BOMBAY (Continued).
Comparisons are so frequently both
unfair and invidious, that I had determined, upon
my arrival at Bombay, to abstain from making them,
and to judge of it according to its own merits, without
reference to those of the rival presidency. It
was impossible, however, to adhere to this resolution,
and being called upon continually to give an opinion
concerning its claims to superiority over Calcutta,
I was reluctantly compelled to consider it in a less
favourable point of view than I should have done had
the City of Palaces been left out of the question.
That Bombay is the rising presidency
there can be no doubt, and there seems to be every
probability of its becoming the seat of the Supreme
Government; nothing short of a rail-road between the
two presidencies can avert this catastrophe; the number
of days which elapse before important news reaching
Bombay can be known and acted upon by the authorities
of Calcutta rendering the measure almost imperative.
Bengal, too proudly triumphing in her greatness, has
now to bear the mortifications to which she delighted
to subject Bombay, a place contemptuously designated
as “a fishing village,” while its inhabitants,
in consequence of their isolated situation, were called
“the Benighted.”
Steam-communication brought the news
to Bombay of the accession of Queen Victoria to the
throne of England, and this event was celebrated at
the same time that the Bengallees were toasting the
health of William the Fourth at a dinner given in
honour of his birth-day. “Who are the Benighted
now?” was the universal cry; and the story is
told with great glee to all new arrivals.
Concerning the Anglo-Indian society
of Bombay, I do not pretend to know any thing, or
to give opinions which must necessarily be premature
and presumptuous. A round of dinner parties affords
little opportunity of making acquaintance; they are
much the same everywhere, and when a large company
is assembled, their agreeability must entirely depend
upon the persons who occupy the neighbouring chairs.
Bombay is accused, with what degree
of justice I cannot determine, of being a place much
addicted to scandal and gossip. If this charge
be well founded, it is one which it must share in
common with all limited circles. The love of
detraction is unhappily a thoroughly English vice,
flourishing under all circumstances, and quite as prevalent,
though not, perhaps, equally hurtful, in great cities
as in the smallest village. The same people who
in London delight in the perusal of newspapers of
the most libellous description, and who read with
avidity every publication which attacks private character,
will, when removed into a congenial sphere, pick their
neighbours to pieces; an amusement which cannot be
enjoyed in the metropolis, where happily we do not
know the names of the parties who occupy the adjoining
houses.
We are proud of our virtues, not unjustly
giving ourselves credit for many that elevate and
refine the human character; but even the most solid
and the most dazzling can scarcely compensate for that
one universal sin, that want of charity, which leads
English people upon all occasions to undervalue and
disparage their most intimate acquaintance. How
few will scruple to point out to others the follies
and foibles of their dearest friends, weaknesses which
they have discovered during long and familiar intercourse;
and how few will hesitate to impute the very worst
motives for actions which may spring from a laudable
source, or be merely the result of thoughtlessness!
In our most Christian country, the spirit of the Christian
religion is still to be sought, and until we see stronger
proofs of its influence than can at present be shown
throughout the United Kingdom, we must not single
out a remote colony as a specimen of the indulgence
of a vice common to us all.
The great evil, which Bombay must
share with other communities similarly constituted,
is the want of family ties, and the consequent loss
of all the gentle affections which spring amid a wide
domestic circle. Neither the very old nor the
very young are to be found in an Indian colony; there
are few connecting links to bind the sojourners of
a foreign land together; each has a separate interest,
and the result is seen in a general want of sympathy;
no one seems to enter into the views, feelings, hopes,
or objects of another. I employ the word seems,
since, as a stranger, I can only give my first impressions
upon the subject.
The style of living is more easily
described, and its relative advantages determined.
The Anglo-Indian residents of Bombay are, for the
most part, scattered all over the island, living in
very comfortable houses, of no great pretensions to
exterior elegance, yet having for the most part an
air of home enjoyment, which suggests pleasing ideas.
One feature is very striking, the porticoes and verandahs
of many being completely covered with luxuriant flowering
creepers, which in Bengal are never suffered to be
near the house, in consequence of the harbour they
are supposed to give to insects and reptiles.
