[Sidenote: PLEASANT TOURING.]

When the weather is fine, the roads good, the horses and bullocks strong and manageable, and the attendants efficient, touring in the North-West in the cold weather is very pleasant. If travelling be prosecuted from day to day, the custom is to rise very early in the morning at the earliest dawn, or before dawn, when the morning-star appears, and to rouse the camp. This was my part when travelling with my household. The watchman wakened me, and I wakened all around. We got quickly ready, and set out on our journey of twelve or fourteen miles. The mornings were not only cool, but often sharply cold. On arriving at the end of our stage, it might be as early as eight or half-past eight o'clock, we should find, and often did find, the tent pitched, which had been sent on over-night, the table spread commonly under a shady tree, the water boiling, food prepared; and then with a keen appetite we sat down to breakfast. When the afternoon was a little advanced, the cart arrived with the tent and other things left behind, and was soon pitched for our night occupancy. Towards evening the day-tent was taken down, and was sent on over-night with everything requisite for the next day. When all the circumstances were favourable, everything went on with an ease and regularity which made us feel at home while away from home, and gave us at the same time the constant variety of new scenes.

The circumstances were not, however, always favourable. They were sometimes the reverse. The new horse was unmanageable, the bullocks were weak and could not draw the carts, the servants were remiss or incapable, the roads were in some places shockingly bad, we were left for hours without tent and food, and, as I have said, the weather now and then was wet and stormy. We had sometimes an amount of trouble which made us half regret we had left home. Ladies are generally very patient in such circumstances, but children are sorely tried. The difficulties we encountered in some of our early journeys were such that we now wonder how we got out of them, and succeeded in getting on at all. The touring in favourable circumstances, which I have described, is not however a mere ideal. Happily it was often with us a reality. On setting out things required to be adjusted. Time was required for getting things into their places, and for each person learning to do the work assigned him. When once we got into travelling trim, and our people were what they ought to be, things went on with the regularity of clockwork.

I have mentioned our long tours in 1842 and 1847. On these journeys we had a good deal of pleasant smooth travelling, and we also encountered some of the difficulties of which I have spoken. The Trunk Road from Allahabad to the North-West was in excellent condition in 1842-43; but from Benares to Allahabad it had been allowed to get out of repair, and the roads diverging from the Trunk Road on one side to Futtygurh and on the other side to Agra we found very bad. The story of our difficulties is well remembered by us, but it must be given very concisely. At one place a wheel of our conveyance broke in the middle of a stage, and after some delay we succeeded in getting an Ekka, a small native conveyance drawn by a pony, on the narrow platform of which the members of our party who could not walk were squatted as they best could; while the rest of us walked. We sent on word of our trouble to our missionary friends at Futtygurh, who kindly arranged to get us on to their hospitable abode, and to get our conveyance repaired. Three days after leaving Futtygurh our best horse died, from sheer fatigue in drawing our conveyance through the sand. This threw us on having it drawn by bullocks at the rate of a mile and a half, or at the utmost two miles, an hour, over a very bad road, which jolted us frightfully.

[Sidenote: WALLED VILLAGES.]

As we travelled we saw many things which drew our attention and excited our interest. Most of the villages along our route were surrounded by high mud walls, and had only one entrance by a great strong gate, which was shut at night, reminding us of the insecurity from which this part of India had emerged when it came under British rule within the memory of men then living. Villages thus fortified, if sufficient watch was kept, were quite secure against the sudden raids of Mahratta horsemen, or the attacks of robbers, to whose unwelcome visits they were always exposed. The former state of insecurity was also suggested by the number we met armed to the teeth, by shield on the breast, sword at the side, and matchlock on the shoulder. The insecurity had to a great extent come to an end, but the habit of going armed continued.

Along the road at convenient distances there were Suras for the convenience of travellers, which people in England, when speaking of Eastern lands, call Caravanserais. These are generally open spaces, surrounded by mud walls, with sheds at their sides for people who are willing to pay a very trifling sum for the luxury of sleeping under cover, and, if they like, for having their horses near them. Carts and oxen are always in the open. Sellers of grain and wood are always there with everything native travellers require. If a bedstead—a low four-footed article with rope for its bottom and mattress—be preferred to the bare ground, it can commonly be procured for three-halfpence for the night. When in the evening we were near these places we went to them, and saw the poor weary travellers setting to the preparation of their simple meal—with most the only cooked meal of the day—with apparently as great contentedness as we have when after a fatiguing day we reach an hotel, and, having given our orders, know that speedily we shall sit down to an ample repast. Many of these Suras have been built at the expense of well-to-do natives impelled by different motives, for love of name—nam ke liye, as the natives say, a motive for which their countrymen continually give them credit—for the acquisition of religious merit, and from benevolent feeling. These places are called Dhurmsalas, places erected by righteous, good men.

[Sidenote: "WELLS OF SALVATION."]

On this our first long journey in the country, we were impressed by the amount of traffic we saw on the road; and this impression was deepened on future occasions. We seldom travelled a few miles without seeing carts drawn by bullocks and laden with goods. We saw rows of camels, walking in single file, each attached to the one before and the one behind by a string. These belonged chiefly, though not exclusively, to Afghans, and were laden to a large extent with the products of their country. Every now and then we came across elephants, sometimes with a stack of tender branches on their back, which form a large part of their food, and at other times with persons seated sometimes on a howdah, sometimes on a pad. There were many foot-passengers, not a few with heavy loads on their heads. When these came in sight of a well, how quickly did they step up to it, throw off their burden, drop into it their brass vessel attached to a string, draw it up, and take a long, deep draught of the precious water! As I have observed them I have thought of the words, "With joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation." To these poor toiling people the wells did appear wells of salvation. On some days we met bands of persons—chiefly men, with a woman here and there among them—with bamboo rods across their shoulders with a basket at each end, their travelling gear in and on one basket, and a vessel with Ganges water in the other. Thousands of these pilgrims travel every year over Northern India, going from one shrine to another, and pouring on certain images the water of the sacred river.

In our journeyings we had a singular immunity from thieves, a greater immunity than we had in our house at Benares, which was several times visited by these unwelcome intruders, though we always kept a watchman. All over the North-West, I suppose all over India, thieves abound. Whole tribes have for generations followed theft as a profession, and have betaken themselves to honest work only when compelled by finding their occupation perilous. They have had as their associates the idle and dissolute of other castes. Tents, as I have observed, are commonly pitched in shady groves, and in consequence admit of being approached unobserved, and a sharp knife in a skilful hand can easily secure an entrance on any side. Travellers have piquant stories to tell of the cleverness and impudence with which their property has been taken away. A missionary friend of ours awoke one morning to find that during the night everything in his tent had disappeared on which thieves could lay their hand. We had a large experience of tent life, but we have happily no story to tell about any similar loss. I do not remember our having had even a night alarm, though I well remember the difficulty we often had in preventing our guardians from sending forth unearthly cries, which made sleep impossible. My habit was, wherever we halted, to make my way to the headman of the adjoining village or town, and to place our encampment under his care. We were generally told there were thieves in the neighbourhood; we were sometimes told they were numerous and daring. We always stated our readiness to pay for watchmen, and we told the headman that if he did not send trustworthy men we should hold him responsible. We thus paid a sort of black-mail, but we thought the small sum paid well expended as insurance for the safety of our property. Some travellers take watchmen with them. This we never did, as we thought ourselves safer in the hands of men on the spot. Many a time as we lay down in our tent did we think how strange it was that, far away from our European brethren, in a strange land among a strange people, we could compose ourselves to sleep with as little fear, and with as strong a feeling of security, as if within locks and bars in our own country. We thought, with thankfulness, that we were under the aegis of our own government, even when we were in places where Englishmen were seldom seen, but where, notwithstanding, our prestige was fully recognized.

At all the places through which we passed on our first long tour, Allahabad, Cawnpore, Futtygurh, Mynpoorie, and Agra, we were treated with the utmost kindness by the American and English missionaries, and by other Christian brethren, some of whom have been life-long friends ever since.

[Sidenote: THE BUILDINGS OF AGRA.]

We were interested in all the places we saw on this tour; but Agra—Akbarabad, as natives always call it, the capital of Akbar, the most remarkable emperor who ever ruled over India—had for us, as for all who have visited it, peculiar attractions. When at some distance from the city we saw glistening in the sun the lofty dome and the still loftier four minarets or towers of the Taj Muhal, that wondrous mausoleum of the purest marble, built by the Emperor Shah Jehan for a favourite queen. On our arrival we lost no time in going to it. On subsequent visits to Agra we renewed our acquaintance with it, and on every new occasion its exquisite beauty and lofty grandeur enhanced our admiration. We also saw the Motee Musjid, the Pearl Mosque as it is called, built of marble, and called the Pearl Mosque, as I suppose, on account of its beauty and symmetry; the grand tomb of Akbar at Secundra, six miles from Agra; and other objects of interest. I am not to attempt a description of these world-famed buildings of Agra. They have been often described, and by none perhaps better than by Bishop Heber in his journal, which is now little read, but which gives a more graphic and accurate account of the parts of India he visited in 1825 than any I have seen elsewhere. Of the Taj and other grand structures of the Muhammadan emperors, he says they look as if "built by a giant and furnished by a jeweller."

