary that we fix upon a plan for our operations."

"I am quite agreed that we had better draw up a programme, and I shall depend upon your counsel in the matter," replied the captain. "For the present, will you excuse me until the ship comes to anchor?"

"Certainly, Captain."

"Here is the custom-house boat, and I suppose I must attend to that."

"Leave that to me, if you please."

In another half-hour the Guardian-Mother was at anchor off the Apollo Bunder, the wharf, or landing-place. The custom-house officers came on board; and, as the ship was not one of any regular line, a high official came off with them. As soon as he reached the deck he discovered his lordship, and rushed to him, bowed profusely, and addressed him in the most deferential manner.

"This is a very unexpected visit, my Lord, and in a steamer flying the American flag," said he, as the viscount gave him his hand, a piece of condescension he appeared to appreciate very highly. "What has become of the Travancore?"

"She was wrecked in the Arabian Sea in a collision, and went to the bottom after holding us up for a few hours. We were rescued from certain death by this steamer, and we have been treated with the utmost kindness and consideration," said his lordship quite hurriedly. "Sir Modava Rao and Dr. Ferrolan are on board. I am entirely devoted to those to whom we owe our lives, and I am in their service as long as they will stay in India. What is your business on board, Mr. Windham?"

"It is in connection with the customs, my Lord."

"You will dispense with everything in that connection, for this is a yacht; and you will oblige me by not subjecting any person on board to any annoyance, Mr. Windham."

"Certainly not, my Lord; and not a trunk shall be opened. But the newspapers will want the account of your shipwreck, and a reporter came off with me," replied the official.

"Refer him to my secretary."

The under-official obtained particulars from the first officer in regard to the steamer for the custom-house, and Dr. Ferrolan gave the reporter an account of the disaster to the Travancore which he had written.

"I propose to land and proceed to our hotel as soon as the ladies are ready," said Lord Tremlyn, when he had retired to the captain's cabin with the commander. "While they are preparing, we will consider the programme of the tour."

"Very well, your Lordship; I will have the party notified. Mr. Scott," said the captain, opening the door into the pilot-house, "inform all the company that we go on shore in half an hour; and you will go with them. Mr. Boulong, lower the gangway, and have the barge ready."

"Perhaps you have arranged a programme yourself already," suggested the new host of the party.

"I have considered the matter. I proposed to see Bombay, and perhaps run down to Poona. Then go to Surat in the steamer, and visit Baroda, and proceed by the ship to Kurrachee. From there I thought I should send the Guardian-Mother round to Calcutta in charge of Mr. Boulong, while we travelled to Lahore, Delhi, Cawnpore, Lucknow, Allahabad, Benares, and Calcutta by railway. From there we will go to Madras and Ceylon by the steamer," said the commander, who seemed to have arranged the whole trip.

"Excellent, Captain Ringgold!" exclaimed the viscount. "I can hardly better that."

He made some suggestions; but this route was substantially adopted.



CHAPTER XVI

A MULTITUDE OF NATIVE SERVANTS

The barge was ready as soon as it was needed, and lay at the platform of the gangway, with the crew in their white uniforms, quite as smart as man-of-war's-men. The coolie boatmen who were seeking a job to put the passengers on shore were disappointed. The clothing of the guests had been taken in hand by Sparks and Sordy, the cabin stewards, dried, cleaned, and pressed. They wore them now, and had returned the borrowed garments.

The party were impatient to see the strange sights on shore; and they were ready at the gangway when the viscount, to whom the commander had abandoned the direction of the company, gave the word. The ladies were assisted to their places, and the "Big Four" went into the fore-sheets. Bargate, the old man-of-war's-man, was the cockswain, and his lordship gave the word to him to give way.

"Pull to the Apollo Bunder, if you please, my man," said he.

"Which, your honor?" asked Bargate blankly.

"I mean the bit of a basin you see nearly abreast of the ship," the new leader explained, pointing out the locality.

The cockswain shoved off the stern of the boat, the oars dropped into the water, and the men gave way. It was a pull of but a few minutes, and the barge shot into the basin, and came to a convenient landing-place. On the shore they found Mr. Windham, one of the chief officials of the custom-house, who had been on board of the ship. He was surrounded by a small mob of young Hindus, neatly dressed in the native garments of white cotton. The ladies were assisted to the shore first. All of the party carried small valises or satchels containing the needed articles for a few days' stay at a hotel; and these natives took possession of them as they landed.

"What is this man, Sir Modava?" asked Mrs. Belgrave, as one of them relieved her of the bag she carried.

"He is your Khidmutgar, madam," replied the Hindu knight, with a smile on his handsome face.

"My what?" demanded the lady. "And must I pronounce that word?"

"Not unless you wish to do so. This man is your servant, your waiter."

"But what are we to do with such a lot of them?" inquired Mrs. Belgrave, as she looked upon the group of Hindus.

"There is only one for each person of the company; for every one must have his servant. We are going to the Victoria Hotel, and this Khidmutgar will attend upon you at the table, and do anything you require."

"I don't think I shall need him all the time," added the lady, who thought he would be a nuisance to her.

The young Hindus presented themselves to all the passengers as they landed, taking their small baggage, canes, and umbrellas. Some of them had heard Sir Modava's explanation, and Lord Tremlyn repeated it to others. Most of them had decided to take things as they came, and accepted the custom of the country without any friction. Mrs. Blossom looked rather wildly at the satellite who was to attend to her wants; but her good friend told her to say nothing, and she submitted without a word.

"Captain Ringgold," said the viscount, as he brought forward a rather stout man, with spectacles on his nose, and an odd-looking cap or turban on his head, "this is Pallonjee Pestonjee, the proprietor of the Victoria Hotel."

"I am happy to know you, sir," replied the commander, as he took the hand of the gentleman, who was a Parsee, though he did not attempt to pronounce the name.

"We have half a dozen shigrams here," continued his lordship.

"What are we to do with them, my Lord?" asked the captain.

"They are two-horse carriages; and, if you please, we will ride to the hotel in them," laughed the distinguished guide.

The party seated themselves in the vehicles, which were of English pattern; and they saw cabs and omnibuses in the vicinity. Taking Rampart Row, they passed the university, the court-house, and other public buildings, into Esplanade Road, leading to their destination, about a mile from the landing.

"On our right is Byculla, one of the divisions of the city, and a business quarter, where you will find the retail shops, though they are not all here," said the viscount. "This locality is generally called the Fort; for though its walls have been removed, it retains the old name. Just below the Apollo Bunder, where we landed, are the Grant buildings, or warehouses. Perhaps you saw them from the deck of the ship. Below these, at the extremity of the point, is Colaba, the native town, which is largely occupied by commercial buildings. But we shall ride over this ground again, and you will have the opportunity to see the various structures in detail."

But the tourists were not very much interested in the buildings; for they wanted to see India, its manners and customs, and for the last year they had been seeing edifices as noted as any in the world, though they had yet to be introduced to the temples and palaces of this country, which were different from anything they had seen before.