The approach to these beautiful screens is, however,
frequently through a cabbage-garden, the expedience
of planting out the unsightly but useful vegetables
destined for the kitchen not having been as yet considered;
neither can the gardens at this period of the year,
the cold season, compare with those of Bengal, the
expense of irrigation preventing the inhabitants from
devoting so much time and attention to their improvement,
while as yet the natives have not been encouraged
to fill the bazaars with European vegetables.
Pease are spoken of as not being uncommon, but I have
only seen them once, even at the best tables.
Neither have cauliflowers, French beans, or asparagus,
made their appearance vegetables common
at Christmas all over the Bengal presidency.
The interiors of the houses are, generally
speaking, more embellished than those of Calcutta;
the greater part have handsome ceilings, and the doorways
and windows are decorated with mouldings, and otherwise
better finished. The walls also are coloured,
and often very tastefully picked out with white or
some other harmonizing tint. The reception-rooms,
therefore, have not the barn-like air which detracts
from the magnitude of those of Bengal, and the furniture,
if not always equally splendid, is shown off to greater
advantage; but here I should say the superiority ends.
Some of the small bungalows are very
neatly fitted up with boarded ceilings, a great improvement
upon the cloth which conceals the rafters in those
of Bengal; others, however, are canopied with cloth,
and some there are which appear more like summer-houses
than habitations intended for Europeans throughout
the year, being destitute of glass windows, and open
to all the winds of heaven.
The frequent changes of the atmosphere
which occur in Bombay, and the danger of a touch of
the land-wind, render the absence of glass windows
a very serious evil; they are, however, unknown in
the temporary bungalows erected upon the Esplanade,
which seem to be favourite residences of people who
could lodge themselves more substantially if they
pleased. The barn-like thatched roofs of these
dwellings make them rather unsightly objects, though
some are redeemed by a thick drapery of creepers;
but the interiors of many are of a very pavilion-like
description, and the singularity of all renders them
interesting to a stranger.
These houses usually consist of two
or more principal apartments, united with each other
by means of verandahs, and formed chiefly of wooden
frame-work panelled with canvas, with here and there
a partition of wattle and dab. They have generally
large porticoes of trellice-work in front, sufficiently
spacious to allow a carriage to drive under them,
which is thus screened from the sun; these porticoes
being mantled with flowering creepers of many beautiful
kinds. A sort of garden is also formed by plants
in tubs, and there is sometimes a cultivated oval
or circular space, which, in such a climate, a very
few weeks will render luxuriant. The fronts of
these bungalows face the sea, and have all the benefit
of its breezes, while the intervening space between
the fort forms the parade-ground of the garrison,
and the most esteemed evening drive.
Those who inhabit these bungalows,
and who do not rise before the sun, are subjected
to all the inconveniences attending upon field practice,
the firing of musquetry and the war of cannon close
to their ears, and though favourite residences, they
seem better suited to persons well accustomed to all
the vicissitudes of Anglo-Indian life than to a stranger.
For my own part, I confess a prejudice in favour of
brick and mortar, glass windows, and chimneys; and
though perfectly content, while travelling, to put
up with any accommodation that may offer, would never
willingly settle down for a season in a mansion of
canvas, mat, and bamboo, where the rats have free
ingress, and the atmosphere is filled with innumerable
winged insects.
Before the general setting-in of the
rains, these bungalows, I am informed, assume a very
damp and tatterdemalion appearance, and when the skies
open their flood-gates, they are obliged to be taken
down and warehoused until the following year.
Some of these bungalows are private property, others
are erected by the natives and let to their tenants
at a monthly rent. In some, the sleeping and sitting
apartments are under different roofs; all have a considerable
piece of ground enclosed round them, the allotments
to each party being made by Government, and appertaining
to certain appointments in the service.
Beyond these bungalows is the encamping
ground, in which certain temporary sojourners in Bombay
either pitch or hire a tent or tents, the accommodation
differing according to the expense incurred. The
superior tents such, for instance, as that
engaged by the late admiral are spacious
and convenient; a handsome suite of apartments, consisting
of ante-room, drawing-room, and dining-room, partitioned
off by canvas curtains, which could be rolled up at
pleasure, were lighted by chandeliers suspended from
the cross-poles and girandoles against those
that supported the roof; the walls were handsomely
lined, the floors covered with thick mats and carpets;
nothing being wanted to render this canvas dwelling
equal in comfort and elegance to the tents of Bengal,
excepting glass doors.