While deeply interested in much we saw in this tour of 1842-43, on it, as well as on all subsequent tours, our great evangelistic object was kept steadily in view. On this occasion I was accompanied by a catechist. In the early afternoon, when we might hope to meet people released from the work of the day, we repaired to the neighbouring village. Often we found a large tree at the entrance to the village, with a stone seat close to its trunk, and on it we sat down. If there was no such seat a small native bedstead was often brought—such a thing as a chair was unknown—and we were asked to sit, while the people politely stood, till at our request they sat, which they can well do on their haunches. We entered into conversation with those who gathered around us. We asked if there was any pundit, any learned man in the village; and if there was we were happy to see him come, as we knew the people would look on us with less suspicion if he was present. In many places they were so unaccustomed to the sight of Europeans that they looked on us with a mingled feeling of curiosity and fear. We tried to put them at ease by speaking about something in which we knew they were deeply interested, such as their fields and crops, and as soon as we well could we made our way to the subject of religion. We read those passages from our Scriptures which we thought most fitted to arrest their attention. We aimed at setting forth the great facts and truths of revelation with all the simplicity, conciseness, and earnestness we could command. We repeated what was not understood, or was misunderstood, and endeavoured to make it plain by familiar illustrations.

We met with varied reception. In some places the people were so stolid, that even the catechist, one of their own people, seemed to make no impression. On many occasions we were heard most patiently, and were treated most courteously. Now and then, especially in the larger places, and where markets were being held—these are held weekly in central places, sometimes twice a week, and are well attended—there was much noise and great interruption. At times we encountered strong, bitter, and captious opposition. On the whole we met with far less opposition, and with a much more patient and respectful hearing, than at our stated work in a city like Benares. Often we were thanked for our visit, and were told our teaching well deserved consideration. Not infrequently the remark was made, "What you say is very good, but we never heard it before; we understand it very imperfectly, you will be leaving to-morrow, and we shall forget it all." We parted with such persons with a heavy heart. We always halted on the Lord's Day, and often on other days, when we met with encouragement and circumstances permitted.

[Sidenote: AN ANCIENT CAPITAL.]

Kunauj, now a poor, decayed town, composed chiefly of low mud-built houses, with not one fine building in it so far as I remember, was, as I have already mentioned, for ages the most famous city in Northern India, the capital of sovereigns ruling over extensive regions. The Brahmans of Kunauj continue to hold the highest rank in the Brahmanical hierarchy, but I believe only a few reside in Kunauj and its neighbourhood. As we learned it was only a few miles off the Trunk Road, we determined to halt a day for the purpose of visiting it. We accordingly went to it one morning, and remained in it some time, looking at the mounds which cover the ruins of its palaces, and which is all that remains to tell of its former greatness. A number gathered around us, with whom we conversed. They seemed so much interested in what we said about the Saviour, that we promised to visit them on our return. We accordingly arranged to remain a Sabbath at the part of the Trunk Road nearest to Kunauj. Reaching it on a Saturday we sent on a small tent, and early next day, accompanied by the catechist, I made my way to the town. There we remained the entire day, and I have seldom had such a day of pleasant toil. The people came in crowds, and talk on the highest subjects was kept up from hour to hour. The catechist, after a time, left me to visit some persons he knew in the neighbourhood, and I was left alone to unfold the doctrines of Christianity, and to answer the questions put to me. I more than once said, "I must have rest." All went out, and I lay down on a piece of carpet on the floor of the tent. Some one soon peeped in; "Have you not had rest now, sir?" and so I had to get up and resume my work, not over well-pleased the catechist had left it all to me. Since that time Kunauj has had visits from missionaries, and they have had many hearers, but I have not heard of any fruit gathered from these visits in the form of converts.

[Sidenote: AN EARNEST INQUIRER.]

I was greatly impressed with one visit I received on this tour. We had got over our morning journey. I was, I suppose, more tired than usual, for in the forenoon I lay down on our travelling bedstead to rest. I heard a voice at the tent door, "Sahib, sahib!"—"Sir, sir!"—and I said, "Come in." In came a native well dressed, and looking as if tired with a long walk. I told him to sit down on the carpet, which he did, and he then proceeded to tell me the object of his visit. He said in substance: "Last night you were in a village twelve miles from this place, and you there spoke much of an incarnation, an 'autar,' which had for its object the deliverance of man from the power and punishment of sin. One who heard you last night told me something of what you had said. I have long been a worshipper of the gods of my fathers, but I have got no rest, no satisfaction. I have heard much of incarnations, but I know of no sinless one. Not one of them has done me any good. Have you certain information of one that can deliver me and satisfy me?" I need not say what I said in reply to this great inquiry. We talked long and earnestly. I found he could read, and I gave him a Gospel and some tracts. He professed to be much interested. I begged him to give me his address that I might communicate with him. He did not pointedly refuse, but no address was given to me, apparently from the fear, so common among the people, of the reproach and suffering which will come upon them if they be suspected of an intention to abandon their ancestral religion. I parted with the man praying, that he might be led to the Saviour. Often, often have I thought of him; often have I hoped that what was said that forenoon had sunk into his heart; but I have never seen him, never heard of him, since that time.

I have mentioned that early in 1847 we went to Almora, in the Hill Province of Kumaon, and towards the end of the year returned to Benares. Before our departure we had the pleasure of seeing the completion of a work which had made a great demand on our time and attention, and had caused us no small anxiety—the erection of a new place of worship in the Grecian style, in the place of the small mud building in which we had hitherto met. This was our first essay in building, and our inexperience led us into many mistakes, which we tried to avoid in future work of the kind. The building cost above L1,200, fully twice the sum we had calculated. Through the liberality of friends its entire cost was met within six months of its opening, and it has proved of great service to the Mission. The opening services were conducted in Hindustanee and English. The late Rev. J. A. Shurman preached with great power in Hindustanee to a crowded congregation composed of Christians, Hindus, and Muhammadans, and I preached in English to a large European congregation. We were greatly encouraged by the liberal collections made at these services.

[Sidenote: SLOW TRAVELLING.]

I must defer to a later period of this work what I have to say about Kumaon, to which we paid several visits, and where we spent the last years of our Indian life. Our journeying to and from Kumaon in 1847 was partly over the ground traversed on our trip to Agra in 1842-43, and partly over new ground, as one may see by looking at the map of Northern India. The conditions of the journey were to a large extent those I have already described; but we suffered from bad roads, from our camp equipage falling behind, and I may add from inefficient service, much more than we had formerly done. On reaching Almora we mentioned to a friend the route we had taken, and he said, "Surely you have not come in a wheeled conveyance, for I am told that road is impassable." I told him the road was passable, for we had passed it, but if we had previously known what it was we should not have attempted it. Amidst the tracks we saw, we often had difficulty in deciding which was the road. Between unbridged streams with high banks, ditches, and deep ruts which caught our wheels and would not let them go, our progress was much impeded; but we toiled on. At one place we were happily helped by a company of Sepoys, whose medical officer was a dear Christian friend. In other places we were extricated by the help of villagers.

As we journeyed in these circumstances we were not in a mood to be amused, but I was amused one day by the contrast between a romantic lady and an unromantic "sais" (anglice, groom). The Hills had come grandly into view, but unhappily we were fast in a ditch. The lady looking to the "sais" said, "Sais, do you not see the hills?" To which he most dolefully replied, not lifting his eyes as he spoke, "Madam, what can I see? We are stuck in the mud."

One day we took full ten hours to go twelve miles. When we came to the end of our stage we found we had to encamp for the night in the low scrub of the forest, with stagnant water all around us. There was a hut at the place with two native policemen to help travellers, and we were told by them that there had been for some days in the neighbourhood what is called "a rogue elephant"—an elephant which, for some reason known only in elephant councils has been driven out of the herd, and is so enraged by his expulsion that he is ready to run amuck at every person and animal he sees. This was not pleasant intelligence. We found native carts at the place, ready to proceed in the morning to a market to be held at the foot of the hills; and after a very uncomfortable night, much disturbed by the cries of the beasts of the wilderness, we set out, the people shouting to scare the elephant, which, though ready for mischief, is frightened by noise. We saw no trace of him. When the day was well advanced we reached a rest-house close to the hills, with a brawling stream behind it, with which our children as well as ourselves were delighted, one of them clapping his hands and saying, "Water clear and bright!" We had our first and rather perilous hill journey the next day, but my account of it and subsequent journeys in the mountains must be reserved for another time.

We went to Kumaon by the most direct route through Futtygurh and Bareilly. We returned by a longer route via Meerut and Delhi. Our difficulties on our way back were somewhat different, but they were quite as great as on our upward journey. Some of the streams we had to cross were not fordable, and we had great difficulty in getting ourselves ferried over. A few nights were spent in exceeding discomfort, our carts not having come up with our tents, and we were shelterless and supperless—rather, if I may coin such a word, dinnerless. One night cover was got for my wife and children, but a missionary brother and myself remained out all night, with no possibility of obtaining rest, as a pack of jackals were gorging themselves on the carcase of a bullock, and making the most hideous noises. As the night was cold, and we had no bedding, it was perhaps well the jackals were there, as otherwise we might have been tempted to lie down on the bare ground, which we could not have done with safety to our health. When once we got to the Trunk Road, which we had from Delhi to Benares, our travelling difficulties were at an end, and we got on most comfortably.