They soon arrived at the Victoria Hotel; and the khidmutgars, carrying the light baggage, were not behind them, though they had run all the way from the bunder. The landlord had come in a carriage. Felix McGavonty, who was the captain's clerk, had made out several lists of the passengers, at the request of Lord Tremlyn; and one of them had been sent to the hotel, so that their rooms were already assigned to them. Their servants appeared to be familiar with the Victoria, and they were taken to their apartments at once.

"What the dickens do we want of all these fellows?" asked Scott when they had been conducted to a room with four beds in it. "They will be a nuisance to us."

"We don't need all you fellows," added Louis Belgrave, turning to his servant. "We are accustomed to wait on ourselves. One of you is enough for all of us."

"No, Sahib; no khidmutgar waits on more than one gentleman," replied Louis's man, with a cheerful smile, displaying a wealth of white teeth which would have been creditable to an Alabama negro.

"That's what's the matter, is it?" added Scott. "I have learned that no Hindu will do more than one kind of work, take care of more than one person; and no groom will take care of more than one horse. If you have six horses, you must have six hostlers. That is what Sir Modava told me."

"Custom is law here, and we must follow the fashions," replied Louis. "What is your name, my boy?" he continued, turning to his servant.

"Sayad, sahib," answered he.

Scott's was Moro, Morris's was Mobarak, and Felix's was Balaya; but the last two were speedily abbreviated into "Mobby" and "Bally," to which the young Hindus offered no objection. They were all under twenty years of age, and spoke English passably well.

"Here, Sayad! black my shoes," said Louis, determined to make use of his servant.

"I don't clean the shoes," replied the fellow, shaking his head. "I call the porter;" and he did so.

"That is just what Sir Modava told me," added Scott.

But Sayad had opened his master's valise, placed his toilet articles on the bureau, and brushed his coat, which he had taken off. He arranged everything with good taste, and smiled expansively every time Louis looked at him. The shoes of all four were polished in time; and they were ready to begin their explorations of the city, though it was rather late in the day.

"What time is dinner, Moro?" asked Scott.

"Seven o'clock, sahib," replied the boy; and he was more of a boy than a man.

"What time are the other meals?"

"Meals?" queried Moro.

"What time is breakfast?"

"Bring sahib coffee at six in the morning; breakfast at nine; tiffin at one."

"What's that last one, Moro?"

"We had tiffin at Suez, and it means luncheon," interposed Morris.

"I didn't hear the word; but it is all right, and tiffin it is after this time. Come; are you going down-stairs, fellows?"

"There is a public sitting-room down-stairs, and we will find that first."

The four servants followed them when they went down-stairs. None of the party had yet gone to the public room except Sir Modava, though Lord Tremlyn soon joined him. Their attendants stopped outside the doors.

"We are going to the tailor's now," said the Hindu gentleman. "As you are aware, we lost all our clothes except what we had on, and we must order a new supply."

"May we go with you?" asked Louis.

"Certainly; if you desire to do so. You may find something to amuse you on the way, as we shall walk; for we want to get our sea-legs off," replied Sir Modava. "It is only five o'clock here, and we have two hours before dinner-time. Ah, here is Miss Blanche."

She was followed by her servant, who was decidedly a nuisance to her, though he retreated from her room as soon as he had put things in order, and remained within call outside the door. Louis invited her to take a walk with them, and she went up-stairs to consult her mother. She returned in a few minutes, ready to go out; and she was as radiant as a fairy in her light costume.

They passed out of the hotel; and the first thing that attracted Louis's attention was a palanquin. It was not a new thing to the travellers, for they had seen such conveyances in Constantinople and elsewhere.



"You must ride in that palanquin, Miss Blanche," said Louis; and he told Sayad to have it brought up to the door.

It was a compartment like a box, about seven feet long, with a pair of sliding doors at the side. It was balanced on a pole, with braces above and below it. It appeared to be so poised, with the pole above the centre of gravity, that it could not be turned over. The four bearers were coolies, with bare legs, cotton turbans on their heads, and not otherwise overloaded with clothing; but they were dressed like all the coolies about the streets and in the boats of the harbor.

The fair young lady had never been in a palanquin, though she had seen them, and she was pleased with the idea of the ride. It was dropped down upon its four legs, or feet, and Louis assisted her to the interior. It was provided with cushions, and Sir Modava instructed her to recline so that she could see out of the open doors. The young millionaire walked by the side of the vehicle, while the others all followed, with their servants at a respectful distance.

"How do you like the motion, Miss Blanche?" asked Louis, after they had gone a short distance.

"It is not as uneasy as the gait of a camel, though I can feel every step of the bearers. But I should prefer a shigram, if it only had a better name," replied she.

"You can call it a brougham, or simply a carriage, if you prefer. We are not here to learn the Indian languages, and we can take our choice; and we can talk 'good old United States,' in speaking of things," suggested Louis. "There! what will you call that vehicle, Miss Blanche?"

"That is called a gharri" interposed Sir Modava, who was within hearing.

The vehicle was such as none of the Americans had ever seen. It was a sort of two-wheeled cart, with a top like an old-fashioned chaise, in which a man was seated, while a rough-looking fellow rode in front.

"I should say it was an ox-cart, so far as the team is concerned," said Scott.

"Those are not oxen; they are called bullocks in this country. As you see, they have humps like a camel, though much smaller, in front of which is the yoke," the Hindu knight explained.

"But they don't drive oxen in the United States with a pair of rope reins, as this fellow does," said Scott.

"I have seen them do so in North Carolina," added Morris, who had travelled in the South with his parents.

"I give it up, and it's all right. But what is that man in the cart? Is he a Grand Mogul?"

"Hardly," replied Sir Modava, laughing. "The driver is the lowest caste of laborers, who works for fivepence a day, and supports his family on it. The man inside is the cook of a Parsee merchant I happen to know, and probably he is going to market to buy supplies for the family. But here we are at the tailor's. You can continue your ramble, and your servants can tell you the way, and what the buildings are."

The two gentlemen entered the tailor's shop; for there are no stores here any more than in London.



CHAPTER XVII

A HOSPITAL FOR THE BRUTE CREATION

The live boys did not care much for the buildings, though most of those of a public character were architecturally very fine. Around a large open space they found the Town Hall, the Mint, and all the great mercantile establishments. At the time of the young people's visit, it was almost entirely abandoned by those who had held possession of it during the day. Business hours are from ten in the forenoon till four in the afternoon.

Before and after these hours the Fort, as the business section of the city is called, is deserted. This quarter was formerly surrounded by walls or ramparts, which have now been removed; but in its limits is concentrated the great wealth of Bombay. There are no dwellings within this territory, which is consecrated to trade and commerce; and both Europeans and natives hasten at the early closing hour to their homes at Colaba, the Esplanade, Mazagon, Malabar Hill, and Breach Candy, the latter on the seashore.