The weather, during the cold season
in this part of India, is not nearly so inclement
as in Calcutta and the north-western provinces; nevertheless,
it is very desirable to shut out the keen and cutting
wind, which frequently blows during the night.
The people here, however, seem fond of living in tents,
and it often happens that gentlemen especially, who
have had good houses of their own over their heads,
go to very considerable expense for the purpose of
enjoying the free air of a camp.
I had an opportunity of seeing the
facility and despatch with which such a change of
residence is managed in Bombay. Driving one evening
round the foot of a conical hill overlooking the sea,
we met a party of gentlemen who said that they were
looking out for a good place to pitch their tents,
and invited us to dine with them on the following
evening at seven o’clock. As the hill was
in our neighbourhood, we ascertained at eleven o’clock
the next morning that there was not a symptom of habitation
upon it; however, we were determined to keep our engagement,
and accordingly arrived at the appointed hour at the
point of the road at which a rude pathway opened.
It was perfectly dark, but we found
the place indicated by a cluster of lamps hanging
like a bunch of grapes from a tree; a palanquin was
also in waiting to carry the ladies up the hill in
turn. I preferred walking; and though my shoes
and the hem of my gown were covered with prickles
and thorns, which interweaved themselves in an extraordinary
manner through a satin dress, I enjoyed the walk amazingly.
A man with a lanthorn led the way, a precaution always
taken in Bombay, on account of the alleged multitude
of the snakes, and at every three or four yards’
distance, another cluster of lamps suspended from a
tree pointed out the way.
In a few minutes we arrived at a platform
of table-land on the summit of the hill, prettily
sprinkled with palm-trees, and came upon a scene full
of life, picture, and movement. The white outline
of the smaller tents had a sort of phantom look in
the ambiguous light, but the open doors of the principal
one showed a strong illumination. A table, which
we might have supposed to be raised by the hand of
an enchanter, gleaming with silver, cut glass, and
wax candles, was absolutely framed in by the darkness
around. Two or three horses picketed under the
trees with their grooms, cowering over fires made upon
the ground, looked very like unearthly chargers, just
emerged with their grim attendants from some subterranean
kingdom; while the red glare from the cooking tents,
and the dusky figures moving about, could scarcely
be recognised as belonging to human and every-day life the
whole scene having a supernatural air.
The interior of the tents was extremely
picturesque, fitted up with odds and ends of foreign
products, and looking very like the temporary haunt
of some pirate; tiger skins, rich soft thick rugs of
Persian manufacture, interspersed with Indian mats,
covered the floors; the tents were lined with flags,
favouring the notion that the corsair’s bark
lay anchored in some creek below; while daggers, and
pistols, and weapons of all kinds, helped out a fanciful
imagination to a tale of wild adventure. The
butler of our host had enacted more wonders than a
man; under such circumstances, a repast of fish and
curry might have been considered a great achievement,
but we had the three regular courses, and those, too,
of a most recherche kind, with a dessert to
match, all sent up to the point of perfection.
After coffee, I went out to look upon
the sea, which lay like a mirror below the perpendicular
height on which I stood; and as my eyes became accustomed
to the darkness of a moonless night, I saw under new
aspects the sombre outlines of those soft hills, whose
purple loveliness I had admired so much during the
day.
I spent several pleasant evenings
in these tents, which were engaged by a young nobleman
upon his travels for the purpose of escaping from
the annoyances of the Fort, and who, during his short
residence under canvas, had the advantage of the companionship
of a friend, to whose experienced servants he was
indebted for the excellence of the arrangements.
When it is considered that these tents
were pitched upon a lonely spot, upwards of four miles
from Bombay and from the bazaars, the celerity and
success with which every thing was managed will appear
quite wonderful. The tents were found to be so
cold, that a gentleman who afterwards joined the party
slept in his palanquin; they were subsequently removed,
and now the palm-tree waves its broad leaves over
the lonely hill, and the prowling jackal seeks his
meal elsewhere. Tents such as those now described
form the rarer and brighter specimens, their usual
character being very different.