At Delhi our tents were pitched in an open space near the house of Mr. Thompson, for many years the Baptist missionary in that city, whose widow and daughters were afterwards so barbarously murdered by the mutineers in 1857. With him and his family, and with some other Christian friends there, we had much pleasant intercourse during the few days we remained. We of course saw the sights of the grand old imperial city—the Juma Musjid said to be the largest mosque in Asia, a most commanding building on a small rocky elevation, to which you ascend by a lofty flight of steps, and which has a most magnificent court paved with granite inlaid with marble; the palace, so far as it was open to visitors; the Chandnee Chauk, the great open street and market-place with a fine stream of water flowing through it; and, at the distance of a few miles from the city, the remarkable tower, the Kootub Minar, 240 feet high, erected by the Muhammadan conquerors who first made Delhi their capital. For miles around there are ruins of mosques, mausoleums, palaces, and splendid mansions. For a description of Delhi, as for the description of Agra, I must refer my readers to Bishop Heber's Journal.

During this journey to and from Kumaon we carried on, so far as circumstances permitted, the missionary work I have already mentioned. Our experience while prosecuting this tour so closely resembled that of which I have already given an account, that it is unnecessary to enter into details.

[Sidenote: CHRISTIAN HOSPITALITY.]

As on our visit to Agra in 1842-43, so on these journeys of 1847 we met with the greatest kindness from our missionary brethren, some of whom we had afterwards the privilege of entertaining at Benares. It mattered not whether they were Episcopalian, Presbyterian, or Baptist, English, Continental, or American (at that time there were no Methodist missions in Northern India), we received a cordial welcome, and though formerly unknown to each other we at once felt at home. We sometimes felt in much need of help, and it was most readily afforded. To some other Christian friends we met our grateful acknowledgments are due.



CHAPTER XV.

RETURN TO BENARES.

VOYAGE TO ENGLAND AND RETURN TO INDIA, A.D. 1847-1857.

When two more years had passed, during which we were enabled to carry on our work with few interruptions, we found that, beneficial though our visit to the hills had been, we stood in need of a still greater change, and of a more thorough bracing of both body and mind. Health again began to fail, and we felt unequal to the work devolving on us. We accordingly left Benares for Calcutta towards the end of 1849. As our children were young, and travelling by land was both fatiguing and expensive, we hired a budgerow and sailed down the Ganges. Our voyage lasted over four weeks. It gave us the opportunity of touching at a number of places, Ghazeepore, Buxar, Monghyr, Dinapore, Patna, and Berhampore, in most of which we had the pleasure of meeting missionary brethren. Towards the end of January we embarked on the ship Monarch, and after a prosperous, though not a rapid, voyage we arrived in England in May, 1850. The only place at which we touched was St. Helena. We lay off it the greater part of a day, but none were allowed to land as we had measles on board.

I will dismiss our stay in England in a few sentences, as it is no part of my plan to give English reminiscences. Like other missionaries on leave, I visited many places in England and Scotland on behalf of the Society of which I was an agent. At the expiration of our leave in the autumn of 1852 medical opinion forbade our departure. By the autumn of 1853 health was so improved that the way was open for our return to India.

[Sidenote: VOYAGE TO INDIA.]

After a season of severe domestic trial, which delayed our departure, my partner, myself, and two children embarked on board the Indiana, one of a new magnificent line of steamers plying to India round the Cape of Good Hope, in November. The voyage extended to eleven weeks. The weather throughout was remarkably favourable. We touched at the Islands of St. Vincent, Ascension, the Cape of Good Hope, the Mauritius, Point de Galle, and Madras. We landed at most of these places, and this took away in a great measure the weariness of a long voyage, which I must say we felt increasingly on every successive occasion. We were detained at the Cape for three or four days, which gave us an opportunity of getting to the top of Table Mountain, and of visiting the vineyards a few miles out of Cape Town. We were hospitably entertained by Mr. Thompson, and attended his services on the Lord's Day. Mr. Ellis, who was at the time at the Mauritius, kindly came on board as soon as the Indiana came to anchor, and took us on shore to the house of our missionary, Mr. Le Brun. We attended his service—it was the Lord's Day—and were delighted to see so many present, several of whom we were told were refugees from Madagascar. The congregation was well-nigh entirely composed of people of colour, varying from the brown of the mixed race to the jet black of the negro. The white dresses formed a striking contrast to the dusky faces, many of which, dark though they were, were lit up with an expression indicative of intelligence and contentment. The service was conducted in French, which continues to be the language of the island, although many years have elapsed since it became a British possession. After the service we were taken to the house of the Secretary to Government, who hospitably entertained us. We embarked the next day. As we were proceeding to the shore we were struck with the familiar sounds of the Hindustanee language from the lips of Indian coolies. We were sorry we could exchange with them only a few passing words. During the few hours we were off Madras we had the pleasure of landing and seeing some of the missionaries there.

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO BENARES.]

After a short stay in Calcutta, we set out for Benares. The journey was performed in a new fashion. We purchased a conveyance, and arranged to have it drawn by relays of coolies all the way. Arrangements were made by an agent in Calcutta to have word sent on in advance, so that at every sixth or eighth mile coolies might be in readiness for us. Before 1839 the great Trunk Road from Calcutta to Delhi had been made, but the streams and ravines were for the most part unbridged, and consequently travelling by a wheeled conveyance was very slow and difficult. By 1854 the road had been greatly improved, many bridges had been made, and thus the facilities for travelling were much increased. At every twelve or fourteen miles there were rest-houses for European travellers, called "staging bungalows," all built on the same plan at the expense of two wealthy natives, each with two rooms and a bath-room attached, a bedstead in each room, a table, and two or three chairs, with a man in charge to take a small sum from each traveller for accommodation, and ready to furnish him with a good Indian meal at a very moderate rate. At some of these we stopped for rest and food. Our party consisted of our family, and a lady friend who wished to travel with us. Desirous to get on quickly, we were sometimes in our conveyance twenty hours out of the twenty-four, and dosed as we proceeded the best way we could. We met with no adventure worth relating, and were glad after ten days' journeying to find ourselves once more in our old dear abode. We had a most hearty and gratifying welcome from our brethren, both European and native. We reached it on a Saturday. I told the brethren that after my long absence, and entire disuse of the native language during that period, I must be a hearer the next day. They said that could not be, as the people were expecting me to officiate. Thus urged I ventured to conduct the service, and I was agreeably surprised to find that old scenes seemed to revive my knowledge of the language, and to bear me through with unexpected ease.

We resumed work at Benares recruited in health, and refreshed in spirit, and prepared by the experience of previous years to prosecute it with new effectiveness. We had a sense of the difficulties of the work, its trials and discouragements, and of the absolute necessity of Divine help in order to its being rightly prosecuted, which we could not have had at an earlier period; and we had at the same time a deeper realization of its greatness, blessedness, and final certain triumph. The missionary has little of the spirit of his office, and little fitness for it, who at every successive stage of his course is not increasingly bent on honouring his Master and promoting the good of the people among whom he labours, and who is not at the same time increasingly thankful for having been called to so high an office, while deeply humbled at his own unworthiness and his many shortcomings.

During the three years under review, our native Christian congregation was larger than it had been at any previous period, and, I am sorry to say, larger than it has been in later years. There were at that time about twenty Christian households in the mission compound, and several Christian families came from a little distance. There was a printing-press in our neighbourhood, which gave employment to a number of our people, and others succeeded in getting situations which gave them comfortable support. It was a gladdening sight, when the gong was struck for worship, to see them making their way to the chapel, and to find them, when assembled there, well-nigh filling the place, all cleanly clad, and devoutly engaged in the service of God. Many a time was my heart full of joy and hope when ministering to them. We had, indeed, our difficulties and trials. These are never long or far from us wherever we may be. There were inconsistencies and lapses among the native Christians which grieved us; but their general conduct was good, they were at peace with each other, and in some there were marked indications of growing piety.

Our tours during the cold weather of these years were mainly confined to the country within thirty or forty miles of Benares. Our only tour of any length was in January and February of 1857, when we went on the Calcutta road as far as Susseram, more than a hundred miles distant; and, leaving the Trunk Road, made our way to the rock of Rohtas, overlooking the Soane, where there are extensive remains of an imperial fort. We lodged one night in one of the deserted halls, of which there were several in a fair state of preservation, and we were told that to these the tigers of the surrounding forest occasionally resorted. During the Mutiny this fort was for some time the headquarters of a rebel chief. With the exception of this tour to the east of Benares, to which I shall afterwards refer, our experience in these itineracies closely accorded with that of former years. During this period the school and preaching work of the mission was steadily prosecuted by the catechists and missionaries.

[Sidenote: TWO GATHERINGS AT BENARES.]

Towards the close of 1856, and at the beginning of 1857, there were two interesting gatherings at Benares. The one was the meeting of boys and lads from all parts of the province for a Biblical Examination—of which I have already given some account. The other was a Missionary Conference, which was largely attended and efficiently conducted. The facilities for travelling were not so great as they are now, but they were such as admitted the presence of a number of missionaries from distant places. We parted deeply thankful for the pleasant and profitable intercourse we had had with each other. Little did we think of the terrible storm which was so soon to break over us, in which several of our number were to lose their lives.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE MUTINY OF 1857-58.