In front of the Grant buildings they found the Cotton-Green, deserted now, though the stacks of bales were still there, with a few sheds and shanties. A few half-naked coolies and policemen were loitering about the place; but it is not convenient for a thief to carry off a bale of cotton on his back, and a bullock cart in this locality would excite suspicion. In business hours this is a busy place; and the Parsee and native merchants, robed in loose white garments, not all of them indulging in the luxury of trousers, reclining on the bales, or busy with customers, form a picturesque scene.

"I don't think this is the right time to explore this region," suggested Scott. "We had better come down here when there is something going on."

"You are right, Scott," replied Louis; "and I dare say Miss Blanche has had enough of the palanquin, or will have by the time we get back to the hotel, for we are more than a mile from it."

"I don't think I like a palanquin as well as a carriage," replied the young lady. "If you please, I should like to walk back."

She was promptly assisted to alight, and the palanquin bearers were paid so liberally that they did not complain at being discharged so far from the hotel. Sayad and Moro were sent ahead to lead the way, while the other two walked behind. On their arrival at the Victoria, they found all the rest of the tourists assembled in the parlor, to whom they gave an account of what they had seen.

They went to the saloon in which dinner was served, closely followed by their servants; and the scene there was decidedly unique to the Americans, for there were as many servants as guests. The hotel furnishes no attendants, and each visitor brings his own. But as soon as all were seated, order came out of confusion, and the service proceeded. The dishes were somewhat peculiar; but Sir Modava explained them to the commander and Mrs. Belgrave, while Lord Tremlyn rendered a similar service to the Woolridges and Louis, and Dr. Ferrolan to the professional gentlemen of the company.

"I think you will find this fish very good," said his lordship, as the second course came on. "It is the bummaloti, sometimes called the Bombay duck, something like both the salmon and the trout. It is a salt-water fish, abundant off this coast, where it is extensively taken, salted, and dried, to be sent to all parts of India."

"It is elegant," said Mr. Woolridge, who was an epicure.

The roast beef and chickens were very good, and the fruit was highly appreciated. The dinner finished, the party returned to the sitting-room, and found themselves very nearly alone. At the suggestion of Captain Ringgold, Lord Tremlyn consented to give the travellers some information in regard to the city of Bombay.

"When I consider what a vast extent of territory you are to explore in India," the speaker began, "I realize that not much of your time must be taken up in long discourses, and especially not in lengthy introductions. Bombay, the western province of the peninsula, includes twenty-four British districts and nineteen native states, the latter governed wholly or in part by Hindu rulers. This word Hindu, I repeat, properly applies to only a portion of this country, but has come into use as a name for the entire region.

"This is the Bombay Presidency, with a governor appointed by the crown, a Legislative Council, a mixed garrison of English and native soldiers, under a local commander-in-chief. That is all I shall say of the presidency, which is one of three in India.

"The city of Bombay occupies the south end of the island of the same name, and is one of a group of several, of which Salsette is the largest, with which Bombay Island, eleven miles in length, is connected by causeways, over which the railway passes. The business part is at the Fort, where we landed, and the bazaars extend from that in the direction of Mazagon, which lies to the north and east of it.

"You will find here many public buildings and commercial structures which compare favorably with similar edifices in any city of the world; and we shall see them to-morrow forenoon. The Princess Dock, where the great steamship lines land their merchandise, cost a million sterling. Three or four miles off this dock, to the eastward, you saw a couple of islands, the farther one of which is Elephanta, with its wonderful cave, which you will visit.

"The western terminus of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is here, and with its connections it extends all over India. This is the first port usually reached by vessels from Europe, though Kurrachee is nearer. It is the great mail port; and I have seen landed at Dover thirty tons of post-bags, sent from here by Suez and through Europe by the Orient Express.

"Bombay now exceeds Calcutta in the extent of its commerce. The principal exports are cotton, wheat, shawls, opium, coffee, pepper, ivory, and gums; and the chief imports are the manufactured goods of England, metals, wine, beer, tea, and silks. The prominent industries of the city and its vicinity are dyeing, tanning, and metal working. It has sixty large steam-mills. Of the vast population, now approaching a million, not more than 13,000 are British-born. The water here is excellent, for it is brought from a lake fifteen miles north of us.

"Goa is still a Portuguese possession, nearly three hundred miles down the coast; and a year before they captured it they took possession of this island, in 1509. They held it till 1661, when it was ceded to England as a part of the dowry of the Infanta Catharine, who became queen of Charles II. That is all I need say at present."

The next morning after breakfast the carriages bespoken were at the door. The party seated themselves in the vehicles, which were English, and quite commodious, according to their own fancies; and it need only be said that the commander was in the one with Mrs. Belgrave, and Louis with Miss Blanche. The viscount directed the driver of his carriage to pass through Cruikshank Road to the Parsees' Bazaar, which is just north of the Fort. Most of the Parsees and Bhorahs who do business here reside in the same section; and there were many fine houses there, though they are abundantly able to live at Breach Candy and Malabar Hill, the abode of the elite. The vehicles stopped at an attractive point, and the party alighted. They went into several shops, and were treated with the utmost politeness and attention.

In one of them they were invited into a small rear saloon, magnificently furnished, where they were presented by Lord Tremlyn to a Parsee gentleman. He was dignity and grace united. He was dressed in white throughout, except his cap, or turban, which was of darker material. He wore trousers, with white socks and slippers. His shirt appeared to be outside of his trousers, like the Russians, with a sort of vest over it. He wore a long coat, shaped like a dressing-gown, reaching nearly to the floor.

He was kind enough to call in his wife and little daughter. Both of them had pleasing faces. The lady wore a rich dress and a magnificent shawl, with a head-dress of gold and diamonds. The little girl had on bagging trousers like the Turkish women, and a heavily embroidered tunic, and both of them wore Indian slippers, with the toes turned up.

The ladies of the party were presented to the lady. She spoke English correctly and fluently, and the interview between them was exceedingly interesting to both sides. The Americans did not meddle with forbidden topics, as they had been cautioned not to do, such as their religion and burial rites; but they could not help thinking of this elegant lady's comely form being torn to pieces by the crows and vultures in the Tower of Silence with absolute horror.

From the Bazaar the carriages proceeded through the Fort, and the public buildings were pointed out to them. At the Cotton-Green they got out; for the place was now alive with Parsees and other merchants, with plenty of coolies, some of whom were moving bales, and others sorting cotton. From this locality they rode through Colaba, and saw some native dwellings, as well as some fine European residences, with beautiful gardens around them. They alighted near the most southern point, and inspected a "bungalow," which they were politely invited to enter. It was fitted up with a view to comfort rather than elegance, and the interior appeared as though it might be delightfully cool in the heat of summer.

"What do you call that house?" asked Mrs. Belgrave, as they returned to the road, which they call them all over the city, and not streets.