On the Esplanade we step at once from
the ground upon a settrinjee, which bears all the
marks of having been well trodden by sandy feet; an
opening at the farther extremity shows the sea, glaring
on the eye with a hot dazzle; a table, a few chairs,
with some books and papers, perhaps, upon the ground,
complete the arrangements that are visible; while,
if proceeding farther, we find ourselves in a room
fitted up as a bed-chamber, nearly as small and inconvenient
as the cabin of a ship, with a square aperture in
the thin canvas wall for a window.
These tents are dreadfully warm during
the day, and exceedingly cold at night; they are,
moreover, notwithstanding their proximity to the sea,
and the benefit of its breezes, filled with mosquitoes,
or sand-flies, which are equally troublesome.
Persons who contemplate a long residence in them,
keep out of the cold and heat by erecting a chopper,
or roof, formed of thatch, over them; but, in my opinion,
they are but uncomfortable residences. Many strangers,
however, arriving at Bombay, have no alternative,
there being no other place where they can find equally
good accommodation.
An hotel, it appears, has been established
in the Fort, but not of a description to suit private
families or ladies; the constant arrival of steamers
full of passengers fills the houses of the residents
with a succession of guests, who would gladly put up
at an hotel or boarding-house, if such could be found,
while there are besides many ladies now in Bombay,
whose husbands are in the army, living uncomfortably
either alone or going about from friend to friend’s
houses, who would rejoice to be quietly and comfortably
established in a respectable boarding-house.
Nothing of the kind, however, appears to be at present
in contemplation, and Bombay can never, with any degree
of justice, presume to call itself England, until it
can offer suitable accommodation to the vast numbers
of strangers who land upon its shores.
European foreigners, who visit Bombay
in a commercial capacity, find it exceedingly triste;
independently of private society, there is absolutely
no amusement no play, no concert, no public
assembly of any kind; nor would it be advisable to
attempt to establish an entertainment of this nature,
since there would be no chance of its support.
There is a fine building, the Town Hall, well adapted
for the purpose, but its most spacious saloon is suffered
to remain empty and unfurnished; the expense which
must be incurred in the purchase of chandeliers proving
sufficient to deter the community from an undertaking
which would serve to add gaiety to a sombre scene.
Those who have visited the Town Hall
of Calcutta, and who retain a recollection of the
brilliance of its re-unions, with all their gay variety
of concert, opera, and acted charade, cannot help seeing
that Bombay lags very far behind; it is, therefore,
unwise to provoke comparisons, and the society here
should rather pride itself upon what it will do, than
upon what it has done. It is, perhaps, little
to be lamented that merely frivolous amusements should
be wholly confined to the private circles of social
life, but there are others which might be cultivated
with infinite advantage to the community at large,
and for which the great room at the Town Hall seems
to be most admirably adapted.
Whether the native ear is sufficiently
refined to relish the superior performances of music,
seems doubtful; but when we see so large a portion
of the society of Bombay composed of Parsee, Hindu,
and Mohamedan gentlemen, we cannot help wishing that
some entertainment should be provided for them which
would attract and interest, while it expanded the
mind. A series of lectures upon popular subjects,
illustrated by entertaining experiments, might, I should
think, be introduced with good effect. The wonders
of the microscope, laid open to the eyes of intelligent
persons who perfectly understand and speak English,
could scarcely fail to delight and instruct, while
the secrets of phantasmagoria, the astonishing effects
produced by electricity, the movements of the heavenly
bodies exhibited in an orrery, and, indeed, all the
arcana of science, agreeably laid open, would furnish
inexhaustible funds of amusement, and lead to inquiries
of the most useful nature. Lectures, also, upon
horticulture, floriculture, &c., might be followed
by much practical good; and as there are many scientific
men at the presidency who could assist one or more
lecturers engaged for the purpose, the expense of such
an institution would be materially lessened, while,
if it were once established, the probabilities are
in favour of its being supported by contributions
of the necessary models, implements, &c., from the
capitals of Europe.
It is certainly very pleasing to see
the numbers of native gentlemen of all religious persuasions,
who enter into the private society of Bombay, but
I could wish that we should offer them some better
entertainment than that of looking on at the eternal
quadrille, waltz, or galoppe. They are too much
accustomed to our method of amusing ourselves to view
it in the light in which it is looked upon in many
other parts of India; still, they will never, in all
probability, reconcile it to their ideas of propriety,
and it is a pity that we do not show ourselves capable
of something better. Conversation at these parties
is necessarily restricted to a few commonplaces; nothing
is gained but the mere interchange of civility, and
the native spectators gladly depart, perhaps to recreate
themselves with more debasing amusements, without
having gained a single new idea.