No one who was within the range of the hurricane of 1857, no one who was even on its edge, can ever forget it. When we now look back, we marvel that a single European in that part of India was spared to tell of its fierce struggle, its sad sights, and its fearful perils. The annals of the Mutiny are furnished in volumes filled with ample details. Its causes and consequences have been largely discussed. My narrower and humbler aim is to describe that terrible outbreak so far, and only so far, as it came within my own experience and observation. My narrative will, however, be better understood by stating briefly the causes, which, in my opinion, led to this great rising against us, and by giving an outline of its progress before reaching Benares, where we then resided.

CAUSES OF THE MUTINY.

Our position in India is very peculiar. The history of the world presents no parallel. A great continent, containing a number of nations, possessed of an ancient civilization, some of them composed of races given to war and noted for their prowess, with a population amounting at present to 253 millions, has been brought under the dominion of a country of limited extent and limited population like ours, separated from it by many intervening countries, and accessible only by thousands of miles of ocean. That continent has not been subjected to tribute, and then left to its native rulers. Over by far the greater part of India these rulers have been displaced, and British rule has been established. Where native rulers remain, they are bound to administer their affairs in accordance with the views of the Sovereign Power. Over a part of the Indian continent the rule commenced more than a hundred years ago, and from decade to decade it has extended till it now embraces its present vast proportions. It extends beyond India. In the North-West we have entered into what properly belongs to Afghanistan, and from Burma a large extent of territory has been taken; so that the east as well as the west coast of the Bay of Bengal has come under our rule. To all appearance the rule is as firmly established as if it had come down from ancient times.

[Sidenote: INDIA CONQUERED BY INDIAN SOLDIERS.]

It would be a great mistake to suppose that India had been conquered for England by its own people. If they had been left to themselves, no part of it would now belong to us. The small European force has always been the backbone of our armies; but in every battle native soldiers have formed the great majority. The French gave us the example of employing native soldiers to place their country under European rule. In the dissolution of the Mogul Empire, thousands of warriors were ready to fight the battles of any one, European or native, who would pay them well. The example of the French was followed by the English, till India, from Cape Comorin to the mountains of the north and the north-west, came under their sway, to an extent and with a completeness and firmness of grasp never reached by the Muhammadan power in its palmiest days. Each Presidency—Bengal, Madras, and Bombay—has had its own native army, in 1857 amounting altogether to 240,000 men. In the Bengal army, by far the largest of the three, there has never been a single native of Bengal Proper. It has been entirely composed of north countrymen, to a large extent of Brahmans, and Chhatrees the old fighting caste of India, who have entered our service on account of its good pay and good treatment, though alien from us in everything by which one people can be alien from another. Many of the native soldiers have been Muhammadans, who are intensely averse to us on both religious and political grounds. Under the influence of friendly intercourse and good offices performed to each other, a kindly feeling often sprung up between officers and men; but as a body they were mercenary troops fighting for strangers, and the history of the world furnishes abundant instances of such an army being as formidable to their employers as to those against whom they have been employed. In the course of time our native soldiers were more and more trusted; important places were garrisoned by them, military stores were entrusted to them; and nothing was more natural than that in the more ambitious of their number the thought should spring up that the time had arrived for expelling the stranger, and seizing the power within their grasp. In thus acting they could make themselves sure of the sympathy of their countrymen.

[Sidenote: CAUSES OF DISSATISFACTION.]

The Sepoys have been treated in the matter of pay, clothing, and food, as they never were under native rulers; but they have been subjected to strict discipline, and they have been cut off from the much-prized privilege of foraging, or rather plundering. They have at different times complained loudly of unjust treatment. Alleged breach of promises of pay, and their being sent to fight our battles in foreign countries such as Burmah, China, Persia, and Afghanistan, and to parts of India foreign to them, have been prominent among their causes of complaint. They have not confined themselves to complaint and remonstrance; they have again and again broken out into mutiny, which has led to some regiments being disbanded, and the mutineer leaders being severely punished. Years before 1857 it was asserted by persons eminently qualified to judge, like Sir Henry Lawrence, that grievous mistakes had been committed in the administration of the native army, and that our safety demanded great changes in its treatment and distribution. When one reads the statements they made, and the warnings they gave, the wonder is the mutiny did not sooner occur. Lord Ellenborough, before leaving India, declared the Sepoys were our one peril in India, and characteristically proposed we should keep them in humour by keeping them always fighting.

All other causes of revolt were light compared with the charge often advanced and believed that we were bent on the destruction of their religion. From the outbreak at Vellore in 1806, on to the great mutiny of 1857, this charge was persistently made. The Sepoys were allowed all the religious liberty compatible with military obedience; they had every facility for following their religious customs; they were fenced off from Christian influences as no other part of the community was; they were solemnly assured again and again their religion would be scrupulously respected; they had full evidence before their eyes that with few exceptions their officers had no Christian zeal. Whence, then, this charge of tampering with their religion? The explanation is to be found in the character of Hinduism. It is intensely outward. It is a matter of rite and ceremony, of meat and drink, of clothing and posture. It may be filched from a man without any act of his own by the act of another, and he may not be aware till informed that the fatal loss has been incurred. Something may be introduced into his food which will deprive him of his religion, and make him an outcast all his days. What more easy than to introduce a defiling element, such as the blood or fat of the cow or bullock, of which the Brahman or Rajpoot might unaware partake? To this intensely outward religion people of these castes are passionately attached from custom, from superstition, and still more, I think, from the consideration among themselves and others which caste purity secures. Their honour, izzat, as they call it, is their most valuable possession. An attack on it is bitterly resented. This honour is quite consistent with licentiousness, robbery, plunder, and even murder; but to violate caste by drinking from the vessel of a low-caste man, or eating with him, would bring with it indelible disgrace. To partake of the cow, the sacred animal, is the greatest crime which can be committed, and, if done unconsciously, the greatest calamity.

Notwithstanding the fact that the English as a people had little zeal for their religion, the Sepoys thought they saw reasons for our wishing to effect their conversion. If Christians, they would be fitter instruments for carrying out the designs of their English conquerors. They would in that case be no longer hampered by class distinctions, commissariat arrangements could be more easily made, they would have no objection to serving in foreign lands, and they would become identified with us. What was more easy than to effect the change by the manipulation of their food? Their imagination led them to interpret facts as justifying suspicion, and the supposition was enough to drive them to revolt.

The Muhammadans in India have become Hinduized to a large extent; they continually speak of themselves as a caste, and Muhammadan soldiers have shared with their Hindu comrades in the fear that the English were bent on destroying their religion. They took the most prominent part in the mutiny at Vellore in 1806. They were injudiciously required there to put on the English military hat, to shave their beards, and put on leather belts, which they maintained were made of pigs' skins; and all this was done, they said, to turn them into Topeewalas, Hatmen—in other words, into Englishmen and Christians.

[Sidenote: CO-OPERATING CAUSES FOR REVOLT.]

Outside the army there have been causes, co-operating with those within, in prompting the soldiers to rise against us. Our government is a very foreign one. There is a national gulf between the rulers and the ruled, and consequent absence of the sympathy which would draw them to each other, if they were of the same people. Our government is at once expensive and strong, requiring a large amount of taxation considering the resources of the country, and able to enforce its payment. India has been greatly favoured by high-minded and able rulers; but often, with the best intentions, from want of thorough acquaintance with the native character and customs, injustice has at times been done by the decisions of our courts. Though giving security for person and property, such as India had never previously enjoyed, our government has borne hardly on some classes, such as the officials of the native states we have annexed, the numerous dependents of the abolished native courts, and the able and enterprising members of the community, for whom no suitable sphere has been open, as the main prizes in both the military and civil services are reserved for the English stranger. Then deposed princes have now and then intrigued with the army to draw it away from its allegiance.

In the spring of 1856 Lord Dalhousie laid down his office, after his long and memorable Proconsulship. So little did he anticipate the events of the coming year, that in the elaborate Minute he wrote on his retirement he satisfied himself with saying, regarding the native army, that the condition of the Sepoy could not be improved. Till the closing months of the year there was no fear of the coming storm. Profound peace reigned throughout India. War had been declared against Persia, but hopes were entertained that victory would soon crown our arms, and these hopes were fulfilled.

THREATENINGS OF THE STORM.

Towards the end of 1856 and early in 1857 there were mutterings of the storm. A number of men were selected from each regiment to be taught the use of the Enfield rifle, and for this purpose a new cartridge was required, which required to be bitten with the teeth. The report spread like wild-fire, and was firmly believed, that the cartridge was smeared with bullock's fat to destroy the caste of the Hindus, and with pig's fat to destroy the caste of the Muhammadans. The Adjutant-General of the army declared there was not the slightest ground for the statement; but the more strongly our innocence of design on their religion was asserted, the more firmly did the Sepoys believe our guilt. Paper was offered to them, and they were told to prepare cartridges for themselves; but they said the paper was dangerously glazed, and they would not accept it. Among other things causing disquietude was an order that in future all enlisting must engage to go wherever they might be sent in India or beyond. Hitherto some regiments had been enlisted only for service in India, and could not be sent out of it except by their own consent. On every side there were signs of a new era setting in, which forbode no good to the ancient customs and institutions of the land. The more aspiring spirits among the Sepoys had evidently formed the project of uniting the whole army in the attempt to drive the English into the sea, and secure power and emolument for themselves.