"A bungalow," replied Sir Modava.

"Why do you call it so?"

"That reminds me of the German," interposed Captain Ringgold, laughing heartily. "'Do you know vot vas der reason vy ve calls our boy Hans?'"

"Well, what was the reason, Captain?" inquired the lady seriously.

"'Der reason vy ve calls our boy Hans is, dot is his name.'"

"Well, that is precisely why we call that house a bungalow," added Sir Modava. "It is the house usually occupied by Europeans here. They are one story high, with a broad veranda, like the one we have just visited. Almost always they have a pyramidal roof, generally thatched, but rarely slated or tiled. When the body is of brick or stone, they call them pucka houses. Doubtless you wished to know the origin of the word, Mrs. Belgrave."

"That was just what I wished to know."

"They were probably first called Bengalese houses, and the present name was corrupted out of the adjective."

The party collected together on the seashore, for the viscount appeared to have something to say. The captain of the Guardian-Mother called the attention of the company to the shape of the small bay before them, which looked exactly like a lobster's big claw.

"The point where we are is Cape Colaba, and the small point is Cape Malabar," said Lord Tremlyn. "I think we have seen all our time permits, and now we will drive back through the town and the Esplanade. Perhaps you have not yet heard of the Jains. They are a religious sect, and are more influential and intelligent than most of the Hindus. More than any other sect they hold the lower animals in the highest regard, amounting to a strange sort of tenderness.

"They believe that man should not injure any animal; and more than this, that human beings are bound to protect the lives and minister to the ills of all creatures, even those the most despised. When, therefore, the pious Jain comes upon a wounded creature of the lower order, he stops to attend to its needs, and even takes it into his house to be healed. To forward this charity, the wealthy of this sect have contributed money for the foundation and endowment of hospitals for the care of sick and wounded animals, and even of those permanently disabled."

"What a beautiful idea, if it is heathen!" exclaimed Mrs. Belgrave.

"We will now drive to one of these hospitals. We have to pass through the Esplanade again to reach the Black Town, as it is called, where most of the natives reside; but we will go by a different road."

In about half an hour the carriages passed through the densely populated region of the Hindus, and stopped at the hospital. The party alighted in a large court, surrounded by sheds, in which are a number of bullocks, some of them with their eyes bandaged, others lame, or otherwise in a helpless condition. They were all stretched out on clean straw. Some of the attendants were rubbing them; others were bringing food and drink to them.

Passing into a smaller court, they found it contained dogs and cats in the same unfortunate and suffering condition.

"It would be a mercy to kill them, and thus put them out of misery," said Dr. Hawkes to the native officer with him.

"Do you serve your sick and disabled in that way?" asked the official.

He could not answer this appeal for the want of time, and they passed into a place for birds. Venerable crows, vultures, buzzards, and other bipeds, most of them with their plumage gone, pass the remainder of their lives in peace in this curious retreat. At the end of the enclosure a heron proudly strutted about with a wooden leg, among lame hens and blind geese and ducks. Rats, mice, sparrows, and jackals have an asylum in the Jain hospital.

"I should like to have some of our people take a lesson from this institution," said Mrs. Woolridge as they left the place.

The carriages then conveyed them to a Hindu temple.



CHAPTER XVIII

A SNAKY SPECTACLE IN BOMBAY

On the way to the temple the carriages stopped at a horse bazaar, in which Mr. Woolridge was especially interested, for some very fine animals were to be seen, including some choice Arabians. They were looked over and admired by the party. The best of them were valued at from six hundred to twelve hundred dollars; and the cheapest were hardly less than two hundred dollars. None but the wealthiest people of the city could afford to ride after these animals.

Around these stables were numerous cafes, and a collection of people of various nationalities were gathered in front and within them. Arabs, negroes, Bedouins, and others were consuming spicy drinks; a group of Persians in picturesque costumes were regaling themselves with great dough-balls, made of flour, sugar, and milk; and dirty visitors from Cabul were feeding themselves on dates.

Still in the Black Town, the carriages stopped at the Chinese Bazaar, though the tourists did not alight. It extended to the shore of the bay, and was crowded with all sorts of people. On the quays were no end of Asiatic goods, mostly of the coarser kind,—the horns of cattle, tortoise shells, elephants' tusks, and bags of pepper, spices, and coffee.

"This looks like Constantinople," said Miss Blanche, as four big coolies, bearing a large box of goods suspended from a pole resting on their shoulders, passed them, struggling under the burden they bore.

"Oriental customs are much the same wherever you find them," replied Sir Modava.

"But if they had a hand-truck, such as they use in the stores of our country, they could do their work with far less labor," suggested Scott.

"Those coolies would not use them," added the Hindu gentleman. "I have seen them in London, and these laborers would regard them as an invention of the Evil One to lead them away from their religion."

Parsees and other merchants were circulating in the crowd, making notes of the prices; and the great variety of representatives of different countries was surprising to the visitors. Not far from this bazaar is the great mosque of the Mohammedans. After all the magnificent buildings of this kind the party had visited in Turkey, Egypt, and Algeria, it was not a great attraction. It was not to be compared with many mosques they had seen. As usual, the party were invited to remove their shoes, though the sight hardly paid for the trouble. The scene was the same as in others of the kind. A venerable Moollah was expounding the Koran to a group of true believers.

His audience were all seated on the pavement, and they seemed to be giving excellent attention to the discourse. Sir Modava explained that the Mohammedans of Bombay were more orthodox, or strict, in the observance of the requirements of their religion than in Bengal; for a considerable proportion are direct descendants from the original stock who had emigrated to India from Persia. They are bitterly opposed to the Hindus, and a serious riot had occurred not long before.

There are many Hindu temples in Bombay, though not many of them are accessible to strangers; but the party drove to one in the Black Town. It had a low dome and a pyramidal spire. Both of them were of the Indian style of architecture, very elaborate in ornamentation. It looked like a huge mass of filigree work.

The visitors next found themselves at Girgaum, which is a forest of cocoanut-trees extending from the Bazaars to Chowpatti, at the head of the Back Bay. Among the trees, as the carriages proceeded along the Queen's Road, they found a great number of Hindu huts, half hidden in the dense foliage. They paused to look at one of them.

The walls were of bamboo and other tropical woods, and the roof was thatched with cocoanut leaves, which required poles to keep them in place. It had several doors, and cross-latticed windows. There was no particular shape to the structure, and certainly nothing of neatness or comeliness about it. A large banana tree grew near it; a woman stood at one of the doors, staring with wonder at the strangers, and a couple of half-naked coolies were at work farther away. The morality of the residents of this section could not be commended.

"In the evening this grove is lighted up with colored lamps," said the viscount. "Taverns and small cafes are in full blast, the sounds of music are heard, and a grand revel is in progress. Europeans, Malays, Arabs, Chinese, and Hindus frequent the grove. Far into the night this debauchery continues, and I trust the authorities will soon clean it out."