If meetings once a fortnight, or once
a month, could be held at the Town Hall, for the purpose
of diffusing useful knowledge in a popular manner,
they would not only afford amusement at the time, but
subjects also of conversation for the future.
Such meetings would give no offence to that part of
the community who are averse, upon religious principles,
to cards and dancing, or dramatic amusements; and if
not rendered too abstruse, and consequently tiresome
and incomprehensible to the general auditor, must
necessarily become a favourite method of passing time
now too frequently lost or mis-spent.
The literary and scientific conversaziones
given by Lord Auckland, in Calcutta, afford a precedent
for an institution of the kind; the successful features
might be copied, and if there should have been any
failures, the experience thus gained would prevent
similar hazards. There seems to be no good reason
why ladies should be excluded, since the more general
and extensive a plan of the kind could be made, the
greater chance there would be of a beneficial exercise
of its influence over society.
There is a very good library attached
to the Town Hall, and the germ of a museum, which
would furnish materials for much intellectual entertainment;
and there can be little doubt that, if the proposition
were judiciously made, and properly supported, the
wealthy portion of the native community would subscribe
very liberally towards an establishment so eminently
calculated to interest and amuse the youth of their
families. The greater number of the sons of respectable
natives are now receiving their education at the Elphinstone
College, and these young people would understand and
appreciate the advantages of a literary and scientific
institution, for the discussion and illustration of
subjects intimately connected with the end and aim
of their studies. In the course of a few years,
or even less, many of these young men would be qualified
to take a leading part in the establishment, and perhaps
there would be no greater incentive to the continuation
of studies now frequently abandoned too early, for
the sake of some money-getting pursuit, than the hope
that the scientific acquirements attained at college
might be turned to useful account.
A small salary would allure many natives,
who, in consequence of the necessity which they are
under of gaining their own bread, are obliged to engage
in some, perhaps not very lucrative, trade, and who,
engrossed in the gathering together o petty gains,
lose all the advantages they might otherwise have
derived from a liberal education. The difficulties
which in other parts of our Asiatic territories stand
in the way of the participation of natives in the studies
and amusements of Anglo-Indian residents, in consequence
of the difference of language, are not felt in Bombay.
All the superior classes of natives
speak excellent English, the larger portion expressing
themselves with great fluency, and even elegance.
English is spoken in every shop frequented by Europeans,
and there are generally one or two servants in every
family who can make themselves understood in it.
The natives form, in fact, a very large portion of
the wealth and intelligence of Bombay, and become,
consequently, an important part of its society.
They are the owners of nearly all the best houses
in the island, which are not commonly either built
or purchased, as in Calcutta, by their European tenants.
Many rich native merchants, who reside
usually in the Fort, possess splendid country mansions,
to which they retire occasionally, or which are used
merely for the purpose of giving parties to their friends.
These mansions are to be recognised by the abundance
of ornament, by gateways surmounted by nondescript
monsters, after the fashion of the lions or bears
of carved stone, which are sometimes seen at the entrance
of a nobleman’s grounds in England. At others,
they are gaily painted in a variety of colours, while
a profusion of many-coloured lamps, hanging in the
verandah and porticoes on the occasion of every fête,
shed great brilliance on the evening scene. These
residences are scattered all over Bombay, the interiors
being all richly furnished, and many fitted up with
infinite taste and elegance.
Although, as I have before remarked,
these scattered houses impart an air of rural enjoyment
to the island, yet their being spread over its whole
surface prevents Bombay from appearing to be so important
a place as it is in reality. There is nothing
approaching to the idea of a city to be seen, nothing
solid or substantial to indicate the presence of wealth
or of extensive commerce. Calcutta, on the contrary,
offers to the stranger’s eye an aspect so striking
and imposing, brings so strongly to the mind the notion
that its merchants are princes, and that it ranks
crowned heads amongst its vassals and its tributaries,
that we see at once that it must be the seat of a
powerful and permanently established government.