[Sidenote: CIRCUMSTANCES FAVOURABLE TO REVOLT.]

Various things favoured the project. It was well known that many throughout India hated the English, and were ready to join in their expulsion. Forts and arsenals were left in their keeping, unchecked by the presence of European soldiers. The mass of the European force was in the far North-West, in the Punjab, and towards the border of Afghanistan, as if there the danger lay. The Sepoys saw that if they could combine and act in concert they could with ease strike us to the ground. Then the prophecy was widely spread that our rule was speedily to come to an end. It had commenced with our victory at Plassey on June 23, 1757; and when the sun of June 23, 1857, should set, not one English face would be seen in India. Mysterious cakes, resembling our bannocks, were sent on from village to village, like the fiery cross in Scotland in former days, to prepare the people for great and startling events. Early in 1857 the ferment among the soldiers was spreading among large classes of the people.

During the cold weather of 1856-57 I spent some weeks in travelling with my family in the country to the east of Benares, on the Calcutta road. We left the high-road and made our way, as I have already mentioned, to Rohtas Gurh, a famous abandoned fortress on the top of a hill. In some of the villages to which I went to preach the Gospel the bitterest feeling was shown, especially by young men, towards our rule and religion. In one place the feeling manifested was so bitter that I thought they were prepared to lay violent hands on me. I remember remarking more than once, as I returned to the tent weary and worn out in body and mind, that a strange feeling was coming over the people, which I had never previously observed, and that I feared dark days were approaching.

THE OUTBREAK AND PROGRESS OF THE MUTINY.

At Berhampore, more than a hundred miles above Calcutta, and Barrackpore, a few miles from it, the Sepoys broke into open mutiny, which led to the leaders being executed and their regiments disbanded. The outbreak at these places made a painful impression on the entire English community, and created deep anxiety. That anxiety was increased by the reports received from day to day of the mutinous spirit shown by the Sepoys all over the country. We were told of midnight meetings, insolent conduct, and incendiary fires. The most sanguine could not but fear that we were entering a calamitous period. The most hopeful were those officers who had been long with native regiments, and were sure that whatever others might do, their men would remain staunch.

[Sidenote: THE RISING AT MEERUT.]

At length, on May 10th, the storm burst out at Meerut in all its fury. I cannot enter on a detailed account of the events of that sad, memorable day. I can only in a few words mention what took place. On the previous day 87 men of a native cavalry regiment had, before the whole garrison of the place, been put in irons for repeated persistent disobedience. Though there was a large European force a native guard was put over the prisoners, who were confined in a place close to their comrades. No precaution was taken against their rescue. On the evening of the next day, Sunday, as the Europeans were gathering for Church, the Sepoys rose, murdered their officers, hastened to the parade ground, liberated their imprisoned comrades, opened the jails, raised all the villainy of the native town, massacred the Christians whom they met, men, women, and children, set houses on fire, and then set out for Delhi, the great old imperial city. There they were welcomed by the titular king and his family, and there, as at Meerut, they murdered all the Christians on whom they could lay hold. By the mismanagement of the large European force at Meerut, a small portion of which was well able to cope with the Sepoys, they did not arrive on the scene of revolt till the Sepoys had done all the mischief on which they were bent, and had set out for Delhi.

That 10th of May we remember vividly. We had had our usual afternoon service with the native Christians. In the evening we walked out in the garden. The moon was shining in an unclouded sky. Hot though the weather was we enjoyed our quiet walk, talked of the services of the day, and the threatening appearance of affairs. Little did we think of the terrible scenes which were then being enacted at Meerut.

The outbreak at Meerut awoke as with a peal of the loudest thunder the entire English community in India, and especially in Northern India, to a sense of imminent peril. We had hitherto lived in the enjoyment of profound security. There had been uneasiness on different occasions, when our power seemed imperilled by the disasters which overtook us in Afghanistan in 1841-42, and by the life and death struggle we had afterwards with the Sikhs. Our enemies were then watching for our fall, and the reasons for uneasiness at those times were stronger than the community generally were aware of. There had been also at different times uneasiness in reference to the Sepoys, but they came to be regarded as wilful children, who might be troublesome, but who would do us no harm. In our own country, among our own people, we could not have felt safer than we ordinarily did. At the travelling season we went about, pitched our tents in solitary spots, for weeks together perhaps did not see a white face, and were treated not only with courtesy, but generally with profound deference, as if we belonged to a superior race. The people in their obsequious fashion, and with their idolatrous views, would almost have given us divine honours. All at once we realized ourselves as living in the midst of a dense alien population. Our own trusted soldiers, serving under our banners, receiving our pay, and sworn to defend us, had risen against us; and with them as declared enemies, in whom could we confide? Our obsequious servants of yesterday might become our murderers to-day. We felt ourselves at bay, surrounded by a host who might any moment fall on us and destroy us.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE OUTBREAK AT BENARES.

At no place was the shock felt more severely than at Benares, where I was residing with my family. In no place was the danger greater. We were living in the suburbs of the most superstitious and fanatical city in the land. Again and again during the eighty years of our rule there had been riots in the city, professedly to avenge religious wrongs—riots so formidable, that they were quelled by military force. A very few years previous to 1857 the city was thrown into violent commotion, in consequence of new messing regulations in the jail, by which it was alleged, though without reason, the caste of the prisoners would be affected. The rowdy element, composed of those emphatically called bud-mash "evil-doers," persons ready for every mischief, was very strong. The Sepoys put in the forefront of their quarrel the plea that they were fighting for their religion, and where could they expect so much sympathy and help as in Kasee? Sir Henry Lawrence, writing some time previously about the mistakes committed in the management of the native army, named Benares as a place where fearful scenes would be witnessed in the event of a Sepoy rising. Intensely Hindu, though Benares be, it has, as we have already observed, a large Muhammadan population, and in attacking us the Hindus could fully depend on their help.

Our danger was greatly increased by the vast disproportion between the native and European force—a disproportion so great, that apart from the danger of our neighbourhood to a great city, from which we might expect a host to pour out to attack us, it looked as if we were doomed to destruction. We had in Benares a Native Infantry regiment, which was believed to be tainted; a Sikh regiment, the temper of which was little known; and, a few miles off, an Irregular Cavalry regiment, composed, it was said, of a superior class of men, all, I believe, Muhammadans, but whom few could trust in the event of a rising. Our European force consisted of thirty artillery-men in charge of a battery of three guns. At the fort of Chunar, sixteen miles distant, there was a number of European soldier pensioners, of whom perhaps sixty or seventy might be effective. So unbounded had been the confidence in the Sepoys, that the artillery-men in Benares and the pensioners in Chunar were the only European force in the entire province of Benares under the Benares Commissioner, with a population of over ten millions; while in seven stations in the province there were native soldiers, chiefly infantry, but partly cavalry and artillery. Besides the English officers of the native regiments, and some half-dozen English civil officials, the only English people were missionaries of the Church, Baptist, and London Societies, and a few traders, while a few indigo planters were scattered in the country.

[Sidenote: PREPARATION FOR THE STORM.]

On the news of the Meerut mutiny reaching Benares, the civil and military authorities lost no time in consulting what should be done. The proposal that we should leave in a body for the Fort of Chunar was most wisely rejected. It was impossible to disarm the distrusted Native Infantry regiment in the absence of a European force. There was a large building in cantonments, which had been erected for a mint for the North-Western Provinces, and had been used for this purpose till the provincial mints were removed to Calcutta. It always afterwards bore the name of "The Mint." This building is in a wide enclosure, surrounded by a high wall, and it was hinted all round that in the event of a rising we should, if possible, make our way to this place. The Irregular Cavalry regiment was called in to patrol the roads leading to the station and city, and report the presence of suspicious persons. The resolution was formed to maintain a bold front, and pursue our usual course, as if we knew that succour was at hand. On every side the hope was expressed that none would give way to panic. The men at the head of affairs had the general confidence of the community.

Most happily for us and for many others there was a lull in the storm after the mutiny at Meerut and the possession of Delhi by the mutineers. There was alarm everywhere, here and there there was commotion, but there were no extensive and concerted risings. If there had been we could not have been saved. Our soldiers were returning from Persia, regiments proceeding to China were stopped on the way and brought to India, and an available force was thus placed at the disposal of the authorities. English soldiers were hastened up from Calcutta. From day to day we with joy saw them pass our gate in carriages on their way to cantonments. Great though our danger was they were not detained. A small number was kept for our defence, and the rest were sent on to relieve our sorely-pressed people farther north. Some began to hope the dark cloud over us was about to be dispersed, while others looked on our position with dismay approaching despair. As our house was in a very exposed position, a friend had at an early period invited us to take up our abode with him; but we resolved to remain for the present in our own home.

THE FOURTH OF JUNE, 1857, AT BENARES.