The carriages continued on their way to Malabar Hill, and made a thorough survey of the locality. At the southerly point they came to the village of Walkeshwar, whose pagoda-like towers they had seen from the ship, filled with residences, though not of the magnates of the city. Most of the buildings here were very plain. The hill is not a high one, but along its sides the elaborate bungalows of the merchants and others were erected, all of them with fine gardens surrounding them.

Breach Candy, on the seashore, in front of Cumballa Hill, is the most aristocratic neighborhood, and contains the finest mansions. Tramways, which is the English name for horse-cars, extend to this locality, as well as to most other important parts of the city; and there is a station on the steam railroad near it, though most of the wealthy residents ride back and forth in their own carriages.

The Tower of Silence, in which the Parsees expose their dead to be devoured by birds of prey, was pointed out to them. No one but the priests are allowed to enter it; and the relatives leave the body at the door, from which they take it into the building. It is placed between two grates, which allow the vultures to tear off the flesh, but not to carry off the limbs. It made the Americans shudder when their guides told them about it more in detail than when it was described in the lecture.

Passing by the cemeteries of the English and the Mussulmans on their return to the city, they halted at the Hindu Burning-Ground, on the shore of the Back Bay. Here the natives are burned to ashes. For some distance they had noticed funeral processions on their way to this place. The remains are borne on open litters. A granite platform is the base of the funeral pyre, and the bodies wait their turn to be reduced to ashes; and the cremation is far more repulsive than that in our own country.

Dealers in wood for the combustion sell the article to the relatives. Some of them are cutting up fuel and arranging the pyre, while others seated on the walls play a lugubrious strain on the native instruments. The disposal of the body of an old man was in process while the tourists looked on; and the corpse was placed on the pile, the friends covering it with bits of wood till it was no longer in sight.

Then the eldest son came to the scene, howling his grief and beating his breast. Grasping a torch prepared for him, he set fire to the corners of the pile that covered the remains. The flames rose high in the air, and the attendants fed the fire by throwing on oil. Soon the body reappears, a blazing mass, which is soon reduced to ashes. Water is then thrown on the pyre, and a portion of the ashes cast into the sea.

There is nothing very repulsive in the rite of burning the dead; though the visitors had some difficulty in keeping out of the reach of the foul smoke, which brought with it a disagreeable odor. The carriages continued on their way to the city; and when they entered a street, Lord Tremlyn called the attention of those with him to a couple of native women who had stopped to look at them, for the party excited no little curiosity wherever they went. It had become known by this time that a dozen American ladies and gentlemen were circulating through the place, engaged in sight-seeing.

They had comely features of a brownish hue, and were dressed in the loose robes of the country, reaching to the ground; one of the garments extended to cover the head, though not the face. Both of them wore heavy gold bangles on their arms, but both were barefoot.

"They are not Mohammedans," suggested Mrs. Woolridge.

"They may be for aught I know," replied his lordship. "The women of this sect here do not veil their faces as a rule."

"They are quite good-looking," added the New York magnate. "What caste or class do they belong to?"

"I should say they were in the Vaisya caste, agriculture and trade. They are well dressed, and therefore not Sudra. Probably they are the wife and daughter of a shopkeeper.

"What is this crowd in the square?" asked Morris, who had been looking about him.

"We will drive over there and see," replied the viscount as he directed the coachman.

"Festival of Serpents," said the driver through the window.

"You have an opportunity to see one of the sights of Bombay; but we shall be obliged to leave the carriages, for it is a great performance, and there will be a large crowd." They alighted at a convenient place, and moved towards the square. The ladies were in doubt as to whether or not they cared to see such an exhibition; but the three gentlemen who were accustomed to them declared that there was no danger.

"This affair is in the nature of a religious festival," said Sir Modava. "There are scores of snakes brought before you; but they have had their poison fangs extracted, and they could not harm you much more than a playful kitten. This is a day appointed to make prayers and offerings to the snakes, in order to conciliate them and to insure immunity from their bites. Though these occasions occur all over India, I don't believe there is a single bite the less for them."

"It is the anniversary of the killing of the great serpent Bindrabund, which was creating terrible havoc on the shores of the river Jumna, an event in Hindu mythology, which is as true as any mythology," added Lord Tremlyn. "You observe that it calls together a great crowd of people of all classes, and you see fat Brahmin ladies here in palanquins, very richly dressed, and looking as sweet as sugar. You notice the rich standards and the torches, the trumpeters, and the girls playing on tom-toms and cymbals. But we must get nearer to the centre of the show."

"Not too near," pleaded Mrs. Woolridge.

The crowd opened for the sahibs and the ladies, treating them with the utmost deference, as though they were superior beings; and they obtained a position where they could see the entire performance. A group of sapwallahs, or serpent-charmers, each bearing a basket about fifteen inches in diameter at the bottom, but not more than ten at the top, each containing several cobras, marched into the centre of the crowd. Pious Hindus brought forward bowls of the milk of buffaloes, of which the serpents are very fond, and placed them on the ground. The snakes were released from their confinement, and they made for the bowls of milk without any delay.

Some of the tourists had never seen a cobra, though they are found in Egypt. The ladies shrank back when they appeared, and some of them shuddered at the sight of the reptiles. The body was somewhat enlarged near the head, and the spectacles could be distinctly seen in this part. The instruments played, the standards and the torches were waved; but the snakes continued their milk feast undisturbed.

The principal sapwallah had a wand in his hand, which he flourished while he repeated a volume of gibberish which none of the party but Sir Modava could understand. When Mrs. Belgrave asked what he said; he replied that he was uttering invocations to the serpents, and entreating the whole tribe of snakes not to bite the people.

One of the sapwallahs, who wore nothing but a turban on his head and a fringed cloth about his loins, went to one of the bowls from which half a dozen cobras were feeding, and taking hold of one of them, pulled him away from the milk. The serpent thus treated was furious with anger, and instantly opened out his hood, showing the spectacles in full. Another cobra was put in his place at the bowl, and his persecutor sat down on the ground with him, fooling with him as though he had been a kitten or a pet dog.

In turn the snakes remaining in the baskets were released, and allowed to feast on the milk as others were removed. There was a great crowd of sapwallahs in charge of them, and none of them were permitted to escape. The reptiles showed their temper as they were taken from the milk by spreading their hoods; but they were so skilfully manipulated that they had no chance to bite.

"I think I have had enough of this thing," said Mr. Woolridge, with a look of disgust on his face. "There is no fun at all in it, and I should like to make them a target for my revolver."

"It is about time for tiffin, and we had better return to the hotel," added Lord Tremlyn. "I shall keep you busy this afternoon; and while you are resting you shall take in a Nautch dance, which is one of the institutions of this country. After that we shall go to the island of Elephanta."

The live boys of the party were rather pleased with the spectacle, though they had had enough of it; while the ladies, whose flesh had been "crawling" at the uncanny sight, were glad to escape. They all reached the hotel, and were hungry enough after the long jaunt of the forenoon to appreciate the "tiffin."