Nor does it seem possible, even in the event of Bombay
taking the ascendance as the capital of British India,
that the proud City of Palaces shall upon that account
dwindle and sink into decay. Stranger things,
and even more melancholy destinies, have befallen
the mighty Babylons of the earth; but with all its
faults of situation and of climate, I should at least,
for one, regret the fate that would render the glories
of a city so distinct in its character, and so proudly
vying with the capitals of Europe, a tale of the past.
A new direction in the course of the Ganges may reduce
it to a swamp, and its palaces and pleasant places
may be left to desolate creatures, but it will never
be rivalled by any modern creation. The days
of Anglo-Indian magnificence are gone by, and though
we may hope for all that is conveyed by the words
comfort and prosperity, splendour will
no longer form a feature in the scene.
The climate of Bombay is said to be
superior in point of salubrity to that of Bengal;
what is termed the cold season, however, can scarcely
merit the name, there being nothing like the bracing
weather experienced at the same period of the year
in the neighbouring presidency. One peculiarity
of Bombay consists in the wind blowing hot and cold
at the same time, so that persons who are liable to
rheumatic pains are obliged to wrap themselves up
much more warmly than is agreeable. While enduring
a very uncomfortable degree of heat, a puff of wind
from the land or the sea will produce a sudden revulsion,
and in these alternations the whole day will pass
away, while at night they become still more dangerous.
It is said that the hot season is not so hot as in
Bengal, and the absence of punkahs in the drawing-rooms
and bed-chambers favours the statement; but if the
atmosphere be much more sultry in the hot season than
it is in what is by courtesy called cold, it must
be rather difficult to bear.
To a stranger in Bombay, it is a great
convenience to find so many persons who speak English,
the objection to the engagement of domestic servants
who have acquired the language of their Christian masters
not existing to the same extent here as in Bengal,
where, in most cases, it is a proof of utter worthlessness.
Numbers of very respectable servants, who are found
in old established families at this presidency, speak
English, and the greater portion take a pride in knowing
a little of their masters’ language. These
smatterers are fond of showing off their acquirements
upon all occasions, replying in English, as far as
they are able, to every question asked in Hindostanee,
and delivering their messages in all the words that
they can muster. With few exceptions, the pronunciation
of the language they have acquired is correct; these
exceptions consist in the prefix of e to all
words beginning with an s, and the addition
of the same letter to every termination to which it
can be tacked. Thus they will ask you to take
some fowlee-stew; and if you object to any
thing, say they will bring you anotheree.
Though very respectful when addressing their superiors
in their native language, the same degree of propriety
is not maintained under the disadvantage of an incompetent
acquaintance with English. Instead of the khana
tear hi, ‘dinner is ready,’ they will
very unintentionally substitute an abrupt summons.
I was much amused one day, when, being rather late
at my toilette, a servant made his appearance at the
door of my apartment, just as I was quitting it, and
said, “You come to dinner.” He had
been sent to tell me that it was served, and had not
the least idea that he had not delivered his message
with the greatest propriety.
Though, generally speaking, well-behaved
and attentive, the domestics of a Bombay establishment
are very inferior in style and appearance to those
of Bengal, the admixture of Portuguese and Parsees,
with Mohammedans and Hindus, forming a motley crew,
for all dress in their national costume, it being
impossible to prevail upon people having so many and
such different religious prejudices to assume the same
livery. The Parsees who engage as domestic servants
seldom dress well; the ugly chintz cap will always
be a disfigurement, and it is not often redeemed by
the ample robe and handsome shawl which distinguish
the better classes.
The Mohammedans do not wear the beautifully
plaited turbans and well-fitting vests so common in
Bengal, while the sailors’ jackets and trowsers,
almost universally worn by the Portuguese, a few only
assuming the swallow-tailed coat, are any thing rather
than handsome or becoming. The inferiority of
dress exhibited is the more inexcusable, since the
wages of servants in Bombay are much higher than those
of the same class in Bengal, while the difference in
point of number does not make up for the difference
in the rate. The youngest table-servant demands
twelve rupees a month, no one will engage as a butler
under twenty, and the remainder are in proportion.