At length the storm burst over us. By attempts at incendiary fires and in other ways the Native Infantry regiment had shown a mutinous spirit. The necessity for disarming it was obvious to all except its own officers, but the difficulty of the measure was great. On June 4th Colonel Neil, one of those men whose high qualities were elicited by the terrible struggle on which we had entered, arrived at Benares. On the previous day a native regiment had mutinied at Azimghur, sixty miles distant. A council was held, and as there were one hundred and twenty English soldiers it was resolved to disarm the Native Infantry regiment next morning. The question was asked, "Why not now? We may be all killed before morning." Immediate disarmament was determined on. Well was it for us this was the decision, as it was afterwards found that very night had been fixed for the rising of the regiment, and the massacre of us all. The whole military force of the place was called out, the English soldiers being placed near the guns, and the Sepoys were ordered to pile their arms. The order instead of being obeyed was met by our officers and men being fired on, and the fight commenced.

[Sidenote: THE RISING AT BENARES.]

We had just finished dinner when our night watchman rushed into the room with the startling words, Pultun bigar guya, and lin men ag luga!—"The regiment has mutinied, and the cantonments are on fire." Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we heard the sharp rattle of the musketry and the crash of the guns. Our little conveyance was made quickly ready, and, with all others in that part of the suburbs, we drove as quickly as we could to the only place of temporary safety available for us, on the banks of the Ganges at the northern end of the city. The English were in different parts of the suburbs, and betook themselves to the places nearest to them which promised immediate shelter. Sir John Kaye, the historian of the Sepoy War, says that the missionaries left the city for Chunar, with the exception of one he names, Mr. Leupolt. In fact, only the Church missionaries went in that direction, and they could go in no other.

As we were hastening to the Ganges we knew from the noise of the musketry and cannon that the battle was going on, and from the cloud of smoke rising from cantonments we feared that all the houses were on fire. We went with others to the house of an English merchant whom we knew well, and then as the natives were gathering around we betook ourselves to boats on the river, and got out into the stream. In a short time a messenger from cantonments reached us with the good news that our men were victorious, and that the mutineers were in flight. We returned to the house of our merchant friend with the intention of remaining there for the night. With our party were a number of children, some of them infants, and they, poor things, were put to rest in any corner which could be found. Between eight and nine the Brigade-Major, who had been slightly wounded, and had been saved from certain death by the faithfulness of a trooper, rode into the compound accompanied by men of the Irregular Cavalry regiment. We all ran out, and were told by him that a number of English soldiers, who had just arrived from Calcutta, were on the other side of the Ganges ready to be ferried over, and that they would form our escort to the Mint, which was between three and four miles distant. In the meantime we learned all that had occurred—how the Native Infantry regiment had mutinied, how they had been joined by the Sikhs, some said by panic, by others I believe more truly, from sympathy with their Hindustanee brethren, as was shown by their after conduct; and how all had been put to flight by our band of soldiers, aided by the guns. On our side four were killed and nineteen wounded, of whom the greater number afterwards died. How many of the Sepoys were killed was not ascertained, as, with the exception of a few, the dead and wounded were carried off by their comrades.

When all was ready we set out, a long cavalcade, with English soldiers in front and behind, and native troopers on each side, our guardians then, but before the morning dawned in flight to join the mutineers. It was a calm, beautiful moonlight night, forming a strange contrast to the turmoil of the preceding hours. The road took us by our house, and as we passed the gate a servant, who had been watching for us, came out with artificially cooled water, which was very welcome. We reached the Mint about midnight, and there the whole European community was assembled. On every side there was eager talk about our position and prospects, but there was no appearance of panic or fright. The mothers soon succeeded in finding spots in the spacious rooms of the Mint—which had not been swept, and were covered with half an inch of mud—for their precious charge, and there they remained to watch over them; while the men sauntered about, or tried to sit where anything like sitting was practicable. Stray shots were heard, and from the city went up rockets, which were regarded as signals to the Sepoys outside. Most were awake as if it were full day. Between three and four in the morning, as I was sitting with two or three others on a native bedstead, a person came and said, "Where is the magistrate? The city is up." It was a false alarm; the city remained strangely quiet. As the morning broke we were all in safety, and no enemy was to be seen. Many of the English soldiers were so overcome by fatigue that they lay on the gravel fast asleep, with their muskets by their side.

[Sidenote: LIFE AT THE MINT.]

In the Mint we all remained for more than a week in the greatest possible discomfort, unable to change our clothes except by going to some house outside, which some of us ventured to do. We once ventured to our house for some very necessary articles, and daily visits were paid to a barrack a short way off, where the sick and wounded were. During the day, with the blazing sun above us, and the wind blowing through the Mint with the heat of a furnace, we were obliged to confine ourselves to its large crowded rooms. The exposure was trying, but was patiently borne, and did no seeming injury to our health. At night we slept outside, most of us on the flat roof of the Mint, on bedding which our servants brought us. Our food was cooked at our homes, and brought to us by our servants, and very thankful were we to get it, though we had neither tables to sit at nor chairs to sit on. Had not our servants been faithful we should have starved, as the authorities, to prevent panic and to show a bold front, had laid in no provisions. This seems very unwise, and yet there is no doubt the bold front did much under God to effect our deliverance.

In the morning of the Sunday after the mutiny the Rev. C. B. Leupolt, of the Church Mission, preached on the parade ground. In the afternoon I was requested to preach. The soldiers, with their rifles in their hands, and the European inhabitants were my audience. I took for my text words which at once suggested themselves to my mind, "If God be for us, who can be against us?" These words of the Apostle Paul, I was afterwards told, came fraught with strength to the hearts of some present.

On Sunday evening it began to be whispered that mutiny had broken out at Allahabad. On Monday we knew all. The 6th N. I. Regiment, after professing in the afternoon their readiness to march to Delhi and fight the rebels, in the evening rose, murdered sixteen officers, six of them young lads who had just arrived, and all Europeans who came their way. Happily families were in the Fort, to which they had betaken themselves in opposition to the affectionate remonstrances of the native officers, who said it was a slur on their fidelity! The Sepoys plundered the Treasury; and it is said many of them were afterwards murdered by the villagers on account of the money with which they were laden.

As the Sepoys entirely disappeared, and the city of Benares was quiet, though the country around was much disturbed, most of us after a time returned to our homes. In our own case we found that not one of our servants had decamped, and not a pin's worth had been stolen. The very night of the mutiny a servant picked up the few silver spoons we had left on the table, and at considerable risk made his way to us to place them in his mistress's hands. Indeed, all about us acted with a faithfulness which elicited our warm gratitude.

[Sidenote: INCIDENT AT THE MINT.]

While we were at the Mint a little incident occurred, which suggested how, in the excited state of affairs, a spark might have caused a great conflagration. Seeing a crowd of natives, almost all servants, at the gate, I went to it, and there the sentry, a little peppery Irishman, was threatening to stab with his bayonet a native servant with a note in his hand. I asked what was the matter. The sentry said, "That black fellow is mocking me, and I'll send this through him." The servant appealed to me. He said he had a note for a gentleman in the Mint, and entreated that "gora," "white man," to let him in, but instead of doing so he threatened to kill him. The mocking was, it turned out, the native folding his hands in the attitude of supplication. I explained the matter, and the man got in. The native servants were so roughly treated by some of our people, especially by the newly-arrived soldiers, simply because they were natives, that I was afraid they might leave us in a body; and if they had done so we should have been in a sad plight. One of my own servants, a native Christian, complained bitterly to me of the treatment he had received.

The quiet of Benares during this period was remarkable—I might almost say preternatural. When the fight of the 4th of June commenced, numbers were seen with drawn swords rushing towards cantonments, but when they saw Sepoys falling, and others running away, they shrank back into the city. A great dread fell on the entire population. I was told by natives the report had gone out that the English soldiers had been commanded to enter the city, and slay every man, woman, and child they met; and that in consequence, to adopt their exaggerated words, they sat trembling all night, no one daring to sleep.

In the meantime the terrible work of retribution commenced. Martial law was proclaimed, and many poor miserable creatures, charged with plundering, were hanged. Some of the Sepoys caught were blown from guns. I will not harrow my readers with details. I shunned as much as I could these bloody scenes, but on several occasions I came suddenly on them. To the present day I shudder as I think of what I saw.

THE PANIC OF JULY 6TH.

[Sidenote: OUR DAY OF PANIC.]

I must now come to our day of panic, July 6th. July 5th was a Sunday. We had our usual services with the native Christians. Some two hours after the evening service, a nephew of ours, then at Benares, drove into the compound, and told us we must go at once to the Mint, as a large force of Sepoys and country people were four miles off, prepared to attack the jail. This was startling news, as our house lay in the direct line between the jail and the city, and, in the event of the attack being successful, we should be the first victims. Still, we were very unwilling to stir, but our nephew was so urgent that we at last complied with his entreaty. A refugee family was in our house, and with us all crowded into a small conveyance we made our way to the rendezvous. What a scene was there! Most had arrived before us. Rain was falling, and we could not remain out. The rooms were so crowded that we could not get into them, and we had to lie for the night as we could in a dirty passage, with our back to the wall. The night passed off without an alarm, and in the morning we returned to our home, somewhat annoyed at having been taken from it, as we supposed, without sufficient reason.