CHAPTER XIX

THE CAVES OF ELEPHANTA

The influence of Lord Tremlyn and Sir Modava was enough to procure anything in Bombay, and an apartment that served as a special banquet hall had been prepared at their command, and their guests were introduced to it immediately after tiffin. As the viscount had suggested, they were considerably fatigued after the long jaunt of the forenoon, though they were refreshed by the luncheon they had taken. The hall was furnished with sofas and easy-chairs for the occasion, and they were made very comfortable.

The performers were seated on the floor of the room when the company took their places. A man with a slouched turban and something like a sheet wound around his body, reaching nearly to his ankles, the only clothing he wore, entered the hall. At the entrance of the party the girls rose from the floor and saluted them deferentially.

There were six of them, very modestly dressed, only their arms and feet being bare. Their black hair was parted in the middle, and combed back behind the ears, after the fashion of many years ago in the United States. They all wore ornaments in their ears, and around their ankles. The material of their dresses was various, some of it quite rich, with pearls and gold in places. They looked quite serious, as though they were about to engage in a religious ceremony, though it had no such connection. Some of them were decidedly pretty, though their style of beauty was not entirely to the taste of the Americans. They had black eyes, and they looked the visitors full in the face, and with entire self-possession.

"Now what are these girls, Sir Modava?" asked Mrs. Belgrave.

"They are professional dancers, and that is their sole occupation," replied he. "They are engaged by rich people when they give parties, and for weddings and other festive occasions."

"Is that man the only musician?"

"He is the only one for this entertainment, and he plays the tom-tom with his fingers. I am afraid you do not appreciate our native music, and we did not engage any more of it. They are about to begin."

The musician beat the tom-tom, and the girls rose from the floor, shook out their dresses as any lady would, and then it appeared that the ornaments on their ankles were bells, which rattled as though it were sleighing-time as they moved about. They formed in a semicircle before the audience; one of them stepped forward, and turned herself around very slowly and gracefully, with a quivering of the body, like the gypsy girls of Spain, which caused her bells to jingle.

With eyes half-closed, and with a languishing expression on her dusky face, she made a variety of gestures, posturing frequently as she continued to turn. When this one seemed to have exhausted her material, another advanced to the front, and proceeded to exhibit her variety of gestures and postures, which were but slightly different from those of the first one, though she went through the movements of a snake-charmer. In like manner all the performers went through their several parts, imitating various musicians on different native instruments.

Two of them went through a very lively performance, leaping and whirling very rapidly. The exhibition concluded with a round dance, which was thought to be very pretty, perhaps because it was exceedingly lively. Mrs. Belgrave and Mrs. Blossom had never been to a theatre in their lives, never saw a ballet, and were not capable of appreciating the posturing, though the animated dance pleased them. The Nautch girls retired, and the "Nautch," as such an occasion is called, was ended.

"Perhaps you have seen snakes enough for one day," said Lord Tremlyn; "but I thought you ought to see the performance of the snake-charmers. We will have it here instead of in the open street; and it is quite different from the show you witnessed this forenoon."

As he spoke the door opened, and a couple of old and rather snaky-looking Hindus, folded up in a profusion of cloths, rather than garments, entered the apartment. Sir Modava conducted them to a proper distance from the audience, who could not help distrusting the good intentions of the vicious-looking reptiles. Each of them carried such a basket as the party had seen in the square. The men seemed to be at least first cousins to the serpents the baskets contained, for their expression was subtle enough to stamp them as belonging to the same family.

The performers squatted on the floor, and each placed a basket before him, removing the cover; but the serpents did not come out. The charmers then produced a couple of instruments which Sir Modava called lutes, looking more like a dried-up summer crookneck squash, with a mouthpiece, and a tube with keys below the bulb. Adjusting it to their lips, they began to play; and the music was not bad, and it appeared to be capable of charming the cobras, for they raised their heads out of the baskets.

The melody produced a strange effect upon the reptiles, for they began to wriggle and twist as they uncoiled themselves. They hissed and outspread their hoods, and instead of being charmed by the music, it seemed as though their wrath had been excited. They made an occasional dart at the human performers, who dodged them as though they had been in their native jungles, with their business fangs in order for deadly work. But the Hindu gentleman explained that they could bite, though they could not kill, after their poison fangs had been removed.

Then one of the performers stood up, and seizing his snake by the neck, he swung him three times around his head, and dropped him on the floor. There he lay extended at his full length, as stiff as though he had taken a dose of his own poison.

"I have killed my serpent!" exclaimed the Hindu with a groan. "But I can make him into a useful cane."

Sir Modava interpreted his remarks, and the fellow picked up his snake, and walked before the audience, using it as a staff, and pretending to support himself upon it. Then he held out the reptile to the visitors, and offered to sell his cane; but they recoiled, and the ladies were on the point of rushing from the room when Sir Modava ordered him off. He retreated a proper distance, and then thrust the head of the creature beneath his turban, and continued to crowd him into it till nothing but his tail was in sight. Then he took off his head covering, and showed the reptile coiled up within it.

Lord Tremlyn looked at his watch, and then carried a piece of money to the chief charmer, which he received with many salaams, in which his companion joined him, for the fee was a very large one. He suggested that the party had had enough of this performance, to which all the ladies, with Mr. Woolridge, heartily agreed. The carriages were at the door of the hotel, and the company were hurriedly driven to the Apollo Bunder, where they found a steam-launch in waiting for them. Lord Tremlyn had arranged the excursions so that everything proceeded like clockwork, and Captain Ringgold wondered what he should have done without his assistance.

The island of Elephanta was about five miles distant, and in half an hour the party landed. Upon it were a couple of hills, and it was entirely covered with woods. One of the first things to attract the attention was a singular tree, which seemed to be a family of a hundred of them; for the branches reached down to the ground, and took root there, though the lower ends were spread out in numerous fibres, leaving most of the roots above the soil.

"This is a banyan-tree," said Sir Modava. "It is a sort of fig-tree, and you see that the leaves are shaped like a heart. It bears a fruit of a rich scarlet color, which grows in couples from the stems of the leaves. They are really figs, and they are an important article of food. In time the trunk of the tree decays and disappears, and temples are made of the thick branches. Some of these trees have three thousand stems rooted in the ground, many of them as big as oaks: and these make a complete forest of themselves. One of them is said to have sheltered seven thousand people; but I never saw one as big as that."

The party proceeded towards the caves, but had not gone far before they were arrested by the screams of some of the ladies, who were wandering in search of flowers. Louis Belgrave was with his mother and Miss Blanche. Sir Modava, who was telling the rest of the company something more about the banyan-tree, rushed to the spot from which the alarm came. There he found Louis with his revolver in readiness to fire.

"Snakes!" screamed Mrs. Belgrave.