The ayahs’ wages are also very high, amounting
to from fifteen to twenty rupees a month; they are
certainly, however, more efficient than the same class
of persons in Bengal, undertaking to wash silk stockings,
lace, and fine muslin; they are, generally speaking,
well-conducted and respectable. The dirzees or
tailors are very inferior to their brethren of Bengal,
though paid at a much higher rate, fifteen rupees
a month being the common demand. Whenever a Bengal
tailor happens to come round, he is eagerly seized
upon, the reputation of workmen from the rival presidency
being deservedly high. Tailors are indiscriminately
Parsees, Mohammedans, or Hindus, the latter-named
being the least desirable, as they will neither eat,
drink, nor cook in a European manner, and are always
eager to get away by half-past four in the afternoon.
The cooks of Bombay are, for the most
part, well acquainted with the culinary art, an advantage
for which, according to common report, they are indebted
to Lord Clare. Upon the arrival of that nobleman
at the seat of his government, it is said that he
started with horror at the repast which the hospitality
of the island had provided for him. At this substantial
dinner, the ponderous round jostled the sirloin of
beef, saddles and haunches of mutton vis-a-vis’d
with each other, while turkey and ham, tongue and
fowls, geese and ducks, filled up the interstices.
Lord Clare had either brought a French
cook in his train, or sent for one with the least
possible delay, and this accomplished person not only
reformed the cuisine at Government House, but
took pupils, and instructed all who chose to pay for
the acquirement in the mysteries of his art.
He found his scholars a very teachable race, and it
is only now necessary to describe the way in which
any particular method should be practised, in order
to secure success. They easily comprehend the
directions given, and, what is of equal consequence,
are not above receiving instructions. Through
the exertions of these praiseworthy persons, the tables
of Bombay are frequently exceedingly well served,
and nobody is actually obliged to dine upon the huge
joints which still make their appearance.
Turkey maintains its high position,
and is, with its accompaniment of ham, considered
indispensable; rounds of boiled salt-beef, plentifully
garnished with carrots, are apparently in high esteem,
the carrots being an importation from England, coming
out hermetically sealed in tin cases. What are
considered the dainties of the table consist chiefly
of fresh salmon, preserved by the patent process, Highland
mutton, partridges stuffed with truffles, &c., these
things, in consequence of their rendering the dinner
more expensive as well as more recherche, being
in great request.
Although the high prices of provisions
are adduced as the reason of the high rate of servants’
wages, as compared with those of Bengal, this increased
expenditure, according to the observations I have been
able to make, relates more to the commodities of the
native bazaars than those consumed by Europeans.
The necessity of bringing in supplies from a distance
for the consumption of the island occasions the increase
of the price of grain, &c, while probably the demand
for beef, mutton, fowls, &c. not being go great as
in Calcutta, these articles are sold at a lower rate.
Buffalo meat is occasionally eaten by Europeans, a
thing unheard of in Bengal; but it is not in any esteem.
The tables in Bombay are handsomely
appointed, though not with the same degree of splendour
that prevails in Bengal, where the quantity of plate
makes so striking a display. The large silver
vases, in which butter and milk are enclosed in a
vessel filled with saltpetre, which give to the breakfast-tables
of Calcutta an air of such princely grandeur, are
not in use here.
The servants are summoned by the exclamation
of “Boy” instead of the Qui hi?
which is so Indian-like in its expression, and has
afforded a distinguishing soubriquet to the
Bengallees. The word boy is said to be
a corruption of bhaee, ‘brother,’
a common mode of salutation all over the East.
As it is now employed, it is often very absurdly answered
by a grey-bearded man, who has long lost all title
to the appellation.
Notwithstanding the strength and acknowledged
efficiency of the Bombay police, it is considered
expedient in every house to engage a Ramoosee or watchman,
who, while himself a professional thief, is bound in
honour to protect his employer from the depredation
of his brethren. Though, in virtue of this implied
compact, the house ought to be considered sacred,
and the Ramoosee entitled to receive his wages for
the protection that his name affords, some there are
who insist upon the display of their watchfulness
in a very unwelcome manner.