On the morning of the 6th I had a strange duty to discharge for such a time—the marriage of a couple. One of our native Christians had arranged for his marriage taking place at that date. I told him that this was no time for marrying; that we who were married must abide with our families, but that those who were intending marriage should defer it to a more propitious season. He said all was arranged, and he begged me to officiate, which I did, I must say, with a bad grace. No sooner was the marriage over than I went home. After breakfast and family worship, we each betook ourselves, thoroughly worn out, to our rooms to obtain some rest. Scarcely had I lain down on my couch, when our faithful watchman came to my door and exclaimed, "If you do not go at once to the Mint you will all be killed." I asked him what was the matter. He could not tell me. He could only say, "Fly, fly." The refugee lady who, with her family, was with us, hearing the watchman's words, exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Kennedy, do not leave us!" to which I replied, "Depend on it, I will not. Rather than that, I myself will remain behind." Our conveyance was speedily made ready, and off we started, with such a crowded coach as has been seldom seen, I, as driver, urging the poor overladen horse to his utmost speed. Natives as well as Europeans were seized with panic. There was a stream, then in full flood, close to our house, and I saw several natives throw themselves into it to swim across, at the imminent risk of their lives. As we crossed one of the great roads leading to the city, the natives were running as if pursued by demons. Right before us we saw an English lady running towards the Mint, with her bare head in the sun, which had now come out in its strength. A gentleman in a buggy drove past us, pulled in reins, the lady leaped into it, and they dashed on to the place of refuge. On reaching the Mint we found most of the Europeans there before us. I accosted a friend and said, "What does this mean?" He told us how the impression had gone out that the enemy were on us, and how the panic might have been prevented if information of the state of affairs had been given. There was danger. The host coming against us had, with characteristic procrastination, put off the attack till the morning. To prevent their approach to the city, every man and gun that could be spared were sent out to meet them.

When we reached the Mint we heard the rumour that Cawnpore had fallen. The report was not generally believed, but it was true. We were only two hundred miles from Cawnpore, and yet nine days had passed before our hearing of its fall, and we then heard of it only as a rumour.

The feeling of panic soon subsided, and as some in their haste had taken something with them, it soon looked as if we were a large improvised picnic party. For a few hours all was quiet; but in the afternoon the rattle of the musketry and the boom of the cannon told us the battle had commenced. Soon the news reached us that the rebels were in flight, and that we were again safe. Till the news reached there was anxiety, but there was little manifestation of it, except by the wives of some of the soldiers, who were wringing their hands and weeping bitterly. The night was spent by us in the greatest discomfort, huddled together, lying in our day clothes on the floor, in an atmosphere so close that I wonder we were not stifled. That 6th of July, 1857, at Benares can never be obliterated from the memory of any one who was there. It makes us understand, as nothing else could do, how much more dreadful a panic is than the most furious combat.

[Sidenote: THE ADVENTURES OF A MARRIAGE DAY.]

I must recall my readers for a little to the couple whom I had married on the morning of that memorable day. We had not been above a few minutes in the Mint, when whom did I see rushing in at the gate, out of breath, but my friends whom I had united in wedlock a few hours previously, the bridegroom a few steps in advance of the bride, who was doing her best, with little success, to save her bridal dress from being soiled by the muddy road. Grave though our position was, I could not but smile when I saw them. I went to meet them, and looking sternly at the bridegroom I said, "Chhotkan, did I not tell you this was no time to marry?" He looked at me sheepishly, and said, "Well, sir, it is now over, and I cannot help it." I had better add that the marriage has been a happy one. The husband has maintained a Christian character, and has had a prosperous career, and they both survive to the present time.

THE DAYS SUCCEEDING THE DAY OF PANIC.

On the day after the panic we all returned to our respective homes. The immediate danger was past, but the country around was in a very disturbed state. The officer commanding the station sent round a circular strongly recommending the immediate departure for Calcutta of European families, and, indeed, of all Europeans who were not able and willing to bear arms. Like many of my countrymen, I was thrown by this circular into great perplexity. Our house was out of cantonments, in a very exposed situation. We had four children with us at the time, the eldest six years of age, and the youngest a little more than three months. Their departure was indispensable. Was I to go with them, or send them away and remain behind? Some advised me to go, but we soon saw this was not the course which ought to be pursued. Officers were sending away their families, and they themselves were remaining behind. For me to desert my post at such a time, was seen by us both, would be to undo the work of my life, and it was evident my duty was to remain. Armed steamers were going up and down the Ganges, and I hoped to secure a passage to Calcutta in one of them for my family. Hearing a steamer was expected from Allahabad, we went down to Raj Ghat; and as soon as the steamer came to anchor I went on board. It was full to overflowing of refugees from the North-West. The captain told me he could not give my family even a deck passage, so crowded was the vessel. There was nothing for us but to go back to a friend's house, where we had been living for a few days. Through the kindness of a friend at Allahabad, to whom I had written, I succeeded in securing a small cabin for my family in the next steamer, and in it they made their way to Calcutta, after a detention of some days at Dinapore in great discomfort and danger, owing to the mutiny having broken out there. At Calcutta they embarked, in September, in a cargo ship for England, which they reached after a long and stormy passage. During the whole of July and August the communication between Bengal and the Upper Provinces was so interrupted, that sometimes for weeks together no certain information was received of what was transpiring. At Benares the only mails reaching were from places near us. At Calcutta the rumour went out that Benares had fallen, and that all the English people in it had been massacred, causing the deepest distress to the many there who had left loved ones behind.

BENARES FROM JULY TO DECEMBER.

[Sidenote: EXPOSURE TO ATTACK.]

From July till October the position of the English at Benares was one of great danger. We had no fighting, but we were continually threatened. We had twice or thrice an alarm, the most serious being from an emeute in the jail, which was soon suppressed and the leaders executed. Delhi was not taken till September, and till that was done, all who desired our overthrow were sure it was about to be accomplished. Our great peril was from Lucknow. Our small force there was besieged, it was reckoned, by 50,000 men. They were not relieved till towards the end of September. While the siege was being carried on, information reached the authorities of Benares that a plan had been formed to detach from the besieging army five or six thousand men to attack us. The plan was most feasible. The distance by the direct route was under two hundred miles. The river Goomtee, which flows by Lucknow, enters the Ganges a few miles from Benares. It was at that time in full flood, and a flotilla might be easily gathered by which, in a few days, a large body of armed men with the munitions of war could have reached us. Some of the Barons of Oude sent offers of aid, but these offers were by many considered lures to draw us into their net, that they might the more easily destroy us. Jung Buhadur, the famous ruler of Nepal, proposed to come with his brave Ghoorkas to defend us, but their presence was more feared than desired. Then in the great city near us we knew there were many plotting our destruction, and ready to rise at the first signal of an approaching foe.

So great was the danger considered, that thousands were set to the erection of a great earth fort close to the Ganges, on the site of an old Muhammadan fortress. Owing to the disturbed state of the country the commerce of the place was paralyzed; the stock of grain in the market was very low, and food was selling at famine prices. The erection of the fort gave most welcome employment to the poorer portion of the community. So great was the danger, that, acting under the advice of those best acquainted with the state of affairs, I sent to this fort books, documents, and other things which I deemed it most important to preserve. We were instructed how we were to act in the event of a sudden outbreak, the rendezvous to which we should instantly resort, and from which we might make our way together to the fort, which was being erected. It often occurred to me that our position at that time was like that of persons sitting on a barrel of gunpowder in a house on fire. So alarming were the accounts received in the daytime, that I often lay down at night uncertain what might occur before morning. Often I got up, looked towards the cantonments, and listened. Thankful that all was quiet, I returned to my bed.

[Sidenote: CONSTANCY OF THE NATIVE CHRISTIANS.]

During these anxious months I had abundant reason to be thankful for the decision at which we had arrived, that I should remain behind when my family left for England. In the discharge of the work devolving on me from day to day, I felt I should have been recreant to duty, and missed many opportunities of usefulness, had I gone away. Early in September, to the great grief of us all, a much-loved member of the Mission, my sister-in-law, the wife of my senior colleague, Mr. Buyers, was removed by death. She had remained behind when other ladies, who had children, left. Mr. Buyers was prostrated by the blow, and for a considerable time was unable to resume work. The charge of the Mission thus came largely into my hands. Before the end of July we re-opened our principal school in the heart of the city, of which I was superintendent, and which I visited constantly. At Benares a Depot Hospital was opened, to which the sick and wounded Europeans were brought from the surrounding country, and there a part of every day was spent. My principal work, however, was among the native Christians, with whom I met constantly to speak about the state of affairs, to consult what should be done, to commit ourselves to God, and ask from Him guidance and protection. The firmness and courage of these Christians were worthy of the highest praise. As natives, they could elude observation far more easily than Europeans; but even where they were unknown, so entwined is idolatry with the whole life of the people, they could not be any time among their countrymen without being discovered if faithful to their Lord; and, as recreants from their ancestral religion, they were sure to be cruelly treated. They had only to declare themselves Muhammadans, and safety would be at once secured. Not one of our native Christian community thought of seeking safety by such means. They seemed resolved to brave every hazard rather than deny their Lord. At length, by the capture of Delhi in the first half of September, and the relief of the Lucknow garrison some twelve days afterwards, the dark, threatening clouds over us began to break.

From October onward the tension was loosened; but the danger was not over. Though the garrison at Lucknow had been relieved, we were forced to evacuate it, and for months afterwards the whole country of Oude remained in the hands of those who had risen against us. Over a large portion of the North-West, and in Central India, our government remained prostrate. We had been so long in danger we had become blunted to the sense of it, and remained unmoved in circumstances which at an early period would have greatly excited us.