In front of them, asleep on a rock, were two large snakes. The Hindu gentleman halted at the side of the lady, and burst out into a loud laugh.

"The snakes of India seem to be determined that you shall see them," said he. "But you need not fire, Mr. Belgrave; for those snakes are as harmless as barnyard fowls, and they don't know enough to bite."

"I see that they are not cobras," added Louis, as he returned the revolver to his pocket. "But what are they?"

"Those are rock snakes."

"But I don't like the looks of them," said Mrs. Belgrave, as she continued her retreat towards the path.

"I think they are horrid," added Miss Blanche.

"But they do no harm, and very likely they do some good in the world," said Sir Modava; "but there are snakes enough that ought to be killed without meddling with them."

"You see that rock," said the viscount; "and it is a very large one. Can you make anything of its shape? I suppose not; nobody can. But that rock gave a name to this island, applied by the Portuguese two or three hundred years ago. It is said to have been in the form of an elephant. If it ever had that shape it has lost it."



After penetrating a dense thicket, the tourists discovered a comely flight of stairs, cut out of the solid rock of which the hill is composed, extending to a considerable distance, and finally leading into the great pillared chamber forming a Hindu temple, though a level space planted with trees must first be crossed.

They entered the cave. On the left were two full columns, not yet crumbled away as others were, which gave the observers a complete view of what a vast number of others there were. Next beyond them were three pilasters clinging to the ceiling. This part of the cavern was in the light from the entrance; but farther along, considerably obscured in the darkness of the subterranean temple, were scores, and perhaps hundreds, of others. The pillars were not the graceful forms of modern times, and many of them had lost all shape.

This temple is said to have been excavated in the ninth century. The walls are covered with gigantic figures in relief. The temple is in the form of a cross, the main hall being a hundred and forty-four feet in depth. The ceiling is supported by twenty-six columns and eighteen pilasters, sixteen to eighteen feet high. They look clumsy, but they have to bear up the enormous weight of the hill of rock, and many of them have crumbled away.

At the end of the colonnade is a gigantic bust, representing a Hindu divinity with three heads. Some say that this is Brahma, as the three symbols of the creator, preserver, and destroyer, forming what is sometimes named the Hindu trinity. But the best informed claim that the figure represents Siva, the destroyer of the triad of gods. All the reliefs on the walls relate to the worship of this divinity, while there is not a known temple to Brahma.

The principal piece of sculpture is the marriage of Siva to the goddess Parvati; and it is identified as such, wholly or in part, because the woman stands on the right of the man, as no female is permitted to do except at the marriage ceremony. The party wandered through the caverns for two hours, and Sayad and Moro, the only servants brought with them, kindled fires in the darker places, to enable them to see the sculpture. Sir Modava explained what needed explanation. He conducted them to an opening, lighted by a hole in the hill, where they found a staircase guarded by two lions, leading into what is called the Lions' Cave.

The tourists at the end of the two hours were willing to vote that they had seen enough of the caverns, and they returned to the hotel in season for dinner. On his arrival Lord Tremlyn found a letter at the office. On opening it, the missive proved to be an invitation for that evening to a wedding for the whole party. They considered it for some time, and as it afforded them an opportunity to see something of native life it was decided to accept it.



CHAPTER XX

A JUVENILE WEDDING AND HINDU THEATRICALS

The note to Lord Tremlyn enclosed sixteen cards printed in gold letters, one for each member of the company, and they were passed around to them. They were to the effect that Perbut Lalleejee would celebrate the marriage of his son that evening, and the favor of the recipient's attendance was requested to a Grand Nautch at nine o'clock. The gentleman who sent out these cards was one of the wealthiest of the Parsee community, with whom the viscount was intimately acquainted, and he strongly recommended the Americans to attend.

The Parsees kept their religious affairs to themselves, and the party were not to "assist" at the ceremony, which would have been an extra inducement to attend. Promptly at the hour named the carriages set the tourists and their volunteer guides down at the magnificent mansion of the father of the young man who was to enter the marriage state that evening.

The street in the vicinity of the house was brilliantly illuminated, and it was covered over with an awning, from which no end of ornamental lamps were suspended. Behind a mass of flowers—cartloads of them—a foreign orchestra was placed. As the carriages stopped at the door, the band began a military march, whose inspiring strains seemed to give an additional lustre to the elaborate decorations. It was easy for the guests to believe that they had been introduced into the midst of a fairy scene. Sahib Perbut appeared at the door as soon as the vehicles stopped, and took his lordship by the hand, and each of the guests were presented to him as they alighted. The host was not an old man, as the strangers expected to find him, since he had a son who was old enough to get married.

He was very richly dressed, and he was a gentleman of unbounded suavity. Taking Mrs. Belgrave by the hand, he conducted her into the house, the rest of the party forming a procession behind them. The Americans had been obliged to make a trip to the Guardian-Mother, to obtain garments suitable for such a "swell" occasion, and they were all dressed in their Sunday clothes.

If the exterior of the splendid mansion had challenged the admiration of the guests, the interior presented a scene of Oriental magnificence which might have astonished even the Count of Monte Cristo. The party were conducted to the grand and lofty apartment where the Nautch was to be given. Immense mirrors reflected the brilliancy of a thousand lights; the floor was covered with the richest of carpets, the luxurious divans and sofas were overspread with the cloths of Cashmere; the elaborate richness of the costumes of the Oriental guests, and the army of servants manipulating punkas, or fans, formed a scene not unlike, while it out-rivalled, the grand denoument of a fairy spectacle on the stage.

The procession of foreign guests were all seated in the most conspicuous divans; for if Lord Tremlyn had been the Prince of Wales, he and his friends could hardly have been treated with greater distinction, as he was the unofficial representative of the predominating influence in the affairs of India near the throne of the United Kingdom and the Empire. The party were immediately beset with servants offering them fruit and sherbets, and they were sprinkled with rose-water from silver flagons.

The Nautch girls were not the same the tourists had seen earlier in the day. There were more of them, and they were of a finer grain; in fact, the gentlemen, who were judges, declared that most of them were really pretty. They were seated on the floor in native fashion. They had great black eyes; their complexion was only the least tawny, and was paler than it would have been if they had lived on a more invigorating diet than rice and fruits.

There were half a dozen musicians, who played upon tom-toms, instruments like a fiddle, and one that was very nearly a hurdy-gurdy, with lutes and flutes. They gave the preliminary strains, and the dancers formed the semicircle. The performance was similar to that the party had seen at the hotel, though it was more finished, and the attitudes and posturing appeared to belong to a higher school of art than the other. But the whole was so nearly like what the strangers had seen before, that they were not absorbed by it, and gave more attention to the people attending the feast; for they were an exceedingly interesting study to them.

After the performance had continued about a quarter of an hour there was a pause, and the dancers retreated to a corner of the room, seating themselves again on the floor. At this moment Sahib Perbut came into the grand saloon leading a boy, who did not appear to be more than ten years old, by the hand. He was dressed in the most richly ornamented garments, and he was an exceedingly pretty little fellow. He was conducted to the viscount.