Occasionally the Ramoosee, more peaceably
inclined, settles himself quietly down to sleep in
the verandah, and leaves the family to the enjoyment
of repose; but there are others who disdain thus to
eat the bread of idleness, and who make it a point
to raise an alarm every hour in the night. Personal
courage or strength of body is by no means essential
in a Ramoosee, all that is required of him being powerful
lungs; this qualification he cultivates to the utmost,
and any thing more dreadful than the sounds emitted
in the dead of the night close to the window nearest
the head of my bed I never heard. I have started
up in the most horrible state of apprehension, fancying
that the world was at an end, while, after calming
down all this perturbation, just as I have been going
to sleep again, the same fearful shout has brought
on new alarm. Vainly have I remonstrated, vainly
endeavoured to convince the Ramoosee that his duty
to his employers would be better performed by making
these shocking outcries at the road-side; he is either
inflexibly silent, or waging war against my repose;
for I believe that he selects the side of the house
devoted to the visit or for the exercise of his extraordinary
faculty; I cannot in any other way account for the
small disturbance he gives to the rest of the family.
The absolute necessity of paying one
of these men, in order to secure the forbearance of
his colleagues, is illustrated by an anecdote commonly
told. It appears that two friends were living
together, one of whom had engaged a Ramoosee, while
the other, not imagining it to be incumbent upon him
to incur the same expense, neglected this precaution.
One night, every thing belonging to this unfortunate
chum was stolen. The Ramoosee was summoned, and
accused of not having performed his duty. He
boldly denied the charge. “All master’s
property is safe,” he said; “when master
lose any thing, I will account for it.”
The fidelity with which the greater
number of natives, however corrupt in other respects,
fulfil all their engagements, the few instances in
which a pledge once given is forfeited, if taken into
grave consideration, would do much towards settling
the point at issue between the Bishop of London and
Sir Charles Forbes. The word of a native, generally
speaking, if solemnly given, is a bond never to be
broken, while an oath is certainly not equally binding.
In accusing the natives of a deliberate
crime in the commission of perjury, we do not sufficiently
reflect upon the difference of the religious principles
which actuate Christians, and the heinous nature in
their eyes of the sin of calling upon a God of purity
to witness their falsehoods. If we could administer
an oath to a native, the profanation of which would
fill him with equal horror, we should find that he
would speak the truth. A case in point occurred
lately at Aden. There are a class of Mohammedans
who are great knaves, many being addicted to cheating
and theft: the evidence of these men cannot be
depended upon, since for the value of the most trifling
sum they would swear to any thing. Nevertheless,
although they do not hesitate to call upon God and
the Prophet to witness the most flagrant untruths,
they will not support a falsehood if put to a certain
test. When required to swear by a favourite wife,
they refuse to perjure themselves by a pledge which
they esteem sacred, and will either shrink altogether
from the ordeal or state the real fact.
The following occurrence is vouched
for by an eye-witness: “A Somali had a
dispute with a Banian as to the number of komasies
he had paid for a certain article, swearing by God
and the Prophet that he had paid the price demanded
of him for the article in question; but no sooner
was he called upon to substantiate his assertions by
swearing by his favourite wife, than he threw down
the article contended for, and took to his heels with
all speed, in order to avoid the much dreaded oath.”
It will appear, therefore, that there is scarcely any
class of persons in India so utterly destitute of principle,
as to be incapable of understanding the obligation
of an oath, or the necessity of speaking truth when
solemnly pledged to do so, the difficulty being to
discover the asseveration which they consider binding.
In nearly every transaction with servants
in India we find them most unscrupulous respecting
the truth of any account which they give, and yet
at the same time they will fulfil every engagement
they enter into with a conscientiousness almost unknown
in Christian countries. The lowest servant of
the establishment may be trusted with money, which
will be faithfully appropriated to the purpose for
which it was intended, but certainly they entertain
little or no respect for abstract truth.
The controversy at home concerning
the general disregard to accuracy manifested by the
natives of India has caused much consternation here,
and will, I trust, be productive of good. It will
show at least to the large portion of the native community,
who can understand and appreciate the value of the
good opinion of the country of which they are fellow-subjects,
the necessity of a strict adherence to veracity, in
order to maintain their pretensions to morality, and
it will evince the superiority of that religion which,
as one of its precepts, teaches a regard for truth.
Willing as I feel to bear testimony
to many excellent points in the native character,
I regret to say, that, although they do not deserve
the sweeping accusations brought against them, the
standard by which they are guided is very low.
At the same time it must be said, that the good faith
which they observe, upon occasions in which persons
guided by superior lights would be less scrupulous,
shows that they only require a purer religious system
to regard truth as we have been taught to regard it.