During the recent outbreak in Egypt, the position of Europeans in that country in many respects resembled that of Europeans in Northern India in 1857. Very similar was their danger, very similar their sufferings, and very similar was the deliverance of the greater number. But for providential interposition, not one would have in either case escaped. When I look back and consider what our position was, I marvel that any of us survived to tell what we endured; and our hearts are hard and cold indeed if we are not fervently thankful for our preservation. While my narrative shows that the residents at Benares in 1857 had to pass through a season of severe trial and great danger, all acquainted with the history of that period are aware that our countrymen in other places had vastly more to suffer. In many places the rising was temporarily successful. With us, the authorities all through kept the upper hand. The result was that we were kept from the extremity of suffering to which many were subjected. The entire loss of property was the least of the trials they had to bear. Many, among whom were delicate women and helpless children, were cruelly murdered. Others saw the objects of their warmest love killed before their eyes, had to endure the most fearful privations, and had to pass through untold horrors before reaching a place of safety. Not a few sank into the grave, the victims of toil, suffering, and sorrow. At no place was the danger greater than at Benares, and at no place did the general community suffer so little.

VISIT TO ALLAHABAD.

[Sidenote: THE DESOLATION OF ALLAHABAD.]

Learning that there was no missionary at Allahabad, about seventy miles north-west of Benares, which is now the seat of Government for the North-West, I wrote in December to a native Christian there whom I knew, proposing to visit him and his brethren, and in due course I got his reply, expressing the pleasure my visit would give them. I accordingly went, taking Mirzapore on my way, where I spent two or three days very happily with the mission family. I found a tent erected for my accommodation by the native Christian brethren close to the ruins of the mission premises. What a scene of desolation the whole place presented! The houses of the European residents had been set on fire, and there they were as the mutineers had left them. There were no European families. One large house had been put in order by the magistrate, and in the wide surrounding enclosure what may be called a canvas town had arisen. Civil and military officers were continually passing up and down, and for their accommodation tents had been pitched. All took their meals together in the restored mansion, and they kindly asked me to join them during my stay. My tent was pitched close to the abode of the native Christians. I had thus the opportunity, during the week I remained, of holding constant intercourse with my own countrymen and with native brethren. From the natives I heard much of what they had seen and suffered. I was shown the scenes of the terrible events which had occurred, and as retributive measures were still carried on, I saw, in spite of myself, scenes which made me shudder. On the other side of the Ganges there were frequent skirmishes between parties sent out and bands there who were resisting our authority; the firing was distinctly heard. On Sunday I preached twice to the native Christians. In the forenoon the service was conducted in a small chapel, which had not been burnt down, because it was so close to native houses that, if burnt, the flames would have certainly spread to them. In the evening I re-opened for worship the principal mission chapel. An attempt had been made to set it on fire, but as it had not been at once successful, owing to its being very strongly built, the insurgents satisfied themselves with breaking the doors, windows, seats, pulpit, and everything which could be easily destroyed. The wreck had been cleared away, and there I preached to a goodly company, one of them a man whose arm had been cut off because he was a Christian, and who had been left as dead. His recovery was marvellous. That was a memorable Sunday to me and to those to whom I ministered. My morning subject was, "In the day of adversity consider" (Eccles. vii. 14); and in the evening, Christ stilling the storm (Matt. viii. 23-28).



CHAPTER XVIII.

VISIT TO CEYLON AND RETURN TO BENARES.

1858-1859.

During the hot season and rains of 1858 I suffered greatly from boils and feverishness. After applying in vain the usual means of cure prescribed, I was advised to try a sea voyage. I accordingly arranged to go down the Bay of Bengal to Point de Galle in Ceylon, and to await there the arrival of my wife from England, so as to return with her to India.

[Sidenote: VOYAGE TO CALCUTTA.]

The rebellion still flickered in Bahar. A part of the road to Calcutta was in the hand of Kower Singh, a rebel chief; and travellers like myself to the capital from the North-West were on that account happy to avail themselves of the river steamers. We had the clear sky and the gentle breeze of that delightful season in Northern India. From morning to night we sat under a thick awning, reading or talking, as we were inclined, refreshed by the breeze, and interested in the various objects presented to our view on the river and its banks. The fortnight of the voyage passed most pleasantly, and I arrived in Calcutta half cured of my ailments. I was happy to find myself in time for the outgoing steamer of the P. and O. Company, on which I took passage to Point de Galle. On landing I saw the last newspaper received from England with the list of passengers for successive steamers, and from it I learned that my wife was to come a month later than I had anticipated. This left me with five or six weeks in Ceylon to dispose of myself as I best could. I made up my mind to travel through the island. I accordingly left Galle by coach the next day for Colombo, the capital. After staying there a few days I set out for Kandy, the old capital; held on to Newera Ellia, the sanatorium of the island, lying under Pedro Talla Galla, its highest mountain; ascended the mountain, made my way back by another route to Kandy, and then proceeded to Galle, where I was happy to meet my wife and child, with whom I went on to Calcutta.

When I landed at Galle I was not aware that I knew a single individual in the island, but I was not an hour at the hotel to which I went before I found myself in company with a medical gentleman, a native of Perthshire, who knew my friends; and on my arrival at Colombo I was recognized on the street, by my resemblance to my father, by a person who had never seen me previously, but who knew him. It struck me it would be dangerous for me to attempt an incognito, which, happily, I had no temptation to do. During my travels in Ceylon I met several from the North of Scotland whom I had known intimately, and among them one who had been for years my schoolfellow. My countrymen were there, as elsewhere, prominent members of the community.

[Sidenote: THE SCENERY OF CEYLON.]

I was much interested in all I saw during my travels in Ceylon. I was prepared to see fine scenery and rich foliage, but the reality greatly exceeded my expectation. On the coast between Galle and Colombo there is a considerable extent of level land, covered by the cocoanut palm, which forms much of the wealth of the people. Every part of the tree is turned to account. The wood is used for rafters, and the leaves for thatching. The kernel is an article of food, but its principal value comes from the oil made from it after it has been dried. The nut contains a liquid, which is deemed by the natives very refreshing. The fibrous husk round the cocoanut, called coir, is manufactured into ropes, matting, brushes, and other useful articles. It is largely and profitably exported. The trees are tapped for a juice, which, boiled when fresh, gives what is called palm-sugar; but when kept, becomes intoxicating. The name of the tree in the native language is "Tar"; this intoxicating juice is called "Taree," and by a well-known custom of linguistic transposition it is called by English people "Toddy." We have at Benares palm-trees which furnish this toddy, and I am sorry to say it is by far too largely used. This cocoanut palm abounds on the coast, and is always bent towards the sea, as if to welcome its breezes, or to strengthen itself against them. Away from the coast it well-nigh disappears, and trees of a very different order are seen on every side, many of them rising to a great height and covered with beautiful foliage.

The scenery in the interior is very striking. When travelling on the top of the coach from Colombo to Kandy, I might have thought myself in my own Highlands, as mountain after mountain came into view, and our road in its descents and ascents skirted precipices, where safety demanded the most careful driving. Long, winding valleys, through which rivers flowed, with falls and cascades here and there, reminded me of our finest straths. I saw no large bodies of water like our lochs. There were two points of marked dissimilarity. The month was December; I required no great-coat, and the rays of the sun were stronger than was pleasant. Instead of the leafless trees, and the white covering of the snow of the Scottish winter, there were trees in their richest dress, and all around a verdure of the freshest green, telling me I was in a tropical land, and in a land where heat and moisture by their abundance gave extraordinary force to vegetation. As I travelled from Kandy to Newera Ellia, and back again to Kandy by a different route, my impression of the picturesqueness and productiveness of the country was confirmed. There was one thing I did not see—the blooming heather of my own Highlands.

There is, I suppose, no country where all that is desirable can be obtained. It must be acknowledged Ceylon has its disadvantages. Its climate is that of perpetual summer, warmer indeed at some times than at others, but never approaching our heat in Northern India in May and June. It is only six degrees from the equator, and it owes its moderate temperature to its sea breezes and abundant rain. I missed the bracing coolness of Northern India in December and January. Perpetual summer is good for neither soul nor body. For bodily health and enjoyment the alternation of cold and heat is far better, as in the moral world prosperity and adversity are required for the maturing of character.

There is one evil—I do not know whether I should call it a minor or a major evil—to which both man and beast are exposed in Ceylon. We have all heard of snakes in the grass. In the fine grass of Ceylon leeches abound, and are ever ready to take their unwelcome contribution from all that come their way. They leap up on passers by, and try to exact from them their favourite food. I was often reminded by unpleasant nips that they had got hold of me. For months after leaving Ceylon I had on my limbs marks of their doings.

[Sidenote: PRODUCTS OF CEYLON.]

When travelling between Kandy and Newera Ellia, I was the guest of coffee-planters, all of them, so far as I remember, my own countrymen; and saw coffee in all its stages, from the berry on the coffee-bush on to the manufactured article ready for the market. The plant is indigenous in the island, but it was turned to little account till taken up by Europeans. The pioneers in its culture, as so often happens in such cases, are said to have lost heavily; but at the time of my visit plantations were paying well, and a large tract of land was under cultivation. I believe it afterwards ceased to be profitable, and now tea cultivation is taking its place.