"Will your Lordship permit me to present to you and your friends my son Dinshaw, in whose honor I am making this feast? This is Lord Tremlyn, my son," said the father, who was evidently very proud of the boy.

"Sahib Dinshaw, I am very happy to make your acquaintance," replied his lordship, as he rose and took the hand of the young gentleman, whom he introduced to every member of his party.

They all followed the example of the viscount, and addressed him as "Sahib Dinshaw," the title being equivalent to "Lord," or "Master," applied by the natives to their employers, and to the English generally. All of them gazed at him with intense interest, not unmingled with admiration. The hero of the occasion spoke English as fluently as his father.

"How old are you, Sahib Dinshaw?" asked Mrs. Belgrave, who was strongly tempted to kiss the little fellow; but she was afraid it would not be in order, and she refrained.

"I am ten years old, madam," replied Dinshaw, with the sweetest of smiles.

"And you have been married this evening, sahib?" continued the lady.

"I should not ask him any questions in that direction," interposed Sir Modava, afraid she would meddle with an interdicted subject; and the young gentleman's father seemed to have a similar fear, for he gently led him away.

He was introduced to the members of the "Big Four," who could hardly keep their faces at the proper length after hearing what passed between the youthful sahib and Mrs. Belgrave, at the idea of a ten-year-old bridegroom.

"Is it possible that this little fellow is married, Sir Modava?" exclaimed the principal lady from Von Blonk Park.

"There can be no doubt of it," replied the Hindu gentleman. "But it is hardly in the same sense that marriage takes place in England and America. The bride will be received into this Parsee family, and the groom will remain here; but everything in the domestic circle will continue very nearly as it was before, and husband and wife will pursue their studies."

"It looks very strange to us," added the lady.

"It is the custom of the country. The British government does not interfere unnecessarily with matters interwoven into the religion and habits of the people, though it has greatly modified the manners of the natives, and abolished some barbarous customs. The 'suttee,' as the English called the Sanscrit word sati meaning 'a virtuous wife,' was a Hindu institution which required that a faithful wife should burn herself on the funeral pyre with the body of her deceased husband; or if he died at a distance from his home, that she should sacrifice herself on one of her own."

"How horrible! I have read of it, but hardly believed it," added the lady; and others who were listening expressed the same feeling.

"It was a custom in India before the time of Christ. Some of your American Indians bury the weapons of the dead chief, food, and other articles with him, as has been the custom of other nations, in the belief that they will need these provisions in the 'happy hunting-ground.' The Hindus believed that the dead husband would need his wife on the other shore; and this is the meaning of the custom."

"It is not wholly a senseless custom," said Mrs. Woolridge, "barbarous as it seems."

"In 1828, or a little later, Lord William Cavendish, then Governor-General of Bengal, determined to abolish the custom, though he encountered the fiercest opposition from the natives, and even from many Europeans, who dreaded the effect of his action. He carried a law through the council, making it punishable homicide, or manslaughter, to burn a widow. In 1823 there were five hundred and seventy-five of them burned in the Bengal Presidency; but after the enactment of the law, the number began to decrease. The treaties with the Indian princes contained a clause forbidding it. The custom is really discontinued, though an occasional instance of it comes to light."

The dancing had been renewed, and this conversation continued till later. At this wedding Lord Tremlyn met a gentleman whom he introduced to some of his party as Sahib Govind. This gentleman had just invited him to visit a theatrical performance at a private house, such as a European can very rarely witness.

"I never went to a theatre in my life!" protested Mrs. Belgrave.

"But this is a representation in connection with the religious traditions of the Hindus," argued his lordship.

It was decided to go, the scruples of the Methodists being overcome by the fact that it was a religious occasion, and not at all like the stage performances of New York. The carriages conveyed them to the house indicated by Sahib Govind, and they were conducted to a hall, at one end of which was a stage, with a thin calico curtain in front of it. The performance was just beginning.

A Brahmin came out in front of the curtain, with some musicians, and set up an image of Ganesa, the god of wisdom; then he prayed this idol to enlighten the minds of the actors, and enable them to perform their parts well, which was certainly very untheatrical, the Americans thought, when Sir Modava had translated the substance of the invocation. The Brahmin then announced that the subject of the play was the loves of the god Krishna.

"Who is the hero of the piece, Sir Modava?" asked Mr. Woolridge, who was a theatre-goer at home.

"He is really Vishnu, one of the Hindu trinity, known as the preserver. Vishnu has a considerable number of forms, or incarnations, one of which is Krishna, the most human of them all."

The curtain rose, and cut short the explanation. The scene, painted on canvas, was an Indian temple. A figure with an enormous wig, his half-naked body daubed all over with yellow paint, was seated before it, abstracted in the deepest meditation. The interpreter told them it was Rishi, a supernatural power, a genius who is a protector to those who need his services. Then a crowd of gods and goddesses rushed on the stage, and each of them made a long speech to the devotee-god, which Sir Modava had not time to render into English, even with the aid of Sahib Govind.

The actors were fantastically dressed. One had an elephant's head, and all of them wore high gilt mitres. Krishna enters, and the other divinities make their exit. He is a nice-looking young man, painted blue, and dressed like a king. His wife enters, and throws herself at his feet. Then she reproaches him for forsaking her, in a soft and musical voice, her eyes raining tears all the time. She embraces his knees.

Then appears the rival in her affections with Krishna, Rukmini, an imperious woman, and tells by what artifices she has conquered the weak husband. Then follows a spirited dialogue between the two women. The rival boasts of her descent from Vishnu, and of her beauty and animation, and reproaches Krishna with his unworthy love. Sir Modava wrote this down in his memorandum book, and handed it to the Americans.

Satyavama, the wife, insists that her only crime was her love for her divine husband. She narrates her early history, when she was a peasant girl on the banks of the Jumna, with her companions, and drew upon herself the attention of the god. Her life had been simple, and she had always been a faithful wife. Yet Rukmini triumphs over her. Her pride is aroused; she rushes off, and returns with her little son.

"Kill us both, since we cannot live without your love!" the interpreters rendered her piteous cry. The rival ridicules her, and, urged on by her, Krishna hands her a cup of poison, which she drinks, and sinks to the ground.

"It is not the poison that rends me; it is that my heart is broken by the ingratitude of one I have so dearly loved." She forgives him, and dies.

But not thus does the Indian love-story end; for the genie enters, and in thundering tones calls Krishna to an account for his deeds. The festive god is tortured with remorse, but has no excuse to offer. He drives Rukmini from him, and implores the yellow-painted god for forgiveness; and, as he is the preserver, it is granted. Satyavama is brought back to life. She presents her son to her husband, who holds out his arms to embrace him; and the curtain drops in a blaze of Bengal lights, and the "Wah! Wahs!" of the Hindu audience.